Three Kingdoms and Empire

[the Jester]

Birds whistle in the trees. The sun beats down relentlessly. The air is swollen with humidity. Insects buzz in the air. Off to the side of the road, squirrels scamper away as the group of people approaches.

“We’re almost there,” Grom tells the others. They are all hot, sweating in the mid-morning sun. He gestures ahead of them. “See that farmhouse? I recognize it. We’re getting close to Drellin’s Ferry.”

“That’s your town, right?” Barouk asks.

Grom nods. “And hopefully, we can root out these damn goblins once and for all. Drive them away and leave my people in peace at last!”

The party of adventurers heads down a small rise. The farmhouse, partially visible through the trees, has an abandoned look to it. Grom frowns. Wasn’t that where Old Man Hogswood lived? I hope he’s okay. He starts to veer towards it- and his eyes catch motion in the trees.

Goblins.

Without warning, over half a dozen hobgoblins burst into view, charging forward at our heroes. Two charcoal-black hounds lope along beside them, their eyes and mouths flickering with scarlet flames.

“Look out!” shouts Barouk.

The melee is as furious as it is sudden. The hounds bark blasts of fire at the adventurers, and the hobgoblins are seasoned veterans, not novices. It is a mighty struggle, with both sides trading multiple blows and Kifla expending most of her spells in a frantic bid to defeat the onslaught.

When the second wave comes into view, Grom thinks, Poor Old Man Hogswood!

Then an arrow catches him in the throat. Blood gushes all over in a shower before him. He tries to scream, but there’s no noise except for a gentle wheeze and the splashing blood.

Grom sinks to the ground, dead.

Severin bellows a war cry as he hacks back and forth with Frogspaw, desperately trying to defeat the hobgoblins. One after another, they fall- to him, to Barouk, to Kifla’s color spray. The tide turns- and in another few seconds, the last hobgoblin bolts for the party’s garen, but Severin’s arrows bring him down before he can escape.

Kifla looks at Grom. Her eyes are watery. “Poor Grom,” she says. “We should bury him.”

Barouk shakes his head. “No. Kifla, there are goblins lurking here. We can’t take the time.”

“Maybe,” Severin suggests, “we can bring him to his village and they can bury him.”

“That works for me,” Barouk nods.

“Okay,” Kifla agrees.

“Oh,” Severin adds, “by the way, this one is still alive.”

***

When the hobgoblin opens his eyes, he finds himself tied tightly. The adventurers- what else could they be?- are surrounding him, watching him.

“Who are you?” one of them asks, in Goblin.

He spits.

In Forinthian, the dwarf says, “Well, that was clear enough. Let’s kill him.”

The hobgoblin struggles with the ropes for a moment. Then, groaning, he falls back. “You aren’t going anywhere,” the little she-gnome tells him (again, in Goblin). “Answer our questions! Who are you?”

The hobgoblin sneers. “I will tell you nothing- save that the Red Hand of Doom will crush you!”

Then he falls silent. The party demands more information, but he only threatens them with the doom of this “Red Hand”.

Finally, after some debate, Severin reluctantly executes him. He is clearly an enemy, and a threat to the people in these parts- especially once the party investigates the farm house and finds the murdered farmer within.

***

A few miles later, our heroes finally reach Grom’s home town, which he recruited them to aid so long ago- Drellin’s Ferry. It is a town of just over one thousand souls, built mostly along the River Elsir. Most of the west side is farmland; the east side of the river is where most of the buildings and the center of town are. The river itself is crossed by a ferry- obviously, the source of the name of the town. Six old stone piers jut from the water, marking the spot where a bridge once stood, but the span itself is long-gone.

As they approach, the party is challenged by a group of four armed townsfolk. “Halt and state your business,” one of them says.

“We’re here to help you with your goblin problem!” Severin declares.

“And we bring the body of a friend,” Kifla adds sadly. “Grom.”

“Oh no!” one of the locals exclaims.

The party recounts their tale, and one of the guards- the one who wears mail, instead of mere leather- leads them to find the town’s Speaker. They also, as Kifla reminds the others, need to find Grom’s family- a sad task, but one that they all agree is necessary.

Both prove to be surprisingly easy to do. One of the locals speaks up: “Grom was my brother.” He steps forward, the orcish blood tainting him made clear by his skin. “I am Gorsh.”

Gorsh promptly takes the party to Speaker Wiston, Wiston is a tall, balding man of about fifty years of age. He is overjoyed to hear that someone has finally come to deal with the town’s goblin problem- and crushed when he learns that they have brought Grom’s corpse with him.

“Ah!” he declares mournfully. “He was a good boy. Gorsh, lad, I’m sorry.”

“Well, he brought us here, at least,” Barouk replies.

“Yes, yes- most excellent,” Wiston nods. “And you’re willing to help us?”

“I hate goblins,” Barouk declares. “We were already ambushed by them on the way into town.”

“We’ll help you,” Severin confirms.

“Excellent!” Wiston repeats.

“They killed my brother!” Gorsh growls. “I want revenge! I’ll join you in hunting them, if you’ll have me!”

“Another sword is always useful,” Severin replies.

“Well, if you’re going to be wandering around the Witchwood looking for goblins,” Wiston says, “I would advise you to seek out Jorr. You can’t find someone who knows the woods better. His cabin is out of the way, but it could be worth the trip. If you take the Witch Trail, go left at the first big trail crossing; his cabin’s about seven miles in. Or, if you’re on the Dawn Way, take a right on a trail about nine miles from the forest edge. Jorr’s cabin is near the Blackwater.”

“We could do worse than to have a guide,” Kifla nods. “Thanks.”

The party finds lodging at one of the local inns, the Old Bridge, and settles in for the night.

Next Time: The party goes goblin hunting!

 

[the Jester]

Jorr

“Where did the speaker guy say that this guide guy is, again?” Kifla’s voice holds more than a hint of reproach. She has to hurry to keep up; her little gnome legs have to work hard to match the distance her larger friends cover.

Barouk glances over his shoulder at her. Dourly, he replies, “There’s supposed to be a trail that leads off to the right of the path at some point in a few miles. It leads to his home.”

“Isn’t there any way we can speed this up?” the gnome whines.

Barouk just sighs. “We have to travel, Kifla. Just like we have been walking ever since we left Alathion, what seems like centuries ago. No, there’s no way to speed this up.”

“Actually,” Severin says thoughtfully, “maybe there is.” He halts, squints at the sky, glances at the shadows of the trees, marks some landmarks with his mind, and goes on, “Maybe we can cut across country. Assuming that Speaker Wiston’s directions were fairly accurate, I have a pretty good idea of where we would need to go. And I was thinking that we might want to avoid the main road- after all, if there are goblins up ahead, they’re bound to be watching the road for trouble or easy pickings.”

“Good point,” nods Gorsh. “And I know the woods around here fairly well, so we shouldn’t get too lost.”

“All right, then, it’s decided.” With that, Severin leads the party away from the main road at an angle into the woods. They move for about a mile before they encounter a little-traveled trail that leads to the right, and they take this, hoping that it will lead them to Jorr. Soon enough, they come upon a cabin. As they approach, three dogs bound out, snarling and barking, and rush up to our heroes, snapping and keeping them at bay.

“Good dog,” Severin says firmly. “Good guard. Sit.” He begins attempting to calm the dogs. But Kifla has no patience for such things, and the dogs are big and scary- so she casts sleep on them, putting the two that Severin doesn’t have under control yet into a state of slumber.

“Hey! What are you doing to my dogs?” a gruff voice shouts from the cabin. The party turns to look- and they find themselves looking at an angry, grizzled man with a bow trained on them.

“They’re fine,” Kifla squeaks. “I just told them to go to sleep. They were scaring me.” She clasps her hands together and blinks innocently at the archer.

He scowls.

“They’ll wake up in a few minutes,” Kifla adds.

The man continues to scowl. After a tense moment, he rasps, “What do you all want?”

“We want your help,” Barouk replies. “We understand you can help guide us around the area. Drellin’s Ferry has been having a lot of trouble with goblins lately, and we’re here to help them.” He pauses, then says, “You are Jorr, right?”

The archer scowls some more. “Got no use for goblins,” he admits. “Yup, I’m Jorr.” His eyes flick to the sleeping dogs as Gorsh shakes one awake. “All right, so long as my dogs are all right, I’m your man.” His scowl deepens. “I hate goblins. Yeah, I’ve seen worgs and troublemakers all over lately. Specially the Dawn Way.”

“Where do you think they’re lairing?” asks Severin. “We should try to take out their leadership, if we can.”

“Well, they live up yonder in the mountains, but it seems to me like there’s a big war party in the forest. Maybe they came down the Old Forest Road, might be they came from Skull Gorge.” He lowers his bow warily and rubs his stubbly chin. “My money is on Skull Gorge. Speaking of money, I want five gold a day- or ten if you’re thinkin’ of going somewhere dangerous.”

“Done,” Kifla and Severin say together, before Barouk can object to the price.

“Let me grab my things.”

Next Time: Tragedy strikes our heroes as death steals one of them away!

 

[the Jester]

Back through the woods and onto the Dawn Way Jorr leads our heroes. Beneath the boughs of the trees the day is cool, but the air is still and a little bit stifling. The group walks along the trail. Jorr, though brusque, is willing to talk about the plants and animals they pass along the way, which is an endlessly fascinating topic for Kifla. He points out various types of flower, fern and bush, gestures to point out the groundhogs and shushes the others so they do not disturb the feeding of a porcupine. The trail meanders through the woods, circumventing falling logs and thickets of vegetation. The land begins to dip and grow wetter. “We’re coming up on the causeway that crosses Cold Creek,” Jorr announces. “Blackwater Causeway, they call it.”*

Soon the group comes upon a small vale. A wide expanse of water has flooded the central depression, leaving a roughly 20’ wide expanse of slow-moving, dark water. Boggy ground surrounds it, with tall marsh grasses and cat tails poking up. Many large reaches of the water are still, almost stagnant zones, choked with algae and thick lilies. Frogs croak in the water, accompanied by the buzzing of insects. A rickety wooden walkway extends from the end of the path out over the water. It seems to lead for a couple of hundred feet, to the far side, only a foot or so above the surface of the water. The wreckage of a wagon lies on its side, half-sunk in the flooded forest about thirty feet from the causeway.

“Look!” Barouk barks, pointing. “Eyes! I think there’s a crocodile in the water.” He pulls out his crossbow and drops a quarrel in it. Siting carefully, he fires into the water. Think! The bolt strikes home, and the eyes vanish under the surface.

“Should we investigate?” asks Severin.

“We’re kind of on a mission,” Kifla says. “But if there’s someone in there, we should try to help.”

“There’s no one in there,” snorts Barouk. “The crocodile ate them already.”

Kifla’s face scrunches up. “That’s mean!” she exclaims.

The dwarf shrugs. “It’s not me, it’s the crocodile.” He strokes his beard thoughtfully. “But there might be gold in there. It’s probably worth a look.”

“Is this an old wreck, Jorr?” asks Severin.

“Nope,” the party’s guide answers. “Never seen it afore.” He squints at the wagon. “Don’t think I recognize it; it might be from a traveling merchant. It’s hard to tell from here, with it half-buried.”

The party talks the situation over. Nobody really wants to go into the bog and check the wagon, but they all want to know what’s in it and what happened to it. Finally, Severin sighs. “I’ll go,” he says, and slogs his way in.

When he reaches the wreck of the wagon, Severin frowns. “Hey, there are hobgoblin bodies here,” he calls to his companions. “And it looks like they were driving the wagon. I wonder-”

He is cut off as a huge beast suddenly rears up from under the surface, sending a spray of swampy water all over. It screams a challenge from two of its heads. “Uh oh,” Severin gulps.

It’s a hydra- a dinosaur-like beast with six heads at the end of long, flexible necks. Brown and green and black in color, with beady dark eyes and wicked teeth as long as a man’s finger, the hydra roars another challenge from two different heads, and then all six heads are screaming at once.

“Get out of there, boy!” shouts Jorr, sending an arrow at the hydra, but it just bounces off the monster harmlessly. But before the ranger has a chance to try to escape, almost as if it understands Jorr’s cry, the hydra reaches down and bites him on the head, dazing him!**

“Oh no!” Kifla cries. “We have to save Severin!” She casts haste on Jorr and his dogs, since the party is too spread out for her to catch more than one of them otherwise. Jorr keeps firing on the hydra, while it keeps biting at Severin. It catches him on the arm, ripping along his shoulder; another head comes in and tears a piece of his leg open. He shrieks in pain. But then one of Jorr’s arrows hits the hydra in one of the heads, and now it is the beast’s turn to be dazed!***

“Severin, go!” shouts Kifla. She runs up until she’s in range, and casts her other haste spell on him. Severin nods in thanks and limps back a few steps. Then he shoots a rapid succession of arrows at the hydra. “No, run!” Kifla shouts.

Barouk, meanwhile, has quaffed a potion of mage armor and drawn out and loaded his crossbow. But his bolt bounces off of the monster’s thick hide. He utters a Dwarven curse, but notes, At least our guide seems to be able to hit it some of the time. Indeed, Jorr is keeping up a steady stream of bow fire at the beast, and his dogs rush in.

The hydra snatches one of them up as it comes, lifting it from the ground and crushing the dog in its massive jaws. With a yelp, Jorr’s trusted companion dies. He screams a wordless cry of rage and keeps his attack up.

Then the hydra snaps down at Severin again. One mouth catches the ranger’s right arm at the wrist and tears it off. Another sinks knife-sharp teeth into his neck. Blood fountains up and out in a wide spray. A third tears a huge chunk of meat from his belly. Severin doesn’t even have a throat left to scream with as the hydra tears him to pieces.

“Oh no!” cries Kifla.

The hydra drops Severin’s ravaged corpse and hisses. A quarrel from Barouk’s crossbow sinks into one of its heads, and that head turns to glare in the monk’s direction; but the other heads are focused towards Jorr, who is continuing to sting the monster with his arrows. The creature begins lumbering towards him.

Kifla blasts it with a steam jet and then retreats (hopefully) out of reach of the great beast. It keeps moving towards the guide, tearing up the other dog as it goes. Jorr fires two more arrows into the head that Barouk shot, and that head wails and dies. The party cheers, and Jorr falls back a little. That hydra is tough, but it’s slow, notes Kifla. We have to take advantage of that. Oh, Severin! Another friend, gone!

The party keeps firing, but suddenly things get more complicated.

The dead head rots and withers away in only seconds. And from the stump, in only a few more seconds, grow two new heads. Hissing and snarling heads, as baleful and dangerous as the others.

“We probably need fire!” shouts Kifla.

“We probably need to get out of here,” replies Gorsh.

The party decides that this is a good idea. The hydra, as Kifla had noted, is slow. The party runs off, leaving it behind when they exit the causeway. It doesn’t really need to pursue them; it has already gained a meal.

***

Having lost Severin, the group makes camp a few miles away under a tall tree. “We’re not going back to bury his body,” Barouk firmly tells Kifla. “No.”

“There won’t even be a body,” Gorsh opines.

Kifla settles for a quiet ceremony and saying a few words about their dear friend. She cries a lot that night.

***

In the morning, they talk about whether or not to go on. Jorr snorts. He makes his opinion quite clear: the goblins aren’t going away on their own, and they’ve already taken quite a few lives and caused quite a bit of trouble. If nothing is done about them, Drellin’s Ferry will continue to suffer their depredations.

Kifla is melancholy, but she nods. “You’re right. He’d want us to go on.”

“Well, then, let’s get to this Skull Gorge place and see what we see.” Barouk stands up, and the others follow suit. They break camp, douse the ashes of their fire and move along their way, up the Dawn Way. Jorr explains that they’ll probably reach the gorge in a few hours. “If we travel hard, probably before noon.”

The track the party is following winds deeper into the woods, growing dimmer under the canopy of the trees. As the party walks, they come to a spot where a wide trail leads away from the trail to the west. A strange, massive effigy, 15’ high humanoid effigy made from a sagging, moss-covered frame, stands at the junction, looking almost like a crude, giant-sized skeleton. Birds nest in the barrel that serves the effigy as a head.

“What do you make of that, Jorr?” asks Gorsh.

Jorr frowns. “Giants,” he says. “It’s a marker of their territory. We want to be careful around them.”

“We don’t need to go there at all, if you ask me,” grumbles Barouk.

He’s right, the others agree, and they continue towards Skull Gorge. The ground begins to rise, and after a few more miles the forest itself peters out. It’s not quite noon; Jorr’s estimate was right on. Ahead is a stretch of barren ground almost sixty feet wide that ends in a gorge. The gorge looks like it’s about 100’ across at its narrowest point. A massive stone bridge crosses the gorge; at either end are a pair of massive towers. On the far side is a goblin encampment.

And atop one of the towers is a green dragon.

“Whoops!” exclaims Barouk.

Gorsh pulls everyone else back into the woods. “Holy crap!” he hisses. “A dragon!”

“I think this situation just got a lot more serious,” whispers Barouk. “I think we should report back to the town council.”

“I think you’re right,” Gorsh nods.

Quietly, quickly the party retreats.

Next Time: Vraath Keep! Goblins even closer to Drellin’s Ferry!


*For those keeping track, I moved this encounter one river north from how it is in the Red Hand of Doom adventure. This is because I went to a great deal of effort to make a full sized color battle map for the hydra encounter, and the pcs promptly went off the path to find Jorr, bypassing both it and Vraath Keep. So I moved it one river north so I would still get to use my cool props. I blush at my audacity and the meanness of my motivation.

**Critical hit!

***Another critical hit!

 

[the Jester]

When the party comes back to the causeway, they halt their journey. Drellin’s Ferry is to the south of it, but they know that a monstrous hydra lurks in the water. It took one of their friends from them, after all. After putting their heads together for a moment and talking it over, Kifla casts haste on the party, and then all of them run together, bursting across the causeway with incredible speed. The hydra doesn’t even show itself; perhaps it is still busy with its recent meal. Tears stream down Kifla’s face at the thought.

Once well past the causeway, the group slows again to a walk. The gnome’s spell only lasts a few moments anyway. The shade of the trees overhead is comfortable and calming. The trail winds along, and Kifla and Barouk banter as they walk, with Gorsh throwing in an occasional half-orc witticism (such as they are) and taciturn Jorr mainly keeping his eyes and ears open, rather than his mouth.

“Hey, whatever happened to that ruined keep that Speaker Wiston told us about?” Kifla asks suddenly.

“Vraath Keep,” Gorsh puts in helpfully.

Jorr grunts. “It’s not too far ahead,” he says in his deep voice.*

“We must have missed it when we went cross-country before,” Barouk grumbles. Glancing at Gorsh, he adds, “I blame Kifla.”

The party continues along for a little while. Then something comes into view. Up ahead, half-screened by trees, are the ruins of a keep. The old castle sits on a small rocky hillock, and there is a broken tower thrusting drunkenly upward into the sky. There is an overgrown footpath that appears to lead up the hillside towards the keep.

“Should we check it out?” wonders Kifla.

“We need to report in at Drellin’s Ferry,” Barouk points out.

“Yeah, but if there’s anything here- so much closer to town than Skull Bridge- we should know about it,” Gorsh counters. This seems to win the argument, and the party advances cautiously up the hillside, staying away from the footpath in order to maximize discretion.

The old keep is in terrible shape. The gatehouse is partially collapsed, as is one section of wall in the south. A small wooden building sits next to the remains of a long-abandoned garden in front of the structure. The walls surrounding the keep are about fifteen feet high, with a two-story tower looming in the southwest corner of the courtyard within. Large boulders lie strewn amid the ruin of the two watch towers, and a giant skeleton slumps in the ruin of the northern one. The skeleton still wears tattered fragments of hide armor, and a large club lies next to one of its bony arms.

Approaching cautiously, the party enters the courtyard. They move quietly to one of the many doors leading into the various rooms of the keep. Jorr motions at one of the doors and whispers, “I hear voices back there. Can’t be sure what kind...”

Well, whoever is here is most likely up to no good, thinks Barouk, and exchanges a glance with- and gives a nod to- Gorsh.

Gorsh strides forward and kicks in the door with a loud BOOM!\

Beyond are not only a pair of goblins, but also their worgs.

Instantly, the battle begins, with Jorr snarling and unleashing a pair of swift arrows at one of the goblins, plugging him in the chest twice. But the goblin is tougher than the wily human expects, and even with two arrows sticking in him, he still begins to sprint for his worg. His friend does likewise, taking a crossbow bolt in the shoulder from Barouk.

The worgs quickly prove themselves smarter and more dangerous than a normal wolf by a long ways. They try to pull the heroes down (sometimes succeeding, if only for a few brief moments). Kifla uses a spectral weapon spell to easily land blows on the goblins, while Barouk and Gorsh take a more direct approach. Barouk even manages to drag one of the worg-riders from atop his worg!

Just as our heroes are starting to get the sense that they’ve got this one in the bag, with Gorsh slaying one of the goblins and Barouk the other, a loud roar comes from part of the ruin. One of the buildings seems to have either no roof, or a large hole in its roof; for a terrible beast emerges from it, standing catlike atop the wall of the keep. With a body resembling that of a tiger, huge, bat-like wings, a tail that sprouts dozens of long, vicious-looking spikes and a face with a disturbing resemblance to a human’s, the monstrosity is the most terrifying thing that our heroes have ever seen.

Fortunately for them, it doesn’t seem to interested in jumping into the fight. For a moment, it just perches, watching. Its tail flicks back and forth like a cat’s, excepting the deadly mass of spikes at the end.

Then it flicks its tail up and over its head, contracting certain muscles, and a volley of spikes shoots out. Barouk tumbles out of the way as best he can, but still ends up with a spike about 6” long and as big around as an arrow lodged in his leg. The dwarf groans as the manticore unleashes another burst of tail spikes at him; he dodges most of them but takes another pair of wounds. This is bad, he thinks, and quickly quaffs a potion of cure light wounds.

Meanwhile, Jorr stabs one of the worgs most unkindly, ramming his knife up inside its tenderest parts and ripping a huge rent out of its body. It falls, dead. The other worg gives out a howl and then flees out into the open air.

The manticore, meanwhile, has had enough of toying with Barouk, and leaps upon him in earnest, ripping terrible wounds into his chest, his guts and his hips. He gives a cry of outrage and pain, and with a terrific effort he throws it back, off of him.

”Time to go, Barouk!” Kifla screams, casting her last haste on him as she takes her own advice. Indeed; everyone in the party begins to retreat.

Fortunately for them, the manticore is not interested in pursuing the heroes. They hurry away, gasping and badly wounded. Barouk is in immense pain from the manticore’s attack, and they move off a couple of miles and then make an exhausted camp. Kifla takes the first watch, but she doesn’t see anything of note.

At least, not until it reveals itself to her.

Next Time: Corbin the Conjurer!


*Think of Jorr as having the voice of Sam Elliott.

 

[NorwegianBadger]

A very nice Story Hour, Jester! I'm now a big fan. But, do the players have to die all the time?

Can you give us an update of classes and levels?

 

[the Jester]

Hey, glad you're enjoying it!

At the time of the most recent update, the party consists of Jorr, who is an npc, and the pcs as follows:

Barouk, dwarven monk 5
Kifla, gnome illusionist 5
Gorsh, half-orc fighter 4

...with a new pc (Severin's replacement) about to be introduced:

Corbin the Conjurer, human druid 3/wizard 2

 

[the Jester]

Exhausted and cold, Kifla doesn’t keep a very good watch. The first figure creeps up silently, sniffing at the ground. It holds its body low, moving slowly, its grey fur blending into the shadows. It observes for a moments, tasting the scents of our heroes.

Kifla stares up into the stars.

After a few moments, the lupine shadow slinks away. Once it is forty feet from the camp, it picks up speed, loping up the side of the hill overlooking the party’s camp. Silently, it returns to its master.

Kifla continues to stare into the distance, though her gaze has fallen onto the side of the hill opposite their resting place. She is glum; her friends are dying left and right, and she isn’t even sure that it’s worth it to continue adventuring. She glances at the snoring form of Barouk: her only remaining friend from Alathion.

Alathion...

It seems so far away, so long ago. All the dangers that she has faced on her way to this point have forced her to stretch her limits, over and over again, and have helped her powers of illusion grow and swell. She is far more powerful now than she was just a few months ago. She has faced down the Mouth of Bleak, fought bandits and goblins, escaped a burning maze in the Deadgrass Lands, defeated the Ashen Palace of Bleak... she is nearly a legend. She-

Kifla’s musings are interrupted as a figure abruptly steps into her field of view.

Kifla yelps, startled. Barouk snorts and keeps snoring. “Hi,” the figure says, “I am Corbin the Conjurer!”

“Uh, uh, who are you?” Kifla squeaks, trying to overcome her surprise.

The figure pauses, and then repeats, “I am Corbin the Conjurer! Ahem, as I said.”

“Oh, oh, all right.” The man doesn’t seem to be hostile, Kifla realizes. He is a middle-aged human, very brown. His clothes, his pack, his staff, his hair- he is brown all over. Belatedly, Kifla adds, “I am Kifla the Illusionist, Master of Light!”

“Nice to meet you,” Corbin says. A walk stalks by behind him, and Kifla is immediately distracted.

“Is that your dog?”

“No,” Corbin says quickly. “He’s a wolf. Be careful around him, he’s not a pet.”

“Oh, okay.” Kifla sounds crestfallen. She frowns, as she realizes that meeting a man and a wolf in the middle of nowhere in the middle of the night is a little odd. “Hey, what are you doing out here anyway?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” Corbin replies dryly. “But I’m looking for... a lich.” His voice takes on an oddly sad intonation when he says that. “He must be stopped.”

“A lich!” the gnome exclaims. “That doesn’t sound nice!”

“Would you shut up over there,” groans Barouk, rolling over and remaining asleep.

“Can you make a fire? I’m freezing!” Kifla asks.

“Sure, I have tindertwigs,” Corbin says. “Why don’t you have one already?”

“Oh, Barouk- that’s the grumpy dwarf over there- is afraid that we’ll be attacked by goblins.” She sighs. “Come to think of it, he has a point. I guess maybe we’re better off if we don’t have a fire after all.”

The two of them talk for a while, and Kifla relates the party’s tale so far to the newcomer. He, on the other hand, tells her that he is seeking out a lich. Kifla gets the sense that there is a connection between the brown man and the lich, but it is not quite clear what it is.

When Corbin offers to keep watch and let Kifla rest, she gladly accepts his offer.

***

Barouk awakens to a very pleasant warmth spreading throughout his body.

He opens his eyes. There is an unfamiliar form leaning over him, with a hand on his arm, and he can feel his body’s wounds knitting shut. Torn muscles are being mended, bruised ribs coaxed back to full health.

Behind the brown man, Kifla says, “Good morning, Barouk! This is Corbin the Conjurer. He’s a nice man! He healed you.”

She continues to chatter while Barouk warily introduces himself to Corbin. Within minutes, though, he has grown to trust the man, who says that he is both a druid and a wizard. Gorsh and Jorr are both there, too.

We lived through the night, Barouk realizes.

Corbin proves able to feed any of our heroes with but a single berry. His magic allows him to heal their wounds, and he offers them his aid. “Kifla told me of the threat to your town,” he begins.

“It isn’t our town,” Barouk harrumphs. “We’re just helping them out.”

“It’s my town,” Gorsh returns.

Jorr nods. “Not my town, but they’re my folk.”

“Either way, I don’t want to see the town destroyed,” Corbin continues evenly. “If the goblins are as much trouble as you say, perhaps I can help you help the town.”

“We could use all the help we can get.” Gorsh grins. “Welcome aboard- and thanks!”

***

They rest a day and another night, then debate attacking the hydra before deciding to return to Vraath Keep, determined to slay the manticore. They approach relatively stealthily, attaining an outbuilding with no sign of enemies. But when they investigate the outbuilding- really a rickety shack- it collapses, and Barouk takes a minor amount of damage from a falling timber. He tumbles out of the shack before it completely implodes.

As he does so, he sees the head of the manticore poke up from the main keep.

“We got trouble!” he cries.

Jorr chuckles. “Something’s got trouble, all right!” He starts shooting his bow at it immediately. He begins edging his way towards cover as he and the manticore start exchanging arrows and spikes.

Kifla moves up and hits the deck, presenting as small of a target as possible. She squirms into position and hastes Barouk, Jorr and herself. “Get it, guys!” she yells.

Barouk pulls out his crossbow and starts firing, but Jorr is clearly a better, quicker shot. The manticore screams a harsh challenge and keeps flinging spikes at the archer, sticking him with several. Jorr dives into cover. And things get a lot more complicated as a group of hobgoblins trots out from the keep, weapons naked in their hands.

Then a hippogriff appears out of nowhere, and attacks the manticore immediately. Corbin is beginning to show just why they call him the Conjurer. His wolf leaps at one of the hobgoblins and begins to tear at it.

Corbin starts to conjure something else, but the manticore snaps its tail and a volley of spikes shoots out, piercing Corbin in several places. With an anguished cry, he goes down in a puddle of blood. Is his quest for the lich over before it has even begun??

Meanwhile, one of the keep’s towers proves to have a hobgoblin archer in it, and from his vantage point, he starts firing arrows at the party.

The wolf and the hippogriff rip into the hobgoblins while the manticore remains engaged with the hippogriff as well. As they struggle, Jorr darts in to Corbin’s side and pulls out a potion, preparing to bring his ally around- he hopes- and quickly administers the magical drink. Corbin blinks in surprise as he comes around with his wounds largely healed.

The hippogriff and the wolf tear at the manticore, and even though the hippogriff vanishes as the duration on its summoning expires, the manticore decides that it has had enough of this. It launches itself in the air, nearly collapsing as Gorsh and the wolf hit it with attacks of opportunity. But it escapes, flying up into the sky.

“No you don’t!” cries Jorr fiercely. He fires three arrows from his bow, and all three land solidly in the manticore’s body. The beast gives a cry of despair and then falls, spiraling, out of the sky.

But a minotaur and a bugbear arrive to replace it. The minotaur snorts, lowers his horns and charges the wolf, killing it in a single blow. Then it turns on the others.

Gorsh leaps over a pile of rubble, swinging his flail with all his might. It slips from his hands and flies across the room.* Gorsh gives a cry of despair and ducks back behind the rubble, as the hobgoblins start circling around after him. The bugbear shoots a ray of enfeeblement at him, and he ducks back behind the rocks and avoids it by a hair.

The minotaur comes in on one side of him, the hobgoblins on the other. He twists away from the worst of a sword cut, but the minotaur gores him savagely. He cries out. Meanwhile, Corbin is conjuring more animals, while Kifla hastes the rest of the party.

A terrific battle evolves, with the party desperately pulling out every trick they’ve got. Barouk uses his tanglefoot bag, but the minotaur tears free. The bugbear keeps targeting the gnome with spells, but Kifla somehow manages to keep resisting. Jorr keeps shooting arrows at everyone, but tries to focus on the minotaur.

Then, tragedy strikes. The hobgoblin archer in the tower shoots Gorsh in the heart, instantly killing him.**

“Noooooo!” Kifla cries.***

Jorr immediately switches targets, focusing on the hobgoblin archer in the tower. “Get that minotaur!” he shouts. “If we let him stick around, he’s gonna be the end of us!”

Barouk leaps up into the minotaur’s face, smashing his nunchaku into the beast’s head in a flurry of blows.

And the minotaur falls.

The bugbear gives an angry ejaculation, and fires a lightning bolt at Jorr and Barouk. The monk evades the blast, but Jorr takes it in the face. Blood sprays from his nose as the force of the electric bolt breaks it.

Corbin rushes up and heals him. “Here!” he cries. Jorr glares at the bugbear, but another arrow zips down from the tower. With a grimace he keeps up his return fire. Finally, the hobgoblin in the tower gives a wail and tumbles out of the window, falling to the base of the tower to lie in a ruined and broken heap.

Meanwhile, Barouk rushes the bugbear, and in seconds he has landed a series of blows on the spellcasting goblinoid. The bugbear growls and strikes back with magic. Another lightning bolt blasts out and catches Barouk off-guard, leaving his hair smoking and standing on end. He gives a yelp, but keeps fighting, and now Jorr is able to turn his attention to it as well.

The bugbear’s eyes flash defiance. It charms Kifla, but it’s too little and too late. Barouk, hasted, brings the battle to a rapid close with his nunchaku.

There’s nobody left to fight, but it takes a few minutes for our heroes to realize that. When they do, as they survey the carnage, they realize that they have lost another friend.

But, as they will discover shortly, they have gained a keep- and insight into a problem that is much, much larger than they had believed.

Next Time: Our heroes realize the scope of the goblin problem!



*Fumble. Oooh, that’s a bad one!

**Crit. Oooh, a longbow’s x3- that’s a bad one!

***Pretty much all my groups really play up the obligatory Hollywood “Noooo!” whenever someone dies.

 

[Sandain]

Hi Jester, I am really enjoying this story hour. I was wondering, now that Frogspaw is in a swamp in a Hydra's lair - could you tell us the stats? Also any other magic items they foiud such as the boots would be great. I am always curious about the mechanical aspects of a storyhour.

 

[the Jester]

Hi Jester, I am really enjoying this story hour. I was wondering, now that Frogspaw is in a swamp in a Hydra's lair - could you tell us the stats?

Sure, Frogspaw was a +1 anarchic weapon iirc.

A good example of how a little flavor can really make even the simplest magic item come to life.

 

[Sandain]

Thanks, I thought you may have taken from the Gygax school of treasure placement and put in an Amphibian bane weapon in preparation for that Hydra.