Menu
News
All News
Dungeons & Dragons
Level Up: Advanced 5th Edition
Pathfinder
Starfinder
Warhammer
2d20 System
Year Zero Engine
Industry News
Reviews
Dragon Reflections
Columns
Weekly Digests
Weekly News Digest
Freebies, Sales & Bundles
RPG Print News
RPG Crowdfunding News
Game Content
ENterplanetary DimENsions
Mythological Figures
Opinion
Worlds of Design
Peregrine's Next
RPG Evolution
Other Columns
From the Freelancing Frontline
Monster ENcyclopedia
WotC/TSR Alumni Look Back
4 Hours w/RSD (Ryan Dancey)
The Road to 3E (Jonathan Tweet)
Greenwood's Realms (Ed Greenwood)
Drawmij's TSR (Jim Ward)
Community
Forums & Topics
Forum List
Latest Posts
Forum list
*Dungeons & Dragons
Level Up: Advanced 5th Edition
D&D Older Editions
*TTRPGs General
*Pathfinder & Starfinder
EN Publishing
*Geek Talk & Media
Search forums
Chat/Discord
Resources
Wiki
Pages
Latest activity
Media
New media
New comments
Search media
Downloads
Latest reviews
Search resources
EN Publishing
Store
EN5ider
Adventures in ZEITGEIST
Awfully Cheerful Engine
What's OLD is NEW
Judge Dredd & The Worlds Of 2000AD
War of the Burning Sky
Level Up: Advanced 5E
Events & Releases
Upcoming Events
Private Events
Featured Events
Socials!
Twitch
YouTube
Facebook (EN Publishing)
Facebook (EN World)
Twitter
Instagram
TikTok
Podcast
Features
Top 5 RPGs Compiled Charts 2004-Present
Adventure Game Industry Market Research Summary (RPGs) V1.0
Ryan Dancey: Acquiring TSR
Q&A With Gary Gygax
D&D Rules FAQs
TSR, WotC, & Paizo: A Comparative History
D&D Pronunciation Guide
Million Dollar TTRPG Kickstarters
Tabletop RPG Podcast Hall of Fame
Eric Noah's Unofficial D&D 3rd Edition News
D&D in the Mainstream
D&D & RPG History
About Morrus
Log in
Register
What's new
Search
Search
Search titles only
By:
Forums & Topics
Forum List
Latest Posts
Forum list
*Dungeons & Dragons
Level Up: Advanced 5th Edition
D&D Older Editions
*TTRPGs General
*Pathfinder & Starfinder
EN Publishing
*Geek Talk & Media
Search forums
Chat/Discord
Menu
Log in
Register
Install the app
Install
Community
Playing the Game
Story Hour
The White Cloaks: Tales of Borr
JavaScript is disabled. For a better experience, please enable JavaScript in your browser before proceeding.
You are using an out of date browser. It may not display this or other websites correctly.
You should upgrade or use an
alternative browser
.
Reply to thread
Message
<blockquote data-quote="arwink" data-source="post: 4741669" data-attributes="member: 2292"><p>They slog through the rain, wary eyes on hilltops, but there is no further sign of ambush. A sense of relief spreads through everyone as Father Osterbolger sends the order down the line, telling people to slow the pace and starting looking for a decent campsite. It's a tough proposition, given the unfamiliar terrain and the size of the convoy, but the combined efforts of Lik and Eirik turn up a sizable cave that promises to keep them dry and relatively secure. </p><p></p><p>The camp falls into a familiar routine, one honed by several weeks spent travelling together on the road – Osterbolger checking the cargo while everyone secures the area and prepares the evening meal, the two units diciding amongst themselves who cooks, cleans and keeps watch. Everyone notes that despite his command position, the old priest isn’t much for giving orders.</p><p></p><p>Big, broad-shouldered Boris takes up the cooking duties for his unit, prompting a momentary flash of panic; Boris’s previous attempts at culinary duties have been marked by more enthusiasm than flavor, and Eirik positions himself by the campfire so he’s ready to offer helpful suggestions. “Try some salt,” the cleric ventures.</p><p></p><p>“Salt?” Boris wrinkles his forehead and searches through a pack. “You sure? My ma, she just used to boil the ‘taters and the meat.”</p><p></p><p>“Your Ma wasn’t a good cook, then?”</p><p></p><p>“No, she was great. Best in the world.” Boris picks up a handful of salt and prepares to dump in the stew, but fortunately Eirik spots the mistake before it happens. </p><p></p><p>“Pinches,” He says. “Start with pinches and work your way up.”</p><p>Boris beams, happy as a clam to be guided. </p><p></p><p>Hallas heads to the front of the cave, nominating himself as lookout as he’s done every night regardless of whether his unit is on watch duty. This leaves the other four members of the convoy to go searching for busy-work in order to engage in the activity that’s marked every evening since they left Zobeck a few weeks earlier – avoiding the overly-curious Stig Svenson and his annoyingly jovial attempts to strike up a conversation. </p><p></p><p>There is a moment of tension as Stig returns from brushing down the horses and looks across the cave. Everyone who doesn’t have a job is doing their best to look busy: Lik’s sharpening his sword with a whet-stone; Olanna’s meditating; Vlad is tending the campfire while Boris cooks; and Ling is running through various routines with his daggers in order to keep his hands nimble. Stig pauses and picks his target – Ling – then settles down on a small rock next to the lean rogue.</p><p></p><p>“So,” Stig says, “you’re from the Ironlands. What’s that like?”</p><p></p><p>Ling rolls a dagger hilt across the back of his hand. “Alright.”</p><p></p><p>“Lots of fish?”</p><p></p><p>“Yep.”</p><p></p><p>“And the rings? The rings are native to there?”</p><p></p><p>Ling shrugs and holds up his left hand, showing off the steel rings around his thumb and index finger. “One for every man I’ve killed.”</p><p></p><p>Stig gives no indication that he’s noticed the threatening undertone in Ling’s voice, but everyone else does. . “Impressive, but I gather we’ll all get a chance to even that tally. So why’d you join? I mean, there’s no rule against it, but I always heard the savages of the Ironlands don’t travel much.”</p><p></p><p>Vlad Kalamgrove decides to interfere before things gets out of hand. He flutters his fingers, using magic to increase the temperature of the rock Stig’s seated on. The young cleric fidgets as he continues trying to draw Ling into a conversation, eventually asking if anyone else is feeling overly warm.</p><p></p><p>“Nope,” Vlad says. “Actually, I’m feeling a little chill.”</p><p></p><p>Eirik picks up on the prompt immediately. “Perhaps you should move a little further away from the fire,” he says. “Spend a few minutes with Hallas on watch.”</p><p></p><p>Stig nods, all enthusiasm, but his relocation earns the group a dirty look from Hallas. </p><p></p><p>With Stig out of the way, the group around the dinner fire is rejoined by Father Osterbolger. The veteran hands out a little advice, warning Vlad to restrain his impulse towards pranks once they reach the keep: “The Legion takes everyone,” he says. “No matter where they come from or what they’ve done. And the boys take care of their own, if you know what I’m saying – try something like that in the wrong crowd and you could find yourself hanging the wrong way from a flagpole.”</p><p></p><p>It’s the most social the Father has been in weeks of travel thus far, so the group takes the opportunity to press him for details about life at the fort. They learn that their new commanding officer is an aging half-elf named Captain Braddick who actually fought in the war against the Empire as a recruit; the Fort itself is an old dwarf construct, with the barracks and quarters situated in the mountain behind the fortifications; and there’s an ancient monument nearby with a dungeon complex underneath it, dubbed the Dragon’s Delve. </p><p></p><p>The most surprising answer comes when Vlad asks how much longer Osterbolger has in his thirty-year hitch with the legion: “ended four or five years back,” the Father says. “Didn’t seem much point in leaving; nothin’ for me at home, and I’m not good for much but hauling cargo and breaking in new recruits. The Legion’s my life, may as well end it that way.”</p><p></p><p>There’s a silence after that; for the first time people start considering what a thirty-year hitch means and where they’ll be afterwards. Fortunately, dinner is served before the mood plummets and, thanks to Eirik’s intervention and advice, it proves to palatable.</p><p></p><p>That is, until Lik’s given the job of taking a plate out to Hallas on watch. As the kobold hands over the tin bowl full of stew, Hallas takes a moment to gesture into the darkness with his jaw. “Over there; you see anything?”</p><p></p><p>Lik squints, peering into the rain, but he can’t make anything out. He glances back at Hallas.</p><p></p><p>“We’re being watched,” Hallas says. “I can’t make out what, but there’s something back there.”</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="arwink, post: 4741669, member: 2292"] They slog through the rain, wary eyes on hilltops, but there is no further sign of ambush. A sense of relief spreads through everyone as Father Osterbolger sends the order down the line, telling people to slow the pace and starting looking for a decent campsite. It's a tough proposition, given the unfamiliar terrain and the size of the convoy, but the combined efforts of Lik and Eirik turn up a sizable cave that promises to keep them dry and relatively secure. The camp falls into a familiar routine, one honed by several weeks spent travelling together on the road – Osterbolger checking the cargo while everyone secures the area and prepares the evening meal, the two units diciding amongst themselves who cooks, cleans and keeps watch. Everyone notes that despite his command position, the old priest isn’t much for giving orders. Big, broad-shouldered Boris takes up the cooking duties for his unit, prompting a momentary flash of panic; Boris’s previous attempts at culinary duties have been marked by more enthusiasm than flavor, and Eirik positions himself by the campfire so he’s ready to offer helpful suggestions. “Try some salt,” the cleric ventures. “Salt?” Boris wrinkles his forehead and searches through a pack. “You sure? My ma, she just used to boil the ‘taters and the meat.” “Your Ma wasn’t a good cook, then?” “No, she was great. Best in the world.” Boris picks up a handful of salt and prepares to dump in the stew, but fortunately Eirik spots the mistake before it happens. “Pinches,” He says. “Start with pinches and work your way up.” Boris beams, happy as a clam to be guided. Hallas heads to the front of the cave, nominating himself as lookout as he’s done every night regardless of whether his unit is on watch duty. This leaves the other four members of the convoy to go searching for busy-work in order to engage in the activity that’s marked every evening since they left Zobeck a few weeks earlier – avoiding the overly-curious Stig Svenson and his annoyingly jovial attempts to strike up a conversation. There is a moment of tension as Stig returns from brushing down the horses and looks across the cave. Everyone who doesn’t have a job is doing their best to look busy: Lik’s sharpening his sword with a whet-stone; Olanna’s meditating; Vlad is tending the campfire while Boris cooks; and Ling is running through various routines with his daggers in order to keep his hands nimble. Stig pauses and picks his target – Ling – then settles down on a small rock next to the lean rogue. “So,” Stig says, “you’re from the Ironlands. What’s that like?” Ling rolls a dagger hilt across the back of his hand. “Alright.” “Lots of fish?” “Yep.” “And the rings? The rings are native to there?” Ling shrugs and holds up his left hand, showing off the steel rings around his thumb and index finger. “One for every man I’ve killed.” Stig gives no indication that he’s noticed the threatening undertone in Ling’s voice, but everyone else does. . “Impressive, but I gather we’ll all get a chance to even that tally. So why’d you join? I mean, there’s no rule against it, but I always heard the savages of the Ironlands don’t travel much.” Vlad Kalamgrove decides to interfere before things gets out of hand. He flutters his fingers, using magic to increase the temperature of the rock Stig’s seated on. The young cleric fidgets as he continues trying to draw Ling into a conversation, eventually asking if anyone else is feeling overly warm. “Nope,” Vlad says. “Actually, I’m feeling a little chill.” Eirik picks up on the prompt immediately. “Perhaps you should move a little further away from the fire,” he says. “Spend a few minutes with Hallas on watch.” Stig nods, all enthusiasm, but his relocation earns the group a dirty look from Hallas. With Stig out of the way, the group around the dinner fire is rejoined by Father Osterbolger. The veteran hands out a little advice, warning Vlad to restrain his impulse towards pranks once they reach the keep: “The Legion takes everyone,” he says. “No matter where they come from or what they’ve done. And the boys take care of their own, if you know what I’m saying – try something like that in the wrong crowd and you could find yourself hanging the wrong way from a flagpole.” It’s the most social the Father has been in weeks of travel thus far, so the group takes the opportunity to press him for details about life at the fort. They learn that their new commanding officer is an aging half-elf named Captain Braddick who actually fought in the war against the Empire as a recruit; the Fort itself is an old dwarf construct, with the barracks and quarters situated in the mountain behind the fortifications; and there’s an ancient monument nearby with a dungeon complex underneath it, dubbed the Dragon’s Delve. The most surprising answer comes when Vlad asks how much longer Osterbolger has in his thirty-year hitch with the legion: “ended four or five years back,” the Father says. “Didn’t seem much point in leaving; nothin’ for me at home, and I’m not good for much but hauling cargo and breaking in new recruits. The Legion’s my life, may as well end it that way.” There’s a silence after that; for the first time people start considering what a thirty-year hitch means and where they’ll be afterwards. Fortunately, dinner is served before the mood plummets and, thanks to Eirik’s intervention and advice, it proves to palatable. That is, until Lik’s given the job of taking a plate out to Hallas on watch. As the kobold hands over the tin bowl full of stew, Hallas takes a moment to gesture into the darkness with his jaw. “Over there; you see anything?” Lik squints, peering into the rain, but he can’t make anything out. He glances back at Hallas. “We’re being watched,” Hallas says. “I can’t make out what, but there’s something back there.” [/QUOTE]
Insert quotes…
Verification
Post reply
Community
Playing the Game
Story Hour
The White Cloaks: Tales of Borr
Top