Past the northern edge of the Pentath Empire, beyond the claws of the Drachen Tyrants, a haven of sorts exists. A region where those who wish to breathe a little freer and the shadow of dragons are rarely seen. The Dominion of the Scaled has no say in how one can worship and the arcane arts can be freely studied without the Blood Scholars interference.
The northern wilderness is a land of criminals, outlaws, heretics, misfits and the desperate. A land that is untamed and hazardous. Only the determined, the smart, and the lucky make their living there.
Spring has come to the northern wilderness. Meltwaters flow around sky-reaching evergreens, cascade over rocky falls, and dive into forested hillsides. When the icy water emerges again, gold flecks and nuggets tumble within it. Every year at this time, rough and ready prospectors called Rushers push into the northern wilderness to pan for gold. A few have made their fortune in a single day. Largely though, the Suppliers are the real moneymakers.
The Suppliers arrive beforehand, setting up shop in the abandoned shanty town of Merzel’s Fall. They ride into town a week or so before the big rush. They basically open the town for business – clean out the Heart of the Rush Inn, get the shelves stocked, and so on. And then the wave of settlers and fortune-seekers hit the town. When the Rushers arrive, the town really comes alive. A lucky prospector can make enough cash in two months to set his family up for a couple of years. During the season, The Heart of the Rush is active at all hours of the day and night. Card games, drinking, accusations of claim jumping, hookers, The Heart has it all. You can count on at least one brawl breaking out a day, typically because somebody accuses somebody else of stealing a claim, or maybe a spouse.
That’s the key – everything is for sale. Everything. If you have the cash, somebody is selling what you want. They may not know it’s for sale yet, but that’s OK. Once you start flashing around your gold, scruples and morals get tossed into the melting river. It’s been said that Rushers have even sold their spouses – especially if their claim is dry.
Law doesn’t really exist. Disputes are generally settled with cash or fists. Whoever has the most cash or the strongest fists is right, and the other fool was wrong.
Merzel’s Fall is a crazy place. A person could make his fortune here. Of course, the alternative isn’t that a person won’t find his fortune; the alternative is that the land eats you alive, and spits out your cold corpse. Many succumb to intense cold, natural predators, and the undead that seemed to throng the region in the past. It’s been many years now since anyone’s seen a zombie around the town. Every now and then some undead abomination wanders too close. Sometimes a prospector or two gets killed. However, the natural hazards around here are far more dangerous. Steep cliffs, icy water, starving bears, those are the things prospectors need to be concerned with.
It holds only the minimum number of buildings to support the Rushers and the Suppliers every year. Most residents sleep in sturdy canvas tents, but six log cabins — supposedly built by Merzel himself — contain narrow bunks and a firepit. Each cabin houses up to ten and occupants claim bunks on a first-come first-serve basis.
A family of six runs the Heart, led by their patriarch, Reet Zeggin (male human). He runs the taproom while his wife, Erla, manages the inn, and their three sons — Jakk, Erlest, and Ryn — and their daughter, Reeta, help out where they’re needed. The wooden stables hold up to eight horses. Reet or one of his sons stands guard there every night.
Serinnel Day (female half-elf) operates the weigh station the Rushers use to assay their claims and strikes. Mersi Bigglefrow (male halfling) runs the Mule Pen. Goodtime Gyra (female half-orc) brings music, entertainments, and companionship in her wagons.
Preacher Toll (male human) tends the shrine. Toll’s rules for the shrine are simple. Worship of any faith is permitted at any time, and all must respect the space dedicated to other deities – even if it’s a god whose beliefs are anathema to your own.
Supplier leader Zelly Berrick (female gnome) who runs the overpriced, under stocked general store, fears that the harsh winter may have driven wolves, owlbears, or other beasts down from the mountains to search for food and shelter in the abandoned town of Merzel’s Fall. She has hired six adventurers of skill and reliable reputation to precede the Suppliers and their valuable wares on their annual pilgrimage to the site. Zelly expects all of you to stay a day ahead of the Suppliers, to insure that the path to Merzel’s Fall is safe, and to clear stray beasts from the town.
She is paying everyone 20 talons each for the first week and 10 talons each for every week afterwards. You can avail yourselves of the Suppliers’ services and goods at cost instead of taking coin. Choosing to stay on the entire eight weeks earns a bonus based on the Suppliers’ final ledger, usually 1 coin in 100.
Kumal leans back in the sweat-stained easy chair in the corner of the Heart of the Rush's main taproom and sips deeply from a tankard of watered down ale. The barbarian grimaces in mild disgust from the poor quality of the beverage, then reaches down and begins to wipe the seven weeks of trail dust and grime from his well-worn boots and studded leather leggings. His pack lies at his feet, and his broad-bladed greatsword of pale blue Akbirrin steel rests unsheathed across his lap.
Two of his companions are within sight--three if you count the wolf. The first, the dwarf Thurgar, a fellow mercenary and adventuring partner for the past four months, sits in the chair to his right, apparently actually enjoying the tankard of swill the inn passes off for ale. The human ranger, Garyn, who guided Kumal and his companions through the northern wastes all the way from Tzchazenhold, found a seat in a card game an hour ago and appears to be doing well. The ranger's wolf, a beautiful, lean creature, sleeps dutifully under Garyn's chair.
Kumal, with no head for gambling, raises an eyebrow in silent admiration of the ranger's skill. Garyn looks to have amassed a nice little pile of silver and copper aleady. Enough, it seems, to keep their tankards full this evening. Kumal thinks twice about the prospect, looks down at his ale, and grimaces once again. We need to earn some coin, he says to himself.
This early in the evening, the taproom is just beginning to fill up. Ever distrustful of strangers, the barbarian continues to scan the room as he looks for his other travelling companions and any possible threats. His eyes follow the handful of hollow-eyed prospectors, grizzled sellswords, perfumed ladies of the evening, and other riff-raff.
Garyn smirks as he squints at his cards, trying to determine his next move. The smoky air and flickering torchlight make it a struggle to see his hand, even if they weren't the ale-stained handwritten sorry excuse for cards that they were. Ah, well, he thinks. A game is a game.
Profession(gambler) check = 1d20+9=20
"Ha!" he exclaims, slamming his cards down. "Four towers! Read 'em and weep, gents." The rest of the table groans as he scoops the small stack of wings and scales to his own growing pile.
As the new dealer gathers up and shuffles the cards, Garyn absently scratches behind Bartleby's ears as his gaze flits over the rest of the taproom. What a motley group we've fallen in with this time, eh old friend?, he thinks. Bartleby looks up with half-lidded eyes and snorts, as if in response.
Garyn chuckles to himself as the northman chokes back another sip of the swill that passed for ale. There was a reason that Garyn's flagon had set untouched since the pretty young barmaid dropped it off earlier that evening. In spite of himself, Garyn found himself with a strange sort of respect, dare he say fondness, for his newfound travelling companion. Kumal was a man who answered to himself and no other, and that said more for him than most.
The dwarf was more of an enigma, though. To be honest, Garyn hadn't spoken much with him up to this point, and to be fair, Garyn wasn't the most approachable man. In time he would decide, and until then they were comrades, which was good enough for Garyn.
As for the rest, Garyn hadn't quite decided. The trek had been spent on high vigilance, with not much time for small talk. As with the dwarf, time would tell.
Gambling is a fine way to pass the time, but by the cold, bloody gods it's no way to make a living. I need some real work! As the cards were being dealt again, Garyn swept his eyes over the taproom again, hoping against hope to notice something new.
Perception check = 1d20+11=25
Kerl was trying to figure out where the Garyn hid his extra cards so he could make better hands. So far Kerl had not seen anything. Suddenly it occured to him that the human may not have extra cards. It was said that humans called it cheating. Kerl knew better. It was only cheating if someone saw you changing the cards otherwise it was skill. Garyn kept an animal with him so it was probably safe to trust him.
Kerl was not so sure of the others. The kept taking small sips of bad ale. Kerl had simply left his on the bar when he saw it. He did not have much coin but he was not yet so poor that he had to drink bad ale. The barkeep gave him a nasty look from time to time but Kerl ignored him.
Garyn's wolf was looking around the room again. Kerl had never taken the shape of a wolf. Perhaps he should try it out to see how it suited him. He would wait for the next full moon.
Thurgar took another long draught of the ale. It was horrid, but over the years Thurgar had learned to drink what was available. Never turn down a drink or a woman his mentor had told him, Less'n you think that it'll kill ya.
Through the many jobs it hadn't steered Thurgar wrong too often. Well, that one time, but that was a complete misunderstanding. He hadn't known it was the barkeep's daughter and not just a serving wench....
Looking around the bar at his companions Thurgar decided it was going to be an interesting group.
Knowing better than to a judge someone's skills by their size or nature Thurgar could tell he was in with professionals. Which is good. Nothing makes a job worse than a trigger happy rookie with a crossbow. Or worse, magic...
Buying another mug of ale he eyed the card game going on and decides maybe he will join. After another drink or three...
Nye bounced excitedly at a table in the corner. He didn’t have time for cards because he had big plans to make. Hastily scribbling in a journal between sips of the taverns weak wine the tiny gnome was intently making lists of supplies and planning layouts for his first mining camp. In the stable his pack mule was loaded with the tools, this new job was giving him the means to get up north, and soon he’d have the funds to open Wajid’s Gold Emporium.
A glance around the room revealed the others that had been hired to escort the caravan, a surly looking lot in Nye’s opinion. They looked hardened by the wilderness and ready for action, inside he felt as small as he looked on the outside. He took another sip of wine to calm his nerves, tomorrow he would be on his way.
Thurgar noticed the large cleric enter the bar. Not a pious dwarf, in fact Thurgar believed the gods existed only in the names he cursed or the muttered prayers in times of danger, he had taken a liking to the big cleric in the short time he'd known him.
Wulfgar seemed to take his faith seriously without making an ass of himself.
Of course Thurgar had just discovered this clear liquid they served that burned like fire. The barkeep said they made it from potatoes, but Thurgar assumed the man was pulling his beard.
Four small glasses of the stuff was making Thurgar feel friendly.
"Barkeep, put the good cleric's drinks on my tab. No man of the god's is paying for his drinks tonight!" Thurgar took another deep drink of the ale, "Well, least not if his name is Wulfgar!"
Wulfgar bursts into the tavern, pausing a moment to fill the doorway while his eyes adjust to the dim interior. Spotting others in the party, he leans the polearm against wall near the door, then makes his way toward them, signaling the barkeep for a drink.
"Sorry I'm late, lads", Wulfgar says.
Kumal nods to the war-priest, and gestures for him take the empty chair to his left.
"Evening, battle-brother," he says with his typically grim half-smile. "You haven't missed a thing. Take a seat."
Kumal had known Wulfgar the longest of all his companions, having served alongside him for the past two years as an independent mercenary. Wulfgar was a priest of Gorum, the only deity Kumal ever prayed to--though in truth most of Kumal's "prayers" consisted of foul curses and blood-oaths spit in the faces of his enemies.
Wulfar had saved Kumal twice during their two-year association. Once, while adventuring in the Goatsblood Wood, Wulfar intervened and took an axe-blow from a hobgoblin chieftain that surely would have separated Kumal's head from his shoulders. And again, in a nameless back-alley of Shaervos, the City of Rogues, Wulfar had single-handedly defended Kumal from a gang of cut-throats as the barbarian lay sprawled senseless from the sting of a poisoned blade.
Yes, Wulfgar, the gentle giant, was a good man to have next to you in a fight.
Of course Thurgar had just discovered this clear liquid they served that burned like fire. The barkeep said they made it from potatoes, but Thurgar assumed the man was pulling his beard.
Kerl's eye's lit up as he saw what Thurgar was drinking. Leave it to a dwarf to find something worthwhile to drink. Motioning to the barkeep Kerl had a glass for himself.
Garyn pushes back from the table.
"Gentlemen," he says to the grizzled group sitting in front of him, "I'll be off while you still have a couple scales to rub together. It's been a rare pleasure." Scooping his winnings into his pouch, he's pleased to see he's paid for tonights lodgings and, ugh, drinks. With a sharp whistle, Bartleby is by his side.
He smiles at the bear of a priest bursting in from the chill night. If only more men of the cloth were like Wulfgar, he muses, then the gods and I might be on better terms. Garyn knew a good man when he saw one, and that one's heart was in the right place. Shame Garyn rarely had time for such concerns.
Garyn saunters over to the Nye's table in the corner where the small one seems to be checking and rechecking some kind of list. "Come, my friend," he says amiably, patting the gnome on the shoulder. "We have days and days for that. Tonight, we relax in at least what passes for luxury at this place. Who knows the next time we'll get this chance? Join us by the fire before the evening passes you by completely." Without waiting for a reply he smiles, as warm as he can, and pats Nye on the shoulder again before making his way to the hearth.
Garyn caught the half-orc Kerl staring at his wolf several times throughout the evening. Hope he's not looking for a meal, Garyn thinks as he makes his way over to the fire and his companions. What do orcs eat anyway? Last orc I saw was too busy trying to make me about a foot shorter with his axe for me to ask. He'd keep an eye on that one.
"Well, my friends," Garyn sighs as he stretches out before the fire, using his already slumbering wolf as a pillow, "we've got a long trip ahead of us. I suggest we turn in soon. Unless anyone has a song, a decent ale, or a lonely woman hidden somewhere, I'll be turning in."
Giving one last glance around at his travelling, he smiles inwardly.
I've travelled with much, much worse.
The sound of rushing water interrupts everyone's musings
The forest path runs deep into the northern wilderness. On either side, evergreens stretch into the distance and icicles cling to the sides of rocky outcroppings. Here and there, solitary white birches, thin and pale, draw the eye. An hour before dusk, the party arrives at a wide meltwater stream that cuts across the trail. According to the Suppliers' map, the party is two miles shy of Merzel’s Fall
An ancient, rock bridge lies in crumbled ruin just under the water’s surface. To the right of the bridge, a shallow lake has formed. Fractured ice sheets stretch into the lake from either shore, leaving only the fast-moving center to cascade over the bridge.
On the lake side of the ruined bridge, three men pan for gold in the calf-deep water. Eddies whirl around their tall wineskin boots. The older, bearded man swirls silt from his pan and with a growing smile, lets out a whoop. The other two wade to his side. Wide grins appear on their faces when they look into the pan.
The forest path runs deep into the northern wilderness. On either side, evergreens stretch into the distance and icicles cling to the sides of rocky outcroppings. Here and there, solitary white birches, thin and pale, draw the eye. An hour before dusk, the party arrives at a wide meltwater stream that cuts across the trail. According to the Suppliers' map, the party is two miles shy of Merzel’s Fall
An ancient, rock bridge lies in crumbled ruin just under the water’s surface. To the right of the bridge, a shallow lake has formed. Fractured ice sheets stretch into the lake from either shore, leaving only the fast-moving center to cascade over the bridge.
On the lake side of the ruined bridge, three men pan for gold in the calf-deep water. Eddies whirl around their tall wineskin boots. The older, bearded man swirls silt from his pan and with a growing smile, lets out a whoop. The other two wade to his side. Wide grins appear on their faces when they look into the pan.
Kumal comes to halt. Standing next to Garyn, in their usual position several yards ahead of the main party, the barbarian nods in the direction of the prospectors.
"Looks like a small prospecting party. Want to say hello for us, Garyn? It's getting dark...perhaps they'll share their camp with us?"
Garyn drops into a relaxed crouch, both his and Bartleby's breath wreathing their faces in fog.
"Aye," he replies to the barbarian, "a fine idea. It looks as if they seem to be having a spot of luck in this stretch of river. They may be jumpy, so be alert."
"Ho, friends," Garyn calls to the men, rising from his crouch, "many congratulations on your good find! What say you to travellers sharing a camp with you this evening? We're on our way to Merzel's Falls and wish to go no further today."
Then he mutters under his breath to Kumal, "Now let's hope they are what they appear to be."
Nye brings up the rear of the group, leading his pack mule grudgingly along the trail. At dawn when the party set out the gnome was full of enthusiasm, chattering non-stop to anyone who would listen about his plans to open a mining company once he acquired enough gold to fund the project. As the day changes to night and the chill set into his bones, Nye’s exuberance has begun to wane. Arriving at the bridge and seeing fellow prospectors at work his spirit his slightly lifted. Curiously, he watches the way they work and recalls the wisdoms of his gold hunting mentor and compares their technique that that the old dwarf taught him.
Thurgar approaches with the rest of the party, his shortbow carried in one hand. The others appeared to have things under control so far with the gold-panners so he decided to take a look at the sunken bridge.
He figures it will probably just be a ruined bridge, but as a dwarf, well, he can't not look at the bridge.
The sound of rushing water interrupts everyone's musings
Kerl had been keeping to the rear of the party listening to Nye. No one seemed to mind having the half orc behind them.
Kerl stared at the humans standing in stream searching for gold. So this what the gnome had been talking about all the morning. Standing in ice cold water hoping for gold. Kerl had not believed that the gnome got that part right but apparently he had. At least in a mine you got to pound on a wall. Kerl wondered for a moment how the gnome would be able to get deep enough in the water to find the gold without being swept downstream. Perhaps he had spell to breathe underwater.
Kerl mentally shrugged and scanned the surrounding forest to see if anyone else was approaching. A few harmless humans made good bait to lure in travelers.
perception 1d20+10=22
perception 1d20+10=22
Kumal and Kerl:
"Ho, friends," Garyn calls to the men, rising from his crouch, "many congratulations on your good find! What say you to travellers sharing a camp with you this evening? We're on our way to Merzel's Falls and wish to go no further today."
They quickly palm their find and dampen their expressions. The older man, with a mild smile, says, "Ho there y'sef. And thank yeh. I be Klay Chapell and these two are my sons, Jarod an' Nalan. This be yeh crew er yeh got ennymore comin'?" The other two have polite smiles but you catch the youngest (Nalan) eyeing a pile of clothes nearby that barely cover a mace and a couple of shortbows.
Arriving at the bridge and seeing fellow prospectors at work his spirit his slightly lifted. Curiously, he watches the way they work and recalls the wisdoms of his gold hunting mentor and compares their technique that that the old dwarf taught him.
They look to be doing a passable job for "dirt washers."
Thurgar approaches with the rest of the party, his shortbow carried in one hand. The others appeared to have things under control so far with the gold-panners so he decided to take a look at the sunken bridge.
He figures it will probably just be a ruined bridge, but as a dwarf, well, he can't not look at the bridge.
The fast moving water and the ice sheets sliding over top make it too difficult to see the bridge very well. You don't know if a closer look will help or not.
They quickly palm their find and dampen their expressions. The older man, with a mild smile, says, "Ho there y'sef. And thank yeh. I be Klay Chapell and these two are my sons, Jarod an' Nalan. This be yeh crew er yeh got ennymore comin'?" The other two have polite smiles but you catch the youngest (Nalan) eyeing a pile of clothes nearby that barely cover a mace and a couple of shortbows.
Kumal steps up next to Garyn with exagerrated slowness, and then lays a hand lightly on the ranger's shoulder as he whispers something to him.
Spoiler - Whispered words for Garyn.
The barbarian then takes a half-step back and folds his iron-hard arms across his chest, apparently content to let Garyn continue with his diplomacy. His eyes finally fall upon the youngest prospector, whom he fixes with a cold stare.
Nye watches on as Garyn parlays with the leader of the prospectors and notes the wariness that Kumal displays in folding his arms defensively across his chest. Shifting his attention from their gold to their demeanor Nye tries to determine if they are trustworthy folk or if something is up.
Seeing nothing of terrible interest with the bridge at this time Thurgar walks as casually as an armored dwarf can to stand near Kumal and Garyn.
He doesn't believe the humans to be a threat, but people have been known to do dumb things for less reason.
As he walks he begins to whistle a dwarven bar ditty content to let others do the talking.
Kumal steps up next to Garyn with exagerrated slowness, and then lays a hand lightly on the ranger's shoulder as he whispers something to him.
Garyn nods almost imperceptively at his companion's words.
The older man, with a mild smile, says, "Ho there y'sef. And thank yeh. I be Klay Chapell and these two are my sons, Jarod an' Nalan. This be yeh crew er yeh got ennymore comin'?"
"Oh we've a few still coming up behind. Since we're all civilized folk here, maybe you could introduce the rest of your crew, or at least the one in your shelter over yonder." Garyn gestures to the tent Kumal indicated.
"As I said, we're off to Merzel's Fall, and worry not friends, as we've no interest in your claim here. Just offering to help you with the watches tonight. The woods can be dangerous, and the more of us are here, the more likely anyone or anything will think twice afore disturbing our rest." Garyn points to himself. "Some of us can use our beauty sleep."
Bartleby snorts in agreement.
"What say you?"
The barbarian then takes a half-step back and folds his iron-hard arms across his chest, apparently content to let Garyn continue with his diplomacy. His eyes finally fall upon the youngest prospector, whom he fixes with a cold stare.
Kerl lets the horse slowly walk into the view of the humans while staying behind Garyn. Kumal is keeping an eye on the weapons. Foolish humans to leave weapons in pile. Did not someone tell them that weapons are no good if not in your hands.
Kerl watches the tent to see who comes out.
The barbarian then takes a half-step back and folds his iron-hard arms across his chest, apparently content to let Garyn continue with his diplomacy. His eyes finally fall upon the youngest prospector, whom he fixes with a cold stare.
Seeing nothing of terrible interest with the bridge at this time Thurgar walks as casually as an armored dwarf can to stand near Kumal and Garyn.
The young man's eyes slide back to the three of you and stays there. His smile changes a little from polite to nervous though.
Shifting his attention from their gold to their demeanor Nye tries to determine if they are trustworthy folk or if something is up.
Other than their find, they don't appear to be hiding anything.
"Oh we've a few still coming up behind. Since we're all civilized folk here, maybe you could introduce the rest of your crew, or at least the one in your shelter over yonder." Garyn gestures to the tent Kumal indicated.
"As I said, we're off to Merzel's Fall, and worry not friends, as we've no interest in your claim here. Just offering to help you with the watches tonight. The woods can be dangerous, and the more of us are here, the more likely anyone or anything will think twice afore disturbing our rest." Garyn points to himself. "Some of us can use our beauty sleep."
Bartleby snorts in agreement.
"What say you?"
Kerl lets the horse slowly walk into the view of the humans while staying behind Garyn. Kerl watches the tent to see who comes out.
The two younger men startle at the mention of someone at the tent and turn to look behind them. Klay's rugged and bearded visage doesn't change but he places a hand on the youngest to keep his attention facing toward the group.
"If'n yer gonna rob us yeh caught us out and take what yeh want. Tryin' the old 'what's that behind yeh' ta distract us is kinda silly when yeh outnumber us 2 to 1."
Seeing no one make a move toward them and several of the group looking past them, Klay's confidence falls a little, and he turns to look behind him. Upon seeing the tent move he cries, "Boys! They're right! We got a thief in our shelter!"
Klay and the oldest begin splashing their way as fast as they can toward the tent while the youngest heads toward the weapons.
Garyn says sharply, "Kumal, Thurgar, we can't let these men get taken! Come! Bartleby go!"
Garyn rushes towards the tent, intending to stop twenty feet or so from it, drawing and stringing the bow and knocking an arrow and calls out:
"We have you surrounded and you are outnumbered. Let's not do this the hard way."
He whistles, three times in quick succession, and Bartleby bounds towards the tent, growling and barking fiercely.
Nye shifts his gaze along the stream to the tent he hadn’t spied earlier and shouts, “Here now, this claim is staked. Show yourself before things get ugly!” With a grand gesture of pointing at the prospector’s tent the gnome closes one eye and lines up his finger targeting the front flaps of the tent while muttering softly the arcane language of his spell.
1d20+5=16
1d20+5=22
1d6+2=4
1d10=4, 1d10=9
Garyn says sharply, "Kumal, Thurgar, we can't let these men get taken! Come! Bartleby go!"
Garyn rushes towards the tent, intending to stop twenty feet or so from it, drawing and stringing the bow and knocking an arrow.
Kumal's eyes widen slightly as he reaches for his composite bow. He then dashes after Garyn, as quick and supple as a panther. He follows his comrade's actions, strings his bow and notches a steel-tipped, black-feathered arrow.
Garyn says sharply, "Kumal, Thurgar, we can't let these men get taken! Come! Bartleby go!"
Garyn rushes towards the tent, intending to stop twenty feet or so from it, drawing and stringing the bow and knocking an arrow.
Kumal's eyes widen slightly as he reaches for his composite bow. He then dashes after Garyn, as quick and supple as a panther. He follows his comrade's actions, strings his bow and notches a steel-tipped, black-feathered arrow.
Kerl rides towards the tent as he straps his shield onto his arm. He will circle around the right side of the tent as far as he can go while keeping 15 feet from it. Kerl pulls his horse to a stop and readies a fire bolt in case whoever is in the tent is foolish enough to attack them or tries to run.
initiative 1d20+5=21
To hit ranged touch 1d20+6=26
Critial threat 1d20+6=7 Does not confirm
Damage 1d6+2=3
"Stealing from mine, is that quick death, slow death or do we just cut off hand." Kerl mutters to himself. "I should ask gnome, he would known."
Thurgar had been following the exchange as closely as he could. Upon seeing the men in the water react in shock at someone in their tent, he brings his composite bow up and draws and readies an arrow.
Never having been the swiftest on his feet, he trundles 20ft closer to the tent and aims at the opening.
intiative = 11 (1d20+2) (9+2 = 11)
Perception = 15 (1d20+3) (12+3 = 15)
An old wolf dashes out from under the side of the tent. On its way, its neck gets wrapped around one of the tent’s lines and the canvas
structure collapses. As the wolf breaks for the woods, the entire tangled mess chases after it like a sack of broken sticks and clattering pans.
Klay shouts, "Cut it loose a'fore it scatters everything from here an' gone or rips it to shreds! Oh Scaly Hells! Ooof!!!" before slipping and falling no more than a few feet away from the water.
The wolf, frantically trying to escape the clanging, banging thing entangling it, quickly happens upon the wilderness trail, encounters fewer snags, and continues running on it toward Merzel’s Fall.
Thurgar smiles as the wolf takes off with the tent. "Should make it easy to track," he thinks wryly to himself.
He takes aim and looses an arrow at the fleeing wolf.
To hit= 26 (1d20+8) (18+8 = 26)
Damage (if hits) =6 (1d6+3) (3+3 = 6)
Thurgar smiles as the wolf takes off with the tent. "Should make it easy to track," he thinks wryly to himself.
He takes aim and looses an arrow at the fleeing wolf.
Seeing that the "enemy" is merely an old wolf, Kumal relaxes somewhat.
"Bah," he says. "It's just an old wolf...probably foraging for food. Don't kill the poor beast. Save your arrow."
Trying to stifle a chuckle, Garyn drops his bow and lunges to grab the tent before the wolf escapes entirely, prospectors' belongings in tow, while speaking as soothingly as possible to the creature during the merry chase.
"Bah," he says. "It's just an old wolf...probably foraging for food. Don't kill the poor beast. Save your arrow."
Perception= 10 (1d20+3) (7+3 = 10)
Bah, you're right Kumal. T'ain't worth the arrow.
Curse the gods! Kumal, I wasn't thinking. Forgive my reflex.
The wolf, frantically trying to escape the clanging, banging thing entangling it, quickly happens upon the wilderness trail, encounters fewer snags, and continues running on it toward Merzel’s Fall.
Kerl dismissses the fire bolt with a digusted snort and reaches for his holy symbol.
As his next action if Garyn or Kumal have grabbed the tent Kerl will try to calm the wolf
Wild empathy 1d20+6=24
"You have yourself in quite the tangle my friend."
"That path is not as easy as it looks"
To rest of the party "That should slow him down."
An old wolf dashes out from under the side of the tent. On its way, its neck gets wrapped around one of the tent’s lines and the canvas
structure collapses. As the wolf breaks for the woods, the entire tangled mess chases after it like a sack of broken sticks and clattering pans.Klay shouts, "Cut it loose a'fore it scatters everything from here an' gone or rips it to shreds! Oh Scaly Hells! Ooof!!!" before slipping and falling no more than a few feet away from the water.
The wolf, frantically trying to escape the clanging, banging thing entangling it, quickly happens upon the wilderness trail, encounters fewer snags, and continues running on it toward Merzel’s Fall.
Nye's spell weakens the wolf, slowing it down, while Kumal's timely warning allows Thurgar to withhold his fire.
Garyn, with Bartleby's herding of the old wolf, is able to catch hold of a tent rope as it passes by and bring the whole mess to a stop.
Kerl's soothing actions and words calm the wolf down. Now that it isn't struggling against the ropes, they slacken and fall away. The wolf wastes no time dashing up the path and into the woods.
"My thanks to the lot a' yeh! Pert near everything we owned was in there!" Klay limps his way towards the tent with Jarod's help. With a relieved grin, "Let me fix yeh a drop a' whiskey or two!"
"Whiskey? Aye, that sounds wonderful. Nothing makes friends faster," Thurgar puts the arrow back in its quiver.
He look at the pile of canvas and rope that was the tent, smiling and shaking his head. Heh, scrawny old wolf sure made a mess of things.
"My thanks to the lot a' yeh! Pert near everything we owned was in there!" Klay limps his way towards the tent with Jarod's help. With a relieved grin, "Let me fix yeh a drop a' whiskey or two!"
"That, old timer, sound like an excellent plan," quips Garyn, helping Klay and his boys collect their belongings. "If we are going to camp here for the night, I'm going to see if I can catch some fresh meat for dinner. Kumal, you wish to join me?" He looks back at Klay. "Save some of that whiskey for me." Garyn gathers his bow and with a whistle he and Bartleby head for the treeline.
When Garyn returns, he graciously accepts the drink from Klay.
"So, you and your boys live around here?" he asks, making simple small talk for a few minutes. Garyn briefly, and without giving many details, explains the groups task. "Anything unexpected you know of between here and Merzel's Falls? I'd hate for us to be caught unprepared. Any good hunter should know his quarry."
Greatful that the endless trek across country has come to the end for the day Nye quickly goes about setting up his camp. With a little magical aid he quicly has a tent set up and a bedroll laid out. Once done he plops down in front of the tent kicks off his boots and asks one of the brothers, "So have you been out here prospecting a long time?"
Nye's spell weakens the wolf, slowing it down, while Kumal's timely warning allows Thurgar to withhold his fire.
Garyn, with Bartleby's herding of the old wolf, is able to catch hold of a tent rope as it passes by and bring the whole mess to a stop.
Kerl's soothing actions and words calm the wolf down. Now that it isn't struggling against the ropes, they slacken and fall away. The wolf wastes no time dashing up the path and into the woods.
"My thanks to the lot a' yeh! Pert near everything we owned was in there!" Klay limps his way towards the tent with Jarod's help. With a relieved grin, "Let me fix yeh a drop a' whiskey or two!"
Kerl gratefully dismounts. He loves to ride but the long trek has been longer than even he likes. Kerl pulls the tack and barding off his horse and tends to his mount. Afterwards he automatically does the same for Nye's mule. Finally Kerl appears to be satisfied with both animals and turns his attention back to the prospectors.
They are humans, if he lets them talk perhaps they will say something useful. Perhaps not. One has whiskey. That is good start. Kerl walks over and helps himself to a drink then settles back and watches the camp.
Kerl gratefully dismounts. He loves to ride but the long trek has been longer than even he likes. Kerl pulls the tack and barding off his horse and tends to his mount. Afterwards he automatically does the same for Nye's mule. Finally Kerl appears to be satisfied with both animals and turns his attention back to the prospectors.They are humans, if he lets them talk perhaps they will say something useful. Perhaps not. One has whiskey. That is good start. Kerl walks over and helps himself to a drink then settles back and watches the camp.
Nye watches the half breed finish his work with the animals and motions for Kerl to join him beside the tent. "Thanks for tending to Laxmi, she's a good mule. I'd like to offer you the use of my tent tonight. It sleeps two and since I'm so small we'd both fit comfortably and keep ourselves out of the winter chill."
After a couple slugs of Klay's whiskey Thurgar begins to feel good. In the spirit of camaraderie he pulls out the flask of the clear alcohol he had purchased at the last tavern they were at.
Klay takes a drink, makes a face, and starts smacking his lips and attempting to wet them with his tongue.
Thurgar laughs and takes a drink of it himself and puts it away. The dwarf loves his drink, but he is enough of a professional to know that getting drunk on a job in the middle of the woods is a sure-fire way to end up dead.
"Do ye know who built that bridge that you're panning by? Its good work, if nothing fancy. Curious to know what it was doing out here in the middle of no where." he asks of Klay.