Day 1, Friday Night, Turn 122, approximately 8:10 pm
There was once a time, long before the streets of Cipenny had been paved with stones, a time when the town was no more than a small hamlet, that the first night of autumn would have been a night of celebration.
The celebration would have begun well before the sun had set over the mountains to the west. Fires would be lit in the square of the hamlet, to drive away the fog that rose from the river to the northeast, and bring the hardy farmers and gentle river folk out of their homes to gather in the square where warm pies would be served on long narrow tables, and strong beer, heady wines, and the whiskey of Kings would be served while music would play, and the dancing, oh the dancing, would carry on well into the night. In those times the Dwarves of Cipenny were known all over Balor as a special folk, a folk of revelry, gaiety, pride, and warm spirits. The fields around the Cipenny River held a special spoil, and in this soil grew the barely and hops that produced the special brews that were the favorites of the Kings of Baylor. Those were better times, good times, bright times. The harvest fest would follow a few weeks after the first day of autumn, and that celebration would be even better.
No one alive today in the town of Cipenny remembers the last time there had been a celebration in the town. No one remembers the last time a fire was light in the square, now dominated by the stature erected to Wyuddellwyn*, the Dwarven Goddess of Suffering that now stands towering over the well of Himmul Lurggendson.
Otter’s Bench, the largest tavern in Cipenny, stands across from the Statue of Wyuddellwyn, and from within the tavern, through the small dark glass windows high on the walls on each side of the wide tavern doors, those sitting by the big fires (there are two one on each side of the tavern) can look out and see her smiling face, and feel some sense of hope in these dark times.
Roulff Uldervan, the Dwarven Barman, serves black beer, and thick honey mead from behind the long bar against the wall opposite the door to the Tavern. His son Brodel, and his daughter, Gewodel, wait on the small tables placed near the two fires. It is quiet, now, in the tavern, but soon the gloom of the night will be lifted by the arrival of Waglinde, the bard.
Across the town square, to the left of the statue, is Von Aufred’s Inn and the Golden Rose Theater. This large building, many centuries old, was once the largest building in the town, and for many years served as the Town Hall, and Hall of Records. When the great Gate House on the South side of the city was erected, the city’s offices moved there, and the building became an Inn and Theater, and some people still say that in those old times it was a place of great joy, and lavish plays, concerts, and spring time talent contests were once held there.
For almost a generation the building laid empty, silent, and abandoned, until Waglinde came to Cipenny. She came from the capitol just a few years ago (and some people say she was banned from there by the King, due to her lewd performances). Waglinde bought the building, renamed it after the great Poet Von Aufred , and the poem his is most famous for writing.
Now it is no secret that it is never safe to be out at night, in the fields and on the roads around Cipenny, for the town lies too near the shadow of Mount Bawund, where it is said the Palace of the Vampire Queen can be found, above the ruins of the Black Village. Even the city streets of Cipenny are not safe when the moon is new and the fog rolls heavy across through the streets. But tonight Waglinde sings, and her girls and boys dance, play songs, juggle, perform acts of comedy, and entertain those brave enough to be out this night, and for those few travelers staying at the inn, and when the show is over, Waglinde will, she always does, cross the square, be lifted up by her girls and then place a kiss on the bosom of the statue that is the patron Goddess of the town, before she heads to Otter’s bench where she will share a bottle of wine with her friends, late into the night, before she retires to her private apartment above the Tavern.
There are a few strangers in the Tavern tonight, and a few regulars. Some of these people wait for the company of Waglinde, while others have gathered here to do stranger things. There are plans being made here tonight. A reward is being offered for the safe return of the daughter of the King of Baylor. It is rumored the Dwarven Princess has been taken to the Palace of the Vampire Queen, and is being held there against her will. Others have entered the Palace in the past, some even lived to return, but none will ever venture there a second time, it is said.
Welcome to Otter’s bench tavern, and the Adventure that is about to begin!
* Wyuddellwyn is the Dwarven Goddess of Patience, Determination, Suffering, and Hope. She is depicted in art as a young mother, waiting for the return home of her warrior children. She does not doubt her children will return home safe and victorious. The statue of her in Cipenny is sixteen feet high, and shows her with her arms held out wide, welcoming her children into her bosom. Her face is serene, she is humble looking, with a sweet face, but not particularly beautiful (as the Dwarven Goddess Mevboll, who is always depicted as the pinnacle of female Dwarven Beauty). She is the patron God of Cipenny, and one of four Dwarven Gods commonly worshipped in the town (four of eleven Dwarven deities worshipped, including Dark Gods, on Balor).
[doting]
Haarold will be in the tavern musing over an ale after his watch. Hmm, a reward for a rescue. I could do that. Wonder if they'd give me leave from my post for a job like that. You'd think they'd have to wouldn't they?
Two halflings and a giant of a man sit at a comically small table near the fireplace at the left side of the bar. Their demeanor is less stifling than the pervasive gloom of the others in the room as they chit chat loudly about whatever.
"Well Met Anders of the Buck! My name is Beldak Bracegirdle. Come enlighten me to your origins. I have not yet traveled so far north but I have read many books about the cold wastes and King Arman's defeat of the Tafganor."
The hulking human with the Greataxe sheathed on this back raises a glass to beldak.
Aye, Beldak, my clan laid waste to many Tafangor, but now I traveled south to have the great bards like Waglinde sing sagas of my deeds here! I felled so many Tafangor with my axe, that they say I took to it like choppin' wood.
He turns to the other halfling.
And what do they call you, friend? I hear tell there may be a reward to rescue a princess. What better way to have your saga written here in the South?
Alder looks over at the hulking human and reminds himself, once again, not all tall folk are evil...though sometime it is hard to remember that.
"I am Alder Tiller. A rescue you say? Well that does sound....interesting."
Alder turns to the other halfling and in a quite voice mutters something in a odd, but almost familiar language.
"Why are we sitting here with this giant? It just draws more attention to ourselves...more than I think is wise!
"Pah! Surely this lovely mead hasn't bolstered some bizarre fear within you my good lad! This hairy behemoth could do nothing but give us the utmost privacy in such a lewd seedy establishment as this!" Beldak sips a mighty sip from his mug of mead, "Besides, the only thing this lot cares to pay attention to tonight is Waglinde! Of whom, I'm not sure you are familiar with as you're not familiar with this area if my presumptions are correct? Hmm?!?"
Beldak sits back in his chair. He nods to the northern man and raises his mug in an airy salute to both members of the tiny table.
Anders takes a large pull on his drink, and belches loudly,
BRRRRRRRRRP!
He pounds his chest.
Better out than in, eh? Barkeep, another round for me and my little friends! So, where are you two from?
The door to the tavern swings open drawing the eyes of several patrons who hope that it is Waglinde, but they are disappointing by the harsh look of the lone dwarf entering. Stepping through the door, the man is burly even for a dwarf and as he lets his pack fall to the ground it strikes with a resounding boom, suggesting a far greater weight than it appeared to have while on his shoulders. A large shield is strapped to the bag and chain mail pokes out from within, with several weapons hanging from loops and buckles. He himself wears firm, dark traveler's leathers and strangely (for a dwarf) he has shaved on side of his head and now has strange runes tattooed where his hair had once been. A hand axe hangs from his belt as he walks to the bar.
With a nod to the barkeep, he speaks simply, "Ev'ning. Ale." Taking the mug, he turns back toward the room and, as he sips, scans the faces and nature of those within, seeking those who might help him find vengeance.
Day 1, Friday Night, turn 123, approximately 8:20
Roulff places a heavy metal stein on the bar in front of Duglin, while Gewodel goes behind the bar, throwing a smile at Anders and begins filling a few mugs.
The noise from an approaching group of revelers comes in through the open door of the tavern. The noise is warm, friendly, and lifts the spirits of those who understand what it means.
Waglinde Howard Claire walks into the tavern followed by six or seven others. Right now, Waglinde is dressed in a long flowing blue skirt, pleated, and belted low around her waist with a dark leather belt. Her top is white cotton, with puffy sleeves, but instead of it hanging loose, she has tied it up below her small, but definitely feminine bosom. Tonight, it would seem, Waglinde would like to be recognized as a woman.
She stops just inside the door. She is laughing, just a little, and she turns and hugs four of her friends, giving them each a kiss on both cheeks and saying good night to them as they, each in turn leave and go back across the square toward the theater.
She turns around, this strange entertainer, and looks at the faces in the tavern, and recognizes some. She points at Haarold and shouts
I hope Haary isn’t on duty, or else we need to drink him under the table and that could take all night, haha
Waglinde takes the arms of two of her friends, the only two who stayed with her when she arrived, and marches toward an empty table, while Brodel can be seen placing a decanter of wine and several tall glasses on a platter at the bar.
She sits down, this strange person with the flamboyant hair, and chiseled features, but then immediately gets up when she sees a tall man sitting at a table with two halflings.
Well, well, well, we have some newcomers here tonight. Welcome, welcome, and please join all of us tonight as we celebrate the first day of the season. Let me buy you all a round of drinks, all three of you, hell, everyone here, and if you are not keeping your business close to you chest come closer and keep it close to mine, haha Waglinde says in a sing song voice as she places her hands under her breasts.
"Nope not on duty, so you batter have another barrel in back. " he replies with a grin.
Alder grimaces and gets up to join the bard at her table. He make an odd addition, as the rest seem happy and lively, he still seems withdrawn and watchful.
PPPFFBBTBHTHTHTTHHH
Beldak spits out a mouthful of meed at the lewd gesture and guffaws soon after.
"There's a spice about tonight!! And it's not in the meed if you know what I mean! You must be the majestic Waglinde that everyone has been murmuring about! My name is Beldak, this is Alder and the behemoth is Anders. It would be a pleasure to accept your round offer, just the one, not the two, thank you," Beldak said with a smile.
Bwahahaha, just the one, excellent, excellent. I like your style, sharp. Well, Beldak, Alder, and ahem, woo hoo, Anders, tell me, what brings you this far up the river, away from the coast?
"Ah, yes, well... My reasons are that I had a meeting with the wizarding council earlier this day. They informed me there would be a ribald performance this night and I was urged to stay and lighten my spirit via spirits. My new friend here has mentioned something about a rescue mission. It is news on the tongues of many yet so few seem up to task.
This last statement seems louder than the rest of the conversation. Beldak glances about from behind his mug as if measuring how many had heard him and which ones may have thought it was he who dared challenge. He sets his mug down and slides it aside, leaning into the table. With a low voice aimed clearly at Waglinde, "What do you know of this princess? Hmm?"
Haarold overhears the conversation and looks over in interest.
Hmm, some others are looking at the rescue too eh? Guess it's probably too much for one dwarf. Maybe I can hitch a ride with that lot.
Anders winks and gives a crooked grin at the bard.
"Thank ye for the drink, lass. I am here to get in on any rescue efforts, and to spread my name amongst the sagas to be sung!"
Day 1, Friday Night, turn 123, approximately 8:20
Waglinde smiles at Beldak, her eyebrows lift and her eyes grow wide. It is difficult for him to tell if she is mocking him, or if she is genuinely impressed by his bravado. When He asks about a princess, she nods, and is about to speak when Anders interrupts in his way.
Rescue and a princess, now, there’s the makings of a story, in a nutshell, as the gnomes say. Waglinde says, her voice taking on a breathy quality.
I’ll tell you what I know, but it isn’t much. Her name, I’ve heard, is Panglleduur, a name given to her by her Grandmother, but the King and Queen called her Edelweiss Gherscheeme, or Edelle, names that mean such sweet things parents image such as, a gift of the purest white, or our white gift, nonsense names of the kind most girls grow out of quickly. But not her. I’ve never seen her, but I’m told she is quite beautiful, young, fair, with hair as white as virgin snow, and eyes of golden brown. I understand she is young, for a Dwarf, not even a quarter of a century old, or as the Dwarfs say, Midenvult, or between, which means she is young enough to be still considered innocent, but old enough to know better, eh if you know the subtle nature of the Dwarfs and their closeted promiscuity.
Waglinde chuckles at what must be some personal, inside joke, and continues, Now, as to being rescued, if the stories are true, you might have a chance, though there are few who would believe it. You see, for centuries the people have moaned and groaned about the blight on this land that is the Vampire Queen, who is she, where does she come from, how can she be destroyed. I’d sing you a song about her, but once you’ve made that mistake, you learn not to do it again. The Dwarves take their misery very seriously, and this evil is not something to be taken lightly.
She takes a tall glass in her hand, and the man sitting next to her, a grey haired, slender, very old but still handsome man, fills the glass to near the top with dark red wine. Waglinde sips, sips again, then takes a deep drink of the wine, and then she makes a serious face and says, Now, it goes like this. Children, if not watched carefully will disappear, particularly in the hills and in the mountain villages where the goblin’s steal them for food and to sell to deeper, darker things as slaves. How do we know this? It is not easy, but a goblin can be captured, with luck, and questioned, with patience, but more than that, there is something that very few Dwarves like to talk about. The Dwarves, the people of Baylor, are not the only ones of their kind. You might ask yourself if there is an explanation for why the Dwarves are the way they are, their stature to be sure, but also their ability to see in total darkness, their love of the stones and rocks, and their knack for getting around in caves, why do a people living in palaces on the cliffs above the sea need to have these traits? It is because once the Dwarves lived deep underground, and for one reason or another they moved into the light, or at least some of them did.
That’s a lie, A voice calls out from the corner of the tavern. When she speaks, all heads turn to look in her direction to see if she will say anything else. She is an old dwarven woman, with a patch over her right eye. She is bent over a small table, and a crutch is leaned against the wall at her side. She looks toward Waglinde, her face sad, but firm.
Waglinde lifts her glass toward the woman, and says, If you believe it, it can be so.
Then, Waglinde turns back to the three adventurers and whispers, It’s an old gnomish saying, the dwarves don’t like to argue with old gnomish sayings, bad history there.
Anyway, Waglinde goes on in a normal voice, Where was I? Oh yes, underground, the underdark, they call it. Waglinde leans forward until her chin is only inches above the table, and holds her wine glass high, next to her head. She grins, and it is a playful and at the same time a sinister expression, as she lowers her voice and begins to speak slowly.
High in the mountains, above even where the fog can reach, there are places. Dark, old places, older even then the stories of the Vampire Queen. Places, the legends say, that were once cities, cities of a different kind of Dwarf, a kind of Dwarf that shunned the light of day, and lived not only in the perpetual darkness of the deep places of the world, but also they lived in the deep darkest places of the heart, making slaves of other races, doing dark magic, and living in the protection of dark gods.
Once upon a time, a Dwarven hero, unlike his people, came out of the darkness, out of the underdark and out of the evil of his kind, and brought with him those who sought to make their race equals to the people already sharing the light above the ground. He was called Bayl, and his kingdom came to be known as Baylor, and for all of his generation, and the generation of his sons, and their sons, war was fought between the Dwarves who came above, and the Dwarves of the underdark, until one day, when a son of Bayl rode deep into the depths on the back of a Silver Dragon, the dark Dwarves were broken, and scattered across the underdark their dominion over all the dark things there forever broken.
Waglinde shoots bolt upright suddenly, her face brightening, and she shakes her long tresses, and gulps another drink of wine, When the children go missing, some of the more honest will say, it is not only because of the blood thirst of the Vampire Queen and her minions, but it is also because in the underdark, the desire for vengeance is deeper than the Lake of the Dead. When the Dwarven Queen was drowned in a terrible storm centuries ago, and when her body was carried, by her loyal followers, her ladies in waiting and her royal guard, into the mountains to be buried in what was to be a great and lasting monument to the triumph over the dark past of the Dwarves, who then could have known that that tomb was going to be the tool by which the beaten ancestors of the Dwarven people would enact their revenge upon the Dwarves who choose the light.
Eyes wide, jaw firmly resting on the table farthest from his face than it's ever been during the most sumptuous feasts, Beldak shakes his head a bit and blinks to re-wet his daydream dried eyes.
He stands, CLAP
A smile splits his face, CLAP
He turns and climbs up into his chair to stand taller, CLAP CLAP
His applause slowly picks up pace, CLAP CLAP CLAP CLAP CLAP CLAP CLAP CLAP
"BRAVO... BRRRAAAAAAAVOOOOOOO" Beldak shouts into the stilled tavern. He climbs back down exuberantly and turns to the gnome "Many tomes have I scoured over the Underdark. I've poured through the legend of Bayl, the annotated, orated, elaborated and obfuscated versions mind you, but never, NEVER have I heard the tale told thusly!!
Ohhhh, lassie! What a fine tale! I can't wait til' ye sing of my exploits.
He looks around, and asks the Bard,
So, is it just the three of us, or are there others that would join our merry crew?
"I'll come along if you'll take me. I'm handy with this axe. " he replies gruffly from the bar. Then again he says everything gruffly.
I am always glad to have another Axe.
Anders lovingly pats the head of his own over his shoulder.
Duglin has stood back, enjoying the round purchased by the performer, whilst listening to her words carefully. His mind wandered to the dark parts of his recent past, things that masked out the joy of earlier years. He could still hear the ring of his hammer on the anvil, but now, screams in the dark echoed louder.
Still, this woman had insight, and the company gathered seemed more than capable, so he approached. Thar be dark things an' dark deeds in the deep. Things that we dunna speak 'bout, but prob'bly should. I am the last of me line 'cause 'uh these things. I'll pledge me 'ammer an' me 'eart, to the cause if ye'll 'ave me."
Waglinde looks up and down Duglin's stout frame, and smiles.
You are Brave, sir. Tell me your name. Sit with us, drink, and laugh with us while the laughter is still in us.
Alder, tiring of Waglinde's act, wanders off to the bar to order a drink and think.
So, its a kidnapping that she want me to check on....huh. Would not have pegged her for a soft touch...must be an angle there...at least no pointy ear's will be coming with us, not sure if I could have handled that...even for her!
A brief smile crosses Duglin's face as he sits. "Me name's Duglin Braehammer, an' I'll gladly join ye, though laughter don't fall much from these lips." He takes another drink from his mug of ale.
Day 1, Friday Night, turn 123, approximately 8:20
Waglinde continues to entertain, with light songs, occasion off-color jokes, and stories of the theater.
The night wears on, and eventually the Barman announces he is closing and that anyone who is willing to pay a small fee, can sleep on the floor of the tavern this night, and the fires will be kept burning for warmth and comfort.
The cost, he says, is 3 silver pieces, and includes a basket of day old rolls that will be left out for anyone who takes the offer.
Duglin looks down at his near empty mug, then to the barkeep, "The fire would be kind, much appreciated. Any chance for one last pint?" Turning to the others at the table, "The rest of ye beddin' down 'ere as well?"
Duglin moves to the barkeep and leaves a gold to cover his stay and the ale he has had.
Aye, I will have another and bed down here.
"Who am I to deny the stout ones some company. Why don't you gentlemen regale me with some more insightful stories til sleep finds us."
Beldak listens astutely for cultural idiosyncrasies, nodding and interjecting with his own knowledge at times. Eventually the night wears on and he decides to turn in.
Beldak pulls a tiny bell tied to a shiny string from his pouch and slowly walks around the table they were sitting at, the hearth that kept them warm and a corner section of the room adjacent to the first two spots. When he finished this crude rectangle, he stooped in the corner with his pack, chimed the bell once and whispered, "Caniatâd: Anders, Duglin, Alder, Waglinde, Haarold "
And with that he puts the implements back into his pouch, unrolls his bedroll and climbs in.
Alder rolls up in his blanket and looks to go to sleep, but actually stays awake for some time after the others retire.
I will assume Haarold has an assigned bunk at the barracks, so he will head back there.
"Send word to the barracks when you are ready to begin. I'll be heading back to my bunk. No reason to pay for what I already have. "
Day 1, Friday Night, turn 124, approximately 8:30
before Haarold has left, and while Beldack is working a spell…
The young Tavern worker, the daughter of Roulff, sees Waglinde headed for the door, and then hears Haarold's announcement
That’s clear the other side of town, Haarold, Gewodel says from near the bar as she moves to allow Beldack to pass by. She notices he is doing something strange with his hands, and asks him
Sir, what is that you are doing? Are you casting a spell? Papa doesn’t like it when people use magic in the bar without asking permission first. He even makes Waglinde do it.
She then remembers her concern for Haarold, and runs to stand near him You shouldn’t go alone, Haarold, not at this hour. Maybe Waglinde and her friends will see you back safely to the dormitory?
I will be glad to accompany Haarold back to his bed, I have a question for him.
If Haarold agrees to let Waglinde walk with him back to his room...
Sir, what is that you are doing? Are you casting a spell? Papa doesn’t like it when people use magic in the bar without asking permission first. He even makes Waglinde do it.
"Oh you're an observant one aren't you dear. Don't worry your little head though, this is nothing but a little bauble I use to bring me luck in my dreams. There'll be no disturbance from me, I promise!" And as he says such the young girl's attention has already flitted away.
Day 2, Saturday morning, turn 37 , approximately 6:10 am
The night is uneventful. The room is quiet, though occasionally Brodel, the tavern keeper’s son, tiptoes into the room and places more wood on the fire. The Dwarven boy doesn’t try to make the fire as large as it was the evening before, but it stays burning through the night, keeping the chill damp air out.
In the morning, as a glimmer of sunlight (so unusual this time of year, the mornings are almost always foggy in the early fall) streams through the high windows that face towards the east, and the smell of bread backing somewhere close buy rose the sleeping heroes from their slumber.
Brodel is cleaning ashes from the fire pits, and you all realize the room is chilly this morning, but not damp.
Gewodel comes in through a door behind the bar, carrying a basket tucked in the crook of her arm, and in that hand she balances a platter of short metal mugs, while in the other hand she is carrying a pitcher.
Good morning everyone! the dwarven girl says with a smile. Papa is making cooked oats this morning, with syrup, blueberries, and walnuts. I’ve brought a pitcher of buttermilk and the last of yesterday’s bread and rolls for you to have while you wait. Papa says he’ll settle everyone’s bill as soon as he comes out, but that he wanted me to thank you all for being such pleasant guests.
Anders stands and stretches at the call from the barmaid. He scratches in all the wrong places and burps loudly before sauntering outside to drench himself in a barrel of fresh water. He then proceeds to the nearest alley to relieve himself before returning to the common room.
He sits and tears into the offered bread and awaits his breakfast.
I am near starved! When do we start our little adventure?
Beldak is up at dawn having slept fitfully. He neatly cleans up his bedding and ties everything down to his pack. The smell of fresh baked bread wakes a hunger inside him and he takes to the table and splays out his spellbook. "Hmmm, what shall we prepare today...," he says to himself quietly.
When Gewodel enters with the buttermilk and rolls, Beldak takes a bit of each and hands her 3sp2cp. "Here deary. This is for your father. These are for you though."
Alder wakes and surveys the room before rising. He packs his things and hands the girl a gold piece for his nights stay and breakfast.
Haarold will take the time to make sure the favor has been called in with his CO for leave and then get a travel kit packed.
Day 2, Saturday morning, turn 39, approximately 6:30 am
When everyone is up, and taking a moment to get ready to depart, Roulff enters carrying a tray with several bowls of hot cooked oats. He places the bowls on the bar, and you can smell the scent of cinnamon, and maple. The oats are delicious, and the portion size is generous.
Roulf settles up accounts (each of you owes him 3 sp for the night’s lodging, and 2 sp, 5cp for the cooked oats, and milk).
When you are ready to leave, Roulff wishes you all good luck, and Gewodel offers each of you a necklace, made from rough twine woven with vines and flowers, and each has a satchel hanging on it that is a small course cloth bag that holds a clove of garlic and a sprig of wolf’s bane).
you can set out immediately for the place known as the “Black Village” a place said to be in the shadow of the entrance to the Palace of the Vampire Queen, an old village that was abandoned after being burned to the ground many years ago, or seek out some potions of healing from Abigail or Drobundon, the local priest, also you, someone I hope, promised to fetch Haarold in the morning
Duglin eventually stirs from his heavy sleep, and looks around the taproom. Seeing his companions devouring the warm oats, he rises to his feet and tromps over to have a bite. Looking about the band of misfits, a thought crosses his mind. "Time fer a lil trouble lads, eh? Ye ready to step off into the abyss? An' we canna' be forgetting me kinsman, 'Aarold."
After eating Duglin unrolls his pack and dons his chainmail, preparing for the dangers that lie ahead.