A bald, bushy-browed, dreadlocked-beard, bleary eyed dwarf with a belly starting to run to fat, steps forward. He's dressed as a simple traveler in yellowing auburn robes, and he carries a voluminous pack.
"Welcome to our band, Rannock Deepdelver. I am Mattock of Torhold, a philosopher of no note. This youngster is Tinker, more properly called Morg Blackflame, although there is more light than black about him. There with the black badger is Riuk Blood, archer and livestock wrangler. And to his left is our self-appointed elder, Falgard Dalvik. Finally we have Trask Morgrath, never met another bard who could so make a dwarf boil with anger, in a useful way."
"In honor of our attainments we have granted the status of mules by our gracious monarch and the high Nalbrin command."
*** A bit later while Ulfgar packs ***
"Ulfgar, a moment's pause, please. I hope your father recovers, Helmhammer. Clan and family. There's nothing more important."
Mattock asks the departing warpriest to take a few things back to Bodekgrim, the golden holy symbol, (to support his report of the incident and so that dwarven experts can examine it) and the cave fisher glands. ("I'm afraid they'll spoil on our trip. See Denaith MeltLadle in the Azure Courtyard. He'll give you a good price and make sure that nothing goes to waste.") He'll also ask Ulfgar to leave as many provisions as he can spare with the party. "Our need will be greater than yours."
Rannock moves up to the assembled group of dwarves, rising his hand in a salute - "Well met lads" - he offers a smile.
As he approaches, it is clear this one is ready for a fight - the brightness in his dark eyes contrast with his graying hair and tanned skin. He seems to walk easily, in spite of the many weapons jutting from his shape here and there, the most evident being a massive Dwarven Longhammer, securely strapped at his back.
The well kept chain shirt gleams slightly under the worn traveler outfit, and over it an iron symbol of a warhammer dangles freely around the stout neck, evidencing his allegiance to Kols.
"Ulfgar needs ta be with his father right now, but I'm not about ta let ya go blunder alone - Kols tells me I should be here with ya, so here I am" - he nods.
"Pleased ta meet ya Mattock of Torhold, and all o'ye" - he bows to them - "Mules ya say?" - Rannock chuckles - "In that case count me in as another pack beast I guess"
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Riuk gives a sigh
"good to have you, well get your pack on mule we got a long way to go"
he said with a smile and sets off Xo the bagger at his heels
and the classic dwarf song
I like big beards and I can not lie
You other dwarves can't deny
When a girl walks in with a big thick waist
And hair all over her face
You get sprung
Wanna pull up tough
Cuz you notice that face was scruffed
Deep in the helm she's wearing
I'm hooked and I can't stop staring
Oh, baby I wanna get with ya
And take your picture
My homeboys tried to warn me
But that beard you got
Make Me so horny
Ooh, ain't got smooth skin
You say you wanna get in my clan
Well use me use me cuz you aint that average groupie
I've seen them smithin'
The heck with romancin'
She sweats, wet, gots whiskers like my uncle Chet
I'm tired of elven queens
With their smooth little things
Take the average dwarf and ask him that
Her face has gotta scratch, so
fellas (yeah) fellas (yeah)
Has your dwarf-girl got the beard? (heck yeah!)
Don't let her shave it, shave it
Keep that healthy beard...
Baby got beard...
Hairy face makes for dwarven beauty...
Morg packs and prepared to move, bidding Ulfgar farewell and greeting the newcomer heartily.
He wonders at the depth of his own depravity, preferring females that lack facial hair. Typically, non-dwarves for that very reason.
The road is long brothers, as is his... windedness! Clapping Ruik's shoulder he follows.
Rannock moves off with the others, humming along at the 'Bearded Lady' - a favorite of any dwarf.
...
and the classic dwarf song ** spoiler omitted ** can be heard
Mattock slings his pack over his shoulder then shrugs the other arm through the second strap. Another shrug and the pack settles on his shoulders. "Uggmm. Fits perfectly. Hits all the sore spots," he opines. As he steps into line with the others he stamps his feet in time to the music, a marching beat.
Ulfgar takes the items Mattock wanted delivered to Bodekgrim. "Thank ye, Mattock. I'll hand this symbol over to my superiors at Kols' temple as soon as I return. When you all return to Bodekgrim, look me up; there will be a share of the gland proceeds waiting for each of you." He hands over most of his rations and heads back towards Bodekgrim.
The party resumes trekking towards the South Gate. When you reach the South Gate, you see a dwarf with light skin and green eyes who has been detailed as the current gate guard. Trask walks over to him, they have a conversation, and then the green-eyed dwarf comes over, carrying some of Trask's provisions and the healing wand.
Mattock watches the exchange between Trask and Green-eyes. The exchange of provisions and wand can only mean one thing.
"Is our Morgath bard leaving us then?"
We've more or less, still been home... Stepping outside that gate is a whole new world.
Quingrin approaches the merry band of dwarves and introduces himself.
"Aye...well met you lot. I'm Quingrin. I hear that you lot be heading to a human settlement. Was told I could tag along as long as I pull my own weight." The dwarf, not overly fat, starts to slap his belly.
"Well met, Quingrin. I am Mattock of Torhold."
Bald, bushy-browed, dreadlocked-beard, bleary eyed, and with a belly starting to run to fat, Mattock has the dingy, fatalistic air of a dwarf who's lost hope. He's dressed as a simple traveler in yellowing auburn robes, and he carries a voluminous pack.
Mattock shrugs his pack to the ground, and perhaps in unconscious sympathy pats his own belly. There's a harder sound than one might expect from the action, a rap of metal on metal, muffled slightly by his yellow robes.
"Join or not. It's up to our leader." He looks quizzically at the others. He had more or less assumed that Ulfgar was in command. His departure leaves the question open.
Quingrin approaches Mattock and shakes the dwarf's hand. One can tell that Quingrins hands are made for working and lifting. His knuckles bulge and the callus on his hands are thick. One can also notice that he does not have any weapons on his person, just a silly old walking stick.
Not a typical dwarf, Quingrin is bald and grooms his short beard meticulously.
"Well met Quingrin" - a stout dwarf with graying hair and beard contrasting with his tanned skin and dark eyes steps forward - "I am Rannock - pleased ta meet ya" - offering his hand, and a smile - "I say the more the merrier - if ye can pull yer own weight, than ye're entitled to be called a dwarf"
Glad to have you... Let's move.
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"well met quin, well at least we have another mule...let's move"
To mat "The Issue With The who is In .the role of leader has never been addressed, true This Is A Military expedition but that role was not given out by our Command we will Have To Have One Soon But I Think We Can Decide That Later."
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Mattock nods to Riuk in agreement or mere acknowledgment. Then he turns his attention back to Quingrin. "So you and Trask are swapping posts? Did he give you his metal ore also?"
Mattock's tone is doleful. "A trip to the human settlements may sound fun or exciting, Quingrin. But before you let Trask exchange his duty for yours, you should know some things. We will be keeping to wilderness paths and likely sleeping cold once we are beyond the gate. Once we reach the humans there will be little time to explore. Our orders are to return with their goods as soon as possible. And of course at every step we may be found out and killed or worse by the Taloths. There will be no joy found on this trip I warrant."
As if to punctuate his point, Mattock shakes a metal hip flask from his sleeve, uncaps it, sniffs, and takes a quick draught. The flask disappears into his sleeve again.
Quingrin rubs his hands together and smiles. "Let's hope that we find some trouble. I'd hate for this trip to be boring."
"You might feel differently if your family never sees you again."
The flask appears, a sip, flask disappears. The drink seems to lighten Mattock's mood. He ventures philosophically, "Might be worth it if we take some Taloth with us."
The party emerges out of the South Gate early in the morning. For obvious reasons, the location of the Gate is not marked on your maps, but Mattock tries to use his geographical skills to fix your location.
At the gate, Mattock twists his head around, getting a fix on the local mountain peaks. He points out the various peaks while he speaks.
"I don't know if any of you have been this way, but there's some landmarks I want you to know about if you don't know this land. That flat-topped mountain is the Anvil and the tall one in-line behind it is the Cougar. You can imagine him sitting up straight, but stooping down from the neck. That bulge on the left would be his shoulder and that little spar peak is his left ear. Come back keeping those in line until Triple Point is dead square on your right. and you're on top of the ridge. Then dip into the next ravine and bear east. At least that's what Jonhammer wrote was the easiest way to find the gate from a southern approach. We should all turn around to look at the view every half-league or so. That way it will look familiar on our return trip."
"Wish I had enough memory to keep all that in, but I'll be tryin' Mattock" - the priest answers his companion - "So I guess we have the path ahead of us? We just be needin' to tread it now"
Morg falls back, behind Quingrin.
Riuk, Quingrin, Tinker, Rannock, Mattock, Falgard
After a quiet morningdraw out , Mattock tries to draw out Rannock. "Rannock, how'd you get saddled with this duty. Are you kin to Ulfgar?"
"Me and Ulfgar go way back, ever since wee lads running around our ma's kilt" - Rannock grunts - "Aye, we are distant kin, and had been in more than one run out on patrol. His father is not well, so I requested to come get him, and stay in his place - I'm not sure if the king himself spoke on this, but the stewards informed me I had been allowed to do so" - he nods - "And here I am"
Mattock informs Riuk that they need to head east-southeast, and Riuk starts leading the party. A couple of hours later Quingrin pipes up, pointing directly west. "That's the South Gate over there," he says with a confidence borne of a long stint of guard duty. Using Mattock's geographical knowledge, the party is able to avoid having to retrace their steps by charting a new course that will bring them back onto their original bearing. An hour later, they resume their original bearing. Another two hours on the trail brings the party to lunchtime, and they pause in a picturesque glen to consume some rations.
Leave out the South Gate, then south-east. Not too far east, though. Cross the Teeth generously west of the Alenka Gorge, 'cus the enemy has a garrison there.
Once across the Teeth, east until we see the Alenka, and then turn south. Follow the river. Was I the only one listening?
Morg rubs his jaw.
*** On the trail with Rannock ***
"Nothing against Ulfgar. Brave companion, dependable. I'd take him at my back in a fight any day. But he was straighter than an arrow. Best traditions of the Nalbrin, and so on. I've not met many Helmhammer folk. Is it a clan teaching? Was he always that way? Or did he quaff the mead deeply in his training, so to speak?"
*** With Riuk and Tinker ***
"Tinker's got the right afit. He's a quick ear and a quicker mouth." Mattock smiles briefly before his face falls into its more usual doleful mien.
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Riuk looks up in to the sky taking a deep breath as if just enjoying the Breeze as it blows
"ah ye' know me brother I follow the trail see before me and move with the guidance of Easivra. But yes we're a bit off shouldn'na take to long to find the right way now"
Riuk laughs a bit "ahaha oh I the lads got a quick mouth alright, the lady's say that's not all that'dquick ahaha "
Riuk said winking at tinker
"better with the toys than the flesh eh, might be that's why you want to be called tinker eh' ahaha"
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Quingrin finds a nice spot to place his rump and to start eating some rations. "Take a load off your feet and eat some grub. We will make better decisions once the stomach's rumbling stops."
"Baahhhh. This place confuses me. It's gonna take some time to get me bearings right." Quingrin finishes stuffing his face with his midday rations.
Ho, ho...
Morg starts mapping things out in the dirt between them.
Morg is able to determine that the party has veered off-course only slightly; he has the party make a hard left, and the party reaches their original course after ten minutes. Traveling for another two hours, the party finds themselves in a large, open plain as they stop for a rest break.
***Early stop***
Mattock stares dourly at the interplay between Riuk and Morg before turning away and producing his flask. After a few moments he's drawn to the map and steps closer to watch what Morg is doing and to add comments based on his reading.
***3:30***
Mattock looks around, then looks up at the sky.
"I don't fancy camping here. I feel like a mouse in open ground with hawks circling above."
*** On the trail with Rannock ***
"Nothing against Ulfgar. Brave companion, dependable. I'd take him at my back in a fight any day. But he was straighter than an arrow. Best traditions of the Nalbrin, and so on. I've not met many Helmhammer folk. Is it a clan teaching? Was he always that way? Or did he quaff the mead deeply in his training, so to speak?"
"The lad's upbringin' was just like that - brought up ta be the best possible representative of Nalbrin valor and tradition" - Rannock smiles - "In that, he's one of tha finest I ever met. More than a teachin', tis how the Helmhammer clan looks at life and folk - tis what they are, see?" - the priest's tone is one of definite respect.
Not what I want to do, but if you bad arises are up for it... Let's move!
"Looks like we're agreed. Let's push on."
A character can walk for more than 8 hours in a day by making a forced march. For each hour of marching beyond 8 hours, a Constitution check (DC 10, +2 per extra hour) is required. If the check fails, the character takes 1d6 points of nonlethal damage. A character who takes any nonlethal damage from a forced march becomes fatigued. Eliminating the nonlethal damage also eliminates the fatigue. It's possible for a character to march into unconsciousness by pushing himself too hard.
The party walks along for another hour. The last bit is up a fairly substantial grade, and Falgard and Quingrin are a bit winded as the party pauses on top of a hillock, looking down at the plain below them. Off to their right, maybe an hour or so away, is what appears to be the ruins of a small village. Aside from the ruins, the open grassland stretches to the horizon to both sides, but straight ahead--maybe two or three hours' travel out--the grassland gives way to a dense forest.
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"well lads I feel we should make it to the forest so we can make use of these tents, should make it harder for anything to get at us. Dont seem to far come on let's go"
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Though he is breathing quite heavily, Falgard does his best to appear unfazed by the difficult climb.
"Oi, don't ye huff remember? There be huff fey in those huff woods."
He takes a deep breath and a swig of water before continuing
"Methinks it'd be best for us to remain here for the night. Regain our strength before fightin' the likes of them. We've made enough headway for today."
"Arrggg. Me being a poor excuse for being a dwarf. Me feets are not use to these long marches. Let's break for camp while we still have some light." Quingrin removes his backpack and dumps it on the floor. He removes a torch to get it ready for when darkness falls.
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"ye want to stay out here in the open were we can be easily surrounded in the night...well fine"
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