The Red Hand of Doom - Completed 8 February 2008: Against Tiamat and Epilogue

[Pedestrian]

Chapter One: The Witchwood

Four bold adventuers moved slowly along the Dawn Way, relic of the Great Empire. They had travelled three weeks from holdings of the Gathics, having opted to move northward, to Elsir, in pursuit of treasures detailed in a faded map uncovered in the lair of Goblin raiders they had thwarted. The warmer northern climes, along with the approaching summer, made the roads hot and dry, and it had been some time since the quarter had enjoyed the shade of a roof over their heads. They had discussed their options, and were currently intent on stopping over at Drellin’s Ferry, a small village along the Dawn Way,

Sir Tarnus, knight errant of valiant Heironeus, Templar of the Southern Tradition, rode at the rear. He looked every bit the part of church’s champion, clad in plate astride a powerful steed with a heavy blade strapped to his back. His features were hard but handsome, a manner used to giving orders and being obeyed, but also one that could inspire and rally. Though dirty and dusty from days of travel, his zeal lent him a radiance that shone through.

Marcus and Tom Morris, walked ahead of the templar, chatting about the weather. In looks and in manner, the two could not have been more alike. Marcus, a mysterious man of Argyle blood, was tall and thin, hungry looking with an occasionally disquieting gleam in his eye. He rarely spoke, preferring to save his breath for uttering the words of power. He supported his weight with a spear, intended for battle but more often used as a staff. It’s haft held many indentations and grooves, currently two were occupied, with two gems, one of opal and the other ruby.

Tom, a Bereg Dwarf through to his bones, was short and stocky, firmly ensconced in solid steel and bearing a massive sword, he was expressive and chatty, his blonde chin-braid shaking from side to side as he regaled Marcus with tales of wrestling prowess he had witnessed. He was a servant of Kade, known in the northern lands as Kord. Tom’s faith was of an older stripe than Sir Tarnus’, or even the Orthodoxy from which that had sprung. To Tom, Kade was no wayward son, no lesser favoured child of the all powerful Pelor, but the paragon of warrior virtue, one of the old gods of the Argyles, before the Great Empire’s church changed everything.

The fourth member of the group was Marduk. A great black Gnoll, or the more common epithet “marsh dog”, he had recently been emancipated for duties to the Gathic village where he had toiled as a slave from puphood. Having found a talent for combat, he had opted to travel north with the group after he had been set free. Marduk ranged a little ahead of the group, keeping an eye for trouble. Unlike wild Gnolls, Marduk was quiet and retiring, preferring to avoid attention or confrontation, though his brave heart was unmatched.

So intent on studying the trail ahead was the Gnoll, however, that he neglected to study the trees. Obscured by the shady boughs lurked Hobgoblins of the Red Hand, trying their luck at a spot of banditry.

Afforded a clear view into the forest from astride his steed, Tarnus spotted the ambushers immediately and leapt from the saddle, brandishing his sword in two hands. Clarity, his horse, though loyal, was not trained for battle, and would balk from blood shed. Marcus extended a fist and, with a word of power, outstretched his fingers and flung bolts of force at one of the Hobgoblins closest to him. A barrage of arrow fire followed, and soon enough, the real battle was joined, with Tom Morris rushing headlong into the woods, slashing with wild abandon to drive back one of the bandits.

Tarnus gave a rallying cry, and set off in pursuit of another, his fervour in the son of Light impelling him to greater fury, slamming bodily into the Hobgoblin and flinging him into the underbrush. Marduk hefted his great bow and made two shots into the brush, hoping to flush out any lurkers. In return, he was feathered with arrows. More shafts clattered from the forest, clattering off Tarnus’s armour, but drawing blood from Marcus. In reply, the mage caressed an opal embedded in the haft of his spear and, slamming the but of the weapon into the ground, compelled Marduk to swell to monstrous height. Tom swung upward at his foe as he clambered up the roadside ditch, and scored a mighty blow against the Hobgoblin.

The champion of Heironeus pursued his target through the woods, but the choking underbrush and swinging branches obstructed his path. As he rounded a tree, his opponent lashed out with a quick stroke, surprising him and nicking Tarnus’s forearm. Marduk, engorged with arcane strength, thundered up into the woods and, with one mighty overhand smash of his massive war-axe, obliterated the archer who had shot Marcus, who completed the ritual to gird himself with magery to reflect further attacks. The Hobgoblins, starting to panic at this superior foe, attempted to retreat. Tom was ill-equipped to keep up, instead thrashing wildly at the retreating Hobgoblin.

Tarnus finally planted a sword through his foe and, with narry a look back, set off to rejoin his comrades. Marduk, hoping to assist Tom and unable to find further Hobgoblins on his side of the road, bounded across the path and attempted to cleave his dwarven friend’s enemy in twain. The nimble – and panicked – Hobgoblin managed to duck just in time, avoiding a grisly end. Marcus, meanwhile, sent more glittering energy bolts after the Hobgoblins, wounding them. Having seen the damage that the massive Gnoll was capable of, the two remaining Goblin archers fired their bows, bringing low the already wounded giant. With a crash, Marduk fell to the ground. Tom, muttering an imprecation against Goblins everywhere, channelled divine energy into the warrior rather than pursue the retreating soldier.

The ruckus from the battle had alerted other members of the Red Hand platoon, and another detachment of soldiers came running down the path. As his allies jockeyed for position, Tarnus once again raised his stuff and, this time caressing a ruby imbedded in the shaft, send a roiling bolt of flame into the densely packed Hobgoblins. Military discipline won out, as only one fell, though all were terrible scorched.

At this moment, two fiendish hounds of fiery aspect bounded out from the undergrowth to attack the recovered Marduk and Tom Morris, but both were quickly despatched by the pair. followed by a hulking Hobgoblin bearing twinned blades – the leader of this band no doubt. Tarnus, the hand of his god upon him, surged forward, sword held level as if a lance and, in one terrible impact, impaled the commander.

Another devil dog appeared between Marduk and Marcus, but the heart of the goblin troops was no longer in the battle. They fled, and the last hound was finished by a deft axe-blade of Marduk’s.

The group looked around, Tarnus recovering the blades of the captain, while the other three searched the ruined building in which the Goblins had been camping. Within, Marduk found the bodies of five humans – a woman and four men, three clad in simple armour – while the meticulous Tom Morris discovered a pouch of gold, which he scooped up and tied to his belt, thinking to mention it to his companions later. He was immediately distracted, however, by a disgusted Tarnus casting aside one of the Hobgoblin’s heavy shields. Even scorched by fire and rent by weapons, the blood red hand was still visible on it’s face. Tarnus and Tom both recognised that as a symbol: “Tiamat” murmured the dwarf.

The dead champion’s twinned blades were split up, one to the knight, the other strapped clumsily to the belt of Marcus. Sir Tarnus recovered his mount, and the four set off once more for Drellin’s Ferry.

 

[Mark CMG]

Cool! Keep it coming!

 

[Pedestrian]

Session 2: Drellin's Ferry, an old man, and a problem with "Snakes"

The Dawn Way broadened and dipped, like a stony twin to the slow moving river Elsir it ran alongside. The companions smelt wood smoke ahead and could glimpse a few homes already, along with tiny skiffs tied up on the broad river. They quickened their pace, looking forward to some much needed refreshment and relaxation before heading off to the Witchwood.

“Ho there, travellers,” called a mail clad human, a broad shouldered fellow with a waxed moustache, his voice crisp, bordering on refinement but with a hard edge all the same. At his back stood three other guardsmen, brandishing crossbows at Marduk. “Hold! State your business for bringing monsters to this peaceable town!” His sword was drawn, but lowered. He approached the group.

Marduk hunched low, attempting to appear less massive, less threatening, while his allies stepped to the front. Marcus glowered at the crossbowmen, his inner eye already marshalling the energies needed to boil the flesh from their bones. Tom took the initiative “Now my lambs, there’s no need for weapons. We’re just passing through on our way, making a stop-over.”

“Aye, well, be that as it may, we of Drellin’s Ferry have our own have enough troubles without monsters walking in our midst.” The moustachioed man’s gaze flicked to the gnoll, who was attempting – and failing – to smile in a placatory fashion, baring yellowed fangs.

“Monster? No, that’s our friend, Marduk. He won his freedom defending a village south of here. Gathic, you see.”

“Hmm. Well, if you’ll vouch for it, then I’ll let you pass into our village. But” and he fixed each member of the group with a flinty stare “I’ll want your word that it’ll cause no trouble in this village, and that he does not go about unescorted.” Tom assented, and the guard motioned for the others to stand down. Nervous, they did as ordered.

“Do you know of a place we might stay in the village?” Asked Tom, the previously tense situation already forgotten by the garrulous dwarf.

“Well, there’s the Old Bridge, a fine watering hole. You might prefer the Green Apple though,” he cast a meaningful glance at Marduk, “it’s less pricey. But the Bridge is the better place, I’d say.”

“Well, thank you.” Tom turned to the rest of the group. “Off to the Old Bridge it is then boys. I’d quite fancy a beer!”

Sir Tarnus paused a moment with the gate guard. He exchanged some small talk with the man, learning that he was a Sergeant Hersk. The templar discussed the growing Goblin problem, and finished off by shaking hands with the Sergeant, and wishing him luck, before joining the others at the Bridge.

He arrived to find his three compatriots at the bar, already swigging ale and disturbing the patrons. Tom and Marcus seemed to be having a heated debate with the barkeep, a middle-aged Halfling. Marduk was again hunkering down, trying to occupy as little space as possible. Tarnus noted then that most of the staff seemed to be of that breed, though the Inn itself was sized for larger folk. Ah, he amended as he approached the bar, experimentally twisting one of the stools. The furniture was adjustable for those of smaller stature. He took in the patrons, mostly humans, merchants and their ilk by dress, though one or two travelling sorts, adventurers with little regard for a fine suit, but much esteem for a comfortable rest.

“I’m afraid I can’t be having a marsh dog sleeping in my rooms” said the Halfling. “My other guests just wouldn’t be having it. It’s a charity that I’ll let it stay in my stable.”

“Charity? Two gold is a lot to call it charity!” Replied Tom.

“Two gold?” Cut in Tarnus. He knew if he let Tom have his say, things might escalate. He reached one mailed hand into his belt pouch, producing eight coins. “That’ll see for us all then.” He handed the coin over with a perfunctory smile. He pause, producing another “and some green tea as well.”

“Well, so long as you’re paying, I’ll have another drink!”

The door to the Old Bridge opened, and the inn-keeper looked up, and straightened immediately. “Speaker Wiston, Captain Soranna, a pleasure. What brings you to my establishment?” The Halfling motioned to one of the servants, a younger Halfling woman with a familial resemblance.

“Oh, no, no Kellin, we won’t be staying long.” Speaker Wiston’s voice was pipe smoke thick, each word weighed before utterance. “I am here to speak with these gentlemen,” he bowed to the group. “Good eve to you, sirs. I am Norro Wiston, Town Speaker for Drellin’s Ferry, and this is Guard Captain Soranna Anita. We were informed of your arrival by Sergeant Hersk – I understand there was some discussion at his post – and the Captain and I wished to come and speak with you.”

“Well, we’re listening, but be quick. My beer’ll start feeling neglected.” Said Tom, a broad grin on his face as he gripped his cup in two thick hands.

“Perhaps if we could discuss this more discreetly. In one of Master Kellin’s booths?”

Once they were all seated discreetly away from the other patrons, and Tom had stopped mumbling about spilt beer, and all this walking being no good on his short legs (Speaker Wiston, to his credit, remedied the first with a round, and tactfully declined comment on the second) Norro continued.

“As you are no doubt already know, we have been having some trouble here at Drellin’s Ferry, with goblin raiders” Norro paused to take a deep gulp from his cup before continuing “not your usual band of marauders, fit to be scared at the first drawing of blades, either. Seems like a fair sized warband have moved into the Witchwood, north of here. You look like capable sorts. We were hoping you could look into this for the town.” Speaker Wiston’s gaze fell imploringly on Sir Tarnus.

“Well, as I see it” spoke Tom, pausing a moment to stifle a belch, “you’ve asked for our help, and we’d be right nasty ones to say no. We’ll clear out your forest for you, my lamb. Besides” here he flashed a mischievous grin “I hates goblins.” The Speaker and Guard Captain Soranna were both taken aback by this sudden agreement. They looked to the other members of the party, who nodded agreement to the dwarf’s pronouncement..

“Before we set off, would it be possible for you to provide us with some information on the situation?” Sir Tarnus kept his gaze level with the Speaker’s own, but more as a reassurance than any attempt to intimidate the man. “Has anyone else gone in to try and deal with these goblins? Do you have any idea of the size of their forces?”

The Speaker paused before answering, his eyes rolling up in thought “We’ve sent – what? – ten of our finest into the Witchwood, though only one made it back and… she did not survive. What we could glean from her ramblings before the end… a tribe perhaps a hundred strong has infested the Witchwood, probably having crossed over from the Skull Gorge Pass. She also mentioned” Norro gulped visibly “some sort of necromantic curse overtaking the old keep.”

“Hmm. It seems likely then that we head to this Skull Gorge, to investigate,” Tarnus considered “Is there any aid you could offer us before we set out?”

“I’ll speak with the wise in out village” Soranna replied “we’re a small township, but we have some means. Whatever I can gather, I will bring to you midday tomorrow. Is that agreeable?” The knight nodded his assent.

“We gathered a pair of magical blades earlier. Is there anyone in Drellin’s Ferry who could help us unravel their dweomers?”

“Sertieren the Wise. He lives in a mansion overlooking the river. You can’t miss it.”

The Speaker and the Captain arose, but Soranna hesitated a moment longer. “Venturing into the Witchwood has always been a risky venture, but even moreso now, and you’ll need to pass through to get to Skull Gorge. You’d be wise to seek out Jorr, last of the verderers around these parts. You can find him on the Witch Trail – it goes right across it – or, if you come off the Dawn Way you’ll find a turning about nine miles from the edge.”

“Many thanks.” Sir Tarnus saluted, and Soranna returned the gesture before departing.

“Ah, that’s the way.” Chuckled Tom as he thought on one of his favourite teachings – true strength comes in aiding others to find their own – before downing his pint. “Why don’t we all go and check out that Apple. I’ve got a bit of a thirst on.” Only Tarnus declined, instead deciding to seek out Sertieren and have the swords identified.

 

[Pedestrian]

The next morning, Marduk terrified the stable boy, the fright only compounded by the appearance of Tom Morris and Marcus from other stalls. They had decided they would rather spend the night in solidarity with their friend, sleeping with the horses, than enjoy comfortable beds while he languished in the cold. Sir Tarnus, who had chosen to sleep in a comfortable bed, was already awake and taking breakfast in common room, having made his venerations to the Divine Champion previously.

Happy to wait for Captain Soranna, the four enjoyed a light meal upon the Green – though Marduk was somewhat distressed when a mother took her children from playing too near. Midday arrived, and the Captain was punctual. She presented the four with several scrolls and elixirs gathered from the Salacian Orthodox Church of Pelor, the congenial Sertieren the Wise (who Sir Tarnus had had the pleasure of acquainting himself with the previous night while the others had been enjoying the green apple. Tom had been relating to him meeting the proprietor – a dwarf woman named Tharrma – who he hoped to talk to again when they returned) and the Grove, a relatively open circle of practitioners of the ancient ways of the Argyles.

They thanked the captain, and left Drellin’s Ferry, heading down the Dawn Way to meet with Jorr, Marduk leading the way. Sir Tarnus decided that, if they were heading into forest, it would be best for his steed to remain stabled, at least for the time being.

The sun was high in the sky by the time the group reached the verderer’s old cabin. The path leading to it was little more than a game trail, only picked out because of Captain Soranna’s directions and Marduk’s woodslore. The forest here was thick and green, the remains of far larger green lands dating back to before the coming of the Empire.

Marduk started to move forward, but froze, holding up a massive hand to ward off his allies. As he did so, three heavy-set black shapes bolted from out of the cabin, low to the ground. The powerful hunting hounds stopped just shy of the party, barking canine threats, fierce white teeth flashing in the mid-day sun. Marduk stood his ground, making no threatening moves.

“Woodsman Jorr” Sir Tarnus was forced to shout to be heard over the howls of the dogs. “Woodsman Jorr, we were advised to seek you out by Soranna Anita, Guard Captain of Drellin’s Ferry for aid in tracking the goblin menace that threatens the village.”

“Sorrana, you say?” A old man, weathered by his advancing years, lurched from the shadowy porch of the cabin, brandishing a crossbow of pale wood that looked as old as he. He favoured his left leg, but other than the grey hairs on his head and lines upon his face seemed to be in good health, possessing an almost feral air of vigour. He winced in the bright like, fixing one forest green eye on each member of the party, though the crossbow remained unflinchingly pointed at Marduk. “Don’t think that young Soranna’d be sending out a marsh dog to track goblins. Might be that the beast’d be up for joining ‘em.”

“My friend’s name is Marduk, and he hates goblins as much as any human, an’ perhaps as much as me!” Spat Tom, placing his stout body before the gnoll’s, though the top of his head came only to Marduk’s belt. Jorr seemed amused by the image though, and whistled his to his dogs, who immediately dropped their ears, ceased their barking, and turned to ran to their master. The woodsman lowered his crossbow, absently ruffling his hounds before striding over.

“So, Soranna sent you, you say?” He extended his hand to Sir Tarnus, who clasped it firmly. “What do you need of me?”

“Captain Soranna advised us that you would be able to serve as a guide for us through the Witchwood. She said there are none who know these woods better, and we could do well with the aid in finding the nest of the savages that have beset Drellin’s Ferry.”

Jorr nodded. “Hmm. Well, Soranna was right to send you to me. Witchwood is dangerous enough, even without the troubles been raised by those goblins crawling over the place. If you’re looking to put a stop to that, well, I’d be happy to help.” He nodded again, squinting at the group. “I’ll expect to be paid, four gold a day for showing you around the place.”

“What?” Tom’s eyes bulged “Here you are, sayin’ how you hates the goblins, and we’re here to put a stop to their depredations, not asking a thing of the good people of the Ferry as it’s the right thing to do, and you’ll only help for some coin?”

“Good deeds are one thing, but they don’t put bread on my table.” Jorr spared Tom only a brief glance. “Now, do we have an agreement?”

“C’mon Tarnus. Marduk’ll be able t-“

“We have an agreement, Woodsman Jorr.” Sir Tarnus interrupted.

Jorr nodded, quickly ducking into his cabin to fetch his cloak and a pack. “There’s still a good few hours left in the day. Let’s be off.”

 

[Pedestrian]

The sun was low in the sky, and the shadows of the trees stretched long fingers, darkening with the encroaching night. The air was heavy with the smell of wet earth, and echoing through the boughs came the slow gurgle of a stream. The Dawn Way was submerged under boggy water, and the ground had become soggy, clogged with water from the Swift Creek. Jorr walked ahead, testing the ground with a stout length of wood to make sure that they not loose the road, Marduk working alongside him. The woodsman did not speak to the gnoll, but would grunt approval when Marduk displayed a bit of woodslore, which contented the beastman.

“The Creek must have flooded – strange given the weather – which is causing all this bog. Pretty soon, we’ll be come up Blackwater Causeway. The mud there’s deeper, but the causeway runs through it, so none of us will have to swim.” Sure enough, a path of wooden planks, rising scarce a foot above the water, greeted them at the next view. Far more interesting, at least to the companions, was a ruined caravan, half-submerged in the murk by the river.

Immediately, Sir Tarnus and Marduk waded back into the quagmire to investigate. Tom waved them off, emptying muck from his boots, while Marcus watched over the pair. Abruptly, the gnoll stopped and grabbed his friend’s arm to point out a large, strange snake coiled around the wreck. The pair unloosened their weapons before proceeding. They werewithin a few feet of the broken wagon when the snake, hissing, rose up and up, to be joined by five identical beasts, crests flaring as they writhed, joining together in a massive central body which looked like a cross between a lizard’s scaly hide and a bears huge girth.

“Hydra!” Called Marcus, already invoking magic to shield himself. Marduk and Sir Tarnus wasted no time, charging at the beast, and Marduk landed a solid blow against it’s solid trunk, though not without cost as the monster tore at him with its savage maws. Injured, it retreated into deeper waters, leaving only its heads exposed. Sir Tarnus managed to cleave one away, but Marduk fell under another writhing onslaught, and Sir Tarnus only remained standing under the strength of his devotion, hacking wildly as the snapping, slavering heads that surrounded him.

“Blasted murk! Blasted monster!” Shouted Tom, invoking the power of Kord as he rushed forward, Marcus giving cover as he flung arcane projectiles one after the other, fishing Marduk out from the waters he had sunk into, channelling healing energy into his friend, who quickly revived. The stout priest looked up at the monster in horror as its ruined neck stump began the horrific process of regrowing a head.

Forsaking the meagre impact of his minor arcana, Marcus called upon the powers of the gems lodged in his spear. He summoned fire and sent a bolt of incandescent flame just behind the creature, blasting it, raising pained screams. Again, a globe of fire, and the reptilian cries filled the mire as the hydra’s exposed heads were blasted to pieces. With only two heads remaining, the creature abandoned its nest, retreating up the river. Sir Tarnus was all set to pursue it, but could not follow into the water.

A quick search of the wagon revealed it to be a wrecked supply caravan of goblin origin, only bones and rust to tell of their fate. One skeleton, presumably of high rank, wore a breastplate that was still in excellent condition. Marcus examined it, determining that it was indeed of magical manufacture. It was quickly decided that Marduk should have it. Their investigation complete, Tom, Sir Tarnus and Marduk regained the causeway, where Tom healed the hurts of his friends using a white wand.

They pressed on over the creek, fat with flood water from the mountains, and soon regained dry-land. The flood water subsided, and once again they were upon the Dawn Way. The darkness was growing thick, and Jorr advised that it would be best to camp for the evening. He was interrupted by a piercing shriek.

The four produced weapons and looked about, seeking an enemy. Jorr pointed through the woods to a ruined tower, just visible through the trees. At the top of the tower, a ghastly green light flickered, and again came a cry of ghastly torment. “Vraath Keep.” Said Jorr by way of explanation. “Some say as it’s haunted, though I’m not so sure. That green light, that’s not been about before.” The old man sat down, unpacking some food.

“Vraath Keep?” Repeated Sir Tarnus. The name was familiar… He reached into his belt, to produce a soggy parchment, long forgotten since arriving at the ferry. Their original reason for coming this far north. Though now almost illegible, some words could still be made out. Was that word Vraath, or was he just imagining things in the unreadable ruin?

“Aye, Vraath. I reckon it might be place the goblins’d think to hole up in. Not many people like to go up there” the old man shivered “As I say, some say it’s haunted. Still, might be worth a look.”

Marduk, having removed his armour for the night, paused for a moment, then reached into his own pack, producing one of the elixirs Captain Soranna had gifted the group with, a phial of crystal clear liquid. He showed it to the others. “I could go. I move quicker than you all. I’d be up there, and back, and they’d never see me. If there’s anything there.” Sir Tarnus nodded his approval.

“Be careful, friend.” Advised Tom, fixing the gnoll with a serious look. “Mind out for anything… unnatural.” Marduk nodded, gulped down the potion, and was gone.

 

[Pedestrian]

Session 3: Marduk Scouts, and the assault on Vraath Keep

Not-being-seen was strange. He was sure that touching things would break the spell, but that made moving in a forest hard, with all the branches. He decided it would be best to crawl along on his belly. Would that count as touching? It helped that being low meant he wouldn’t be spotted. Wait, he was not-seen, so that didn’t matter. Couldn’t stand up though. Might bang something, and then he would be seen. The earth here smelt of old and new death and fires and goblin piss. That was new. He wasn’t sure if the spell made him quiet too, so he held his breath as long as he could. There, ahead. He entered a clearing, and on a low hill the stone-house. He could stand, but no, they might see him. Of course not. He was not-seen. He craned his neck upwards to look at the building. The highest part pointed up above the rest like a finger, green fire shining from a window making a nail. A finger, pointing up at the sky. Only stars and black there. A piercing shriek echoed down from the finger, and he fought the urge to whimper. If he was heard, that might break the spell. He rose off his belly, risked a quick sprint. There, an entryway and bones. Big bones. Bigger than him. That was where the old death smell came from. It looked like the doors had been bashed in. Good, he wouldn’t have to touch them, and could look more. Inside. It stank of goblins here. Goblin dung, wolfs too. And a cat maybe? Over the broken door and into the house. Lots of little buildings in the big building, lots of doors, but they were closed. The inside was filled with big rocks, and more big bones. Still low, glad it was night and his fur was black. But no, he was not-seen, so it did not matter. Inwards. One of the little-buildings-inside-the-big-building was connected to the green finger. Like a fist. There were voices from inside, the stink of goblins and something else, something furry. Another Marsh Dog? One of the walls was bashed in, with more bones. He crept over the rocks. Quiet. Don’t breathe. Four goblins around a fire, and a hairy creature with horns. Not a marsh dog. The hairy-horned-thing looked at him, and he froze. Did it see him? No, he was not-seen. Good. Across the stones. Another building, it’s door nearly off its hinges. Smells of maybe a cat wafted out. He snuck through. The slightly swinging door brushed his shoulder. Panic! But worse, glowing green cat-eyes the size of plates opened, and the not-cat breathed in deep, looking at his direction. He froze. What to do? But the magic held. He was not-seen. But the not-cat sniffed in his direction. Too much! He ran, over the rubble and past the big bones and down the hill. Only when he was in the forest did he slow.

*

Marduk burst into the camp site, shocking Marcus, who had been on guard as he materialised after nearly tripping over the seated mage. The ruckus woke Tom and Sir Tarnus, and the three tried to calm the Gnoll as he babbled about green-fingers and not-cats. Slowly, he calmed, and the rest of the group got a picture of what went on at the keep. It seemed that the goblinoids were quite lax at this time, content that the superstitious fear of the keep would stop any investigators. Knowing something of the habits of goblins, it was decided that they would attempt a daylight assault, where the night-sighted creatures would have less of an advantage, and would be tired from their nocturnal activities. Jorr stated firmly that he would remain here at the camp site and wait for them. Tom looked disgusted, but Sir Tarnus nodded his assent. Given Tom and Sir Tarnus’ reliance on heavy armour, stealth was out of the question. Instead, a frontal assault would be used. They set off through the forest, Marduk leading the way.

Sir Tarnus was astonished at the sight of the giant bones – Marduk’s description of “big bones” had not impressed itself upon his mind – while Tom muttered a swift prayer to Kade, hoping that the bones were just that, and not unholy minions of the curse on the keep. Luck was with them as they hustled over the broken gatehouse, the goblins having not set guards.

The quartet gained the advantage of surprise over the main body of the hobgoblins and their minotaur commander. Sir Tarnus challenged the beast to face him, quelling the bestial creature with his steely devotion. Marcus used arcane energy to engorge his gnoll ally, swelling him to Ogrish proportions. Tom called upon Kade’s beneficence, uplifting his allies and cursing his enemies. Two hobgoblins bolted, one out the hole in the wall, the other through a door that undoubtedly led to the haunted tower. Sir Tarnus engaged the minotaur, slaying the beast as it attempted to flee, and Marduk and Tom hewed down hobgoblins left and right. Marcus attempted to blast the hobgoblin that was now rushing across the courtyard, but was too late as it battered its fists upon the stable door, alerting the worg riders within, who burst out in short order.

From within a broken down building emerged the “not-cat” Marduk had spoken of, a brutish, bat-winged creature with a spiked tail. “Manticore” murmured Marcus to no one in particular as he blasted a goblin off of its worg. It seemed content to watch the carnage, however, as the adventurers battled its “allies”. Marduk chased the last worg rider down, cleaving the snapping devil-wolf in two, letting the panicked goblin flee.

“Looks like one got away to warn the ghost.” Stated Tom. The others nodded. They waited a few minutes, then formed up before the door, Marduk in the lead. With a careless foot, he opened it, to be confronted by a bow-wielding hobgoblin and a hulking, hairy bugbear.

“Friend, protect me.” The bugbear seized the initiative, entrapping Marduk’s mind. The massive Gnoll smiled at his new friend, and strode through the door to stand beside him. Marcus flung bolts of arcane force at the hobgoblin, while Tom invoked the power of Kade once more – with the exception that he now designated Marduk as “foe”. Sir Tarnus attempted to charge into the chamber, at which point the waiting hobgoblin slammed the door in his face. Irritated the templar shoved the door open.

Marcus last sight was of the bugbear pointing a hooked claw at him, whispering in goblin. “Shadows milky, eyes rot.” His confusion lasted only a second, as darkness clouded his vision. He was blind. Sir Tarnus rushed the hobgoblin, slamming him aside to gain entry, while Tom moved more cautiously inward. It was not certain whether Marduk would lash out unprovoked, or seek only to protect his new master. Struggling to decide what to do, he opted to call down Kade’s wrath on the bugbear, but the creature’s will was so strong that it shrugged off the effect. Tom was relieved to note that this did not seem to provoke his friend.

The bugbear called out to Sir Tarnus, once more in the Common tongue, “Friend, protect me”. He was shocked to see the warrior shrug off his enchantment through the strength of his conviction “My faith shield me from your black magic, monster” cried the human as he finished off the remaining hobgoblin. Seeing how the battle was turning, the bugbear swallowed a potion, levitating a few feet in the air. As he tried to fly away, Sir Tarnus lashed out with his sword in an over-head lunge, wounding the bugbear.

This pushed the ensorcelled gnoll over the edge. Bellowing fury, Marduk leapt at Sir Tarnus, hacking madly with his great-axe, cleaving a bloody arc across his flesh. For a scant moment, the templar’s knees shook and it looked as if he might buckled under the force of the blow.

“Heironeus!” Sir Tarnus called, his eyes shining with fervour. He span around and impaled Marduk on his great sword. It seemed that even this killing strike would not stop Marduk, who lashed and spat at the human, screaming in a rage. Then, the terrible impact of the wound took it’s toll, and Marduk slumped, sliding off the end of Sir Tarnus’ blade.

The knight had already turned once more to face the bugbear, but too late, as the evil sorcerer flew up and out of the tower.

Tom rushed forward, pulling a scroll from his pouch to dispel what curse the bugbear had placed upon Marduk, then urgently set to restoring the gnoll’s health. He found that, despite the severity of Sir Tarnus’ sword blow, his friend yet lived, and channelling the divine energy of Kade, he soon revived him. The gnoll favoured Tom a doggy grin, but would not look at Sir Tarnus.

 

[Pedestrian]

In the other room, Marcus was alone in darkness. Distant, he heard voices calling, the clash of weaponry and replying screams of pain. Marduk had been struck down. Silence, broken by Tom’s quiet prayers. An inhalation and cough. Movement. There, shouts in goblin from overhead, ignored by the others. A throaty growl, and the clashing sound of powerful wings beating. The acrid stench of carrion, a crash, a deafening roar. The Manticore!

“Help!” Marcus shouted, panic as he looked around futilely. He channelled power from his staff, flinging magic wildly, but his efforts were rewarded with cries of pain. Now the rattle of armour as Sir Tarnus charged into the room, a bellow as Marduk followed. A ripping sound of flesh as the gnoll’s axe bit deep into flesh, the iron-tang of blood swamping the air.

Then, a hand on his, rough fingers with a healer’s touch. “No fear, my friend, no fear. I am with you.” Tom. He held on.

 

[Pedestrian]

Tom Morris was a true son of Bereg, and had a knack for stone. He and Marduk were pressed to the floor of the bugbear’s chambers, the dwarf gently tapping the flagstones.

“Hear that my lamb?” He tapped again. Marduk did not, but he nodded dutifully. “That is hollow. Which means” Tom sat up “that there is something under here. Something the goblins didn’t find. Here, help me shift it.” It was heavy, but Marduk’s muscles alone would have been sufficient to the task. They pulled out the loose stone, revealing a set of iron rungs set into the wall. Eagerly, the pair clambered down.

The utter darkness was no trouble to them, and they took stock of their surroundings. On the floor, an ancient skeleton impaled on an arrow the size of a javelin, an ornate sword still clutched in one cadaverous hand. Three alcoves sat behind three iron grates.

“I don’t suppose we have a key?” Tom asked the dead body “No? Well, I commend you to Kade anyway.” He looked to Marduk. “Looks like this is going to take muscle.” Marduk grinned, and hefted his axe.

The din of the two bashing away at the iron echoed up through the ruined keep, finally reaching the ears of Sir Tarnus and Marcus. They had broken into another room, looking for a seat for the blinded mage. It had turned out to be some sort of war chamber, and the knight had been occupying himself with scanning a battle-map, charting the path the “Red Hand” intended to take across Elsir Vale. The clanging and banging broke his concentration and, when it did not abate, he elected to investigate. Gently, he guided Marcus to the bugbear’s chamber, only to find Tom and Marduk finished with whatever they were doing, and the two of them climbing up out of a black pit, ferrying items up and down with them. They brought several coffers, a gleaming sword, a polished black dragon skull, two necklaces (one with coppery scales, the other giant teeth), two thick bottles (one filled with black liquid, the other with grey), a gauntlet the size of a man’s torso, a staff of silver-white wood imbued with divine energies and an iridescent cloak. Setting this hoard down, the pair set to trying to smash open the coffers with their weaponry.

Sir Tarnus picked one up, looking at the symbol emblazoned on it. “V” he murumured, remembering back to his education at the chapel.

Later that night, having rejoined the tracker Jorr at the campsite, and now a thousand gold and – debatedly – a whole keep richer (A deed found in one of the coffers to Vraath keep and the lands around it. Tom believed they should give the land back to the people of Drellin’s Ferry, the others were not so sure) Sir Tarnus told his companions of the story of Vraath Keep.

After the fall of the Rhestilor Argyles, there had been chaos in their former lands, Elsir. After several decades of this, an heir of the Vraath line sought to unite Elsir Vale under his banner. To this end, he had sought to make the Vale safe, and make a grand gesture of his power. He had set his sites on the giantkin of the Witchwood. His pre-emptive strike against the giants was wildly successful, and after defeating the Witchwood tribe, the Lord Vraath returned to his keep in triumph. His victory was short lived, as the giants who survived called on their mountain relatives and brought ruin to Vraath Keep. The Lord was never heard from again, and his fate remained unknown. Many believed he had fled into ignominy, as no body was ever found. Likely, the skeleton far beneath the Keep was Lord Vraath, dead from the arrow still impaled in him.

Sir Tarnus did not take his eyes from the sword that had been reclaimed from the keep, running a finger over the snowflake pattern that ran across it, shivering at the chill.

 

[Pedestrian]

Session 4: Skull Gorge Bridge

Peering through the tree-line, the four companions looked out over Skull Gorge Bridge. The structure, spanning nearly two hundred feet across the gorge, was Great Empire work and, despite being six centuries old, perhaps more, looked solid. Patrolling the near edge was one of the fiendish hounds they had encountered on the path to Drellin’s Ferry. In each of the near towers rising from the bridge they had seen a hobgoblin sentry, and presumably there were more on the other side. The creatures held long bows at the ready, holding them with confident ease. Of greatest importance, however, was the green dragon languishing at the far end of the bridge. Every half an hour or so, the creature had been making lazy circuits of the bridge, before returning to a circle of tents, the Red Hand encampment.

They had set off from Vraath Keep at first light, tarrying only to allow Tom to invoke Kade’s blessing to heal Marcus’s ravaged eyes. Along the way, they had encountered a forest giant male, withered and old, but still massively strong. The meeting had been cool, and they had escaped, only realising after that the gauntlet recovered from Vraath keep might have some connection to giant. They had returned to where they had found the creature, but it had gone. Not sure what else to do, they had left the gauntlet and pressed on.

Jorr had opted to retreat into the forest, not willing to risk the drake’s wrath. Not wanting to waste the daylight, Sir Tarnus waited for the dragon to complete its circuit and signalled for Marcus and Tom to begin their preparations. Marcus girded himself with magical armour, while Tom entreated Kade’s assistance in the coming battle, bolstering his allies and enhancing his strength. Marcus had time to enlarge Marduk, but the suddenly swollen gnoll caught the attention of the dragon, even from across the bridge. The creature bellowed a warning.

Marduk, taking advantage of his enhanced reach and strength, leapt across the stony grass leading to the bridge, crashing into the hell hound and felling it with one clean blow, catching several arrows from the sentries for his efforts. Marcus detonated a fireball over the two nearest towers, though the hobgoblins attempted to shelter behind the fortifications. Sir Tarnus unslung his longbow, firing arrows up at the towers, while Tom jogged as fast as he could to reach the battle. Marduk’s sensitive ears caught the sound of crunching glass, and looked up to see the dragon swelling in size. At its side stood a familiar figure, the cunning bugbear from the keep. The gnoll snarled and gripped his axe, rage boiling out of him.

Another fireball crashed over head, bringing shrieking agony to the hobgoblins, and Marduk moved to intercept the fiendish dog, brother to the one he had slain, and with one more mighty swing downed the beast. The green dragon took wing, soaring up to the bridge as Tom caught up with Marduk, and vomited forth billowing clouds of acidic poison, catching them both. Tom’s new cloak, gained from the keep, flared brilliant green, lessening the agony. He invoked Kade’s wrath against the serpent, and his prayer to the Dragonslayer was answered, a peel of thundering robbing the beast of its strength.

Marduk’s senses were blanketed by agony. He could scarcely see, blinded by the acid, the chemical stink mixing in his nostrils with the stench of his own dissolving flesh. His strength waned though his anger only grew. He could hear Tom shouting something behind him, and saw the dragon sag, nearly buckle in flight. Marduk did not think, he only acted. With a roar, the gnoll leapt across the wall of the bridge, catching the dragon and grappling its wings. Tom charged after him, hand outstretched, but missed, a golden flash rising from his fingers, alleviating some of his friend’s hurts as Marduk and the drake plummeted to the ground with a gut wrenching echo.

Tom gaped, ignoring the pain of his wounds as arrows rained down from either side. He recalled the staff from the keep and grasped, perhaps irrationally on the idea that it might be of some help. He would need rope. Marcus had rope! An arrow shattered beside his foot, reminding him that he would need to see to the immediate situation before anything else. The dwarf beseeched his god to lessen his hurts, and was answered.

Sir Tarnus, meanwhile, had given up his bow in frustration, unable to strike the sentries in the towers, which Marcus had whittled down to a single archer who was gamely putting arrows into Tom. Across the bridge, the hobgoblins were massing fire on Tom under the orders of the bugbear from Vraath Keep. A ferocious bellow echoed up from the cavern, and all eyes stared unbelieving as the green dragon emerged from the ravine, it’s scales shattered, body broken, but still, impossibly alive. It soared back to it’s tower, where the bugbear, with a flash of light emanating from his belt, alleviated some of its hurts. Tom was infuriated and, with a curse as ancient as his people, called down his god’s anger against the dragon. Once more there was a peel of thunder and the vigour drained from the drake, fading from emerald to grey.

Sir Tarnus cast aside his bow and ran forward to stand with Tom, a hobgoblins bearing a bloody handed shield ordering his men to bring them down. As the bugbear pushed its way down the stairs, the dragon took wing once more, soaring over the pair, coating them in acid as it flew past. The dwarf, battered and bruised, nearly fell, but the beneficence of his god held him up.

Marcus, who had been attempting to remove the last of the sentries with carefully placed magical missiles, looked up in time to see the dragon, foaming at the mouth, swoop down on him. He attempted to tap into his growing reservoir of personal might, but too late as the beast clamped its massive jaws down on him. A flurry of fang and claw, and the sorcerer slumped to the ground, bleeding heavily.

The two on the bridge had been retreating, attempting to out distance the arrows of the hobgoblins, and save their friend, when the bugbear pushed his way to the fore, one clawed hand, wreathed in energy, extended before him.

“Suffer” he crowed, locking fierce red eyes on Sir Tarnus.

The knight had only scants seconds. He looked at Tom. “Flee.” And then he was gone, engulfed as an arc of arcane lightning crackled across the bridge.

Tom’s mind reeled in confusion. He looked wildly about. Marduk was dead, a fierce warrior whose sacrifice had proved in vain. Tarnus was dead, a charred ruin of a once proud man. Marcus was likely slain under the claws of the dragon which was even now bearing down on him. He could not leave them here, those who had died to bravely. He must stay. He must.

He called upon Kade once again, bolstering his failing strength with divine power, then dragged the body of his fallen ally around the tower. He might not be able to shake the dragon, but he could at least avoid the arrows of the blasted hobgoblins. Dropping Sir Tarnus, he prepared himself for the dragon’s attack.

As the beast swept in, Tom called out to his god for a final time, and once more was answered. His blade glowed bronze, cloaking the dragon in slowing shadow. The dragon, near blind from the halo, chomped down upon the dwarf’s vambrace, doing no harm. But Tom could not balance himself, and his return blow swung ineffectually off of the beast’s armoured belly.

The dwarf looked up into the dragon’s slavering mouth, dripping with foul acid. He could hear the stomping of hobgoblin boots crossing the old bridge. He mouthed a last prayer to Kade as the drake’s jaws descended.

 

[Pedestrian]

There was darkness, and light. Pain and heat followed by coolness. Earthy smells, tainted by the coppery tang of blood. Rough, skilled hands carried him, nursed him. Relief flooded him at the familiar touch. His friends must have won through.

“Tom…” Marcus’ voice was a harsh whisper. Pain! He opened blood gummed eyes, looking into a haggard, familiar face.

“I’m… I’m sorry son. I couldn’t save your friends” replied Jorr “You rest now.”

Marcus tumbled once more into lonely darkness, away from the burning wounds and aching sorrow.