Kingmaker AP - Into the Stolen Lands! (Inactive)

Game Master Haldhin

This is the Kingmaker AP - Into the Stolen Lands! Gameplay thread. Please see the Campaign Info tab for information, details, and links relevant to this camapign.

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Our game begins as Bridgette, Bydar, and Raxus are escorting a group of former bandits back to Oleg's Trading Post. They are accompanied by Happs, one-time bandit, now hired guide. After a long day of travel, they decide to camp for the night on the plains just north of the forest.

As evening falls, the group stops for the night, eating a quick meal then setting in to get some rest. An hour into Raxus' watch, he notices a pair of bright yellow eyes staring at him from a dark shadow beside a large oak tree.

A large beast steps into the moonlight and Raxus recognizes the wolf-like creature encountered a few days before. It stares at the half-ogre, bows its head slightly, and addresses Raxus in a low growl, "Honored Pack Leader, when last we spoke, I told you that men had killed one of my pack."

It points at the bandits with its muzzle, "Those two, the one with light fur, and the one with no fur, they are the killers. They acted for pleasure, not need. They did not take the meat. They did not take the fur. Their offense can only be settled with their blood. I claim their lives in payment for my slain mate. Give them to me, and leave in peace."

Raxus notices at least four other pairs of yellow eyes just outside the light of the fire.

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The wolf creature has indicated two of the bandits currently held by the group.

It does not appear that Happs or any of the bandits were awakened by the conversation.

Please let me know how you want to proceed.

Raxus looks at the two men, as if weighing something then nods. Shaking the first bandit awake, then the second, Raxus hauls them to their feet, and shoves them to the edge of the firelight. "Your past caught up with you. Run."

Bydar awakens, and upon seeing the wolves begins to strap his armor on, though he makes no threatening gestures as he does so. "Raxus, are you sure ..." but the deed, it seems, is already being done. He turns instead to the great wolf, "You said only blood. But what of the future, what if they were to share part of their hunt with your pack to help restore life where it had been taken? Perhaps they did not know of your true nature. I am not sure of it myself, and I thought myself a learned man."
Am I really hoping to save bandits from talking wolves?
Diplomacy: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (18) + 8 = 26

Given the excitement of the day and the energy burned,
she wakes up groggily and falls back asleep.

Several high-pitched yips and howls sound out from the woods as the creatures react to Bydar's words.

The large pack leader growls deeply and loudly, silencing the others. It looks at Bydar for several seconds before responding, "Your leader understands our ways, but if you wish them to live, this One are shall discuss another form of payment."

Its eyes narrow and its tongue hang out of its mouth. You would swear the creature is grinning at you. "This One requires one cow every moon to make up for the losses to Our Pack."

The two bandits are staring into the woods, the bald one actually shaking with fright. He turns to look at Raxus, "Please sir giant sir, don't let them eat us! We didn't know, honest. We was just having some fun, it was an accident! We'll do anything you say, we'll behave. Just don't let those monsters have us! We're sorry! We're so sorry!"

Tears stream down the blonde bandit's face, and though his mouth is moving, no sound emerges. He appears to be completely terrified.

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To be clear, the creature is asking for about 1,000 pounds of meat each month. It is willing to accept any creature, or combination of creatures (i.e 10 goats, 200 chickens, etc), that meet the weight threshold.

Our leader? Interesting. As much as I like Raxus, that's not how I see him, but probably best not to argue with it in front of a pack. "For how long? A year, two years?"

"Please sir giant sir, don't let them eat us! We didn't know, honest. We was just having some fun, it was an accident! We'll do anything you say, we'll behave. Just don't let those monsters have us! We're sorry! We're so sorry!"

Raxus completely ignores the bandits. He waits for Bydar's decision.

Sounds to me like two bandits just became ranchers or shepherds. They have a meat-debt to some wolves.

The creature looks upward toward the moon and sniffs the air. Looking back at Bydar, it barks, then says, "Yes, two full turns of the seasons."

"Does this One have an agreement?"

He looks to the bandits, "Gentlemen. You have a choice. Agree to hunt or raise cattle, or whatever to pay this debt for the next two years, without stealing it from anyone... or you may confess your sins, I will pray to the goddess to take your souls should you die... and you may start running and hope to stay alive. Frankly, I WANT to defend you, but I'm not sure I can fight off these wolves alone so I suggest you make a choice."

The bald bandit falls to his knees, "I'll do it! I'll be the best rancher in the River Kingdoms!" He begins crawling forward, bowing to Bydar, "Thank you, sir! Praise be to Shelyn! She sent you to save us!"

The blonde bandit looks at Bydar, his face a mask slack and devoid of emotion. After a moment, he nods slowly and speaks in a low raspy voice, "Sure, whatever you say."

The large wolf-life creature raises its muzzle and howls. The sound is like nothing you have heard before, a baritone roar that echoes in the night. The others in the woods take the cue and also begin howling, but they voices barely register over that of their pack lord's sound.

It ceases and looks toward Bydar, "There is an accord. Your pack has a moon to prepare, then this One expects Our due. There is a large rock near the northern edge of this forest. It resembles the paw of a bear. Leave the payment there on the full moon."

Assuming the characters are finished...

Looking toward Raxus, "Your pack is strong and cunning, honors to your line. Be informed that this One is known as Howl-in-the-North." It turns away slowly, then lopes away into the woods, with the yellow eyes in the woods disappearing into the night.

All of the bandits are awake, obviously frightened and looking around. Happs eyes the group warily. "Good work. That was not a fight we would have won." He and the other bandits soon return to their beds for the rest of the night.

Unless the characters want to do anything different, my next post will be their return to Oleg's.

The bald bandit falls to his knees, "I'll do it! I'll be the best rancher in the River Kingdoms!" He begins crawling forward, bowing to Bydar, "Thank you, sir! Praise be to Shelyn! She sent you to save us!"

The blonde bandit looks at Bydar, his face a mask slack and devoid of emotion. After a moment, he nods slowly and speaks in a low raspy voice, "Sure, whatever you say."

Sense Motive: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (7) + 7 = 14

Bydar stares at the both, wondering for a moment at their sincerity or mood. He helps the first fellow who was crawling up, then offers his hands to both men, "Shelyn may or may not have sent me, I don't claim to know. I do know that she has forgiven more of MY sins than I deserve, and I would be a hypocrite not to try to help you find your own paths to redemption. Though in this case, honorable survival as much as anything must motivate us. This was my suggestion, and you both put your trust into it AND me. So I will try to help you both make the quota."

He waits for their response, and then goes to pray. He has much to dwell on.

The bald bandit nods, "My name is Terrin, and I'm your man, sir. I never wanted to be a bandit, but I was run off my lands, and wasn't able to find any work. You gave me a chance, more of a chance than anyone has ever given me before, and you won't be sorry! No sir, you won't regret helping me!"

The blonde bandit comes to stand beside Terrin. "I'm Miles Shaeffer, but you can call me Shaeffy "Shay - fee". Sorry about that, but those wolves just scared the life out of me. I'm not really a rancher, but I'll do my best. I was a wainwright before the merchant I worked for made a couple of bad deals and lost his wagons. After that, I wandered around a bit and Kessle found me drowning my sorrows in a beer. Before I knew it, I had joined the her crew. "

He rubs his face with his hands before continuing, "I've never been a religious man, so I'm not sure if the gods sent you or not. But you saved my life, so I'm yours until the debt is paid."

At that, Bydar actually smiles, "Terrin... Shaeffy, call me Bydar. And the important thing is we get the meat there. Be it by hunting, ranching, herding or trade. I'll be happy to teach either or both of you all I can of the goddess as we travel, but your souls are your own until you yield them up by choice or by death. Now, pardon, the trust you both give has lightened my spirit somewhat, but I still have much to pray on. Get some sleep," He adds, "Morning will be soon, and wolves in your face was a hell of a way to wake up."

Raxus watches the wolves vanish into the night, hen gives Bydar a long look and nods in stoic approval before going back to his watch.

New players, this is your cue; for now, only interact with one another, we'll reach Oleg's in a day or two real time.

Location: City of Restov, Western Gate

The teamster in the lead wagon blows on a loud whistle to get everyone's attention. In a deep voice, he bellows over the din and chaos, "We're moving out. If you're part of my team, stay toward the front. Everyone else, stay behind the last wagon! Don't lag or you'll be left for the bandits or wolves."

Four individuals watch as the wagons move forward. All had been briefed on the route to the west, stopping at Nikvata's Crossing, then Oleg's Trading Post, then continuing further north. By plan or coincidence, all four individuals were planning to stop at Oleg's, for their adventures were to begin there.

Feel free to introduce yourselves, and please provide a physical description for any odd or unusual items or characteristics people would see when looking at you.

Old characters

The group arrives back at Oleg's late the next day, moving into the Trading Post and directing the captured bandits put the salvaged items into the storage shed.

Kesten approaches the group as the bandits store the goods. "Welcome back, we had a visitor arrive yesterday, and you probably want to speak with him. He's dining with Oleg and Svetlana in their quarters."

He looks over the bandits and watches them for a few minutes. "Not that I'm opposed to more former bandits being forced to work off their debts instead of being lynched, but where do you expect these men to sleep? The other group is in the stables, and they're pretty crowded with the horses. And what are you planning on feeding them? Oleg and Svetlana have some food in storage, but with you, me and my men, and eight more adults, their larder won't last long, even with the extra rations we requested when we received this assignment. Best think about it when you see Oleg. He won't mention it, but he's already worried."

He begins to back away before adding, "Now that we're settled in here, the Swordlord Council in Restov gave me several commissions to post when we arrived. Come find me after you speak with Oleg and we'll discuss the jobs I'm authorized to offer."

Watching the caravan begin its trek, Temerith stands with his arms crossed. He appears to be about six and a half feet tall, though with his head covered in the hood of his red leather jacket and his face hidden in shadow, his features are hard to make out. If one were to look closely into the hood, they'd be able to see his lightly-glowing red eyes. The cloying scent of brimstone also seems to surround him.

Clad in an almost-gaudy red and silver leather coat over an adventurer's outfit and a chain shirt, the man's heavy leather boots dig into the soft ground. At his left hip hangs a sheathed bastard sword and a morningstar, with a holy symbol of Ragathiel, sling and a pouch on his right hip.

Temerith's eyes scan the other three men, giving a terse nod to each, but he says nothing.

Old characters

The group arrives back at Oleg's late the next day, moving into the Trading Post and directing the captured bandits put the salvaged items into the storage shed.

Kesten approaches the group as the bandits store the goods. "Welcome back, we had a visitor arrive yesterday, and you probably want to speak with him. He's dining with Oleg and Svetlana in their quarters."

He looks over the bandits and watches them for a few minutes. "Not that I'm opposed to more former bandits being forced to work off their debts instead of being lynched, but where do you expect these men to sleep? The other group is in the stables, and they're pretty crowded with the horses. And what are you planning on feeding them? Oleg and Svetlana have some food in storage, but with you, me and my men, and eight more adults, their larder won't last long, even with the extra rations we requested when we received this assignment. Best think about it when you see Oleg. He won't mention it, but he's already worried."

He begins to back away before adding, "Now that we're settled in here, the Swordlord Council in Restov gave me several commissions to post when we arrived. Come find me after you speak with Oleg and we'll discuss the jobs I'm authorized to offer."

"You bring up some good points and food is going to be a bigger problem than just that," He says, thinking of the wolves. "I think the first thing we need to do is find out what skills each of these former bandits has and put them to work in making things better. Farming some land, building some cover, and hunting."

Riding a horse of alabaster sits an elf. Slim and towering at six feet ten inches, not counting his large pointed nearly needle like ears. His sharp features, solid sapphire eyes, and complex black hair style completed his exotic appearance. His clothes in contrast were a simple and well worn. Sturdy brown boots, leather breeches, a belt over a sash, a white shirt beneath a forest green vest, and crossed bandoliers. Upon his hands plain gloves, a deep green cloak on his back, and a sky blue scarf that often came up just under his nose gave a strange impression to say the least.

He remained silent while on his steed, looking around. Taking down a note from time to time in his journal. At the others he offered only a tilt of his head in greeting.

Old players

Information provided to the characters from the captured bandits:

1. Mites raided the camp two days before the characters arrived and stole two bags of treasure. The mites are rumored to live under an Old Sycamore Tree near the camp. will be marked on the map for reference

2. The green liquor is a special brew for the Stag Lord. If he doesn't receive it, he will likely get nervous and angry if it's late. The next shipment is due in about six weeks.

3. The Stag Lord appears to be human, but he always wears a helmet made from the skull of a stag so nobody has seen his face. He is an excellent shot with a bow, and strong enough to kill a man by choking him with one hand.

4. Over the past few years, he has become more and more irrational, especially since he's started drinking. But his reputation is so fearsome and well-deserved, none of the other bandits who have challenged him are still alive. Of course, rumors say an old man lives in the cellar of the Stag Lord's fort, and that he's the real leader of the bandits; the man wearing the helm is just his enforcer.

5. The passcode to get into the fort is: "By the Bloody Bones of St. Gilmorg, who wants to know?"

All of this information was provided to the characters after the encounter with the wolf creatures. Apparently saving some lives really had an impact on the prisoners. Their behavior was also noticeably better on the rest of the journey to Oleg's

Varnius wakes up amidst the crates and containers of one of the caravan supply carts, immediately becoming the owner of the group’s most significant hangover.

Aaaargh?! What the hell were we drinking last night? I feel like I’ve been kicked in the head by an ogre.

Rubbing his eyes, he starts to recall the events of the night before. After his first night of freedom turned to the boredom of days waiting for the caravan to leave, Varnius remembered his decision to escalate his usual nightly drink with the caravan guards into a bit of friendly gambling. One Varisian with a harrow deck and a bottle of Firewater later, and Varnius’ memory disintegrated into the usual hazy mess of half-remembered laughter and soon forgotten insults shared by the fire.

A cursory rummage through the pockets of his travelling attire revealed how much of a toll the previous night had taken on his coin purse.

Foul tempered, aching, and poorer than the night before, Varnius raises his head above the baggage barricade that serves as his bed and looks around, pulling the hood of his cloak over his head to shield his searing eyes from the hateful daylight.

Right, which one of this miserable lot has my gold and gods help him when I find him out.

His eyes alight on two figures leading the caravan, two fellow travellers on their way to the Stolen Lands that had remained solitary and unspeaking throughout the nights before the venture. Picking his target; a tall and overdressed elf in too nice clothes on a too nice horse, Varnius introduces himself:

"Hey, Knife-Ears! Which one you of has got my gold?"

His voice rings out over the sound of tromping hooves and creaking cartwheels but he is oblivious to the stern looks of the other travellers as he flicks himself off the slow moving cart and moves apace towards the elf, pointing a finger accusingly as he approaches.

"I know you elves can be a cold bunch, but it’s something else enitrely to take gold from man you’ve never had the courtesy to speak to!"

As he draws up next to the horse, he looks past its flank to give a conspiratorial wink to the hooded figure across the way (Temerith) before turning his gaze practically vertical to meet the eyes of the accused elf astride the horse and brazenly holding an open palm up to him.

"Come on princess, cough up."

Old Group:

"Maybe the treasure that isn't Olegs can be used to trade for some food and building materials." Bydar adds.

Giving him a slow measured look, he puts his journal away. It seemed he had a drunken fool or bully to deal with. He puts out a hand as if to give him something and with a flick a dagger appears right in the man's face. Speaking in a calm musical voice.

"You would do well to mind your manners. Otherwise you may wake up short of something you had the night before. Something not so replaceable as gold that is."

Unless the man makes anymore foolish choices he leaves it at that and the dagger disappears once more.

"Considering your odor, I suggest you wash yourself. By then your scattered thoughts should make it clear that I have netheir need or interest in your gold. I would also remind you that banditry is punishable by death in these parts."

He tilts his head to the rest of the caravan. By now they no doubt had their eyes on the man, branding the man as a troublemaker and potential threat.

As the dagger flashes in front of Varnius’ face and back again, his expression dances between genuine shock, a flicker of barely repressed anger, before settling into a wide and unexpectedly toothy grin at the elf.

Holy hell! Who would have thought this one would be the dangerous pick? I was expecting a nervous, stuttering scholar…

"Woah, easy there friend! I was looking to make a few coins back, not new scars. Not all of us can afford a fine horse to ride on."

At this he pats the horse reassuringly on its neck before extending his arm upwards again, this time gesturing for a handshake.

"You wouldn’t be the first elf I met without a sense of humour…but maybe this time I owe an apology. Sorry for pushing my luck. My name is Varnius. I guess you have a commission as well?"

Old group

Arumil still gives him a measuring look. But shakes his hand, with the one that did not cause the dagger to appear.

"I do not consider your words to be humour. It is unwise to travel unprepared. Mist here."

He gently pats the horse.

"Is from my homeland, a parting gift. I am Arumil. You are correct, I am on my way to Oleg's Trading Post."

Temerith watches the elf and the other hooded man converse, a barely perceptible smirk showing underneath the shadow of his hood forming as their argument.

Walking up to Varnius' side, the red coated man grunts softly, attempting to draw their attention.

Varnius nods at Arumil's remark;

"Good, me too. From the sounds of it that trading post is the last spit of civilisation before a thousand miles of wilderness..."

He sighs as his voice trails off and his gaze fades into the middle distance

…A womanless, alcohol-barren wasteland as far as the eye can see, with nothing but bandits, wolves and other castaways like me for company...hanging me might have been kinder.

Just as he is drifting off into thoughts of the impending misery that the commission will entail, the figure approaching catches his eye and he perks up.

”Greetings friend. Do you have a commission as well?”

Varnius takes in the cloaked and hooded appearance of the man, similar to his own, and breaks into a sly grin:

“Also, why are you wearing a hood? Afraid to show your face after taking gold from the defenceless clutches of a poor, drunken traveller?”

Varnius laughs and extends his hand out to shake the man’s hand.

Temerith looks to the man's outstretched hand then back up to meet his eyes. "Didn't take your coin. Hood is for others' sake."

He reaches out awkwardly to shake Varnius' hand, but he's obviously not done it much before. It's closer to an attempt to crush the other man's hand than any show of salutation. There is far too much strength in his grip, and he's not even holding Varnius' hand properly. However, even shrouded in shadow, one can see Temerith's brow knit in concentration and confusion as he attempts to figure out why this doesn't seem to be working. Eventually, he just lets go, apologizing softly. The hooded man gestures to himself, "Temerith."

Varnius grimaces as the bones in his hand begin to audibly creak and grind together under Temerith’s unintentional onslaught. After a few agonising moments the Tiefling lets go and he pulls his hand away with a shout:

”AARGH! You’re even worse than the Elf! What the hell is your-“

Varnius stops his tirade when he notices the look of perplexion and worry on the shrouded man’s face, and hears the quiet murmur of an apology. He looks up at Arumil to see if he noticed the exchange, shrugging his shoulders uncertainly before turning back to Temerith.

”Look, don’t worry about it, my hand is fine.” He says while rubbing life back into his fingers, “My name is Varnius and this is Arumil. I guess we’ll be travelling together a ways?

He smiles and waits for Temerith to continue, although his expression is a clear mix of annoyance, pain and curiosity.

That’s it – If I meet anyone else on this godsforsaken venture, even the tiniest, daintiest gnomette; I am going to WAVE from a SAFE DISTANCE….We've not even set off yet and I've nearly had my throat cut and I can’t feel my fingers.

Temerith nods at Varnius, and then at Arumil. "Yes."

The hooded man bows slightly, but doesn't seem to have anything else to say.

Arumil noticed the man's eyes and his behavior, he was not fully human. A tiefling it seemed, not that it mattered to him. Looking over at Varnius and Temerith.

"So do you have any useful skills or abilities?"

Edit-

Temerith blinks at the Elf, a blank look on what can be seen of his face. "I am... Ragathiel's arm." His left hand moves to rest on the pommel of his blade. His posture appears to state that this is all he has to say on the subject.

I don't think Temerith could put it into words, even if he wanted to.

"What are 'athletes?' "Sports?'" Raxus rumbles.

"I have some skill in magic. Enough to deal with bandits and wildlife anyway. Thats in addition to my skills as a gifted conversationalist, if you hadnt already noticed."

Varnius looks to Arumil and Temerith as he responds, taking in the unusual appearance of the two before thinking to himself;

Hmmm, not a single human with a commission. If I didn't know any better I would say the Surtovans were shipping out undesirables on a suicide mission rather than a quest for glory and riches. I wouldn't put it past them.

He focuses on the few facial features visible beneath Temerith's cloak, recalling his statement that the hood was for the sake of others.

Could it be that he is...like me? Might I not be alone in my ancestry?

He addresses Temerith;

"Come now Temerith, there is no need to conceal yourself from us with shyness and stilted words. It is likely we will shed blood and share gold before long. Reveal yourself to us, that we may know the face of Ragathiel's arm."

As he waits for Temerith to respond, Varnius leans over to Arumil and whispers:

"...What's a Ragathiel?"

Arumil sighed, ignorance was not shameful. He would never know why others could not admit their lack of knowledge.