Tales are woven and then told, for all myriad reasons. When our children listen to stories, they learn lessons and grow wise. When we eat our dinners here at the Cold Comfort Inn and gather 'round the tales of dirt-caked travelers, we catch up on the weal of distant neighbors and learn to avoid their mistakes. We laugh at merry tales, grieve at the telling of heroes' passing, and wonder as words show us dragons on wing.
Hear, then, our story of a band of accidental companions, brought together through adverse fortune and a friend's plea. It is a tale of great joys, great sorrows, and great perils. It is a tale of the passing of kings, and of those greater than kings. It ends with the flash of angry red wings, in a world beyond worlds, under the careful gaze of the gods themselves. It begins here, in the self-same Cold Comfort Inn, just as the last bell of the noonday toll echoes. It is Oathday, just past mid-week, in the month of Rova, just weeks before the autumn harvests begin.
The familiar sights --local workmens chatting at their tables, a dart game between two old neighbors-- and scents of the lunchtime crowd are interrupted when Deputy Constable Winston Wygate comes clattering through the main entrance, out-of-breath and wide-eyed. He's clutching his left arm, which is broken at an awkward angle just under the elbow.
Rusty Ironpants was kind enough to give us the Deputy:
Winston, or "Deputy Win" to his friends, is generally good-natured and friendly. The ony people on his bad side are those engaged in illegal activities or those who would threaten Carrion Hill. He takes his job seriously and will put his life on the line to safeguard the people. He views his job with the constable’s office as half town protector and half goodwill ambassador, and the citizens he meets in his duties truly admire him for it. Deputy Win has come to understand that looking into the disapperance of strangers is not the most important part of his job, a fact that nettles him.
"A muster!" he calls. Jolem, the proprietor, comes swinging around the bar and lifts Deputy Win into an empty chair in one smooth move.
(I know Deputy Win from the time I helped him stop bandit attacks on the travelers coming through the area, and when he needed a strong arm to help quell a monster problem. We share an amiable friendship, due in no small part to our similar outlooks on life).
Rising from her seat in the middle of the common room, Kara hustles over to Deputy Win, the concern on her face easily apparent.
"What has occurred, Deputy? Who, or what, has done this to you?"
"...and the Vision, here--is there insanity in your family?" Zosimus looks up from the reading he's giving a workman. A frown creases his face as Winston's face registers, but the cry for a muster erases it. He gathers the deck and places it back in its box, and pushes the silver coins back to the workman.
"We'll have to do the reading another time, my friend." He nods at Winston. "Looks like Pharasma's going to be a bit more direct with our fates than usual." With that, he stands, and moves closer to the bar to better be able to hear what's going on.
Sachiko sits at the bar, having ordered boiling water, she places a pachet of herbs and spices into the the boiling water. She thanks the bartender for the hot water "Domo-Arigato" and giggles at her use of the Tian phrase. A soft aroma of vanilla and rasberries fills her nostrils and those who are sitting close by, she inhales deeply and takes a sip of her concoction. She is startled by the commotion and recognizes the man who stormed in instantly. She smiles at the fond memory of the lecture he gave her that she should not be selling herself short at Madame Silk's, her smile turns to concern as she sees he is not in very good shape.
Martaug slid the big clay pot across the bar to Jolem and with a beaming smile, reached back into his belt pouch an pulled out a small vial and passed it across as well. The viscous honey inside is a clear, beautiful amber.
"It's a good batch, but not as much as last month. Be less next month, too. We swing inta da fall, an da bees start producin' more. We getta good batch in few months... I gots lots's foragers bein' brooded ready to find da good fall nectar inna month. After dat, we get lotsa nice dark fall honey. An' dis little vial gots da royal jelly mixxed with da honey. Better use it soon, though, it won't keep well."
The young druid turns quickly when he hears Win come in and joins some of the other patrons clustered around the man.
The way Yalka met Deputy Winston is as follows:
Yalka and Sheetha travelled a fortnight or so, enjoying the freedom from the politics of the tribe. They hunted & gathered food and herbs. They both felt they were near to a Settled Town, and decided to visit it, to see if it might be a good market for medicinal herbs, animal pelts, or even arrows they could craft and sell.
But before they came to the town itself, they came across another band of Kellid travellers, 5 or so. Yalka felt they should keep to themselves and avoid the strangers, but Sheetha called out the universal traveller's greeting of the Northern tribes, and so they ended up making camp together. (Yalka suspects it was because Sheetha thought these men might work out better than the Chief.)
In any case, as Yalka was away relieving herself, she heard shouts and yells break out, and she heard a blood-thirsty yell of righteous vengeance from Sheetha right before other yells drowned her out and violence ensued. Intuition told her that perhaps it was the right time to leave Sheetha to face her own battles, and she quietly snuck back to where she had tied her horse, and rode off.
Later, having set up another camp, she saw a band of armed men approaching, looking like those of a Settled Town, and called out a greeting to them. They were surprised, not having noticed Yalka, but were soon friendly as they gathered in her camp. The leader of them introduced himself as Deputy Winston, Guardian of Carrion Hill, and asked who she was and what she was doing, and if she had seen any sign of a band of 5 Kellid men, that were implicated in some recent banditry.
She said she was headed for town to sell pelts and medicinal herbs, and indicated exactly where the bandit's camp was, and the best way to approach it. She also asked for word of her Half-Orc companion, who she had last seen with the men in somewhat precarious circumstances. Hours later, the men returned, some injured, and Deputy Win sadly informed her that they HAD found a Half-Orc female at the camp, but she seemed to have been killed by the bandits some time earlier. He informed her that his men had buried her with proper ceremony.
Yalka offered to help care for those wounded, and when the men left, Deputy Winston thanked her for her help, and told her the name of an apothecary/healer in Carrion Hill who might be interested in buying wild herbs. And he gave her the address of the Constabulary in case she ran into any trouble in Carrion Hill, although Yalka wasn't quite sure what that word meant.
Yalka has arrived in town, enjoying the different smells and tastes of the food and people. Some of the Settled Towns' ways are silly or revolting, but others are quite pleasant - She bought a bar of very nice smelling soap from a street merchant. The apothecarist Deputy Winston mentioned was busy when she found him, but asked if Yalka would meet him later at the Cold Comfort Inn. After selling some pelts and arrows from next to the stand where the nice lady sold soaps, Yalka went over to the Inn, where she's expecting the apothecarist to show up.
Valdisara swings her green eyes towards the door the deputy just entered. Raising her brows skyward at his sudden and bedraggled appearance, and even more unexpected call to arms, Val rises from her seat in the darkened taproom corner.
What could have happened to rouse the man such, let alone cause him obvious harm? She had just seen him hours before, shortly after her own arrival in Carrion Hill, and had sensed nothing awry.
Val watches the deputy, tensely awaiting his response to the questions being thrown at him by her fellow patrons.
If Win isn't engaged by others' questions or attentions, I'll approach him directly, and ask:
"Deputy Winston, what luck did you run into? If you need attention, I can look after dressing your arm, and I might have some mosses that would help."
Shrugging his broad shoulders to better settle the array of bulging sacks that drape them, Grumblenaught pauses to consider his next stop. To the rear are crooked lanes leading back to the more questionable of the town's businesses, and to the left the ramshackle sprawl of market kiosks from whence he has just come. To his right, across the width of the small square looms the friendly facade of the Cold Comfort Inn, and his belly rumbles appreciatively at the scent of roasting lunch.
Considering his latest trip to town an wholly unqualified success, he weighs in his heavy-knuckled left hand the pouch that contains the remainder of his profits. "Frightful light it is indeed, but should be more'n enough t'rescue me a bite of Jolem's hot bacon-wrapped apple!"
Humming a traditional dwarven feasting tune, Grumble points himself toward the still-swinging doors of the Comfort, reasonably certain that he had indeed seen the lanky figure of Carrion Hill's affable deputy constable heading that way a few moments past, stepping at double-time.
The young dwarf rearranges the antiquated saddlebags as he stumps toward the crowded table the popular Constable has claimed, nodding distractedly at several vaguely familiar faces dotting the commons. "Here's me a-hopin' ye still has summat of them fine apple-bacon pastry whatsit's left over, me large friend Jolem! I'll take four if ye c'n spare 'em," he offers to the innkeep.
Breaking out his best and broadest grin, he claps Deputy Wingate soundly on the back. "Looks as though ye've drawn yerself quite the crowd already, Ser Yer-Honorable-Almost-Constable Ser! Am I right in guessin' ye've just got yer first promotion then, eh?!"
Jolem's warning grimace finally registers - as usual, too late. Grumblenaught's deep blue eyes widen in sudden alarm, then retreat beneath bushy brows that settle low in dour disappointment. "Ahh well, I'll settle fer only one pastry then, if it be all ye gots..."
Kara, Martaug, Valdisara, Yalka, and several other townsfolk gather 'round the constable, asking questions, offering concern.
Grumblenaught makes his way to the pastries, all but ignored. He could take a second one, and nobody would notice.
Kara:
Martaug:
Valdisara:
Yalka:
Deserach:
Sachiko:
Jolem turns to the crowd assembled and says, "Give this man some room, and, for heavens sake get a healer here, now!"
A youngish man gasps, "He's been stung all over by bees!" In the back of the bar, there's a clatter as someone spills a mug.
The Deputy coughs and grimaces. Without opening his eyes, he whispers, "We need a muster, Jo'. There's the last ... of the Blackspeares bandits, ... here, just north of town. They're going after ... the Rolsen family. I think they're ... going to attack the farmstead at ... dusk."
Martaug:
Deserach:
Grumblenaught:
Martaug runs back to the bar grabbing the vial and jug of honey, as well as one of Jolem's cleaner looking towels.
"It ain't stings, cub! I know bee stings! Dese are bites... What was it Win? Spiders? Ants? I ain't got no healin' magics ta cast an' I don't know that much about fixin' wounds, but I'll do what I can. Honey's got some healin' qualities an' it may pull some'a da poison out. Anyone else wi'more learnin' should jump right in here."
He opens the small vial and pours some of the royal jelly mixture on the rag and starts rubbing it into the welts. If no one else is up for it, Martaug will make an untrained skill check.
As he administers the salve he looks back at Jolem. "Da Rolsen's is good people. I hate for anythin' bad ta happen to 'em. Their boy Gunlar is a pip. I'll be joinin' in any muster headin' out to their place. I just gotta get my stuff from the barn."
Orislav approaches the inn where he has been told to ask after the Constable, who is known to lunch there. There seems to be some sort of a commotion going on.
"I've only returned to Carrion Hill this very morn. Have the storm clouds begun gathering already?" he thinks to himself.
Martaug runs back to the bar grabbing the vial and jug of honey, as well as one of Jolem's cleaner looking towels.
"It ain't stings, cub! I know bee stings! Dese are bites... What was it Win? Spiders? Ants?"
"Spiders.... I made ... following one of the ... old mine, hidden by some large trees ... lake." Wingate frowns in confusion. He opens his eyes, but doesn't seem to focus on anything. "Rookie mistake ... the floor must have ... given out."
He opens the small vial and pours some of the royal jelly mixture on the rag and starts rubbing it into the welts.
Jolem is examining the constable's wounds, and as Wingate's eyes open, the barkeep's face drains of color. Martaug, as you approach, he holds up a hand to stop you. Jolem and Deputy Wingate exchange glances, and Wingate nods. Jolem offers his hand; he'll take the honeyed rag, if you let him.
I enter the inn, looking to find the source of the commotion.
Orislav, there's about a dozen people huddling around a table near the front of the inn. Half the other patrons are on their feet, looking that way. Clearly, something has just happened here, seconds ago.
There's a stocky man standing next to you, smelling of roses and almonds, his long black hair tied in a ponytail. He's much less flustered than many of the other inn patrons. He's been looking out the window.
Zosimus speaks up from the bar. "If there's a muster, I'll volunteer, too." Tucking a box into his belt pouch, he steps over to the group forming around the deputy.
to the stocky, black-haired man
"Pardon, but what's this talk of a muster? Has someone been hurt?"
Martaug hands the rag to Jolem, looking a little relieved that someone else is doing nursing duty.
"Deputy Wingate...
Don't worry, you'll be alright now, I helped your men before, remember?
You must have ran into a nest of Giant Spiders after finding the bandits' hide-out, huh?"
<to Martaug> "Here, I have some herbal salve that may help along with your honey..."
Assist Heal Check: 11 (+2 to another's roll)
"Please!", I yell out to the room,
"If there is a healer here, this man was attacked by Giant Spiders, and is near death!"
Sachiko mumbles to herself "Quiet now grandfather, his light is not yet faded" Sachiko finishes her tea and timidly wanders up to the crowd. "Is he going to be alright" she askes Sachiko looks troubled by the horrific condition of the man's chest.
Valdisara raises her voice above the din in the common room, "Is there an alchemist or herbalist in this town? Someone with skill in countering poisons?"
Val scans the crowd to see if she discern who might be a local besides the innkeep. Picking a likely target, she points and says, "You! Stop gawking and make yourself useful! This man's life hangs in the balance!"
In her next breath she adds, "Who knows exactly where the Rolsens live?"
"I'm a healer. Let me through."
"What has happened to this man?"
not yet noticing his identity
Martaug moves behind the bar to draw up some fresh water and grabs a few more clean looking rags or towels if they are apparent. He trundles his load back to Jolem.
"I know exactly where they live. I'll take ya in just a few minutes. Let's see if'n we can't get Win in a little better shape. May be able to give us some more word 'bout these bandits."
Yalka stares at the loud woman with sword and shield for a moment, noticing a passing similarity to her mother, before returning her attention to the wounded Deputy.
Around a formidable mouthful of pastry, Grumblenaught rumbles "Them sisters round the way mixes all kindsa niceties... might be that they knows a bit on how ta fix what they whistle up as well." He forces his way through the growing crowd around the deputy with a liberal application of elbows and shoulders, and a distinct lack of any comments that could be construed in any way as apologetic.
"You look like seven kinds of hells, laddie," he offers, taking in the extent of the damage, then stubbornly ignoring his dismal assessment of the deputy's chances. "Jolem here has a kind hand, but what you need is someone a mite prettier to tend ya back ta yer old self - not meanin' myself, o' course, cause fer one, I aim ta go wi' this muster. It's been too long since I been up t' northwards."
Nodding at the self-evident wisdom of his pronouncement, the dwarf lays a solemn hand on Win's shoulder, leaving a faintly sticky pastry silhouette on the man's jerkin. "Ye'll be tooken care of jes' fine, m'boy. I'll jes' nip outside an' send someone ta fetch summat from them sisters."
"There are bandits about? Tell me more Deputy."
Hearing Martaug comment about the Rolsen's place, Kara turns about, noticing someone who looks somewhat familiar from her time at Lastwall, along others she has seen about town lately, such as the Varisian fortuneteller, and the dwarven roadguide.
"Ah, it looks like my hopes are answered. You say you are going to the Rolsen's residence? Might I accompany you? Bandits mean trouble, and I've a strong sword to lend."
Two dozen patrons scramble out the doors.
(If you look after them, most are running to the nearest bridge that leads to the temple district. But a small contingent is running to the east, into a neighborhood known for alchemists and potion brewers. And several seem to just be running off, happy to get away...)
The light in the inn dims as the door closes behind them. The scents of ales and food linger in the air.
Jolem turns towards those who remain: all of you, and perhaps a half-dozen others. "All right," he says in a hushed tone. "I can help keep him comfortable, which is the least he deserves. I think I can keep him from getting any worse, until healers or poison antidotes arrive."
Kara, Orislav:
Sachiko:
"The constable has endured a great deal, getting this message here. Let it not be in vain. Those who can, see what you can do to save the Rolsens. May it not be too late."
RPG Superstar 2010 Top 16
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Orislav said he'd be gone & it's OK to DM PC him...
... just so you all know, September 1st to Sept 21st I will be on vacation. I am going to Berlin--Prauge--Vienna--Bratislava--Budepest and, I hope, Romania to see the Transylvania area!!
Orislav, did you want to try to channel positive energy?
Sachiko goes white looking at the poor soul. She realizes that he does not have much time left. Sachiko whispers "Grandfather what can be done, how can we help this man" Sachiko ignores any odd looks she may be getting from the others. Sachiko takes a deep breath, "I will go to the farmstead, these bandits need to pay for what they have done here, is anyone with me?. The scene is odd as the adolecent outsider speaks up, almost as if the strength of her voice was amplified.
I tell Jolem quietly, "Please do not spare us the truth, Jolem. Winston is a friend to many of us here, by the appearance of matters. If what you know will render aid to the Deputy, would you relate what you know?"
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to orislav "It would seem the deputy has stumbled upon a band of bandits who seem to be about to rough up some locals up north,...the Rolsens I believe he said.
Once I determine that there is no disturbance out in the street I will follow in Orislav's wake as he approaches the deputy, as I can not really assist in any manner I will do my best to give space and let the experts handle it.
Once the townsfolk begin to run from the building I will return to the door to see if any run towards the Northern route out of town, particularly any that seem suspicious.
in response to Sachiko's querry "I will lend my assistance. Like many of you, it would seem, Win was a friend of mine as well, not to mention that there may be innocents in danger."
Orislav, would you please describe what everybody else sees when you channel positive energy?
Jolem leans his head towards Kara, still ministering to the constable. "Hear that, Win? Your friends are here. They'll take care of it for you."
Kara: Deputy Winston focuses his eyes on you and whispers...
Deserach:
Orislav, would you please describe what everybody else sees when you channel positive energy?
I see the horrible injuries this man has sustained and gain an instant respect for his strength of will, for it was will that enabled him to bring word of the creatures that attacked him. Flesh alone would have failed. A glance past his injuries to his face brings recognition, for this is Deputy Win, the very man I was seeking. But enough thought, Win needs more from me.
There is a place inside me where Gozreh has always dwelled. All my training and my initiations have done is allow me to touch that place.
The storm within is where I now reach.
At first, there is a feeling of change in the air. Similiar to the indescribable sense a man will sometimes have that rain is on the wind. That quickly changes to a fleeting touch of thunder, and the flash of lightning. Then the rain comes, but not as chill water or harsh hail. It is rather as if the clean water reaches within, passing through the flesh, and reaching the soul. Then the touch is gone, leaving in its wake that sharp snap a seed gets when the shoot breaks free of the soil. The effect is over in an instant, almost before it is felt.
The first healing done, I muster my training in the healing art and begin treatment of the wounds themselves.
At first, there is a feeling of change in the air. Similiar to the indescribable sense a man will sometimes have that rain is on the wind, ...thunder, ...lightning, ...rain. The effect is over in an instant, almost before it is felt.
As the wave of living energies wash over everyone, Jolem sighs --the same sigh a man breathes when he sits himself down after a hard day's labor.
The rest of you react as you will.
Deputy Win looks like he might be doing a little better, but his wounds are still greivous; the welts, still black with venom. He has passed out.
The first healing done, I muster my training in the healing art and begin treatment of the wounds themselves.
Jolem raises his hand to stop you. "Your care ... shows what kind of man you are, and may I count myself fortunate to have such as you by my side in my darkest hour. But healers are coming from the temples, and I can keep his condition from worsening ere they arrive.
"Your kit... you may need all of what's in there and more before this little drama plays itself out. Go now, guard your resources, and hold the Rolsens free from harm. The news of their safety would-- will hearten the deputy constable when he awakens."
Martaug nods at the small group and grunts "I gotta get my stuff from da barn. I'll be back here in 5 minutes. I like the Rolsens and don' want anything to happen to 'em, but I'm not goin' in empty-handed."
He runs back to the barn of his 'sponser family' and quickly gets dressed in his leather armor. He soon trots back to the group wearing a leather armor dyed yellow with rusty red-brown blotches. He holds a shortspear in one hand and a heavy wooden shield showing an emblem of a bee's head encircled by a centipede (somewhat ameturish in technique).
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I feel revitalized by the healer's wave of energy it leaves me sniffing at the air in an attempt to capture the passing sensation of smelling new rain on the sun-baked desert.
To Jolem; "the Rolsen's farm? how far is it from town?"
Assuming the answer is less then a day, I am ready to go now, with all gear that is not marked as on my pack-animal.
"If you're heading to the farm, let's step outside and get ourselves organized. No sense crowding the deputy, there."
Zosimus steps out the door, tugging his cloak around him. He hums tunelessly for a bit, waiting for the half-orc to get back and the others to come out.
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"If you're heading to the farm, let's step outside and get ourselves organized. No sense crowding the deputy, there."
I will follow the well dressed Varisian outside the Inn. Once outside:
"I am Deserach" extending my right hand to any whom will take it.
Observant players may notice that the back of my right hand has a series of ancient characters from some unfamiliar language tattooed upon it, the tattoo extends up and under my loose silk sleeves.
Sachiko leaves the bar, She approaches the two gentleman the young girl bows, "I am Nakakuro Sachiko from the house of the blossoming lotus, you may call me Sachiko and I insist I come to the farmstead"
Sachiko looks up to the two men with an almost, dare me to stay behind look.
"Good bloodshed to be seen on the farm little Sachi..I am pleased you want to go into the sea of a violent storm, granddaughter I am happy"
Sachiko closes her eyes for a moment and mutters to herself if the 2 are listening they may hear "Not now grandfather"
Stepping outside, Kara greets the others, learning their names.
"Well met, all of you. It pleases me greatly to find so many great-hearted individuals in this place. I had begun to think I was alone in my beliefs out in this wilderness. Pleasantries must be put aside for now, though. The Deputy whispered something to me within the Inn, shortly before Orislav attended to him: "Don't...trust...after...boy..." He seemed very concerned about this, especially considering he risked his already critical condition to relate this information. What do the rest of you make of it?"
Zosimus shakes the tattoo'd man's hand, turning the hand a bit to get a better look at the marks. "Nice art."
He nods at the female warrior.
"I'm Zosimus. Pleasure's mine. Cryptic warnings are always fun. We'll have to keep a weather eye out for anyone trying to spirit a child off."
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I will return Sachiko's bow "Your company would be most welcome"
A look of relief to Kara as she joins the group (we were looking a bit light on the martial side up to this point)
"What did Win say?....."Don't...trust...after...boy..."?....That is odd."
I rub my goatee before continuing.
"He mentioned something else that struck me as downright peculiar as well. Something about the Blackspears Bandits attacking the Rolsen's family. If I recall correctly the Blackspears Bandits are a band of human brigands, whom were extremely successful in their operations out of the Western River Kingdoms, normal enough until you consider that they were active over 100 years ago. Now either these "Blackspears" are very, very well preserved individuals or something is not right."
I step outside the tavern to where the others gather, after making sure whoever's caring for the Deputy at least knows basic "First Aid".
I nod as the others make their introductions, and discuss the bandits,
finally speaking up to introduce myself:
"I am Yalka. I am just a traveller through these parts, but have seen the Deputy's bravery and honor, and agree we should stand against these bandits, to honor his bravery. I will accompany any other warriors with my spear.
I too heard his mysterious words about 'boy', but we should also beware: by the nature of his wounds, i know he was bitten by vile creatures, spiders as large as wolves. We do not know if they are nearby the bandits' camp, or if the Deputy stumbled into them when returning to town. It is good we have strong healers with us, but caution should be taken."
Now content to watch the big folk scurrying to aid the deputy, Grumblenaught takes a deep breath before tightening the straps on his leather jerkin 'til they creak, similar to how one might saddle a recalcitrant pony. Only then does he take a moment to make sure none of the savory (and sticky) juices from his pastry remain to mar his heavy moustachios and thickly braided, coal-black beard.
Squinting appraisingly at the haphazard muster assembling all around him outside the Comfort, he slaps his hands together and rolls his shoulders, flexing thick and calloused fingers. "Grumblenaught," the dwarf offers in a rumbling basso profundo, "be my name, but since all ye tallish folks seem ta like short words, ye may call me Grumble, if'n ye wish. I'll be headin' north t'the Rolsen's with ye."
He chews the trailing end of one of his war braids thoughtfully before speaking again. "I can shoot well enough," he gestures with his hand at the antique crossbow slung over his back, among a profusion of sacks and saddlebags draped across his wide shoulders; "and if'n we be needin' ta foller anyone - or anything - I'm the dwarf what can do it."
He frowns briefly behind his moustachios at the mention of the name of the Blackspeares, but offers no comment to explain. Shifting his considerable weight from foot to foot, he looks to the north. "We'd best get ourselfs movin' summat quick though - I ain't one much fer ridin', but I can trot me along slow an' steady well nigh ferever."
Do I know the 'habitat' for these spiders: do they hunt, or stay in webbed areas, or holes/caves?