The Borderlands
An untamed wild region far-flung from the comforts and protection of civilization.
A lone fortified Keep is the only bastion of Good desperately striving to maintain the forces of Chaos at bay. But Evil is everywhere, lurking in dark caves, fetid swamps, and forlorn forests. Bands of cutthroat brigands and ruthless tribes of humanoids eager to clash with the forces of Good rove the region.
The Borderlands hold many secret wondrous locations, and the opportunities for fame, prestige, and fortune are plentiful. But equally abundant are the perils, risks, and challenges to those brave enough to explore the wilds.
Sharpen your swords and axes. Purchase your iron rations and tinderboxes. And don’t forget at least one 10-foot pole. Adventure awaits those with the mettle to confront evil and chaos in the Borderlands!
Prologue: A Long Time Ago in a Borderland Keep Far, Far Away...
You have traveled for many days, leaving behind the civilized places and entered into the wilder areas of the Borderlands. Farms and towns have become less frequent and travellers, few, save for the small caravan of merchants, farmers, and adventurers in which you find yourselves. The road has climbed higher as you enter the forested and mountainous country.
You now move up a narrow, rocky track. A sheer wall of natural stone is on your left, the path alling away to a steep cliff on your right. There is a small widening ahead, where the main gate to the Keep is. The blue-clad ment-at-arms who guard the entrance shout at everyone to give your names and state your business.
All along the wall you see curious faces peering down at you, eager to welcome new champions and heroes, but others ready with crossbows and pole arms to give another sort of welcome to enemies.
Baazil groans, stretches his back, and blinks the sweat from his eyes. His only thoughts on a soft bed and warm food. He starts to speak, but quickly realizes that his throat is to parched to do more than croak. He then steadies himself, swallows to moisten his throat and speaks.
"I am Baazil a mere traveler seeking a warm bed and food. My business is my own, but I mean no trouble".
Seated at a long table, just inside the gates, are three soldiers, the center of which looks to be in charge...of entry to the structure, at least. His face is adorned with a large mustache, the ends of which are impressively curled and set in place.
"Farmer, merchant, or looking for work?" His voice is rather nasal and bored. Glancing around, Baazil notes that there seem to be three separate walkways where those entering the Keep were being ushered.
Cedryk waits patiently in line as the various merchants and farmers work their way into the keep. The journey was uneventful, but the ranger did make a few contacts within the caravan. Now he is just looking for a warm room and a cold ale.
Baazil's hands went to his coin purse to ensure that it still weighed a bit. "Hmmm. Work, I guess. Which way"?
He then smiled rubbing his own mustache. "Nice Mustache by the way".
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In the line behind Baazil stands a scarecrow thin armoured woman.
At her neck hangs a crude wooden symbol displaying a sundered rack; marking her as a follower of Phieran the Tortured God.
Her expression bored, she adjusts the heavy flail resting on her shoulder, then eyes the tall ranger nearby;
”So... what’s your story langshanks? Don’t look like a cropper or a merchy. You a bowman then?”
Gwyn stirred from where she'd curled up in the back of one of the wagons. She'd offered to help keep watch through the night on the way here. In exchange, she was allowed to sleep in the back of one of the wagons during the day.
"We're here," one of the other caravanners called out as he slapped the side of the wagon.
Gwyn yawned as she climbed out from between a sack of potatoes and a stack of blankets. Her pack feels heavy on her back while her purse feels far too light for comfort with only four coins in it. She waits patiently for her turn to enter the keep, still half-asleep and her appearance disheveled with sleep-tousled hair and bleary eyes.
"State your name and business."
The request has to be repeated again before Gwyn answers with more than a inquisitive hum.
"Gwynethiel. Most call me Gwyn. I'm *yawn* lookin' for work," she answers after getting roused from her half-sleep.
Cedryk looks over at the thin priestess.
"Ranger looking for work...you?"
Not sure how much to say, he watches the woman to see how she responds.
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Sandikar wakes up suddenly from his slumber, alerted by the noises of the guards. He jumps up, fumbles down from the wagon with his gear. But somehow manages to land on his feet, and starts marching towards the guards.
He is a sorry sight, wearing just ragged furs and sandals that barely old together. Around him lingers a faint aroma of dung, unwashed skin and booze. He rubs the sleep off his eyes as he approaches the guards, and once there he bows politely and presents himself. "This one is Sandikar. Holy warrior and bridegroom of Sandar-Daichi. This one is here looking for work."
From his back he takes a large wineskin, and uncorks it. He pours some into a small cup in his hand, and offers it to the guards. "Customary toast of friendship, offered to esteemed guards." The other caravanners immediately the eye-watering smell of strong alcohol and rotten milk, they've been smelling for the past days.
It's all Gwyn can do to keep from gagging as the smell assaults her nose.
"Gah! That's where that godsforsaken smell came from," she says, her voice muffled by the hand covering her nose. Now wide awake, she gives Sandikar a glare that should, by rights, immolate him on the spot.
Moritrude mulls his question, running a rag-bound hand over a scarred scalp then wistfully smiles;
"Always good work to do Langshanks. Here. There. Everywhere..."
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Sandikar misinterprets Gwynethiel's glare, comes closer, and offers her a cup as well.
"To esteemed travel companion also. A cup of tarag, holy drink of the Jaruud. It is great honor to share a drink."
Holy drink? Oooooooh no.
Gwyn swallows the bile rising in her throat and puts on a smile as she lowers her hand.
"Sorry, Sandikar," she apologizes, "You know how cranky I get when I don't have a full day's sleep. Besides, I am, uh, forbidden by the, dammit, wasstheword? Ten-yeah! tenets of my faith to drink 'til at least four hours of waking up."
Yeah, that's how you use them big words, right? That sounds all priest-y and pious-y.
Oh thank the gods! I'm saved!
Gwyn wastes no time excusing herself to go see what is causing all the ruckus.
Cedryk bows his head in deference to the priestess. He looks like he was going to say more, when some halfling ran her pony into the outer wall of the keep, drawing almost everyone's attention.
"Well...you don't see that every day!" he says with a wry smile.
"Are you OK Miss...?"
"Hey now, what's goin' on back there?!" one of the blue tabards calls out, one hand dropping with practiced ease and menace to the hilt of his short sword. "I've got a mind ta'..."
"To step back, private, and let me get on with this." The guardsman with the moustache reprimands, before standing and giving the entire throng a once over with an interested eye.
"You. You. NOT you. You. No, the other one. Yes, YOU. You. Annnd..." One by one, the lead guardsman picks out five of you from the crowd, and motions for you to step off to the left, away from the other three groups. At the last second, his eyes meet Chipluck's and he finishes, "...You. Shoemaker, indeed. All of you, make haste to Guardsman Geoffrey. He has work for you."
He then resumes sitting, and the couple dozen of the various other entrants into the city quietly wait their turn.
Twenty paces to your left, a girthy, bald soldier stands waiting, his right hand resting on the shaft of a long spear.
The heavily armed man seemed uncomfortable in his gleaming silver white plate mail as he struggled to be noticed by the guardsmen. Humping all his equipment including a large metal shield slung over his back had definitely slowed him down.
I don’t think they are in trouble
The young man walks up to the spearman with a disarming smile.
”Do you use the interlocked grip or the widely spaced one??”
He leans closer and drops his voice as if sharing a secret.
”I kept dropping it with the interlocked grip.”
The young man confidently rushes with a loud clanking of armor to lead the group headed to this Geoffrey.
I should consult the local authorities — I bet he doesn’t like to be called Jeff
As he walks with those singled out he turns and says with a loud conspiratorial whisper ”Work, shucks no, I am looking for adventure!!
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Baazil quickly turns at the noise behind him and shakes his head with a scowl. When he finds out he's teamed up with this group he continues muttering to himself. Dang young folks. Why do they have to make so much noise.
He then follows the young clankety clank, to the spearman in time to overhear his conversation. He rolls his eyes at this ones eagerness. Pretty clear he's never taken a wound. Not even a bad hang-nail.
Cedryk offers his hand to help the halfling up and then gathers up the rope for the donkey and calms the beast down before joining the others by the indicated guard.
"Hi...I'm Cedryk. Are you sure you are ok?" he asks the halfling lass as they move off to the side.
Gwyn looks around as she's called out, not quite believing that they wanted her until the guard shouts that yes, he meant her. Not one to make an enemy needlessly, she decides that it's better to obey for the moment than to try slinking off somewhere. Seeing the bald, portly guard, she wonders if they were picked less for some apparent skill and more because they seemed to be a bunch of misfits.
When she sees Sandikar, she moves to the other side of the group, lest he try offering his godsawful holy drink again. She doubted a second reckless halfling would run a donkey into the wall to save her this time. Speaking of, she looks to where the hafling had made her entrance, and smiles as she sees a kindly ranger helping her move towards the group. Perhaps being out here in the wilds wouldn't be so bad if most people were like him.
Moritrude shrugs at the summons, then chuckles dryly as she shuffles toward the bald guard;
"See Langshanks. He has work for us. Always someone with righteous work to done..."
Adjusting the barrel roped to her back, the cleric eyes her assembled companions with a knowing smile;
"This bodes well."
Hearing Chipluck, Gwyn quickly turns away and puts her hand over her mouth. From the halfling's point of view, it looks as if the elf is trying to stifle a cough or a sneeze.
What Gwyn is actually doing is trying to keep from bursting out in laughter.
Re-spectacles! I have to remember that one.
Sandikar bows to Gwyn. "Of course, this one understands the restrictions of the faithful. There are many for the anointed of Sandar-Daichi as well. Luckily, nothing to forbid drinking."
Then he hears the guard shouting his you-you-you-and-yous. He turns toward the guard, and points a finger toward himself, with a suprised look on his face. Then, smiling happily he starts walking towards the bald soldier.
On the way, he spots a dagger lying on the ground and picks it up. Sandikar taps Chipluck lightly on the shoulder. "Estemeed small one, this one believes you have misplaced one of your weapons." he says, presenting the recovered dagger to the halfling.
The young armored knight turns to intercede in the verbal confrontation and addresses the halfling.
“Let us respect our elders. Especially when they are very old. We need to meet this man Geoffrey.”
Baazil's face begins to redden at the disrespect shown by the short one.
"Humph. My bad. Didn't realize that you were an orphan. It's obvious that if anybody taught you anything growing up it would be respect for your elders. You could have hurt someone or pi&()**ed someone off enough to injure themselves with your antics".
He then turns away to look at the remainder of his new team nodding in thanks at the respect of the armored one.
Looks like a lot of good reasons for any enemies not to notice the old man hiding in the back.
"Yes. Let's go. I am called Baazil and am practiced in the arcane arts".
Oh, that explains a lot, Gwyn thinks as she hears Baazil mention his vocation. Mages always seemed to have an overinflated opinion of themselves.
"Um, G-geoffery, right," she asks the bald guard once she has herself back under control. "What is it ya need us for?"
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Moritrude watches the interplay with bemusement, before adding her croaking voice to the gaggle of introductions;
"Penitent-Sister Moritrude. Most ardent follower of Our Father In Suffering - Pherian the Broken."
She pauses, offering a grimacing smile;
"Seeking sanctity though immolation; be it mine, or theirs, it matters little to him."
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Welp, the priestess ain't spooky. Nope, not one bit.
She's gonna give me nightmares, ain't she?
Cedryk smiles at the banter between the halfling and the older human. The revelation that the old man was a mage did not surprise the young ranger as he had all the 'traditional' trappings of a wizard. Listening to the others introduce themselves, Cedryk adds in his details.
"Well met all. I am Cedryk and I am a ranger looking for employment here on the borderlands."
That said, he waits to either hear more from the rest of the group or more importantly, whatever this guard has to say.
Wait, we're doin' introductions and what we do? Oooooh boy.
"I'm, uh, Gwyn. I'm... a... a scout."
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Sgt. Geoffrey eyes the assembled group with a critical glare, his arms crossed over his barrel chest. Shaking his head, he mutters something quietly sarcastic about what a fine lot he's been given, but then he barks, "Alright, now. Settle down. Ye lot, follow me."
The middle-aged soldier walks over to what would appear to be one of the gate houses, and opens an ironbound, wooden door. Inside a 10' x 10' round shaped room waits a long table with benches along each side. "Have a seat. All o' ya."
"Welcome, then, ta the Keep o' Brotherly Conflict...as we like ta call it. Otherwise known ta the locals as simply The Keep. We sit near on the edge o' the world, or rather, the 'civilized' parts, anyway, and most of what we do here is ta' maintain that border." Geoffrey pauses to see who's listening and who's not, but then continues, regardless.
"For most folks that come here lookin' for fame and adventure, that's enough. But not for ye all." A pause for effect, though he actually seems a bit bored, as if he's said these words a time or two before. "Be it known that you all have been chosen for an endeavor far beyond the capabilities of most of that lot, out there. The Captain has seen true potential in you, and so you've been chosen for more than just a simple clear-out-a-cave-o-pests duty."
Another pause, though hiw demeanor shifts a bit, to one of a more serious manner. "Many years ago, two noted personages in the area, Roghan the Fearless and Zelligar the Unknown, mercenaries of some reknown, pooled their rescources to construct a stronghold for themselves as a base of operations. The location of this complex was hidden and chosen with care, far from the nearest settlements and traveled routes, so as to remain secret from prying eyes. So secret, in fact, that the entire story has often been thought more rumor and legend than fact."
"Until recently, that is. Recently some local farmers believe that they may have stumbled across the possible entrance to this locale when one of their sheep wandered off into some nearby caves and they went in to retrieve it and found...something." He holds up his hand to halt any questions, adding further, "We believe it may indeed be the place o' a Wizard and whatnot, since one of the shepards stumbled into some sorta magical ward, and was instantly killed by lighting or somethin' of that nature."
"Full disclosure, we sent another group before ya', meticulously chosen and carefully briefed. They haven't been heard from since. And so, here we are." Geoffrey pauses to twist the end of one of his moustaches and then opens his hands to the group, "What we propose is this: Head off to these caves. This complex and discover what goin' on there. If it's safe or if it's even a thing. If there be pests there...or worse, clear it out and make it safe. It's only four days travel from here, so we truly don't want to have goblins or whatever plottin' and schemimg so close to The Keep."
Slight pause, then, "There's 30 gold pieces for ye, each, and ya get to keep what ye find, minus a 10% tax when ye return. How's that sound to ya?"
Gwyn listens intently, and as she does, she feels the bottom of her stomach sinking past the floor. Specially chosen she can believe, but she doubts its for any skill they may have.
Sounds more like a convenient way to get rid of a bunch of potential trouble.
Rumors:
”More than fair!! Can you recommend a place to stay?? We can leave on the morrow. Is the common room safe or should we get private accommodations? A good map would be helpful—this place sounds hard to find.”
Studley listens to Geoffrey intently.
Moritrude nods her scarred head;
"10% to our benevolent employers. 10% tithe to my Church. Still plenty to spend... if I live."
Sandikar raises his hand. "This one likes to confirm, this is the second group esteemed guards send to investigate the cave?"
And that's why it's a convenient way to get rid of trouble. We probably won't be coming back.
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hiding