Issue #6: The Raid on SySy's Compound. Episode 1 of 5
We have discovered a ring of smugglers, who we believe are sending human slaves to the ratmen in exchange for ratman poisons. In our first raids on the tower, we broke the central links in the chain, capturing the sorceress Delonia and several of her henchmen.
We tried to stop the first link, the de Asuras family connection, by lying in wait at the tower and feigning to be Delonia and her cronies. However, the sorceress escaped her captivity in Southport, and called a warning to the smugglers as they came ashore. The smugglers escaped our trap and fled to the safety of their ship. The only victory we can claim is having recaptured Delonia.
Now, we have decided to raid the final link in the chain, the compound of the ratmen who are willing to trade with humans, led by the witch SySy. Paks has convinced Delonia to serve at our sides, and she is accompanying us on our way from Southport to the Mourning Marsh. Many of the company do not trust the sorceress, but Grilliam, the priest of Hedrada, has laid a geas on her to compel her trustworthiness.
We awake, having camped at the ruined tower, after an uneventful night’s sleep. It’s morning on the 2nd Belsaday of Charder, 150 AV. It’s a gorgeous day; the sun is shining, the sky is cloudless and very blue, and there is a brisk breeze coming off from the ocean. The breeze is welcome, as it promises to be a very warm day.
We are on our way to the Mourning Marshes, to check out the trading post run by SySy, the rat woman witch. It’s still most of a day's travel to our next planned campsite, the ruins of the standing stones, so we get up early and begin preparing to go.
As she serves breakfast, Miriel says to our guide, “Jim, that story you told last night kept me up.”
“Which one?” the tall Vigilant asks.
“About the ravenous halflings,” she says. “I was wondering, can we mix something in the food, to slow them down? You said they took the food first, then the horses...”
Jim smiles at her. “They’re really not that dangerous.”
“Well, you sure scared me with that story,” she says.
“We could probably find something in the swamp, if we had to.”
Milo, the sneaky halfling who followed us to the tower, asks her, “Would we drug the food and leave it around?” He, too, has been adopted into our group, though the general consensus is to keep a watchful eye on him. Chuck, in particular, seems mistrustful.
“No,” Miriel says, “We’d throw it to them, like wild dogs.”
“Sounds like a great idea to me!” says the halfling.
Jim chews his food unconcernedly. “Sure, we can do something,” he says.
“Introduce them to the pleasures of rum,” jokes Paks.
Milo takes her seriously. “Do we have any?” he asks, wide-eyed.
Goldpetal, the elven druid, steps through the door of the tower, returning from his morning meditations. He’s apparently heard some of this as he approached, as he is shaking his head. “Drink makes some creatures more aggressive.”
“I’m just scared,” Miriel says, as she finishes her meal. “I want to be prepared.”
Paks sees that everyone has finished eating. “It’s getting late,” she says. “Let’s continue this while we walk.”
We pack camp and set out. To spare the horses, we all walk, leading the horses and cart. The road ends a little ways south of the tower, along the coast. Looking south, we don’t see anything for miles, just a vast, gently rolling plain. Our destination, a circle of ancient standing stones, lie well to the west, far inland.
Goldpetal inquires, “Is there a high point on the way that we can see the ruins from?”
“No, the ruins are the high point,” Jim tells him. “It’s strange. It’s very flat all around the hill that the ruins sit atop. We can go up there and see for miles, though.”
Delonia shudders. “We never went there,” she says.
Our journey continues through fields broken by the occasional small copse of trees. Once we pass between the two forests, we occasionally see abandoned farmhouses. Jim says that they’ve been abandoned a long time, with the ratmen and the swamp hag in the area.
Around midday, we can see the hill of the standing stones off in the distance. We’ve seen the usual creatures of the sky and fields, but no people, ratmen, or sign of monsters.
We approach the hill in the mid afternoon. As we draw near, Goldpetal looks around for places to hide, in case we have to run from someone at the ruins. There are plenty of little copses.
“We should look for a campsite,” Jim says, “Obviously, we don’t want to enter the swamp at the end of the day, and spend the night there.”
“Definitely not,” agrees Delonia. “We can use our regular campsite.”
“Can it be seen from the hillside?” asks Goldpetal, glancing warily towards the standing stones, which loom ominously above us.
“No,” she answers with a shake of her head. “It’s fairly well-concealed.” Chuck, though he doesn’t say so, thinks that was to be expected, since they were bandits and smugglers traveling with slaves.
When we reach the foot of the hill, a few minutes later, there is a brief discussion.
“It looks too high and steep to bring the horses and cart up,” Chuck observes.
“We’ll leave them down here,” Jim asserts. “It only takes half an hour or so to climb. Who’s coming with me?”
Miriel looks at the horses. “We’ll be able to see for miles,” she points out, “And there’s no cover here. We could just watch the horses behind us as we climb, and all go up the hill.”
Her suggestion is adopted, and we hobble the horses. The way is steep, and we are quickly winded. It takes, as predicted, half an hour to reach the top.
At the crown of the hill, there is a ring of ancient stones, oblong and almost rectangular in shape. Many are standing, and each is at least ten feet tall, as much as five feet wide, and easily three or four feet thick. Some others have been pushed on their sides, and a few are broken, but we can still the circle they once made. In the middle, at the center, the highest point of the hill, there is an old stone table. We are all tired and hot from the climb, but it is quite windy at the top and we cool off quickly.
Goldpetal and Chuck scan the area for tracks, but the top is hard-packed dirt with scattered gravel, and neither of them can find much.
Jim calls Chuck over to the stone table. “Chuck, what can you tell from this?” he asks, in the tone of a teacher with a student. He points at some brown stains on the table.
Chuck looks at it, but the look of confusion on his face is clear indication that he’s not able to tell much from it. “It’s dried blood?” he asks hesitantly.
“Yes. Look here. This blood isn’t very old,” Jim says, “A couple of months, at most.” He explains to Chuck how to judge the age of the blood, gauging its color and how much of it has flaked away due to erosion from the wind and rain.
Chuck asks, “Can you tell what kind of blood it is?”
“Only that it’s from a mammal,” Jim says.
Meanwhile, Milo and Goldpetal examine the stones themselves. Milo counts twelve stones.
Into each of them is carved a symbol, a circle with wavy lines radiating from it. Each stone has a similar symbol, but with different numbers of radiating lines. There doesn’t seem to be any pattern to them. Under his breath, as he examines one, Goldpetal mutters to himself, “This is the symbol of Gormoth, the Warper!”
Milo overhears him. “The Writhing One?” he asks, peering under Goldpetal’s elbow.
Goldpetal looks at him sharply. “How do you know that?” he demands. “I though his name had been forgotten by mortal men.”
The halfling shrugs and looks evasive. “You hear things,” he says, “Things to avoid.”
Goldpetal’s voice grows intense. “Have you met his followers?”
“No, no!” Milo insists, looking around for help. Luckily for him, the others, having completed their investigations, walk up just as he is sweating under Goldpetal’s glare.
Paks, looking at the stones, asks Goldpetal, “Whose symbol is that?” Milo looks grateful, as she has distracted the elf from his intent inquiry.
“Gormoth the Warper,” says Goldpetal, with his favorite lecture voice. “Who took creatures both mortal and immortal, and warped them into vile and hideous forms. It makes sense, for the spider goblins are his … or once were. They might not still be.”
Milo looks torn between the desire to be forgotten about, and curiosity. Curiosity wins out. “What happened to him after the war?” he asks.
Goldpetal says, “He was cleft in half and his two halves were placed on the sides of a giant canyon; they reside there still.”
“Where?” asks Milo.
“No one knows,” Goldpetal says. “His followers have been searching for it for many years, for they hope that by sacrificing creatures they can bring his two halves together again.”
Milo wanders away, looking around on the ground, perhaps to let the others distract Goldpetal, or perhaps to see if there’s anything we’ve missed.
“I know a little about Gormoth, too,” Jim says. “Legend has it that he wasn’t always so twisted and evil. He was once known as the Lifegiver. The story I’ve heard is that he was the first to create the living races, and the other titans were jealous. They were so jealous that they poisoned him. Of course, no poison could kill a titan, but the poison caused Gormoth constant pain, and the pain gradually warped him. Now, his followers are always sadists.”
Goldpetal takes Miriel aside. “Can you consecrate this ground?” he asks.
Miriel shakes her head. “No,” she says. “That’s way beyond me.”
“Oh,” Goldpetal says, looking at her. “I didn’t think it was that advanced.”
“Maybe not,” Miriel says, “But it’s still beyond me.”
“Can you at least detect magic?” Goldpetal asks her.
“Yes.” Miriel takes a moment of prayer to Madriel, and begins casting detect magic.
As she invokes the ritual, the rest of the group gathers around Jim, who points out landmarks in the surrounding terrain. To the east, we can see the ocean and the spider wood, although the ruined tower is too far away to see. To the south, the land slopes down to a marsh, edged with stunted trees. It’s not so far; we could reach it with a ninety minute walk. The marsh goes on as far as the eye can see, a soggy land dotted with lakes. It is covered with trees, twisted and dripping with moss. To the west, slightly to the north of due west, we can see some fields and an orchard or two. Jim identifies this as Kratys Freehold, the only farmstead this far south. He tells us that Taryn Kratys, who fought in the battle of Two Trees many years ago, runs it.
Although the day is sunny and warm, and Paks is wearing chain mail, she shivers. “I feel very uneasy here,” she says. “Let’s go back down.”
Miriel has finished casting her spell, and says, “I can see why. There are faint traces of a strong evil, all around this place. It’s very much the feel of the titans.”
Goldpetal smiles grimly, and says, “I never thought I’d say it, but I wish Stone was here. He could move these stones easily.”
“Maybe we could do it?” asks Chuck.
Jim nods thoughtfully, and says, “With a couple of days of work.”
Milo suggests, in a rapid-fire babble of excitement, “Could we make the earth softer with spells? And tie a rope around one of the stones, bringing the horses up to move it?”
Miriel shakes her head. “Let’s just stick to our mission. Delonia, can you point out anything else?”
Delonia points out the path, little more than a dirt track, which leads south of the hilltop towards the swamp, following the meandering course of a nearby stream. We can’t see much of where it enters the swamp because of the trees. The track looks little-traveled, and would have been easy to miss without her experienced eyes. She points out the area of the campsite in the streambed, but it really can’t be seen easily.
Milo notices a lot of burned areas among the stones. He looks up to Delonia. “Could we see a torch, up here, from the campsite?”
“Certainly,” she says, nodding her head. “The top of the hill is visible for miles around.”
We head back down the hill, and begin walking towards the campsite, which is about half way between the hill and the swamp, less than an hour away. Chuck keeps an eye out for other people, but we see no one.
3rd of July, 2002
Issue #6
The Raid of SySy’s Compound
The Raid of SySy’s Compound
We have discovered a ring of smugglers, who we believe are sending human slaves to the ratmen in exchange for ratman poisons. In our first raids on the tower, we broke the central links in the chain, capturing the sorceress Delonia and several of her henchmen.
We tried to stop the first link, the de Asuras family connection, by lying in wait at the tower and feigning to be Delonia and her cronies. However, the sorceress escaped her captivity in Southport, and called a warning to the smugglers as they came ashore. The smugglers escaped our trap and fled to the safety of their ship. The only victory we can claim is having recaptured Delonia.
Now, we have decided to raid the final link in the chain, the compound of the ratmen who are willing to trade with humans, led by the witch SySy. Paks has convinced Delonia to serve at our sides, and she is accompanying us on our way from Southport to the Mourning Marsh. Many of the company do not trust the sorceress, but Grilliam, the priest of Hedrada, has laid a geas on her to compel her trustworthiness.
We awake, having camped at the ruined tower, after an uneventful night’s sleep. It’s morning on the 2nd Belsaday of Charder, 150 AV. It’s a gorgeous day; the sun is shining, the sky is cloudless and very blue, and there is a brisk breeze coming off from the ocean. The breeze is welcome, as it promises to be a very warm day.
We are on our way to the Mourning Marshes, to check out the trading post run by SySy, the rat woman witch. It’s still most of a day's travel to our next planned campsite, the ruins of the standing stones, so we get up early and begin preparing to go.
As she serves breakfast, Miriel says to our guide, “Jim, that story you told last night kept me up.”
“Which one?” the tall Vigilant asks.
“About the ravenous halflings,” she says. “I was wondering, can we mix something in the food, to slow them down? You said they took the food first, then the horses...”
Jim smiles at her. “They’re really not that dangerous.”
“Well, you sure scared me with that story,” she says.
“We could probably find something in the swamp, if we had to.”
Milo, the sneaky halfling who followed us to the tower, asks her, “Would we drug the food and leave it around?” He, too, has been adopted into our group, though the general consensus is to keep a watchful eye on him. Chuck, in particular, seems mistrustful.
“No,” Miriel says, “We’d throw it to them, like wild dogs.”
“Sounds like a great idea to me!” says the halfling.
Jim chews his food unconcernedly. “Sure, we can do something,” he says.
“Introduce them to the pleasures of rum,” jokes Paks.
Milo takes her seriously. “Do we have any?” he asks, wide-eyed.
Goldpetal, the elven druid, steps through the door of the tower, returning from his morning meditations. He’s apparently heard some of this as he approached, as he is shaking his head. “Drink makes some creatures more aggressive.”
“I’m just scared,” Miriel says, as she finishes her meal. “I want to be prepared.”
Paks sees that everyone has finished eating. “It’s getting late,” she says. “Let’s continue this while we walk.”
We pack camp and set out. To spare the horses, we all walk, leading the horses and cart. The road ends a little ways south of the tower, along the coast. Looking south, we don’t see anything for miles, just a vast, gently rolling plain. Our destination, a circle of ancient standing stones, lie well to the west, far inland.
Goldpetal inquires, “Is there a high point on the way that we can see the ruins from?”
“No, the ruins are the high point,” Jim tells him. “It’s strange. It’s very flat all around the hill that the ruins sit atop. We can go up there and see for miles, though.”
Delonia shudders. “We never went there,” she says.
Our journey continues through fields broken by the occasional small copse of trees. Once we pass between the two forests, we occasionally see abandoned farmhouses. Jim says that they’ve been abandoned a long time, with the ratmen and the swamp hag in the area.
Around midday, we can see the hill of the standing stones off in the distance. We’ve seen the usual creatures of the sky and fields, but no people, ratmen, or sign of monsters.
We approach the hill in the mid afternoon. As we draw near, Goldpetal looks around for places to hide, in case we have to run from someone at the ruins. There are plenty of little copses.
“We should look for a campsite,” Jim says, “Obviously, we don’t want to enter the swamp at the end of the day, and spend the night there.”
“Definitely not,” agrees Delonia. “We can use our regular campsite.”
“Can it be seen from the hillside?” asks Goldpetal, glancing warily towards the standing stones, which loom ominously above us.
“No,” she answers with a shake of her head. “It’s fairly well-concealed.” Chuck, though he doesn’t say so, thinks that was to be expected, since they were bandits and smugglers traveling with slaves.
When we reach the foot of the hill, a few minutes later, there is a brief discussion.
“It looks too high and steep to bring the horses and cart up,” Chuck observes.
“We’ll leave them down here,” Jim asserts. “It only takes half an hour or so to climb. Who’s coming with me?”
Miriel looks at the horses. “We’ll be able to see for miles,” she points out, “And there’s no cover here. We could just watch the horses behind us as we climb, and all go up the hill.”
Her suggestion is adopted, and we hobble the horses. The way is steep, and we are quickly winded. It takes, as predicted, half an hour to reach the top.
At the crown of the hill, there is a ring of ancient stones, oblong and almost rectangular in shape. Many are standing, and each is at least ten feet tall, as much as five feet wide, and easily three or four feet thick. Some others have been pushed on their sides, and a few are broken, but we can still the circle they once made. In the middle, at the center, the highest point of the hill, there is an old stone table. We are all tired and hot from the climb, but it is quite windy at the top and we cool off quickly.
Goldpetal and Chuck scan the area for tracks, but the top is hard-packed dirt with scattered gravel, and neither of them can find much.
Jim calls Chuck over to the stone table. “Chuck, what can you tell from this?” he asks, in the tone of a teacher with a student. He points at some brown stains on the table.
Chuck looks at it, but the look of confusion on his face is clear indication that he’s not able to tell much from it. “It’s dried blood?” he asks hesitantly.
“Yes. Look here. This blood isn’t very old,” Jim says, “A couple of months, at most.” He explains to Chuck how to judge the age of the blood, gauging its color and how much of it has flaked away due to erosion from the wind and rain.
Chuck asks, “Can you tell what kind of blood it is?”
“Only that it’s from a mammal,” Jim says.
Meanwhile, Milo and Goldpetal examine the stones themselves. Milo counts twelve stones.
Into each of them is carved a symbol, a circle with wavy lines radiating from it. Each stone has a similar symbol, but with different numbers of radiating lines. There doesn’t seem to be any pattern to them. Under his breath, as he examines one, Goldpetal mutters to himself, “This is the symbol of Gormoth, the Warper!”
Milo overhears him. “The Writhing One?” he asks, peering under Goldpetal’s elbow.
Goldpetal looks at him sharply. “How do you know that?” he demands. “I though his name had been forgotten by mortal men.”
The halfling shrugs and looks evasive. “You hear things,” he says, “Things to avoid.”
Goldpetal’s voice grows intense. “Have you met his followers?”
“No, no!” Milo insists, looking around for help. Luckily for him, the others, having completed their investigations, walk up just as he is sweating under Goldpetal’s glare.
Paks, looking at the stones, asks Goldpetal, “Whose symbol is that?” Milo looks grateful, as she has distracted the elf from his intent inquiry.
“Gormoth the Warper,” says Goldpetal, with his favorite lecture voice. “Who took creatures both mortal and immortal, and warped them into vile and hideous forms. It makes sense, for the spider goblins are his … or once were. They might not still be.”
Milo looks torn between the desire to be forgotten about, and curiosity. Curiosity wins out. “What happened to him after the war?” he asks.
Goldpetal says, “He was cleft in half and his two halves were placed on the sides of a giant canyon; they reside there still.”
“Where?” asks Milo.
“No one knows,” Goldpetal says. “His followers have been searching for it for many years, for they hope that by sacrificing creatures they can bring his two halves together again.”
Milo wanders away, looking around on the ground, perhaps to let the others distract Goldpetal, or perhaps to see if there’s anything we’ve missed.
“I know a little about Gormoth, too,” Jim says. “Legend has it that he wasn’t always so twisted and evil. He was once known as the Lifegiver. The story I’ve heard is that he was the first to create the living races, and the other titans were jealous. They were so jealous that they poisoned him. Of course, no poison could kill a titan, but the poison caused Gormoth constant pain, and the pain gradually warped him. Now, his followers are always sadists.”
Goldpetal takes Miriel aside. “Can you consecrate this ground?” he asks.
Miriel shakes her head. “No,” she says. “That’s way beyond me.”
“Oh,” Goldpetal says, looking at her. “I didn’t think it was that advanced.”
“Maybe not,” Miriel says, “But it’s still beyond me.”
“Can you at least detect magic?” Goldpetal asks her.
“Yes.” Miriel takes a moment of prayer to Madriel, and begins casting detect magic.
As she invokes the ritual, the rest of the group gathers around Jim, who points out landmarks in the surrounding terrain. To the east, we can see the ocean and the spider wood, although the ruined tower is too far away to see. To the south, the land slopes down to a marsh, edged with stunted trees. It’s not so far; we could reach it with a ninety minute walk. The marsh goes on as far as the eye can see, a soggy land dotted with lakes. It is covered with trees, twisted and dripping with moss. To the west, slightly to the north of due west, we can see some fields and an orchard or two. Jim identifies this as Kratys Freehold, the only farmstead this far south. He tells us that Taryn Kratys, who fought in the battle of Two Trees many years ago, runs it.
Although the day is sunny and warm, and Paks is wearing chain mail, she shivers. “I feel very uneasy here,” she says. “Let’s go back down.”
Miriel has finished casting her spell, and says, “I can see why. There are faint traces of a strong evil, all around this place. It’s very much the feel of the titans.”
Goldpetal smiles grimly, and says, “I never thought I’d say it, but I wish Stone was here. He could move these stones easily.”
“Maybe we could do it?” asks Chuck.
Jim nods thoughtfully, and says, “With a couple of days of work.”
Milo suggests, in a rapid-fire babble of excitement, “Could we make the earth softer with spells? And tie a rope around one of the stones, bringing the horses up to move it?”
Miriel shakes her head. “Let’s just stick to our mission. Delonia, can you point out anything else?”
Delonia points out the path, little more than a dirt track, which leads south of the hilltop towards the swamp, following the meandering course of a nearby stream. We can’t see much of where it enters the swamp because of the trees. The track looks little-traveled, and would have been easy to miss without her experienced eyes. She points out the area of the campsite in the streambed, but it really can’t be seen easily.
Milo notices a lot of burned areas among the stones. He looks up to Delonia. “Could we see a torch, up here, from the campsite?”
“Certainly,” she says, nodding her head. “The top of the hill is visible for miles around.”
We head back down the hill, and begin walking towards the campsite, which is about half way between the hill and the swamp, less than an hour away. Chuck keeps an eye out for other people, but we see no one.
