Three Kingdoms and Empire

[the Jester]

The party discusses resting, but they decide that the odds of more goblins either returning to or already being in the keep precludes staying for long. Instead, they settle for a thorough search. This turns up over 1000 gold pieces’ worth of loot- a considerable haul! Of course, our heroes are sobered by the realization that, if they are slain by goblins, they won’t get to spend it, and so they continue their search without interruption.

Up in one of the towers of the keep, the party finds a strange, ominous-looking apparatus of wood that has an old, partial corpse lashed to it, which in turn has been stuck by a dagger that gives off a ghostly white glow. Kifla immediately declares it cursed, and no amount of persuasion can convince her otherwise, so the party leaves it alone for now.

Down below, Barouk finds a hidden trap door that leads down to a sort of hidden vault. It is here that the party finds the real treasures of Vraath Keep, including several thousand more gold pieces in cash and several magic items, including a staff of white ash that is carved with hundreds of small mystical sigils and glyphs, a mithral chain shirt and a single, extraordinarily large, gauntlet.

“Wow,” comments Corbin the Conjurer, “we’re going all right!”

“How can you say that?” wails Kifla. “Several of our friends have died to get here!”

“No point crying about it,” grunts Barouk. “There are still goblins to kill. And one day, I’m still going back to slay the damned Early of Thyrozim.”

Kifla sniffles, but hushes.

Corbin, meanwhile, says, “I’m so sorry- I did not know about your friends. Except Gorsh, anyway. For whom I am also sorry. Um.”

“Anyway,” Barouk harrumphs, “let’s finish our search.”

“There are a lot of papers around,” Corbin says. “It will take time to read them, but I’ve already seen a bunch of maps and stuff.” He pauses. “They look like war plans.”

“What? Where?” Barouk demands.

Corbin leads the others to a large area where he has been organizing some of the papers. Atop the stack is a large map of the Elsir Vale, and Corbin is right: it is clearly an invasion plan.

”Galador’s Light, look at this,” Barouk exclaims. “They even have a timeline. Look! Day 5, they attack Drellin’s Ferry! And they think that, by day 35, hey can take pretty much the whole Vale.”

“This can’t just be the work of a couple dozen goblins,” Corbin says. Kifla nods vigorously. He continues, “I’ll need some time, but I want to read through these papers. I think it’s vital.”

“I think you’re right,” Barouk nods. “There could be valuable intelligence here.”

“Plus,” Kifla adds, “we need time to bury Gorsh.”

Barouk groans, but Jorr nods. “Seems right to me.”

***

While the others bury the bodies, Kifla and Corbin pour over the notes from the bugbear- whose name, it turns out, was Koth. They learn a few key pieces of information. First, the goblin horde is gathering at Cinder Hill, preparing to march on Drellin’s Ferry. It’s the first place that the goblins will attack en force. Kifla and Corbin look again at the map. Day 5.

But what day is it now?

The papers do not tell them this, perhaps most important, piece of information. They do reveal a lot of other details, but on the crucial issue of timing, they only say: We will strike lightning swift. Nowhere is the date of the initial attack given.

It could have been yesterday, groans Corbin to himself.

The papers do reveal other bits of information: the leaders of the Red Hand of Doom, as the enemy calls itself, are called the four Wyrmlords. Koth was one of them; now, his corpse lies in the woods, outside of the keep. The others are a goblin ranger named Saarvith, a hobgoblin bard named Ulwai Stormcaller and a hobgoblin Talon of Tiamat called Hravek Kharn. Saarvith has been sent to the ruined city of Rhest on a special mission, and Wyrmlord Kharn commands the horde itself, but from the papers, it seems that Koth did not know what Ulwai Stormcaller was up to. Over them all reigns a fearsome cleric of Tiamat named Azarr Kul.

The Red Hand horde itself consists of dozens of goblinoid and ogre tribes, advised by several dragons. Koth’s notes indicate that he had only had contact with one of them- a green dragon named Ozyrrandion. The horde is marshalling at Cinder Hill, with the intent to march down and across the bridge that crosses Skull Gorge. There is a heavy emphasis on the bridge in the notes; it seems as though destroying it would delay the march of the horde by at least a few days.

“I think that there are more of them than we thought,” Corbin tells Kifla.

The gnome only nods.

***

Our heroes return to Drellin’s Ferry with all due haste, and once they tell Captain Soranna of the town guard what they have learned, a council of war is quickly convened. Unfortunately, between the antics of our heroes almost setting the table on fire and the politics of the council, nothing much gets resolved.

“We need to go take that bridge out,” Barouk mutters to his friends as the council argues.

“About that,” Jorr muses, “I might have an idea...”

***

The giant gauntlet that the party found in the vault of Vraath Keep. The skeletal remains of a few giants in the rubble of the keep. Jorr was a local old-timer. He had figured it out quickly.

There aren’t many left, but there are giants in them hills. Our folk used to fight them, a long time ago. Long time ago, and that fight was pretty much the finish of it. After that, we didn’t have the stomach to go after them any more, and they didn’t have the numbers to come after us any more.

That gauntlet- it was a trophy. The Vraath captains, they took it to thumb their noses at the giants, and that is what caused the final attack. I might be wrong, but I don’t think so. I think that’s damn close, even if it’s not quite dead on.

We have to give it back. Give it back- and get giant help to break Skull Gorge Bridge.

***

The party heads out again. “That strange wicker thing we saw,” Barouk says, “not the frame with the body and the cursed dagger in the tower, but the wicker thing in the path- that was a giants’ warning, wasn’t it?”

Jorr nods. “Yup. Best to take it seriously, too- except, we want to find the giants.”

Next Time: Our heroes find the giants!

 

[the Jester]

Jorr led our heroes down the pathway guarded by the wicker warning. The forest grows thick on either side. Jorr leads the way, with the others not far behind. It isn’t far before they come into a clearing with a primitive lean-to before the embers of a fire.

“Someone has been here recently,” murmurs Jorr, frowning as he examines the ground. “Someone... big.”

“As we expected,” nods Corbin the Conjurer. “We should-“

A sudden loud roar interrupts him, and a huge form stomps forth from the woods. It stands much taller than any of our heroes. It is clearly some kind of giant, with rough skin resembling nothing so much as the trees themselves and hair like the leaves of an oak. His arms are corded like knotted wood, and he holds a large tree branch like a club.

“LITTLE ONES!” he screams. “YOU DARE!!”

“Wait, stop!” cries Kifla desperately. “We come in peace!”

“We aren’t like the other little ones!” shouts Corbin.

“We have something that belongs to you,” calls Jorr.

Barouk harrumphs and crosses his arms.

But the old giant- for our heroes can now see that the looming figure is covered in wrinkles and his hair is sparse- ignores the dwarf, and instead seems to respond more to the friendly overtures of the others. He peers at Kifla first. “You are small,” he rumbles, his voice loud even when he doesn’t shout. “Smaller than... the others. The bad ones.” He turns to face Jorr and Corbin. “But you two are the same size as them...”

“But we’re different,” Corbin insists.

Jorr is digging in his pack. “And we have something for you,” he repeats. “I believe that it was taken from your folk during the, uh, conflict.”

“Murders,” the giants pronounces direly.

Jorr retrieves the huge gauntlet that the party liberated from the ruined keep. “Here,” he says, tossing it to the giant.

The huge figure peers at the gauntlet for a long moment.

“We’re very sorry,” Kifla adds, “for what happened to your kin. But it wasn’t us- and now, there’s a much more dangerous threat approaching.”

“We need your help,” Corbin the Conjurer nods. “And as a show of good will...” He pulls forth the staff that the party found in the same secret area as the gauntlet. “I notice that you’re moving a little slowly, a little painfully. Clearly, you have, uh, some of the maladies of age.”

“Warklegnaw’s joints hurt,” the giant mutters.

“Exactly,” Corbin says. He smiles gently. “This may help.” The staff of life in his hands begins to glow with a warm white glow as he lifts it towards the giant.

***

Old Warklegnaw, his aches and pains largely healed, proves to be most eloquent when speaking in Giant. Only his limited vocabulary prevents him from sounding much more educated and cosmopolitan when speaking in Forinthian.* The party finds him to be a generous host, offering up the meat of the deer that he has brought down.

And, thanks to the fact that they healed him, he proves much more interested in and able to help them than they could have dreamed.

The party explains what they know: that there is a force of goblinoids preparing to attack Drellin’s Ferry, and that is probably presents an equally imminent threat to Warklegnaw and his remaining kin.

Warklegnaw tells the party that his kin is not within a couple of days’ journey, and that he is the last of their kind to remain in the area. He plainly refused to flee the giants’ defeat at the hands of the defenders of Vraath Keep, but equally plainly, the rest of his folk have abandoned the area.

The old giant, feeling better than his has in years, agrees to go with the party to check out Skull Gorge, and they set out in the morning. Their path is uncontested, but when they come close to the canyon, they are met with a dismaying sight. From the cover of the woods, they can see that a force of goblinoids holds the bridge across- and they can see, perched atop one of the towers at the far side, a dragon.

Beyond it, in the distance, an army- not hundreds strong, but thousands.

“Oh dear,” says Kifla.

They retreat for a moment.

“We can’t just let them stay there,” Barouk states. “We know that they’re going to attack soon, although we don’t know when. We have to knock out that bridge.”

“But how?” asks Corbin.

Old Warklegnaw frowns, looking around. After a few moments, he finds a large stone. “Get more,” he commands.

The party spends a few hours gathering up a good-sized pile of rocks that Warklegnaw says are suitable for throwing. Then, once they have enough ammunition for the wood giant’s taste, the party stands back and watches.

Old Warklegnaw spends a few minutes stretching his arms and back. “Old Warklegnaw hasn’t felt this good in years!” he exclaims. Then he picks up a heavy rock, tests its weight- and spins around with it clutched to him. He gathers momentum until, with a snap, he lets his arms uncurl from his torso, extends the rock and hurls.

Up, out of the woods in the dying light of the evening, the rock sails up and out and over- and into the bridge.

KATHOOM!

Dust and pebbles spray everywhere, There is the sudden outcry of goblin scouts shouting and trying to alert their allies, but it is hard to miss the new pot hole that has suddenly appeared in a shower of stone.

Old Warklegnaw picks up another stone.

The dragon spreads its wings and launches itself into the air even as the second rock crashes into the bridge. A sudden array of cracks spiderwebs the stone.

Hobgoblin and goblin sentries scramble for weapons, put on helmets and begin to respond, but by then Warklegnaw has launched another stone. This one comes down less than a foot from the last, and cobbled stone explodes in a cloud of dust. A great noise begins to rise from the bridge.

The dragon flies quickly towards the area that the onslaught is coming from- just in time to catch another stone in the body. It flaps quickly to avoid plummeting from the sky, and the sudden crackle of magic launches skyward as both Corbin and Kifla cast spells at it. A hippogriff appears in mid-air, disorienting the dragon.

Green, thinks Kifla. It’s green. What does that mean? Poison gas, or acid?

The dragon answers for her, breathing a cloud of chlorine gas out- in the wrong area. Our heroes are untouched, hidden in the woods.

Another rock whizzes by the dragon, missing it by inches- but striking true at its real target.

With a loud crack and groan, the bridge collapses into the gorge below it.

The dragon screams in anger and descends, but as it moves towards Barouk another boulder smashes into it. It rocks back, and our heroes- rather than fleeing, as the dragon had hoped- attack it. Barouk leaps forward, kicking it in the chest. Kifla and Corbin harry it with spells, and Jorr launches a flurry of arrows at it, one striking true and punching into its wing.

The dragon tears into Barouk, wounding him gravely, but another boulder followed by the sight of the wood giant lumbering towards it is enough. The dragon flexes its powerful wings and takes again to the air. Another boulder to the snout convinces it, and it retreats across the fallen bridge.

The first battle for the valley is won.

Next Time: Now what??


*The Common tongue of the area the pcs are in- which is on the island of Forinthia, for the record.

 

[the Jester]

“It’s a start,” Barouk coughs, as the huge cloud of dust created by the falling bridge slowly settles.

“Let’s get out of here,” Corbin says. His normal brown color is gaining a layer of grey. “If there are more flying things- or if that dragon comes back- well, we don’t want to be here for that.”

The rest of the party agrees, and they move away from the bridge. “We need to warn the town about everything we’ve found,” Jorr states. “They need to know what’s coming. An army of goblins is no laughing matter.”

The party moves quickly, hurrying down the trail, but as they draw up to where Warklegnaw lives, the giant draws off. “What’s wrong, Warklegnaw?” asks Corbin.

“Nothing,” the giant grunts. “But I must go.”

“Why?” exclaims Barouk. “We could really use you against the Hand!”

“Aye,” nods Jorr.

“I am old,” Warklegnaw rumbles, “and my tribe must be alerted to this goblin army. I must rouse them to battle.” He smiles. “If you are lucky, they will send warriors to aid you. But I am sore, and old; my teeth are loose and my bones ache. I am done.”

With that, the giant departs, and our heroes can only pray that he will gain them further aid.

***

Back to the causeway, where the accursed hydra dwells. They party stops to look for signs of the hydra that lives in the water, but it is too well hidden.

”Sure is sneaky, for something the size of a house,” Corbin sighs.

“You know,” Corbin muses, “this hydra might actually help us. It could slow the advance of the goblins if we leave it here.”

The group chews on this idea for a few moments. While the hydra is a danger to the local folk and has clearly already slain several people, it could be devastating to the goblins. They decide to try to pass by it without fighting it again. To this end, the party creeps along as quietly as possible.

The hydra, however, may be a dumb brute, but it has a lot of eyes and ears.

When it attacks in a huge explosion of swamp water and muck, things go to pieces very rapidly. The hydra’s huge, razor-sharp teeth tear at the party.

Barouk concentrates on his ki, and his fists burst into flame. He leaps, striking at the hydra, smashing one of its eyes.

Another head darts in at him and he tumbles over it. Its jaws snap shut on empty air.

“Go!” the monk roars. “I’ll hold it off!”

The others run.

Barouk leaps to the side as a massive, dagger-toothed maw snaps at him. This time, however, another head comes in at him from the side, crushing down upon his left thigh. Blood squirts out. Barouk roars and pounds his fist into the joint of its jaw. Bone crunches, and the flames on his fists sear it. Its grip weakens, and he knifes his other hand into its eye.

With a scream, the hydra releases him. He lands sprawling on the causeway, almost rolling into the swamp, and starts to scramble to his feet. Before he can rise, however, another hydra head rips into the meat of his back.

Barouk screams.

Thunk! Thunk! Thunk!

Arrows land in the beast’s body. Then, summoned creatures, called forth by Corbin, are all around the hydra, biting and clawing at it. It screams from its remaining mouths, and grabs Barouk by the shoulder with one mouth and by the leg with another. It begins tearing him apart. Blood is everywhere, splashing in huge arterial waves. Barouk howls, and manages one final blow- as he is torn in two.

“Barouk!!” Corbin cries. “NOOOOOO!!”

“Time to go!” shouts Jorr.

“No!” Corbin counters. “We need his body!”

“Are you mad??”

“The staff, Jorr! I can bring him back to life with it!!”

Grimacing, the ranger turns back to the hydra and begins grimly landing arrow after arrow in it. Corbin keeps conjuring more beasts to keep it occupied- including a shark in the water- and the hydra cannot escape. It shrieks angrily again as a hippogriff lands on it and starts worrying its back. The beast thrashes about; the shark attacks its bloody flanks. More arrows, and more; until it finally collapses, still screaming, in the water, a bloody mass of bites.

Corbin scrambles forward to where Barouk lays, nearly ripped in twain. “Help me carry him!” he cries. Together, he and Jorr lug the gory corpse off the causeway.

“So much for leaving the hydra to kill the goblins,” grunts Jorr.

“I wouldn’t be so sure,” Corbin replies grimly. “I don’t think my creatures killed it, and they only stay around for a few moments. It might have survived.”

They put Barouk’s corpse down. Corbin draws forth the staff of life that they recovered from underneath Vraath Keep, closes his eyes and holds it over the dead dwarf.

Slowly, it begins to glow- and Barouk’s ravaged body knits. After a few moments, his eyes flutter open.

***

Back at Drellin’s Ferry, our heroes grimly tell Speaker Wiston about their findings. “You’re facing a lot more than a few score goblins, I’m afraid,” Corbin tells him. “They had a dragon guarding the bridge at Skull Gorge. That alone is serious cause for concern. From the documents we found, it looks like they’re confident that they can take the entire valley, even Brindol.”

“This is bad,” the speaker mutters, pacing back and forth. “Very bad.” He halts, and stares at the party. “What can we do?”

“Prepare,” says Barouk. “Work on your defenses. Train with weapons, including bows or slings.”

Wiston nods. “And what will you be doing?”

“Well,” Corbin replies, “the notes we found also mentioned that one of the goblin commanders is on some kind of secret mission in the ruins of the old city of Rhest, maybe looking for something. The one we took out didn’t know what he was up to, but had the sense that it was important.”

“So, whatever he is doing, we’re going to stop him,” says Barouk.

Next Time: To the ruins of Rhest!

 

[the Jester]

The journey to the ruins of Rhest will take approximately a week. It is about 80 miles to the small town of Talar, and another 80 miles north to the Blackfens, a murky swamp in which the ruins lay.

The group travels quickly, efficiently, finding hidden nooks and glens to sleep in and always keeping a watch. They stop in Talar just long enough to resupply, then head to the swamp, where the local fauna proves hungry and dangerous. They fight off a crocodile attack and then Jorr hunts up some herbs to help cover their scent.

The party's plan is to cut across the swamp, hopefully avoiding attention Fortunately, both Jorr and Corbin have a great deal of wilderness lore, so they manage to avoid the various swamp hazards. Moreover, Corbin manages to bring the party a brace of wild turkeys one evening, leading to a wonderful feast.

The next day, the party realizes to their bemusement that they have overshot their goal and gone west past the edge of the fens. Corbin quips, “Well, at least we're moving faster than we thought!”

Barouk grunts and shrugs. Kifla just laughs.

The party turns back east and works their way across country until they find a road heading north, cutting across the lowlands. They follow this for a time; then Corbin halts them.

“Look,” he says with a gesture.

From just over the next hill some smoke is rising- perhaps a campfire. With a twitch of his brown-clad arm, Corbin sends his hawk to inspect the situation.

“I don't get a sense of danger,” he reports. “In fact, my hawk seems to be... hungry.”

It turns out that the smoke is from a fire that is roasting a rabbit, surrounded by a small group of peasants. They eye the party suspiciously, but Corbin and Jorr reassure them, and shortly they are chatting amiably with our heroes.

“You guys should be careful,” Corbin warns. “There is an army of hobgoblins and their ilk making ready to storm the entire valley.”

“And they are supported by terrible monsters,” Barouk adds. “Including a dragon.”

The peasants look frightened. One of them volunteers, “The road north is blocked by hobgoblins! I wonder if they are part of this army that you're talking about.”

Our heroes exchange meaningful glances.

“Well,” Barouk declares, “we'll find out.”

***

But it isn't that simple. The party gives serious thought to sneaking around them completely. Kifla advocates the more discrete approach, pointing out that a few escaping goblins could forward the enemy in Rhest that foes are coming for them.

“They wouldn't necessarily know we're coming for them, though, would they?” Corbin points out. “We might just be travelers on the road.”

“True enough,” agrees Barouk. “What do you say, Jorr?”

“I just want to kill some goblins,” the woodsman grunts.

“Let's check out the road block,” says Barouk.

It proves easy enough to sneak up on the road block, between Kifla's invisibility sphere and ghost sounds to distract the group manning it (which includes a pair of ogres and over half a dozen hobgoblins, two of whom are wearing uniforms vaguely fancier than the rest). The road block itself is a crude, ten foot high pallisade of logs that extends about 40' to either side of the road. It completely blocks progress. A rude watchtower, about 20' high, is the centerpiece of the place. But starting stealthy lets the party strike at the right moment, after they have a fair idea of the opposition they face.

Even so, the battle is fierce. The party underestimated the ogres badly; the power of their blows is sufficient to crush stone or shatter bone, and it is all our heroes can do to stay ahead of those terrific smashes. Things grow so desperate that Barouk even tries to light the tower afire before being forced to tumble past some of the hobgoblins and enter the tower to obtain a defensible position!

Jorr leaps to the attack. Now swinging Frogspaw, he proves more than a match for the first regular hobgoblin, cutting it down and rushing to Kifla's side.

The damned ogres! A ham-sized fist connects with Barouk, sending him spinning across the hall, and he cannot seem to connect a fist himself. They are too big, too mean, too strong.

But Corbin manages to find a place where he is away from the fray for a moment, and he begins to chant, using his druidic magic to summon allies. First wolves, then a hippogriff tear into the hobgoblin defenders. Then the brown man directs his servants to attack the ogres, and although this quickly turns ugly, they do manage to tear one of the large monsters down at last.

From the roof, more of the foe starts firing arrows at the party. One hits Barouk in the head, spinning off his skull but leaving him near-senseless. Kifla and Corbin return fire with magic missiles and Melf's acid arrows while Barouk and Jorr face off with the remaining ogre, which smashes a wolf's back with a vicious strike of its club, slaying it instantly.

The hippogriff flexes its wings and launches itself at the rooftop archers. Screams from above drift down even as the last ogre lands a crushing blow on Barouk, and the dwarven monk flies back and lands hard, rolling twice before coming to a bloody halt. But he staggers to his feet, and as the ogre roars and thunders forward, Corbin zaps it with a pair of magic missiles. His summoned creatures are already vanishing; they tore a bloody swath through the hobgoblins and ogres, but it isn't over yet! Corbin yells in triumph as his missiles slay the ogre, and suddenly it's just a matter of mopping up.

Soon it's over. From the top of the tower, Barouk surveys the surrounding area. He can see the marsh spreading for miles away to the east, but there is no immediate sign of more hobgoblins or other Red Hand troops. Below, Jorr methodically searches the bodies while Corbin and Kifla bind the one hobgoblin that they spared.

“Well,” Barouk says with relish, “it's time for some questioning.”

 

[the Jester]

Sadly, that is likely to be the last update in this story hour. Several of the players relocated or had babies; I ended up moving the remaining guy into my "alpha" game (see The Fall of Civlization, in my sig) where he plays Summer, er Autumn, er whatever based on the season.

This group was a lot of fun. I wish it had gone on longer- Red Hand of Doom was a great module, and I really wanted to play it out; the group was really fun in pretty much all of its permutations; and I really had a wonderfully cool idea for the eventual campaign arc that related to the title- the Three Kingdoms of Forinthia and the magic sword that had been stolen that bound them together by treaty, symbolism and magic. (Readers of my various epic level 3e story hours may recall God-Emperor Prayzose having some political issues with this.)

The cool thing about good ideas that you don't get to use is that you may get your chance later. Here's hoping that the Sword of the South Kingdom and the accompanying storyline gets resolved one of these days, as it's been out there dangling since a group in around 2002 or 2003!

And you never know- it's just barely possible that, one day, we might get back together and play this out. I'd love it. But meantime, it was fun, and I'm sorry this particular ride is over.

 

[Mathew_Freeman]

As ever, Jester, I enjoyed reading it and it's a shame it's over. One of the things I most enjoy about your Story Hours is the sense that it all ties together, and that's a testament to your great DMing skills.

I'll enjoy seeing the Fall of Civilisation continue!

 

[the Jester]

As ever, Jester, I enjoyed reading it and it's a shame it's over. One of the things I most enjoy about your Story Hours is the sense that it all ties together, and that's a testament to your great DMing skills.

Thanks... and I need to amend my "it's over" to "it's over for now."

It turns out that the guy that played Kifla has moved back into the area that I moved away from, so the two mainstays of this group are in the same neighborhood again, even if I'm not. So there's hope that we'll eventually get them back together and run a game of this periodically- I try hard to get my game on when I go to visit.

I'll enjoy seeing the Fall of Civilisation continue!

Sadly, we're not too far from the wrap up on that one too- again, I moved away. However, that one we still have at least one session to run- which we will pull off one of these days, I'm going to make a special trip down to do it when we can all pull off the timing- and I'm still about ten sessions behind in the SH (as you can see here if you wanna track my progress as I go). So tFoC should continue for a good while with additional bits leaking out as we play one-shots after the main arc concludes.