Welcome back! I've been on a little hiatus, but the itch must once more be scratched. Our group is currently concluding our Coucil of Thieves campaign, and will be beginning Kingmaker in the next 3-4 weeks. In the mean time, I'm going to be posting background bios on the PC's as they become available. Enjoy!!
___________________________________________________________
The Brazi family has existed for generations in the city of New Stetven. Long ago Niko Brazi migrated from the River Kingdoms back when our family was little more than traveling brigands and bandits. He united his immediate family and extended relatives and moved to New Stetven to start a new life, one not only more profitable but more civilized. Over the years, my family was able to establish itself in many trades, but what we excelled at was the spy network. While we have not existed as long as our rivals House Surtova, we have been able to cut our own space into the country of Brevoy by serving House Lebeda and House Rogarvia.
I am Luka Brazi, second son of Antonio Brazi, the current head of the Family. Word has come down the line that the Sword Lords are looking to expand into the Stolen Lands, but aren’t willing to put forth their own direct resources towards that claim. That is where I come in. Father, deciding it best not to send his first son out, as he would soon be taking his place as head of the Family, decided it was best to send me. His intent is to establish a strong holding in the new found kingdom, one that might one day rival even House Surtova in its influence..and in my Family you do what father "requests".
So with that, I have set out into the Stolen Lands to break new ground and establish a foothold for my Family, or die trying.
Oooooh!!! Can't wait!
How did you find Council of Thieves?
Disappointing. Hard to pinpoint, but I guess it boils down to the fact that the players never really identified with Westcrown, and didn't feel like they had a real stake in it. That's why we're so excited about Kingmaker! They get to build their own country in their own image, and become fully invested!
Angel on My Shoulder
The bandit turned to run, but stumbled and fell as his foot found a large root on the forest floor. Arms and legs akimbo, the man fell flat on his face, his sword flying from his grasp and clanging on the ground several feet away. Quickly the brigand turned over on his back and tried to scurry away, but the swordsman was already upon him.
From afar, and hidden by the cover of the trees, the brigand and his comrades had been watching this one travel down the forest road headed to Rostov. Dressed in superbly crafted armor and other suitably fine accoutrements the man appeared to be nothing more than a simple country noble or knight, but what truly captured the brigands’ gaze was the sword he carried on his back. Even though the massive claymore was of an antiquated styling and design, it was of exquisite quality and the bandits had figured it would catch a fair penny in Restov’s market district. Knowing these woods as well as they did, the gang laid an ambush and struck.
Now, the bandit found himself staring down the blade of the claymore, the end of which was within a few inches of the tip of his nose and coated in the blood of the other gang members. The hilt of the sword was a stylized eagle, with the guard the bird’s wings, and the metal appeared to be of a darker hue than normal steel…cold iron, perhaps? Etched into the blade, and now clearly evident was a single word…Judicium.
But it was not the blade that had the brigands full attention. The knight wore a helm that covered most of his face, but a large slit left his eyes uncovered. Those eyes were white and clouded like a blind man’s, but obviously not unseeing. Disarmed and trapped, the bandit held up his arms, palms out, and stammered,
“Please…please…don’t kill me. I beg your mercy.”
The swordsman did not seem to understand the man’s words, but the gesture, one of surrender, was comprehended. The man thought for a moment, as if listening to the consult of some unseen individual. After a few seconds, the swordsman nodded, and slowly lowered his blade. The weapon, still at the ready, was no longer threatening the bandit. After a few quick blinks, the swordsman’s eyes returned to a normal, deep emerald. He removed his helmet, and the bandit gasped realizing that the swordsman was nothing more than a boy of not even twenty. Also, the bandit became aware of an odd mark on his left cheek, one that had previously been hidden by part of the boy’s helmet. The mark had the coloration of a birthmark, but appeared too detailed to be random. It clearly depicted a sword overlying an image of the sun. If it were some form of religious marking, the bandit could not place it as the only faiths that he was familiar with were those of Erastil the Deadeye and Gorum the Lord of Iron.
The bandit, trembling at the hacked bodies of his former comrades, quietly stammered, “What are you? Some kind of demon? Possessed?”
One corner of the boy’s mouth crept up in a crooked smile.
“No. Not a demon. Not possessed. Accompanied may be a better way to describe it.”
The bandit’s brow furrowed. “What?”
The boy sighed, and cocked his gaze to the side, again as if seeking council from an invisible source. Nodding as if in agreement to an unspoken comment, the boy looked up.
“Have you ever heard of Iomedae, the Inheritor of Aroden?”
The bandit shook his head. The boy slowly nodded again.
“Of course you haven’t. Iomedae is one of the manydeities of Golarion, but her faith has not yet reach this part of the world. In fact, the only time that her faith is known to have touched Brevoy is through the passing of her crusaders through this country as they were preparing to do battle with the fiends in the Worldwound in the third Mendevian Crusade. My father was one of those crusaders, having travelled north from Andoran to join in the fight. “When the time for battle had ended, my father returned here to Rostland. He liked the rural area far past the outskirts of Restov, and there he settled and met my mother. He had returned from the Worldwound with enough spoils of battle to make him a very wealthy man, but his proudest possession had been this.”
The boy slowly raised the sword into a readied position, and the bandit flinched. The boy chuckled,
“Don’t worry. I am not going to kill you unless you force my hand. Iomedae teaches us that it is better to accept a willing and honorable surrender than it is to simply cut down your foes. She would have us fight as necessary to defend ourselves, but wanton slaughter is left to the Gorumites. Anyway, as I was saying, this blade has been passed down throughout generations of my family, and it was at one time very powerfully enchanted. This wasn’t enough to save my father, however, when a gang of giants attacked our village when I was no more than ten years old. My father defended the townspeople valiantly, and eventually the gang was routed…but not before the sword had been shattered by a giant’s axe and my father laid low. The local vicar was able to repair the blade with his magic, but the enchantment was too powerful for him to replace. There was, however, nothing they could do for my father. But my father was a knight of Iomedae…a paladin in her service. He would willingly have given his life if it meant that innocents would be spared.”
The bandit, despite the earlier bloodshed and his fear, seemed to be entranced by the story. Despite his age, the boy’s forthright nature had shifted the man’s attitude. Still timid, the man asked,
“What is that marking on your cheek?”
“What, this?” the boy asked, pointing to the birthmark. “This is a symbol of my faith, a brand of the Inheritor. When I was a babe it was just a simple blotch, a blemish, up into my childhood. Shortly after my father’s death it began to evolve, until at the age of fifteen it had transformed into the symbol you see here. It is now my divine link to my Lady. It’s funny that you should ask, but shortly after my birthmark had completed its metamorphosis I received a strange visitor. Iomedae herself had sent down one of Her own servants, an angel known as an Astral Deva, a type of being created by the deities of Good from the souls of their most deserving followers. The angel explained to me that I had been chosen by the goddess to be one of her servants here on Golarion. If I were to accept the calling, the Deva would be bound to me, and I to it, and together we would serve as a direct channel of Her grace…one of Her Chosen. The angel taught me much…how to use a sword, how to summon my Lady’s protection and blessing, and how to conjure healing magic to tend my wounds. I still have much to learn, and in this learning there is much power that I can yet attain. This is why you are seeing me on the road to Restov today…I hear that Brevoy is chartering groups to foray into the Stolen Lands. There may not be a better place to hone my skills than in the wilds there.”
The bandit, still listening intently, asked,
“What happened to your eyes earlier…and your voice…you were speaking in some tongue that I have never heard.”
Smiling, the boy responded. “Iomedae’s gift comes with a price. With the direct link to the divine, during times of stress I am filled with the Celestial Fury. It does not control my actions, but during those times I can only speak in the tongue of the angels. Now…I think that I have probably told you enough. We have two paths here that we can go down. One, in accordance with Brevish law, I can execute you for banditry, or two, you can swear to me that you are finished with waylaying travelers and will forsake such an unlawful life. Know that you would be swearing to an agent of the Inheritor, and she will hold you to those words.”
The bandit quickly replied, “No, no, please…I swear. I am done with this!”
The boy placed his helmet back over his head and gripped his sword. With a quick flick of the blade, he commanded the brigand,
“Go.”
The elder man obliged, scrambling to his feet and bolting off into the woods. Within a handful of seconds, he was already out of the boy’s view.
The boy heard the voice of his passenger in his mind.
“Was it really necessary to tell him all of that, Velox?”
Velox shrugged and replied, “Probably not. But perhaps knowing the source and motives of the one that showed him mercy will help to mold his decisions in the future. Also, you never know, the effort at diplomacy may have won us an ally in the future…or at least an enemy that might stay his hand. Plus, who is going to believe him…it sounds crazy!”
There was a moment of silence as the angel considered the boy’s words.
“Perhaps you are right. You just need to be cautious with this kind of information. Being that we are in the wilds, as far as Iomedae is concerned, we do not have any form of organized community of faith to fall back on. If it is made too common knowledge that one of Her followers, let alone one of Her Chosen is abroad in the wilderness, you could become a target of Her enemies…and they are not few in number. We are on our own here, but with some luck we will be able to find a group of like-minded adventurers to travel into the Stolen Lands. It is my sense that there we will be facing great challenges there. Come, the road awaits. We must move on to Restov.”
The boy nodded. “Yes, father.”
Velox Vendicatori – LG Oracle of Iomedae
Traits (Four total, 2 free + 2 from extra traits feat):
Campaign Trait
Faith Trait
Social Trait
Equipment Trait
Rostlander (+1 to Fort Save)
Birthmark (+2 vs. charm and compulsion, acts as focus for spells)
Rich Parents (900 gp starting)
Heirloom Weapon (free MW, +1 to hit with that weapon)
Skills Taken:
Diplomacy ,Sense Motive, Perception, Spellcraft
Tungdil Steelfinger was raised in a typical dwarven family…or as typical as one could be in the town of Brunderton, far away from the nearest clan of dwarves in Brevoy, the Golkas of the Golushkin Mountains. Tungdil, however, was not your typical dwarf. He would spend hours wondering the outskirts of the Gronzi Forest, and despised listening to his father’s endless tales of his glory days in the mines.
Ultimately, this led to constant fights between himself and his father. After one such heated debate, he decided it was time to make his own way in the world, and so he left Brunderton to follow his path. During his many forays into the forest, he had begun to hear the call of Gozreh…the Call of the Wild. He knew enough to survive on his own in the forest, but once there, he lacked direction…until he encountered the adherents of the Green Faith. He understood at once that had finally found his true kinsmen. Life among the druids came as naturally to him as the stone did to other dwarves. Finally, there came a day when the head of his order came to him with a proposition. The Sword Lords of Rostland had put out a call for adventuring pioneers to explore the Stolen Lands with the intent of eventually settling them. To the druids of the Green Faith, this could spell opportunity, or disaster. The requested that Tungdil join these adventurers to divine their true intent. He eagerly accepted, anxious to make his mark in the world, and prove to his father that his life’s path was not a waste of time.
|
It keeps getting better :-)
The Oracle background is the first time I've really 'got' the class - and it makes me want to play one! It is also VERY well written - please pass on my compliments to the player in question!
Thank you. After reading the Oracle thoroughly, I kept trying to figure out, "Now why would he be like this? What would be the reason that he would speak in Tongues?" That was about the best I could come up with. The other idea was a character that drew his power like 'Chuck' by having knowledge 'flash' in at opportune moments. The problem I had with that is how would I justify a character like that having an 18 Strength...so I went with a version that was 'trained' albeit over a compressed timetable.
BTW, the little bit at the end with the traits and skills was really not meant to make it in the Campaign Journal...just something I sent to the other party members so they would know which skills I was covering.
There was death here. It lay sprawled across the ground of what looked like a bandit raid gone wrong. Although no tracker, Davrim could see that two sets of prints led away from the scene, one walking, and the other full out running. Choosing to follow the latter was obvious; either their owner was in need of help, or he was attempting to escape the justice he deserved. Davrim set out at a jog, one hand clutching at his chest where he still felt the pulse that had begun when he had arrived at the massacre site. She had called him there.....
　
“Spatter be good,” the orc babbled. “Spatter knows he done good! Boss put him in charge! He get big reward when he return! For long time Spatter and his boys been taking many shinies from fool humans on the road, in small villages, and even a church! Spatter always take best loot! In first village he took woman. Spatter in charge of taking care of woman! Spatter do good job, never hurt her!”
The armor clad warrior listened patiently, not showing emotion as the last of the orc raiders sputtered on about what had happened over the past year, every so often begging for forgiveness. His crimes were obvious, and it seemed that he knew little else of use. Standing, the warrior drew his sword and beheaded the orc in one fluid motion. He turned and strode towards the rest of the Judges, who stood waiting behind a tent that had been set up for the young woman. Judge Graham was still inside, attending to her. They were the Judges, Iomedae's greatest law bringers. They were sent all over Golarion to the most ruthless, lawless places in the world. The orcs had sacked a church that had been one of the faction’s supply posts. The Judges were the first responders because, unlike the clergy, they used any means necessary to bring justice to the guilty. A cry and the sight of Judge Graham leaving the tent caused them all to turn.
"She will be fine physically,” the taciturn woman said, “but her mind is gone. Sad. I have never witnessed a more quiet birth, but compared to the ravages of orcs for a year..... well,” She shook her head. “We were sent here for some purpose, and I believe it is the Inheritor’s wish that we take her and the babe back with us.”
Davrim ran for the better part of the day, stopping only to stow his armor when it began to hinder his maneuverability as he sprinted through the dense woods. When he could no longer see the tracks, he went on instinct. Finally, he came to a clearing and saw what he had been hoping for. A man stood, looking nervously about him, a dagger in his hand as he waited for a pair of travelers to unhitch a set of horses from their wagon. Taking out his bow, Davrim knelt and loosed a single shot. He dropped the bow before he saw whether or not the arrow hit, and drew his falchion as he charged across the clearing. The arrow had missed its mark, but had momentarily distracted the bandit. The brigand saw the large half-orc barreling towards him, and his eyes went wide. Dropping the dagger, he fell to his knees and began begging and pleading. Davrim came to a stop before him.
"Tell me of your crimes," the half-orc intoned.
The bandit immediately began stammering out the events of the past day, his eyes never leaving Davrim’s chest. Davrim listened in silence,and then, when the murderer had finished his confession, he removed the man’s head in one, clean stroke.
Sometime later, Davrim was awoken by the rumble of wagon wheels crunching over dirt and stone. A woman quickly leaned over him and held out a water skin. He nodded to her in gratitude and accepted the drink. Davrim assumed he must have passed out from exhaustion after dispatching the bandit.
“You have my thanks,” he said, his voice raspy and dry. “Where are we bound?”
“It is you who are deserving of gratitude,” the woman smiled shyly. “We no doubt owe you our lives. We are headed to Restov, and thence into the Stolen Lands. We are farmers, and we have heard that the Swordlords are offering land charters to those willing and capable,” she beamed proudly.
Davrim nodded and lay back, but the young woman persisted in her chatter, subtly prodding for information about who he was, where he had come from.
“I am a Judge of Iomedae,” he sighed at last. “I too am going to the Stolen Lands to bring the law the Church to the lawless. I serve the Church in all things, and if Restov hopes to bring civilization to the bandits and monsters of the wilds, then I shall see that Justice is brought with it.”
Seeing the questioning look in her eyes as she glanced towards his chest, Davrim sighed again.
“This is the mark of my Lady,” he said. “I was raised by the Judges of Iomedae since my infancy. That is all I wish to explain this evening, madame.”
Closing his eyes again, he found peaceful rest, knowing that he had done his Lady’s will once more.
Welcome back! I've been on a little hiatus, but the itch must once more be scratched. Our group is currently concluding our Coucil of Thieves campaign, and will be beginning Kingmaker in the next 3-4 weeks. In the mean time, I'm going to be posting background bios on the PC's as they become available. Enjoy!!
Great to hear is there any write ups about your Council of Thieves game we just TPKed it over the weekend
Great to hear is there any write ups about your Council of Thieves game we just TPKed it over the weekend
I estimate we've two more sesssions before we complete the AP. Do tell about the TPK!!
Selena Belladonna was raised unaware that her mother was a witch. She knew only that her mother had powers that were unexplainable, and that she always had a crow sitting upon her shoulder.
Another fact that Endora, Selena’s mother, never shared was that she was also the granddaughter of Baba Yaga, one of the greatest, and foulest witches ever known. Endora had fled from Whitethrone when the riders had appeared that her own mother was going to be replaced by Queen Elvannia. Endora had no interest in being moved to some place or some plane else that she did not know, and so she took her child and disappeared quietly into the Stolen Lands.
Selena began manifesting powers of her own shortly after she found her pet, a viper she named Miss Sinister. Her mother guided her in the use of her abilities, and finally disclosed her true heritage as she lay dying of old age. Endora also told her that danger was coming to their home. Civilization had found them, and the lordlings to the north were sending pioneers into the Stolen Lands to found a new kingdom. She sent Selena to Restov to find the group and establish herself as a member, so that in befriending them, she might bend them to her mother’s cause…
I estimate we've two more sesssions before we complete the AP. Do tell about the TPK!!Great to hear is there any write ups about your Council of Thieves game we just TPKed it over the weekend
Well we were in the Azmodean knot and we went into the water room with the Ghouls and Ghasts in the water, and we walked on the two sides and two of us got paralyzed and coup de grace and one player rolled 3 ones in a row and killed him self and the last player pushed on and died to the Flayed one
Well we were in the Azmodean knot and we went into the water room with the Ghouls and Ghasts in the water, and we walked on the two sides and two of us got paralyzed and coup de grace and one player rolled 3 ones in a row and killed him self and the last player pushed on and died to the Flayed one
Bitter! All it takes is a few bad rolls to make the difference between victory and total anihilation. This past week, the group fought a ghost/sorcerer. It almost went very badly.
Stevhan liked the rasp of the whetstone against his long, steel blade. When he wasn’t out tracking down bandits with his father, the sheriff, he could usually be found sharpening his sword outside their small home. That was where Victor found him.
“Well, no bandit will ever complain that you almost cut off his head, boy,” said the gruff, middle-aged sheriff.
Stevhan chuckled softly, “No, I suppose they won’t. Any news from town?”
“Actually, there is something,” said Victor. “Looks like the swordlords are issuing charters for adventurers to enter the Stolen Lands. They want to pursue the bandits beyond the borders – maybe even chase down the Stag Lord himself.”
“It’s about time,” said Stevhan. “We could’ve chased them back time and again, but we didn’t.”
“True…true,” the older man mused. He closed his eyes, and chose his next words carefully. “Boy, I think you should go.” The rasp of the whetstone stopped, but Stevhan said nothing. Victor looked up at the boy he had raised and said, “There is something you should know. Your real parents,” he began, “I had always told you that your father was a friend of mine, and that I took care of you when he went missing. Well, that’s true. What I didn’t tell you was this: Before I took up working for the Andori, I was the huntmaster for another family…House Rogarvia. One of the younger sons loved to hunt, and he was my best friend…but he had a problem. He had got one of the ladies-in-waiting with child. Then, all of a sudden, the Rogarvias disappeared. I married the girl, and she gave birth to a son. She didn’t make it through the birth, but you did.”
Stevhan realized that he had stopped breathing. His whole world had been turned upside down. The Rogarvias were the rightful rulers of Brevoy. All of the living members of the family had disappeared almost twenty years ago…all, it seemed, save an unborn babe with royal blood flowing in his veins.
Stevhan exhaled sharply, then looked up at Victor, and said, “I didn’t see that coming.”
“No, I suppose not. No one knows about you. I kept the secret well all these years, but now it’s time for you to chart your own course. You’re a skilled tracker, a competent archer, and a deadly swordsman, if I do say so myself. Hells, I taught you everything I know, so you should be pretty good,” Victor laughed. “You can carve out your own legacy in the Stolen Lands, and who knows, one day you might just reclaim your birthright.”
“I don’t even know where to start” said Stevhan.
“Well, it’s getting late,” said Victor, “let’s talk about it over breakfast in the morning.” The sheriff reached out a scarred hand and pulled Stevhan to his feet. Victor looked at his son with pride, and they went into the house together.
Brevoy is a land divided…but then it always was. Two hundred years ago, when Choral “the Conqueror” Rogarvia crossed the Lake of Mists and Veils, it was Lord Nikos Surtova of Issia who met him on its shores under a flag of truce. They worked out an agreement whereby Issia would surrender its land and people but the Surtovas would retain their power and wealth, serving the new ruler as stewards and duly sworn vassal lords.
This arrangement did not sit well with Issia’s southern neighbors, the Aldori swordlords of Rostland. They rallied for war and secured their strongholds, yet they were ultimately no match for the discipline and tactics of Choral’s forces. The swordlords made their last stand in a narrow valley…and were devastated when the Conqueror unleashed his greatest weapon…a pair of red dragons! In the aftermath of the defeat, Rostland pledged itself to Choral as a way to save its traditions from total eradication.
For the next two centuries, the Rogarvias held the Ruby Fortress and ruled Brevoy from New Stetven, molding the former independent nations into a unified country. Then, in the middle of winter in early 4699 AR, every member of House Rogarvia vanished without a trace. There was no evidence of foul play or struggle…the nobles were simply gone. A brief period of chaos and panic followed, but by the end of the year, the Surtova’s had made their move. Citing age-old ties with the Conqueror’s line, they quickly seized power in New Stetven and began to extend their reach across Brevoy. With all of Issia backing the move, Rostland had little choice but to bend its knee again. King Noleski Surtova had gained control of the Ruby Fortress and the Dragonscale Throne…but for how long?
_____________________________________________________________
The time is now, twenty years after the disappearance of the royal family: the Stolen Lands, which lay between the southern borders of Brevoy and the River Kingdoms, have long resisted attempts at civilization and colonization. The term “stolen” is defined differently depending upon who is asked and who is doing the asking. Brevoy considers the land stolen from their southern borders by bandits and barbarians, while in the River Kingdoms, it is believed that Brevoy allowed the lands to fall into the hands of monsters and worse in order to rob the lords of the Kingdoms of more lands to rule. Regardless of what the truth may be, the fact remains that the swordlords of Restov have been spurred to action by an increase in aggression among the bandits of the Stolen Lands, and by building political tensions with their northern kinsmen in Issia. They have begun to send agents and colonists into the disputed region to explore, settle and, if need be, conquer. The establishment of new kingdoms beholden to Restov’s swordlords, and the rest of Rostland, would not only bring freedom from banditry and raids along the border, but also the resources and clout needed to give Rostland the political footing it needs to challenge the Surtova hold on the crown.
We finished Council of Thieves tonight, and will begin Kingmaker next Sunday. Regular posts should begin shortly thereafter.
We finished Council of Thieves tonight, and will begin Kingmaker next Sunday. Regular posts should begin shortly thereafter.
You know its bad when even the players are anxious. Totally ready and stoked
WHENCE KINGS ARE MADE
“Be it known that the bearer of this charter has been charged by the Swordlords of Restov, acting upon the greater good and authority vested within them by the office of the Regent of the Dragonscale Throne, has granted the right of exploration and travel within the wilderness region known as the Greenbelt. Exploration should be limited to an area no further than thirty-six miles east and west, and sixty miles south of Oleg’s Trading Post. The carrier of this charter should also strive against banditry and other unlawful behavior to be encountered. The punishment for unrepentant banditry remains, as always, execution by sword or rope. So witnessed on this 24th day of Talistril, under watchful eye of the Lordship of Restov and authority granted by Lord Noleski Surtova, current Regent of the Dragonscale Throne.”
________________________________________________________________
Oleg’s trading post was located at the southern edge of Rostland (and thus Brevoy), and further south, the green line of the Narlmarches loomed only a few miles away. The post’s remote location and inconvenient distance from a major river ultimately kept it from realizing significant financial success. That suited Oleg just fine. The trader decided to move himself and his wife, Svetlana, to precisely such an isolated locale to get away from the constant machinations and political maneuverings that seemed to dominate urban life in Restov. All he ever truly wanted was a place for the two of them to live far enough from the sins of civilization without living so far that they couldn’t enjoy all of its benefits. Accepting a charter from Restov to rebuild an abandoned border fort into a trading post seemed like the perfect solution.
Oleg and Svetlana spent several months renovating the old fort, their customers few and far between, consisting mostly of trappers, hunters and an eccentric hermit named Bokken, whose occasional potions helped keep the post in business when the fur trade was inconsistent. Things were good for awhile…until word of the trading post caught the attention of the local bandits who infested the Greenbelt to the south. They first appeared at his gate three months past, and were it not for the fact that he feared for what might happen to Svetlana, Oleg would have no doubt sacrificed his life in some foolish attempt to defend his stock. Instead, he’d been forced to turn over each month’s revenue to the brigands when they appeared to collect their “tithe.”
Svetlana knew her husband better than he knew himself, and she was well aware how much pain the situation caused him, and that she was the reason he hadn’t stood up to the bandits. That act of humility was crushing his soul. She’d pleaded with him on more than one occasion to abandon the trading post and return to Restov, but Oleg had stubbornly refused to give in completely. His only concession to her wishes had been to send several requests to the city for reinforcements whenever a trapper or hunter stopped by on their way back to civilization. In fact, he’d recently received word back with a promise that a group of guards would soon be sent, but so far, he’d seen no sign of such protection. Little did he know that his request would be answered sooner than expected…or how his life would be irrevocably changed from that point on…
______________________________________________________________________
“Do you see something that disturbs you?” Velox asked as he glanced aside at the burly half-breed that strode beside him. The big man had been darting furtive looks in his direction ever since the six unlikely companions had set out from Restov.
“That mark on your face…,” Davrim replied.
“Ah,” Velox nodded. “It is the mark of my Lady.”
“Is the Lady you speak of called Iomedae?” Davrim asked thoughtfully.
“You know of her?” the young man exclaimed.
“Indeed I do,” the half-orc smiled, “for she is my Lady as well. I am an inquisitor in Her service.”
Velox’s blank expression puzzled Davrim.
“Are you new to the church?” he asked. “Are you unfamiliar with the hierarchy?”
Velox dropped his gaze to his boots. “I am not a part of your church. I was…called. The Lady spoke to me and revealed to me that She had a purpose for me, and that it would be revealed in time.”
Davrim’s eyes widened. “You’re an oracle? I never dreamed I would actually meet one!”
“I am not familiar with the term,” Velox said, his brow furrowed in confusion. “As I said, I am not a part of your church.”
The half-orc shook his head in disbelief. “You really don’t know what you are, do you? You are unique, my young friend. You are a gift! Truly if the two of us have found ourselves upon this same road, then it is a sign that this is where the Lady wants us to be, and that our mission is just!”
Further behind the two warriors, a pair of women also walked side-by-side, but as anyone could tell easily just by looking at them, the few feet of distance between them wasn’t all that separated them.
“If you don’t mind my saying so,” Selena said at length, “you don’t seem exactly…suited… to this sort of journey.”
The other woman looked at her coolly from beneath thick lashes and heavily applied mascara. As she reached up to push her carefully coiffed hair from her face, heavy gold bracelets jangled against her wrist.
“Oh?” she asked as she quirked one carefully plucked eyebrow. “And what, pray tell, do you think I’m ‘suited’ to be doing?”
Selena smirked. “Adorning the arm of some nobleman would be my guess. Did your husband send you along to pick out land for your summer estate?” She laughed harshly as she lifted the black viper coiled around her forearm to her lips for a quick kiss.
The other woman’s face wrinkled in disgust.
“Well, snake handling and fetishes aren’t my forte, to be sure,” she sneered as her eyes traveled over the eclectic garb of the witch, “but don’t underestimate me, sweetheart. My name’s Mox, by the way, and you’d do well to keep your opinions to yourself and stay out of my way.”
The oddest pair of the company brought up the rear. The dwarf was a sight in-and-of-himself. He wore rough, tanned animal skins, and his hair and beard were wild and unkempt, with bits of dirt and twigs caught up in the twisted mass. He carried a simple wooden cudgel belted at his waist. His companion was rustic as well, but carried himself with a calm that came from a lifetime of familiarity with his surroundings. He wore forest colors and a mottled cloak, a hunter’s bow slung over his back, and a sword at his hip. His face was weathered and tanned, but his youth showed through when he smiled as he glanced askance at the belching dwarf beside him.
“Tungdill, is it?” the ranger asked.
“Aye,” the dwarf grunted. “I’ll answer to it. What was yours again? I ain’t too good with names. People neither for that matter.”
“Stevhan,” the ranger replied, and extended his hand.
Tungdill grunted again as he shook it awkwardly.
“What do ya make of the rest of this crew?” he asked. “Look like a bunch of soft, city dwellers to me.” He spat a wad of gooey phlegm at his feet.
“I suppose,” Stevhan nodded, “but I’ve found that looks can be deceiving. For example, I would be inclined to think that most folk would underestimate you at first glance, but what I see is three-feet and a couple of hundred pounds of barely caged fury.”
Tungdill bellowed with laughter and slapped the ranger across the back with a meaty hand.
“I like you, boy!” he roared. “You and me is gonna get along just fine!”
_________________________________________________________________
Oleg’s Trading Post wasn’t much to look at. The old fort was surrounded by a wooden palisade, and at each corner stood an old watch tower, each armed with a decrepit and obviously non-functioning catapult. The double gates stood open, revealing an open yard surrounded by a stable, a guesthouse, and the main hall. The sound of hammering could be heard coming from the roof of the hall, and as the six companions entered the compound, a rosy-cheeked woman came bustling from the guest house, her broad smile beaming.
“You’ve come!” she exclaimed, clapping her hands together.
Velox stepped forward and presented the charter to her.
“We’re here on the authority of the Swordlords, good lady,” he said, bowing.
“Oh yes,” she nodded, still smiling, “we’ve been expecting you! I’m Svetlana, and that’s my husband, Oleg.” She gestured towards the man up on the roof, who seemed to be taking his time putting away his tools and coming down the ladder. “They sent you to take care of our bandit problem!”
“Well…,” Stevhan hesitated, “our charter does give us authority to deal with banditry. Are you saying that you’ve had dealings with some?”
By that time, Oleg had joined them. He was a big, swarthy man with permanent frown lines etched between his brows. He took the charter from Svetlana and quickly scanned it, his scowl deepening, and his face reddening as he did so.
“Oh for the love of Erastil!” he shouted, tossing the parchment to the ground. “They aren’t the ones we asked for! They’re just a bunch of prospectors!”
He threw his hands in the air and stormed off.
“Forgive him,” Svetlana said quietly as she bent to retrieve the charter and perused it. “We have indeed been having bandit problems, and we sent word to Restov weeks ago requesting soldiers to help us. When we saw you coming, we thought our prayers had been answered.”
“Well, as my friend said,” Velox replied, “we have been granted authority to deal with bandits, and if you will pardon my bravado, it may be that we are better equipped to do so than the militia. Can you give us the details of your situation?”
Svetlana invited them inside the main hall, and sat with them around a long table while Oleg made himself busy behind the bar, studiously trying not to look like he was listening in.
“They first came three months ago, and threatened to burn down the post,” she began. “They also said that they would…take me…if we didn’t agree to hand over all of the furs and goods we’d accumulated over the previous month. Since then, they’ve returned twice more…each time at sunrise on the first day of the month…which is tomorrow.”
“How many of them are there?” Davrim asked.
“The first time they came,” Svetlana replied, “there were a dozen of them. Ten of them seemed like your typical riff-raff, but there was also a cloaked man who carried a longbow, and a woman who wore two small axes. It was she who did most of the talking.” Svetlana’s voice lowered. “The way she smiled when she said what would happen to me if we didn’t pay them…She seemed smarter than the cloaked man…and more dangerous. I think she was their leader. On the later visits, though, only the hooded man came. He had six men with him on the second trip, and only four on the last one. I guess they think they have us cowed. Maybe when they come tomorrow, there will be even fewer. Will you help us?”
“You needn’t ask,” Velox replied. “Do I speak for us all?” he looked around the table. One by one, his companions nodded.
From behind the counter, Oleg grunted. “We’ll see.”
_________________________________________________________________
At dawn the next morning, four horsemen rode into the yard of the trading post. Their leader wore a hooded, grey cloak and carried a longbow over his shoulders.
“You’d best get your arses out here!” he shouted, rising in his stirrups. “I don’t like waiting, and if you make me, I’ll start tossing some fire in to speed you up!”
His three thuggish companions laughed coarsely, but Happs didn’t. Happs Bydon was a cruel man who’d turned to banditry after he was caught running a protection racket in Restov while also, at least in theory, serving as a soldier in the city guard. He fled the city when he learned the law was coming for him, abandoning a wife and two children to suffer the shame of his crimes. Absent of morals and conscience though he was, he was no fool, and he sensed immediately that something wasn’t right. His head whipped to the left as he caught a furtive movement in the stable from the corner of his eye.
“It’s a trap!” he screamed.
An arrow hissed through the air as the bunkhouse door behind the bandits slammed open. It sank into the flank of the rear rider. As he screamed and slipped from his horse, Davrim was already upon him, sweeping his greatsword from his back sheath as he came. The half-orc’s heavy blade never stopped, its deadly arc continuing down as it severed the brigand’s head from his shoulders. Happs turned in confusion and rage, sawing at the reins of his own mount as he fought to control it. A sudden flash of light from above and behind him caused him to spin reflexively in the opposite direction. He caught a brief glance of a tall woman dressed like a noble standing atop one of the watchtowers just as a bolt of blue fire struck him in the chest, and flung him from the saddle. He just managed to climb to his hands and knees when he saw the odd sight of a wild-eyed dwarf emerging from the stables. The little troll was chanting something and waving his hands about like some sort of witch-doctor. Before Happs knew whether to laugh or shout in rage, a small, black storm cloud appeared directly over his head, and a small bolt of lightning and tiny hail stones struck him about the head. He collapsed in a heap, unconscious.
The remaining bandits panicked. Their mounts tangled as they struggled to turn them towards the gate. Before they could get them disentangled, Velox had emerged from the stables behind Tungdill.
“Forgive them, father,” he muttered as he drove his blade through one man’s chest.
The last brigand dug his heels into his horse’s ribs, spurring it into a gallop. Just as he reached the gate, however, Stevhan knocked a second arrow and loosed in one smooth motion. The shaft took the fleeing man in the throat, and he was dead before he hit the ground.
_________________________________________________________________
“I wouldn’t have believed it if I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes!” Oleg laughed as he surveyed the carnage. “When I’m wrong, I say I’m wrong, and I’m not too proud to admit it.”
He stuck out one, meaty paw and Velox gripped it, nodding silently.
“You can consider my home yours now,” the trader said. “You’ll need a base camp if you’re dead set on exploring the Green Belt.”
“We appreciate your hospitality,” Velox replied. “I’m sure we’ll need all the help we can get in this wilderness, but aren’t you concerned that the friends of this rabble will come for revenge?”
“Maybe,” Oleg shrugged, “eventually, but they’re a bunch of cowards at heart. I think it’ll be awhile before they try anything. Maybe by that time the guards from Restov will be here. Besides, I plan on stringing up the bodies outside my wall. Let that be a warning to any other troublemakers that come sniffing around.”
“Is that really necessary?” Davrim growled.
“Justice has already been served,” Velox added. “Let the dead lie in peace.”
“Bah!” Oleg waved them off. “You’re not in Restov anymore. Your urban sensibilities will get you killed quick out here. You’ll learn in time, I suppose. Anyway, what’re you going to do with that one?”
Happs, bound hand-and-foot, was just coming around. The others stood around him in a menacing circle.
“You rubes don’t know what you’ve gotten yourselves into!” he spat. “When Kressle finds out about this, you’re all dead! And you two…” he grinned evilly at Oleg and Svetlana, “you’ll only wish you were dead by the time she gets through with you!”
“You need to calm down, little man,” Mox said smiling as she crouched down next to the bandit, “or I’ll have to have my less lady-like friend here,” she jerked her head towards Selena, “introduce you to her pet.”
Selena smiled wickedly as Sinister slithered out of her sleeve and onto Happs’s leg.
“No!” he screamed. “Not snakes! Anything but snakes! What!? What do you want from me!?”
“We want to know where your camp is,” Stevhan answered. “We want to know about this Kressle, and how many men she has there. Oh, and we also want to know about this stag head necklace you were wearing.”
“Alright! Alright!” Happs cried. “Just keep that snake away from me! The camp’s about thirty miles southwest of here, on the Thorn River! Kressle’s our leader, and she’s got about six or eight other guys still with her! She gave me the necklace, told me it meant I was her second. That’s all I know! I swear!”
“So he’s spilled his guts,” Oleg snorted. “Now what?”
“We were given the authority to deal out justice as we see fit,” Velox said, “but I’m not a murderer. You say the Restov soldiers should be arriving soon? Would you mind keeping an eye on our friend there until they arrive?”
Oleg’s toothy grin was positively wolf-like.
“It’d be my pleasure!”
____________________________________________________________________
WANTED!
Bandits, dead or alive!
By order of the Swordlords
For six or more bandits
Living or dead,
A reward of 400 gold crowns is offered!
WANTED!
The Sootscale kobolds are in turmoil!
They pose a threat to any civilized undertakings in the Green Belt!
Slay them all, or make peace with them!
The Swordlords offer a reward of 800 gold crowns!
WANTED!
One Tatzylwyrm head!
See Oleg for details.
Reward of 600 gold crowns is offered!
WANTED!
Tuskgutter!
Bring the great boar’s head to Vekkel Benzen!
Excellent bow with six magic arrows offered,
As well as a share in some wonderful head cheese!
The bounty board inside Oleg’s post looked to offer plenty of opportunities for a group of intrepid explorers. Stevhan carefully detached and folded each of the flyers before tucking them neatly into his cloak. You never knew when a few extra coins in your pocket might make the difference between life and death. The ranger then wandered back over to where his companions were discussing their next course of action.
“So it’s decided then?” Velox was saying. “We head for the Thorn River and try to find the bandits’ camp?”
“It’s part of our charter,” Davrim shrugged. “We kill two birds with one stone by exploring the territory between here and there, and then ridding the area of those murderers.”
“Suits me,” Tungdill nodded, food from his beard spilling on the table as he did so. “They’re a blight, and the only way to get rid of a blight is to pull it out by the roots.”
Selena stroked her snake absently. “The dwarf is right,” she said. “Personally, I don’t particularly care if the brigands are a threat to the so-called civilized folk, but they’re poison to the land itself.”
“Your compassion is beyond touching,” Mox smirked. “Count me in.”
“So be it,” Velox finished. “We’ll set out in the morning then.”
“If you’re hells-bent on taking them on,” Oleg interrupted, “might I ask one more favor of you lads and ladies? The first time the bums came here, that b&!!$ who was leading them took Svetlana’s wedding ring. She acts like it’s no big deal, but I know how much it meant to her. If you happen to come across it in their camp, I’d be grateful if you could return it to her.”
“We’ll keep our eyes open,” Velox replied. “If it’s there, we’ll find it.”
_________________________________________________________________
The following morning, as the companions packed up their gear on the four horses they’d taken from Happs and his boys, Svetlana approached them with her own request.
“You might not have noticed,” she smiled demurely, “but Oleg’s been under quite a bit of stress lately.”
“You don’t say,” Tungdill snorted.
“Well,” she continued, “I’d love nothing more than to be able to cheer him up by making him his favorite meal…moon radish soup! The problem is, though, moon radishes are pretty scarce in these parts. I do know of a patch that grows a day’s ride south of here. If you’re heading for the Thorn River, it would be on your way. If you find some, could you gather a basket for me?”
Selena rolled her eyes, but Velox nodded politely.
“It would be our pleasure, my lady,” he said.
They set out before the sun was fully above the horizon. Tungdill and Selena rode double, as did Mox and Stevhan, while Davrim and Velox, being the largest, each had their own mount. The first day’s travel out of Oleg’s was a largely uneventful trek across the verdant grasslands of the Green Belt. By the next morning, however, they had reached the edge of the Narlmarches, the vast forest that stretched south and west across the Stolen Lands. The trees were dense, and consisted of oaks, beech and rushleaf, but they were crisscrossed with game trails and clearings which made the going somewhat easier. As the group approached one such clearing, they began to hear odd, moaning sounds coming from directly ahead. Quietly, they dismounted and crept as stealthily as they could through the undergrowth. Stevhan carefully parted the branches and peered through. What he saw struck him as simultaneously surreal and comical. Four, small reptilian creatures lay sprawled on their backs, their bellies round and bloated. Scattered about them lay dozens of half-eaten radishes.
“I think we found Svetlana’s radish patch,” he whispered to his companions, “but it looks like somebody else got here first.”
The others snickered as they saw the odd sight.
“Kobolds,” Selena said. “Weak, cowardly. They’ll probably flee at the sight of us.”
The six of them stepped into the clearing, Stevhan clearing his throat as they did so. The kobolds squeaked and scrambled to their feet, grabbing their spears that lay beside them.
“Can you speak to them?” Stevhan turned to Selena and asked.
“Watch out!” she shouted in warning.
The ranger spun, crouching low and drawing his sword reflexively as he did so. The kobolds were charging. Cursing, he lunged forward and drove his blade through the belly of the first one. The twang of Davrim’s bow sounded from behind him as an arrow embedded itself in the eye of the second. Stevhan was up and moving before the first two bodies hit the ground. He swept his blade wide in front of him and disemboweled the third, but before he could turn his attention to the last kobold, a small clap of thunder pealed above him. When he looked up, he saw the same miniature thunderhead Tungdill had summoned against the bandits. A small lightning bolt forked out and struck the kobold in the chest. It grunted weakly as its eyes rolled back into its head, and it crumpled.
___________________________________________________________________
“It’s a shame we had to kill most of them,” Stevhan said as he showed the others the flyer he’d taken from Oleg. “They might have been able to tell us something about their tribe.”
“This one’s waking up,” Tungdill said, nudging the groaning kobold with the toe of his boot. “Maybe the witch’s snake can loosen his tongue.”
Selena shrugged. “How about I just ask him first?”
She knelt down next to the wide-eyed creature, and thought she spoke in a soft voice, the language she used was harsh and sibilant.
“Are you of the Sootscale tribe?” she asked.
“Sootscale’s are mighty!” the little reptile shrieked. “Not afraid of big folk!”
“I’m sure,” Selena smiled. “How many of you are there?”
The kobold wrinkled his forehead. “More than two,” he replied, nodding defiantly.
“Tell him we’ll let him go,” Velox said. “Tell him we want to make peace with his people, and to tell them we were merciful.”
Selena relayed the message, and the kobold leaped to his feet and darted for the trees, casting a fearful glance back over his shoulder as he ran.
__________________________________________________________________
“Here,” Stevhan said from where he crouched by the banks of a swift flowing river. “There are hoof prints in the mud. They’re several days old, but I can still track them.”
He mounted up again, and the companions continued along the forest trail, albeit at a stealthier pace. A short time later, Stevhan held up a hand silently, bringing them to a halt. He pointed ahead to where the trees thinned into a small clearing. At the far side stood a wagon, a metallic glint shining from its bed. The ranger’s eyes began flickering through the trees until they finally settled on a fallen log about fifty paces away. He was just opening his mouth to warn his companions when he heard a sharp, whistling sound as something small and round landed in their midst…a stone of some sort. A moment later it exploded with a deafening thunderclap of sound.
Chaos broke loose around the group. Stevhan and Tungdill’s ears rang with a dull roar in the wake of the explosion. The horse that the dwarf and Selena were riding reared and bolted, throwing the pair from the saddle. Davrim’s horse lunged away as well, but the half-orc was able to land on his feet as he hastily dismounted the panicked animal. Stevhan and Velox spurred their own mounts forward, towards the brigand who was now fleeing from behind the log towards the shelter of the trees. Velox reached him first, his horse leaping the log easily. The young oracle heard his father’s voice fill his ears as the spirit of the Lady overwhelmed him. He cut down the running man, then whirled his mount round as he heard a chorus of hoarse shouts from the trees to his left. There, a half-dozen more bandits appeared, bows in their hands and arrows knocked. Behind them, a woman dressed in leathers and carrying a gleaming axe in each hand barked orders in their ears. In an instant, the brigands let fly with a volley. One of them struck Mox, but she rolled with the impact, dismounting her horse as if she were born to the saddle and landing deftly on her feet in a crouch, clutching at the shaft protruding from her shoulder. Her face clenched in pain, she paid no attention to the ravening group of bandits. Instead, she scanned the trees nearby. That’s where the thunderstone had come from. Then she saw him, hunkered down on a small platform amid the thick branches of an oak.
Tungdill and Selena climbed to their feet, bruised, but no worse for wear. In fact, their prone positions were probably all that had saved them from being impaled by stray arrows. When the dwarf saw the clustered bandits, a broad smile split his scraggly face.
“Gotcha just where I want ya!” he crowed.
He pulled what looked like a chicken’s foot from his pocket and began muttering under his breath as he scratched at the ground with it.
“I don’t believe what I’m seeing!” Selena exclaimed in disbelief as she saw the results of the druid’s casting.
The vines, grass, and underbrush around the bandits suddenly came to writhing life, wrapping around their feet and legs with grasping tendrils. They cursed roundly as they struggled to free themselves, but unfortunately for Tungdill, his actions had also caught the attention of the bandits’ leader.
“Kill the dwarf!” she shouted.
Momentarily ignoring their entanglement, her men turned towards the druid and let fly with another salvo. Three arrows struck Tungdill, two in the chest, and the third in his thigh. With a grunt, he fell heavily into the brush.
Kressle was having a grand time! The leader of the brigands had banditry in her blood. Born in the River Kingdoms, throughout her life she had never spent more than a week in one spot. Even as a child she was already helping her parents rob travelers and rough up pilgrims for some quick cash. When her parents were killed after an ambush, she headed north to seek her fortune, only to end up being captured by a group of bandits herself. When two of them lost hands and fingers to her axes, however, their thoughts turned from rape to escape. Kressle followed the wounded ruffians back to their fort. Their leader, impressed by her skill and bravery, slew her attackers and recruited her on the spot. She moved up the ranks in a matter of months, until the boss sent her to run the Thorn River camp. She knew when that idiot Happs failed to return from the trading post, that it would only be a matter of time before she’d have to deal with whomever’d done him in. She was just glad they’d saved her the trouble of hunting them down.
“Let’s take it to’em, boys!” she hooted as she tore her feet free of the writhing undergrowth.
Davrim turned towards the approaching bandits, swinging his sword in broad loops as he waited for them to reach the edge of the spell Tungdill had cast. He quickly realized his mistake as he saw one of the bandits come to a halt not ten paces away as he drew a bead on the big half-orc with his bow. Davrim tried to duck, but he was too slow, and the arrow smacked meatily into his backside. Stevhan moved to go to Davrim’s side, but when he looked back at Tungdill, he was torn. He didn’t know if the dwarf was dead or alive, and before he could make up his mind, two of the outlaws had freed themselves from the entanglement and stood between him and Davrim. The ranger slid from his horse, for he was not accustomed to fighting from a saddle. As he did so, however, the two men rushed him. He spun like a snake and parried the first blow, but the second slipped beneath his blade and gouged across his ribs. Hissing in pain, he swung his sword backhanded and slashed the throat of the nearest brigand.
Mox still played cat-and-mouse with the brigand crouched in the tree. She darted quickly among the tree trunks as arrows thunked into the boles around her. Finally, she reached a spot where she had a clear view of the brigand. He turned as he saw her, pulling his bowstring all the way back to his jaw. Mox quickly brought her hands up and spoke a word. A streaking blue projectile flew from her fingers and struck the bandit in the forehead just as his fingers prepared to release his arrow. He tumbled from the tree as if pole-axed, and struck the ground fifteen-feet below with a sickening crunch.
Davrim was surrounded. Four of the brigands had freed themselves and flanked him on all sides, jabbing and feinting with their swords. As he turned this way and that, trying to deflect the blows, one penetrated his defenses, stabbing into his knee. His leg began to buckle, yet he struck out with a cry of rage, disemboweling his nearest assailant. He brought his sword up defensively, trying to ward off what he knew was his eminent death, and then he heard her cry. Kressle rushed at him, her axes crossed over her chest. She swung one with deadly efficiency, slicing the half-orc’s hamstring and sweeping him completely off his feet. As she stood over him, poised for the kill, Davrim heard thundering hooves approaching. He and the bandit leader turned at the same time to see Velox bearing down on them. The oracle leaped from the saddle at the last minute, driving his sword into the chest of one of the brigands as he landed. As he rolled to his feet, however, Kressle was on him. He caught one of her descending axes on the guard of his blade, but the other hacked into his shoulder.
“Still alive, I see,” Selena smiled down at Tungdill.
“I’m tougher than I look,” the dwarf wheezed.
“Looks like our friends may be in some trouble,” the witch observed. “Will you be ok if I leave you?”
“I’ve done pretty good on my own for a long time,” Tungdill chuckled weakly. “I s’pose I’ll make it a few minutes longer.”
Selena nodded and ghosted away through the trees. As she departed, the injured druid began another chant, and as he did so, a dense mist rose from the ground around him, enveloping him in its concealing layers.
Selena moved quickly, passing Stevhan just as he dispatched his last opponent. She approached the spot where Velox and Davrim still fought for their lives, and saw it was only a matter of time before they were overpowered. Velox had drawn blood on the female bandit, but she still fought like a dervish. Her last two surviving men both looked hale and hearty. Selena stopped several paces away and drew a strand of beads and feathers from her bodice. She focused her thoughts and raised both hands, her fingers forked in the sign of the Eye. The two bandits turned towards her, their gazes unfocusing. In unison, they swooned and fell to the ground, sound asleep and snoring. Kressle gaped in rage and surprise, and in that moment when she dropped her defenses, Velox struck, burying his sword to the hilt in her chest.
Sometime later, when the sleeping bandits awoke and found Kressle dead, and themselves surrounded by six very unhappy looking characters, they immediately, and wisely, surrendered.
BORDERLANDS
“Is this it then?” Velox asked as he paced calmly before the two bound brigands. “Is this all of you?”
“N..no!” one of them stammered, as he looked nervously around at the bodies of his former comrades. “We’ll tell you whatever you want to know!”
“I’m sure you will,” Velox smiled, not unkindly. “Where can we find the rest of your band?”
“At the Stag Lord’s fort!” the bandit blurted. “It’s about thirty miles or so south, on the shore of the Tuskwater!”
“Stag Lord?” Davrim asked. “Who’s he?”
“A monster of a man!” the second bandit said, eyes wide. “He’s a deadeye with a bow, he is, and I once saw him crush a man’s hand to mush in one fist!”
“Why do they call him the Stag Lord?” Velox asked.
“It’s ‘cause of that creepy helmet he wears!” the bandit replied. “I never seen him without it on. Some of the other boys think he ain’t got no face under it, but not me! I think that weird helm is his face!”
“How many men does he have with him?” Stevhan asked.
“Hard to say,” the first bandit said. “So many folks come and go around there, we have to use us a phrase as a kind of password to get inside.”
“Really?” Velox quirked one eyebrow.
“Yeah, yeah!” the man nodded vigorously. “Now lemmee see…what was it? Oh yeah! ‘By the Bloody Bones of St. Gilmorg, who wants to know?’ Don’t ask me who St. Gilmorg is, though.”
“Well,” Velox nodded. “You’ve both been very helpful. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to discuss with my companions what’s to be done with you.”
“Wait! Wait!” the bandit cried. “There’s something else! That booze you found in the wagon?”
Velox glanced towards the crates they’d discovered earlier.
“That was meant for the Stag Lord,” the brigand continued. “He’s a bloody drunk, he is! Half the man he used to be, and ain’t never been right in the head! A few weeks back, he punched my horse just for spittin’ in the yard! Still, even drunk out of his mind, he’s still got a fair amount of fight in him.”
“Again,” Velox said, “your cooperation is appreciated. Now, if you’ll excuse me.”
“So we kill’em now, right?” Tungdill said as the companions huddled together.
“We’d be well within the bounds of the law,” Selena agreed.
“True,” said Velox, “and no doubt morally justified, yet it doesn’t feel like the right choice to me.”
Davrim nodded. “Then I trust your judgment. You have been touched by the Lady.”
“That doesn’t make my judgment infallible,” Velox smiled. “It’s just a feeling. I don’t think these two will pose any great threat on their own. Even if they were to flee back to this Stag Lord, then we’ll deal with them when we deal with him.”
“Whatever,” Tungdill threw up his hands, as he stomped away. “You city folk are all crazy, you ask me.”
“He’ll be fine,” Stevhan said. “He’s just used to a different way of life. If you think we should spare these two, then I can live with it. I just hope we don’t come to regret it.”
In the end, the two brigands were set free with their promise to leave the Stolen Lands and never return. Only time would tell if their salvation was justified or not.
____________________________________________________________________
During another day of slogging through the dense underbrush of the Narlmarches, Stevhan brought the group to a halt as he stooped to examine what appeared to be just another game trail.
“There’s something here,” he said after several moments. “It’s overgrown, but there used to be a real path here. It leads up towards that ridge.”
The group dismounted and led their horses up the narrow, steep path. Some time later, the thick tangle of brambles they’d been hacking through gave way into a large clearing, its border partially defined by ruined stone pillars. The far side of the clearing was dominated by a looming, upthrust ridge of rock nearly three-hundred feet across, and rising to a moss-topped height of at least one-hundred feet at the center. The side of the towering boulder was carved in the likeness of an immense elk, its antlers drooping down from its weathered face to frame a wide cave entrance. A flight of stone steps led up to the entrance from the clearing, the stones thickly encrusted with layers of moss. A long, oval pool sat in the middle of the clearing, its waters thick with algae.
Stevhan, his eyes wide in awe, began walking slowly towards the steps.
“Stevhan…!” Velox began.
“Wait,” Tungdill said softly as he grabbed the oracle’s arm in grip like iron. “Let the boy be. This place is sacred to Old Dead Eye, Lord of the Hunt. He might not wear it on his sleeve, but Stevhan, and a lot of simple, country folk, hold Erastil in pretty high regard.”
“Oh…,” Velox blinked in understanding, “I see.”
When Stevhan reached the steps, he knelt and bowed his head in silent prayer. A moment later, the ranger’s eyes snapped back up in shock and surprise as his prayer was answered by a bellowing roar from inside the cave. A large, lumbering shape moved within the shadows, and quickly resolved itself into a huge grizzly bear. The beast reared on its back feet and bellowed again, its claws pawing the air. Stevhan’s astonishment turned quickly to divine enthrallment.
“My Lord!” he gasped. “We meant no disrespect! We come only to pay homage, and to honor you!”
“Watch out, boy!” Tungdill shouted as he shoved past Velox, but Stevhan didn’t hear him. He was rapt. “That animal’s sick!”
As the others looked, what the druid said became obvious. Foam flew in frothy streamers from the bear’s mouth, and its eyes wept with thick, green pus. Large patches of its fur were missing, and when it walked, is seemed to list from side-to-side. It dropped to all fours again and began trotting quickly towards Stevhan. Tungdill threw out his hands and barked a guttural chant. A small bolt of electricity sizzled from the air in front of the bear, stinging it on the nose. The creature drew back in momentary surprise, and that’s when Selena wove her own hex. She held a stone suspended from a length of twine before her, gently rocking it back and forth. The bear’s eyes glazed over as it watched the pendulum, and then slowly it collapsed onto its side, asleep.
“That won’t hold it for long!” the witch shouted.
Velox nodded and started forward, his sword rasping from its sheath as he moved.
“No!” Stevhan shouted. “What are you doing?”
Before he could stop the oracle, however, Velox struck, impaling the bear with his blade. The animal howled in pain and rage as it surged back to its feet, the sword still stuck in its belly. It was dying, but seemed not to know it. It reared above the young man, and that’s when a gout of scorching flames struck its head, sprouting from Selena’s outstretched fingers. The bear fell back, and Velox wrenched his sword free, and then struck again, and again. As the great bruin collapsed, it made an almost human sigh of relief, and then seemed to fold in on itself, transforming first into an incredibly old-appearing human man with a look of peace in his eyes, and then crumbling to dust. A moment later, the entire shrine seemed to grow more vibrant and colorful. Even the water in the pool became crystal clear.
“This was supposed to happen,” Stevhan said quietly as he gazed about in wonder. “It feels…right.”
“What, exactly, just happened?” Mox asked, her face a mixture of confusion and disgust.
“I can’t…explain it,” the ranger shook his head. “I don’t know what that man was, or why he was here, but now that he’s gone this place seems…whole again. I think we’ll be safe here for the night.”
________________________________________________________________
Later that night, Velox and Tungdill stood first watch.
“Did you hear something?” the oracle asked.
“Probably just an animal,” the dwarf grunted. “Tends to happen when you’re in the woods, city boy.”
“If it’s an animal, then it’s a big one,” Velox snapped. “I’m going to check it out.”
He’d gone no further than the shrine entrance, when he quickly started back-pedaling.
“What?” Tungdill asked, his hand going to the cudgel at his belt. “What do ya see?”
Velox didn’t reply, nor did he have to. A huge shape lumbered into the shrine. At first, Tungdill thought it was another bear, but then he saw the beak-like maw, and the fur topped with feathers, not to mention the six-inch talons that gleamed darkly in the firelight.
“By my beard!” the dwarf bellowed. “An owlbear! Back off, boy!”
He drew his cudgel and rushed forward, chanting as he ran. In a flash of light, a snarling dog appeared out of nowhere, snapping and biting at the monster’s flank. Tungdill swung his club with both hands…and it promptly snapped in two when it struck the owlbear’s thick hide. The beast screeched and swung its log-like arms in a wide arc, its claws slashing deeply across the dwarf’s belly. Tungdill’s eyes widened as he looked down in shocked disbelief at the gaping wound. The blood drained from his face as he fell at the owlbear’s feet. The monster then turned with a speed that belied its size and snapped the little dog in half with its beak.
“Tungdill!” Velox cried. He charged in, his sword cutting into the owlbear’s leg, but instead of retreating, it simply turned and back-handed him. By this time, the others were wide awake and scrambling to their feet. As the creature advanced on Velox, Mox hurled arcane fire at it, causing it to lurch backwards. Stevhan rushed into the opening, his own blade flashing. A moment later, Davrim joined him. Under the relentless barrage of the three warriors, the owlbear continued to flail blindly, but ultimately fell like a great tree.
“The pool!” Stevhan shouted as he ran to Tungdill’s side. “We have to get him to the pool!”
He and Velox lifted the barely-breathing dwarf and carried him outside, where they quickly submerged him in the moonlit pool. Within seconds, his terrible wounds stopped bleeding, and then closed completely. His breathing eased, and his eyes fluttered open.
“So much fer bein’ safe here for the night,” he muttered.
___________________________________________________________________
“What do you make of this?” Mox asked.
“Freak accident?” Davrim offered
“Poetic justice,” Selena smirked.
Tungdill just burped.
The group had stumbled across a collapsed deadfall along the south bank of the Thorn River, and pinned beneath it was a body. The man appeared to have been dead for several days, and his clothes and gear identified him as a trapper.
“I think this was deliberate,” Stevhan said. He crouched next to the logs, the rope that had held them in his hands. “Look at this. This didn’t snap. It was cut by something very sharp…sharper even than a blade.”
Tungdill shrugged. “Who cares? He’s dead now, and there’s no one here to arrest for it.”
“We bury him,” Velox said.
“What?” Selena shouted. “Why?”
“Because it’s the right thing to do,” Davrim said as he bent to pull the corpse free.
____________________________________________________________
“God’s damn it all!” Tungdill roared. The dwarf lay flat on his back where his horse had thrown him. The animal itself was still bucking violently as it struggled to free its leg from the bear trap. “That’s the fourth blasted one of those we’ve found!”
Stevhan soothed the horse as he knelt down to free its leg.
“The fourth unmarked one, you mean,” the ranger noted. “Most reputable trappers would mark them just so this sort of thing wouldn’t happen.”
“Maybe that’s what happened to our friend back there,” Selena sneered. “Maybe these are his traps, and maybe somebody else didn’t take kindly to his lack of manners, and gave him a little taste of his own medicine. I’m sure glad we took the time to bury him.”
_________________________________________________________________
It had been two full weeks since the companions had last seen Oleg’s, and things there had gotten…busier. Four small tents had been erected near the stables, and three men dressed in soldiers’ harness busied themselves nearby. They stopped their work and watched the group closely as they road into the yard, their hands resting casually on their sword pommels.
“My friends!” Oleg bellowed from the door of the main hall. “Your back! Svetlana! They’re back!”
“Thank the gods!” Svetlana cried, clapping her hands happily.
“These are for you, my lady,” Velox bowed as he offered her the basket of moon radishes.
“You found them!” she laughed.
“Moon radish stew??” Oleg asked, his mouth watering.
“You can thank our friends,” his wife smiled.
“Ah, Sergeant Garess,” Oleg said, turning at the approach of another soldier, “these are the ones I told you about.”
“Kesten Garess,” the man said, removing his glove as he extended his hand. “It seems the Swordlords are in your debt for the protection you offered to these fine citizens.”
“Sure you would’a done the same,” Tungdill grumbled, “if you’d’a been here.”
“A pleasure to meet you, Sergeant,” Velox said as he gripped the man’s hand, pointedly ignoring the dwarf. “We have some further bandit news to report to you.”
Garess listened intently, and nodded with approval as the companions related their encounter with the Thorn River bandits, and at the news they had learned of the Stag Lord.
“Well done again,” he said. “So, what do you intend to do about this bandit lord?”
“What do we intend to do?” Mox asked incredulously. “Sergeant, aren’t you a soldier of Restov, sworn to protect its interests?”
“As are you,” Garess said, tapping the charter Velox had given him to inspect. “I think Restov’s interests are best served by our remaining here, and protecting the only going concern in the Greenbelt.”
“Typical,” Selena snorted.
“Don’t worry, Sergeant,” Davrim said. “We fully intend to take the fight to this so-called Stag Lord, but we’ve also still got a lot of ground to cover between here and there. By the way, what did you do with Happs, the prisoner we left here?”
“Oh him,” Garess said. “We gave him a fair trial…followed by a first-class hanging.”
“I like the way you think, Sergeant,” the half-orc smiled.
__________________________________________________________________
As it turned out, the soldiers weren’t the only newcomers in residence at Oleg’s. A middle-aged man, who identified himself as Jhod Kavken, quickly made the acquaintance of the companions once they’d stepped inside the main hall.
“I’m very pleased to meet you,” he grinned, shaking each of their hands enthusiastically in turn. “I had heard of the charters the Swordlords were issuing, and I came here to offer my assistance, but by the time I’d arrived, you’d already left. More’s the pity. I wish I could have been with you when you showed those bandits what-for!”
“I’m sure,” Tungdill muttered.
“What is it that you said you do?” Mox asked, batting her long lashes playfully.
Jhod cleared his throat, his face slightly flushed. “I…uh, I’m a priest, actually. That’s another reason I came to the Greenbelt. I had heard that there might be several abandoned shrines or temples to Erastil in the region. You haven’t come across any such things in your travels, have you?”
“As a matter of fact, we have,” Stevhan said. He related their discovery of the temple and its bear guardian, who transformed upon his death. “Does that mean anything to you?” he asked the priest as he finished.
Jhod’s face remained neutral. “No, but that is a truly amazing tale. Tell me, when you venture out again, might I accompany you back to this temple? I’d love to resanctify it in Erastil’s name. I have some skill in healing. I’d be happy to offer you my services in exchange.”
“Of course, Father,” Velox replied. “We’ll probably remain here a few more days, but when we leave, you are free to come with us, as long as you are aware of the dangers we may face.”
_________________________________________________________________
They spent the better part of a week at Oleg’s, resupplying and taking a much-needed rest. When the time came for them to set out again, Kesten Garess approached them.
“While you are abroad, I would ask that you do me a service,” he began.
Tungdill rolled his eyes. “Didn’t know I signed up to be everybody’s errand-boy. For an unexplored wilderness, there sure are a lot of folks who need favors around here.”
Garess eyed him coldly. “As I was saying, I worked with a Varisian mercenary named Falgrim Sneeg some months back. During the mission, he robbed our company and fled into the Greenbelt, presumably to join the bandits there. If you happen to run across a man fitting his description, I’d like him returned to me, alive if possible, so that I make take him back to Restov for trial. I can offer you your pick of four quality weapons for your trouble.”
“We can’t make any promises,” Velox replied, “but we’ll keep an eye out, and if we find him, we’ll do our best to bring him in.”
The group set out once more, accompanied by Jhod Kavken. They intended to take the priest back to the shrine, but they planned to take a different route, hoping to map some new territory along the way. On their second day out from Oleg’s, they came upon a small hut set upon a low hill on a lonely moor. As they approached, they saw smoke coming from the chimney, and light leaking from behind the shutters.
“Hello the house!” Stevhan called out.
The door of the hut banged open, and a shabby, disheveled old man lurched out, eyes wild and goggling.
“Who’s there?” he cried.
“We mean no harm, old man,” Stevhan replied. “We’re simply exploring the region. We set out from Oleg’s trading post yesterday.”
“Oleg, you say?” the man barked. “Well I suppose you’re alright then. Come on up!”
The hut was a meager affair, its rafters hung with drying herbs of all sorts, its table covered with all sorts of alchemical paraphernalia.
“Name’s Bokken,” the old man said tersely after the companions had introduced themselves. “Make potions, that I do. Sell’em to Oleg when I get around there. You interested in buying?”
He shuffled out his wares, and each one of them had a distinctive, pleasant berry aroma.
“Bet you’re wondering how I do that, ain’t you?” Bokken laughed. “I’ll tell you my secret: fangberries!”
“Let me guess,” Tungdill sighed, “they don’t grow around here, do they? And I bet you’re getting short on supplies.”
“That I am!” Bokken barked. “You’re a smart one, for a dwarf! Tell you what old Bokken will do for you…you get me some fangberries…wash’em first, mind you! I don’t deal in dirty berries. You do that, and I’ll set you up with a special discount on any of my wares. What d’you say?”
“If we run across any, we’ll be sure to gather some for you,” Velox said politely.
“Fine! Fine!” Bokken laughed. “Oh, and if you see my brother out there…well, you’d best just steer clear of him!”
“Your brother?” Stevhan asked.
“That’s what I said, didn’t I?” Bokken snapped. He held up his right hand, where the little finger was missing. “Bastard took it off me the last time he hit my mother, Desna rest her soul! Then he took off south to go live in a hollow tree or some such, rather than face the guards, coward! After my parents passed, I came here to look for him, but the Greenbelt’s a dangerous place, if you haven’t noticed. So I just settled down here instead. Point is, if you find an old bastard livin’ in a hollow tree, don’t trust him! And if you kill him, tell him his brother sends his regards!”
_________________________________________________________________
The grasslands gave way to hills once more as the group angled back towards the Narlmarches. As they passed through one particularly desolate stretch, they began to notice the occasional animal carcasses they were accustomed to seeing, were becoming more frequent. Before long, the ground was literally littered with bones, everything from boar, deer and bear, to some that looked suspiciously human. Suddenly, the ground beside Selena’s horse simply erupted, and a black and red spider the size of a pony leaped out at the witch. Reacting purely on instinct, Selena threw out one hand, a hex springing to her lips. Electricity crackled around her fingers, and as she touched the leaping spider, the energy completely engulfed the beast. It fell to its back, legs curled in, twitching for a moment before becoming completely still.
“Neat trick!” Mox mock-applauded. “You’re just full of those quaint little hedge-mage cantrips, aren’t you?”
Selena’s eyes smoldered, and Sinister’s tongue flickered in agitation as the viper sensed its mistress’s displeasure.
“Look here!” Stevhan said. The ranger had dismounted to make sure the spider was dead, and then moved to examine the hole it had come from. It was a deep shaft, but the webbing layered upon its walls made it an easy climb. At the bottom lay several more skeletons, but also one relatively fresh corpse…that of a man dressed in leather armor. A silver stag amulet hung from around his neck, and a roll of parchment was tucked inside one boot. When Stevhan unfolded it, he found a crude drawing of a claw-shaped tree on a hill. A single large X had been marked beside the tree.
“Looks like we found ourselves a treasure map!”
THE WIND IN THE WILLOWS
It wasn’t hard to find the spot marked on the map. The lone tree was the only one they’d seen in a two-mile radius of the lonely hill. It looked to have been struck by lightning, and its bare branches reached up towards the clouds like a burned and deformed claw. Stevhan knelt by its roots, and quickly discovered a spot where the earth had been disturbed…not recently, but still plain to the ranger. He didn’t have to dig too far before he found a leather-wrapped bundle. The ‘trove’ didn’t amount to much…a well-made dagger, a slim, iron wand, and a water-logged spellbook with most of the pages ruined and illegible. Still, it was just one more mystery that the Stolen Lands unwillingly gave up, and only served to remind the companions that many more, deeper secrets were yet to be discovered…
_________________________________________________________________
The hills of the Kamelands began to level off as the ground sloped once more down towards the dark forest of the Narlmarches. As the six travelers passed a particularly rocky crag, Stevhan’s sharp eyes spied a narrow crack in its face.
“Probably nothing,” he said. “Most likely another bear cave, though I don’t smell any musk. Let’s take a look.”
The crack gave onto a sizeable cave, empty and with no signs of occupation, but the far wall sparkled in the light that seeped in from the outside.
“Hmm,” Stevhan mused, “I wonder what that might be? Looks metallic.”
“It’s gold,” Tungdill said flatly.
“What??” Mox asked, her eyes alight. “How can you be sure?”
“In case you haven’t noticed,” the druid snorted, “I’m a dwarf. You can take the dwarf out of the mountains, but apparently you can’t take the mountains out of the dwarf.”
He turned in disgust and left the cave.
“He’s not exactly…comfortable with his heritage,” Stevhan explained.
“Whatever,” Mox waved him off. “We’ve found a gold mine! I think this little venture may prove more profitable than I’d imagined!
___________________________________________________________________
The Narlmarches again. During another day slogging through the dense forest, the explorers came across another deadfall, this one, apparently, natural. The branches of the dead trees had formed a sort of cave, and as they drew near to it, an strong animal scent wafted out to them. The horses began to shy away just as a guttural snort and a high-pitched squeal came from the cave opening. Then, a boar roughly the size of a horse itself barreled out into the daylight, its yellow tusks and piggy eyes flashing. The horses reared and neighed in terror, their eyes rolling. Stevhan leaped from the saddle and quickly rolled to his feet, his bowstring already drawn back. He loosed, and the shaft struck Tuskgutter directly between the shoulders, which only seemed to enrage the boar more. Mox slid from her horse as well, but the deftness and skill with which she did it looked as if she’d been born to the saddle. Landing on her feet, she calmly spoke her spell and flung a volley of arcane missiles at the charging beast. It veered away from Davrim at the last minute, and the half-orc swung his sword down with both hands, cleanly decapitating Tuskgutter. His body continued to run for several more yards before it realized it was dead.
____________________________________________________________________
East of the Skunk River, where the ground began to slump away into a soggy mire, a pair of ruined stone buildings jutted from the muddy ground. The companions stood on high ground overlooking the mire as Stevhan scanned the area for signs of life.
“Looks clear,” the ranger said quietly. “Still, let’s try and move in quietly.”
That plan lasted all of six seconds, right up until Davrim stumbled over a protruding stump and sent a torrent of rubble tumbling down the slope. A loud, barking roar sounded from the larger of the two buildings, as a large, slime-covered toad-like creature with walrus-like tusks loped out of it. From the second building came another creature that superficially looked human, but on closer inspection also closely resembled a frog.
“It’s a boggard!” Tungdill shouted. “Evil, cannibalistic bastards!”
The dwarf raised his cudgel and began charging down the hill.
“Truce! Truce!” the boggard croaked in Common, dropping its own weapon into the mud.
“Tungdill, wait!” Velox shouted as he ran down the dwarf. “Wait! He’s surrendering!”
“Me Garrum!” the boggard barked. “Go!”
Tungdill stopped several feet from the frog-man, his face beet-red.
“His kind EAT people!” he screamed into the oracle’s face, spit flying from his lips. “Just look at his bloody hand! They even eat their own kind!”
The boggard’s left hand did, indeed, end in a mangled mass.
“Hungry,” the boggard croaked, shrugging its bony shoulders.
“See??” Tungdill growled.
“What I see is a creature that is asking us for a truce. I want to at least hear him out. Still, if it will ease your mind…Davrim? Do you mind?”
The inquisitor nodded and gripped the symbol of Iomedae that he wore around his neck, closing his eyes as he did so. A moment later, he opened them again.
“I sense no evidence of evil intent,” he pronounced.
Garrum shrugged again and motioned inside the ruined building. “Hungry?”
The food that Garrum had to offer was less than appetizing, but everyone, with the notable exception of Tungdill, graciously took what was offered. In return, they gave the boggard some of the meat they’d harvested from Tuskgutter. When Garrum saw the boar’s head, his goggle-eyes went even wider.
“Die!” he barked. “Hungry!”
“Yes!” Velox nodded. “Very hungry!”
Unfortunately, as Garrum had pretty much exhausted all the Common that he knew, and none of the companions spoke Boggard, the conversation did not go much further. They ate in silence, and after they were done, Garrum burped loudly, stood and pronounced,
“Go!”
The group packed their gear and set out again, not quite sure what they’d just been a part of, but hopeful (except for Tungdill) that’d perhaps they’d found another ally.
________________________________________________________________
That night, after fending off a couple of carnivorous frogs from a nearby pond, the group settled down for an uncomfortable night’s rest in the middle of the bog. Velox and Tungdill stood first watch, as was usual. The night was anything but quiet, what with all the swamp creatures calling in the darkness, but Velox sensed nothing amiss…right up until the floating, glowing skull appeared out of nowhere right beside him. Before he could react, a sharp pulse of light from the apparition drifted across his skin, and he felt a jolt of electricity course through his entire body. His shout of surprise and pain woke the others from their sleep with a jolt. Davrim sat up, his sword in his hand, but when he saw what Velox was dealing with, his eyes went wide with fear.
“Velox!” he cried. “Run! Now! It’s a will-o-the-wisp! It feeds off fear! Run!”
The inquisitor seized his horse by the bridle and swung into the saddle. The floating skull turned towards him, sensing his panic, and flew towards him. He spurred his mount into the night, and behind him, his companions wasted little time doing the same. The last thing Davrim saw before the darkness of the swamp swallowed him, was a pair of blue, glowing eyes racing through the night after him.
____________________________________________________________________
The following day was spent recuperating from the harrowing night. The encounter with the ‘wisp was a hard reminder to the companions that the Stolen Lands were a true wilderness, and not everything they encountered would take kindly to their presence. Still, later that day, the companions made a discovery that lifted their spirits. It was a statue of a stag-headed man, partially overgrown at the base, but towering above the surrounding shrubbery. It was another forgotten shrine to Erastil. Stevhan took the time to clear the debris from its base, and Tungdill silently lent a hand. When they’d finished, the ranger knelt in prayer before his patron.
Later that evening, as the group paused to make camp, each of them who possessed a blade found its edge honed to an unnaturally keen edge.
“Old Dead Eye smiles on our efforts,” Stevhan smiled knowingly.
____________________________________________________________________
The stink of moldering plants and a strange quiet in the sound of birdlife surrounded a somewhat sunken clearing in the forest that the companions came upon the following day. At the center of the clearing, the soggy ground became an insect-infested, stagnant, swamp-like pond, and sprawled at its edge was what appeared, from a distance, to be a dead horse. As the companions approached cautiously, Selena gasped, her hand going to her mouth.
“It…it’s a unicorn!” she gasped.
The once-beautiful creature’s horn had been broken off at its brow, yet its body was strangely untouched by insects. The stink of rot did not come from the corpse, but from the fouled waters of the pond itself. Now, Selena was no woodland nymph. Her mother had taught her the practical, and sometimes brutal, magics of nature, but she did not believe in senseless slaughter, especially of a creature that was such a pure representation of the natural world. She knelt beside the dead creature, and noted that its eyes were milky. The unicorn had been blind at the time of its death. How could that be in a creature that was immune to the ravages of disease? She could also see that its horn had been removed after its death, and there was no sign of obvious wounds attributable to its death.
“I think powerful necromancy was used here,” she said quietly. “This is far beyond anything I’m experienced with. I’d not care to meet whomever, or whatever was responsible for it.”
__________________________________________________________________
As the group wound their way through the Narlmarches back towards the Kamelands, they came to another ford across the Skunk River. Several sandy islets created the crossing, and made for a natural choke point across the river, but the thick piles of rubble, branches, leaves and dead bodies that partially blocked the river’s flow were anything but natural. Even though he knew something was wrong, Davrim was no-less surprised when the monster leaped out of the debris at him. Yellow eyes flickered from their recessed sockets in the large reptile’s skull. It was as green as the surrounding foliage, and at least six-feet in length. Its head was dragon-like and filled with sharp teeth. Its two arms ended in grasping claws, and a cloud of greenish vapor wafted from its gaping maw. It leaped at the half-orc like a cat, its jaws clamping down on his sword arm while its forelegs raked savagely at his belly. Stevhan leaped to the aid of his companion, slashing with his sword, but at that moment, a second creature emerged from the dam. Davrim threw the first beast away from him, chopping down on its head with his blade as he did so. It hit the ground and rolled quickly back upright, preparing to spring again. Before it could, however, Mox let loose with a barrage of magic bolts, and the miniature dragon fell where it lay. Meanwhile, the second creature lunged towards Selena, ripping her from her horse and snapping through the bones of one arm. She screamed in agony, but then Stevhan and Davrim were there, hacking and stabbing until the monster stopped moving and released its grip.
Tungdill and Velox quickly knelt beside Selena and laid their hands upon her. Healing magic flowed from the oracle and the druid, and gradually, the witch’s breathing slowed.
“Looks like we found out what a tatzylwyrm is,” she whispered. “By all means, let’s make sure one of their heads decorates the wall above Oleg’s bar.”
_________________________________________________________________
The Kamelands once more spread wide before the company. Its rolling, tranquil hills gave a false sense of peace that they were coming to know all too well. In a long, thin valley between two low hills, the companions came upon a dense patch of thorns from which sprouted large, raspberry-like berries…the fabled fangberries the hermit Bokken had sent them after. Much of the thorny thicket was draped in the white gossamer of spider webs. It looked, of course, as if the best of the berries were located in the center of the patch.
“Why are these things never easy,” Tungdill sighed.
“Looks like there’s nothing for it,” Velox shrugged.
Slowly, the six began picking their way among the thorns, inevitably suffering several pricks and scrapes despite their caution. The going was slow, and the minutes passed like hours. They were well into the thicket, hot and bloodied, when the first of the spiders appeared. They were easily the size of a man’s thumb, with large, serrated fangs. They didn’t approach singly or in small groups, but in a massive swarm of writhing legs and chewing mandibles.
Immediately, Davrim, and Velox drew their swords, while Tungdill pulled his cudgel, and began beating all about them, crushing dozens with every blow.
“No!” Stevhan shouted. “That’s no good! Burn them! If you can’t, then run for your lives!”
The ranger heeded his own advice and began pushing through the brambles, the inch-long thorns tearing into his flesh as he ran. Velox sheathed his blade and reluctantly followed, Tungdill right behind him, the druid pushing through the thicket as if it were made of blades of grass. It was almost as if the plants just moved aside for him as he passed. The others made to follow, but Mox was too slow. She began to scream and scream as the spiders swarmed over her, biting and ripping with their fangs. The pain was immeasurable, and her stomach rebelled and heaved as she struggled to remain conscious. A moment later, however, flames exploded around her as Davrim hurled a flask of alchemical fire at her feet, and the spiders began to scatter. Mox staggered away, still nauseated, and beating at the few spiders that still clung to her robes. Another, larger gout of fire bloomed behind her, this time from Selena’s outstretched hands. The last of the arachnids curled into charred, smoking husks.
Understandably, Mox deferred from gathering any more of the berries, as did everyone else except Tungdill and Stevhan. The pair made quick work of the rest of the chore, and before long, they had enough to satisfy Bokken’s request.
_____________________________________________________________________
Later that night, the moors of the Kamelands were lit with the full glow of the last night of the full moon. Stevhan and Mox stood watch, jokingly recalling the harrowing events of the day, Mox still nursing several nasty-looking welts. Suddenly, the still night air was broken by the sound of a lone wolf’s howl in the distance. Stevhan rose to his feet, surveying the landscape. It wasn’t the first time they’d heard wolf calls, but this one sound closer and somehow…different. Then, atop the next hill, he saw the wolf. It seemed to almost be staring directly at them, and then, it began to lope towards them. As it came, its form began to shift and change, until it ran on two legs, a gleaming sword clenched in one hand-like forepaw.
“Awake! Awake!” the ranger cried to his sleeping companions as he drew his own blade and charged out to meet the werewolf. He struck first, his blade raking across the beast’s belly, but if felt as if he’d struck a stone wall, and the wound was only superficial. The lycanthrope bared its stained, yellow teeth and leaped at Stevhan, its sword stabbing into his thigh as its jaws clamped down on his shoulder. At that moment, the ravening creature was struck by twin blasts of magic from Selena and Mox, a combination of fire and arcane energy. The werewolf collapsed under the barrage, howling as it burned to death. As it fell to the ground, its body shifted again until a naked, feral-looking man lay there.
Tungdill knelt quickly beside his friend to examine his wound. He pulled a clump of herbs from his pouch and pressed it to the bite.
“Wolfsbane, mixed with belladonna,” he said. “Don’t know if it’ll work, boy. Only the next full-moon will tell…”
THEY MITE BE KOBOLDS
They could see the 100-foot-tall sycamore from several miles away. As they drew closer to it over the next few hours, only then could they truly appreciate its immensity. Still, it was what they discovered along their trek to the tree that absorbed their attention. There were only one or two bodies at first…pitiful, small, twisted things that had obviously died violent deaths. The kobolds were easily identifiable, but the other creatures, blue-skinned, bug-eyed little vermin, were a bit more of a mystery.
“They’re mites,” Stevhan announced after he’d examined one of them more closely. “Fairy creatures, though not the butterfly wings and unicorn giggly kind you might imagine. They’re vile, evil little beasties, though I can’t complain about their choice of enemies. Maybe they’ve taken care of our kobold problem for us.”
By the time they reached the tree, the bodies had become much more numerous, and it had become obvious that a sizeable battle had been fought there recently. The roots of the giant sycamore were a massive, gnarled tangle, but Stevhan’s sharp eyes spied the small shaft that opened amidst them. It was a tight fit, but one-by-one they dropped down the shaft, which gave onto to a low tunnel that ran off in two directions. Following the left-hand branch, they shortly found themselves in a room of sorts. Three crude, wooden workbenches occupied the center of the area, their tops strewn with various tools, metal and wooden hardware, and blocks of wood. A pair of mites stood across from each other on the far side of the room. One of them manned a miniature catapult built out of bones and branches, firing small caltrops at the second one who, apparently, was trying to catch them in his mouth. Their goggly eyes grew impossibly larger when they saw the hunched over giants enter their workshop. They shrieked in unison and, incredibly, charged towards the company, small daggers clutched in their knobby hands.
What followed would have been comic if it weren’t a violent life-and-death struggle. As Velox raised his sword to smite one of the little trolls, it forked its fingers at him, and in an eye-blink, the oracle began shaking and quivering as if he’d seen a ghost. When Davrim and Stevhan joined the fray, their size in the cramped quarters caused them to bang their heads on the ceiling, crash into each other when they tried to swing their blades, and overall prove themselves completely ineffectual against the mites, which darted in between their legs, thrusting their tiny blades into their feet at every opportunity. In the end, it was Mox who brought an end to the farce, blasting each of the mini demons with a mystic bolt.
___________________________________________________________________
They continued deeper into the catacombs beneath the tree, and next found themselves in a much larger, but no taller, cavern. The wet-looking floor of the chamber was crisscrossed by several shallow trenches, each of which contained trickles of putrid-looking fluid. Six foul mounds of compost and dung lay heaped about the room, each studded with small spherical eggs. Across the cave, a female mite sat on a low stool in front of a large, wooden bowl, from which she was ladling a foul-smelling paste to a trio of centipedes the size of small dogs. When she saw looked up, she squealed, and tumbled backwards off of her perch. As she scrambled away through a tunnel, the centipedes swarmed towards the group. Velox stepped forward and pinned one of them to the floor with his sword like a specimen on a collector’s table. Stevhan quickly dispatched a second one, but when Davrim moved towards the last one, it sank its pincers into his ankle, and he felt a hot fire shoot through his leg. He felt it going numb as the insect lunged for him again, but Stevhan stepped in front of him and cleanly swept its head off.
___________________________________________________________
Their pursuit of the mite took them to a damp room haphazardly cluttered with broken beds, chairs, wagon wheels, and an assortment of worn, tattered, dingy, and broken objects. A row of bookcases stood crookedly propped against the far wall, the shelves filled with bits of bone, feathers, and dried centipede legs. Old window frames, cracked and splintered, hung upon the wall like works of fine art. When the little female came screaming into the area, six more mites were sprawled about. Two were attempting to play a folk song on a shabby, stringed instrument, while two more sat nearby, jeering and throwing rocks at them. The third pair lay beneath ragged sheet reading a book with torn pages that was, incidentally, also upside down. They all lurched to their feet when the trespassers came barging in after the female and, like the gentlemen they obviously were, they promptly fled after her after she darted out the far side of the room.
“This is gettin’ awfully irritatin’,” Tungdill growled.
“Don’t worry,” Mox smiled as she squinted one eye down the length of her finger. “They’re not all getting away.”
She quickly snapped off twin magic bolts, dropping two of the trailing mites.
As it turned out, the fleeing mites were not as cowardly, nor as stupid as they appeared. When the six companions rounded the corner into the next chamber, they found themselves face to face with no less than ten armed mites, one of them, a gap-toothed fellow with a disgusting scattering of pimples on his face and tongue, mounted on the back of a very large, and very disgusting, tick!
“Me Grabbles!” this apparent leader barked, “You big feets! You no want here! Tickleback, kill!”
The tick rider then began pushing forward, driving his minions before him. Stevhan, Davrim and Velox stepped forward to meet the horde, and the blood began to spill. The sheer number of mites actually worked against them as they stumbled over one another and lost their ability to maneuver. One after another fell beneath the warriors’ blades, and one or two to Mox’s devastating barrage of arcane missiles.
“One big bug deserves another one!” Tungdill crowed as he waved a mistletoe branch and slashed his palm with a small, silver sickle. In a flash of light and smoke, a winged ant the size of a pony appeared right in front of Grabbles and Tickleback. The mite chieftain squeaked, and then squealed again a moment later as one of Mox’s bolts struck him directly between the eyes, knocking him dead to the floor. The ant launched itself at the tick, sinking its mandibles into the arachnid’s eye. Tickleback hissed and writhed as it rolled onto its back. The ant followed, not releasing its hold. Within moments, the tick’s legs folded in on its abdomen and it fought no more. Within a few more moments, not a single mite stood.
Rows of wooden pegs lined the earthen walls of the chamber, some hung with tiny, filthy cloaks. In the center of the room stood a rickety table held together with twine, covered with a filthy red-checked tablecloth and heaped with mounds of dirt and twigs and gravel, apparently arranged to form some sort of map. Sitting at the edge of the map, weighing down a scrap of paper, was a bloodstained ivory statuette of what looked like a crouching reptilian devil. A bulging burlap sack sat beneath the table.
“Looks like a battle map of some sort,” Stevhan said as he peered at the odd tableau. “The twigs represent this tree, and this,” he pointed at the gravel, “I’m pretty sure is where the kobolds are. Looks like it’s not too far from here.”
“Might carry some weight with’em if we finish wipin’ out their enemies,” Tungdill huffed. “We’re already off to a good start.”
Velox sighed. “It doesn’t seem like the mites are willing to be diplomatic with us,” he said. “If they’re not going to be a help to us, then I suppose we are bound by our charter to make sure that they pose no threat to the rest of the Green Belt.”
Just beyond the far side of the ‘war room,’ a deep and ominous chasm split the passage. The chasm was a few yards wide, and twice as deep, but thick ropes of tangled roots filled the entire area. The passage continued on the far side of the chasm, and between the two ledges, numerous loops had been tied into roots to serve as hand- and footholds. Velox took the lead, sheathing his sword as he reached out for the first loop and began hauling himself across the chasm. He’d gone about ten feet when the loop that he’d just put his foot into, broke. With a gasp, he plunged twenty feet straight to the bottom, landing heavily on his back.
“Velox!” Davrim called. “Are you ok?”
It took the oracle a few moments to catch his breath.
“I…I think so,” he wheezed. “Can you throw me down a rope?”
“Sure!” the half-orc shouted. “Just hang on!”
Velox started to climb to his feet, but just then he heard something moving in the darkness further down the chasm. A moment later, he saw something huge looming up out of the black. It was a centipede, but it was fully 25-feet-long from its dripping mandibles to the tips of its twin, whip-like tails.
“I don’t think I can wait on that rope!” he cried.
Up top, Stevhan hissed when he saw the enormous beast bearing down on Velox. He knocked, drew and released in one fluid motion, sinking a shaft deep into the bug’s carapace. Then, to the shock of his companions, he leaped from the edge of the chasm, and plunged through the roots, rolling to his feet as he hit the bottom. Velox glanced back at him, relief and gratitude in his eyes that quickly turned to shock and pain as the centipede struck. The oracle screamed as the monster’s jaws clamped down on his thigh, his words shifting into the cryptic Celestial tongue that took him in the midst of crisis. Stevhan drew his sword as he charged the brute. It had rolled, exposing its underbelly when it bit Velox, and that’s where the ranger drove his blade, sinking it in to the quillons. With a gurgle and a gout of black blood, the creature sank to the ground, releasing its grip on Velox.
“Well done, boy!” Tungdill called down. “The half-breed’ll be lowerin’ a rope in a minute! I’ll meet ya on the other side and tend to the young’un’s injuries there!”
Laughing, the dwarf rose into the air on the back of the flying ant. It landed gently on the far side…where six mites stood crouching in the shadows.
“Bloody Hells!” Davrim snarled from the other side when he saw the little demons leap out at the druid. “Hang on!”
“Don’t worry ‘bout me none!” Tungdill bellowed laughter. “Me an’ Adam got this covered!”
By the time the others reached him, all of the mites lay in pieces around him, blood dripping from the ant’s mandibles.
It was only at that moment that the companions took note of their current surroundings. The walls of the small, egg-shaped room they were in were obscured by thick tangles of long, pallid roots. Four black-scaled kobolds were tied into these roots. Only one of them was still alive. This pitiful creature squeaked weakly as the group approached.
“Doesn’t he look familiar?” Davrim asked.
Velox peered closely at the little creature. “I think you’re right,” he said thoughtfully. “That mark over his right eye…it looks the same.”
“That me!” the kobold piped up. “Me Mikmek! Big foots let me go in radish patch!”
“Well what do’ya know?” Tungdill grunted. “Seems like ya got yerself in a spot of trouble, runt. What’cha doin’ here?”
“Mikmek brave Sootscale warrior,” Mikmek replied, puffing out his chest slightly. “Chief Sootscale choose Mikmek special for important mission! Sent to get back Sharptooth, Sootscale holy statue. Dirty little mites steals it from Sootscales!”
“You mean this?” Tungdill hefted the ivory demon statue.
Mikmek’s eyes went wide, and he nodded so hard it seemed his head might fall off. “Yes! Yes! That Sharptooth! If Big foots give it to Mikmek, he take them to Sootscales! Chief give them many treasures for reward!”
“Well, well,” Velox nodded shrewdly. “Perhaps we will do just that very thing…,”
______________________________________________________________
As Stevhan had surmised, the lair of the Sootscale kobolds was not more than a day’s ride from the giant sycamore tree. Along the way, Mikmek told them tales of his tribe’s bravery in the war against the mites.
“So then Tartuk send Mikmek and others to get back Sharptooth,” he finished.
“Who’s Tartuk?” Tungdill asked. “Thought ya said yer chief’s name was Sootscale.”
Mikmek looked as if he’d been caught with his hand in a cookie jar. “Well…,” he paused, his voice lowering as he looked around warily. “Nobody like Tartuk. Everyone except chief afraid of him. Not want to get cursed. He tell us that if we no bring back Sharptooth, we all turn yellow and die! Chief not afraid, though! Him bravest Sootscale. Mikmek think big foots should give Sharptooth to chief. Him know what to do.”
As it turned out, the Sootscales had made their abode in an old mine. A weathered sign near the entrance identified it as the Oaktop Silver Mine.
“Silver and gold,” Mox hummed to herself.
As the group approached, a lone kobold stepped out of the shadows of the mine opening.
“Who go there?” he squeaked.
“It me, Mikmek,” Mikmek replied. “You let us by, Nakpik. We got big business with chief! Bring Sharptooth home!”
Nakpik gasped, but quickly stepped aside. Mikmek led the companions deeper into the mine, along the way picking up more kobolds, who followed along in silence, a combination of wonder and fear on their faces. Finally, they reached a very large cave. The air inside it was warm and close, thick with a reptilian stink mixed with smoke and burnt meat. Numerous beds of furs lay scattered throughout the room amid smoldering cookfires, while at the far side, a wide alcove contained a large mound of furs framed by dozens of sticks upon which were mounted the skulls of many birds and small animals, all smeared with ash. Six more kobolds milled about the room, while seated upon the larger mound of furs was a tall, burly kobold, who wore a lizard skull as a crown, and carried a wrapped thigh bone in his hand like a scepter.
“Mikmek!” the chief roared as he leaped to his feet. “Thought you dead! Why you bring big foots here!?”
“Chief Sootscale!” Mikmek fell to his knees. “These the big foots that let Mikmek go before! Now they rescue him, and kill Grabbles, and bring back Sharptooth!”
At that point he held up both the statue, and the head of the mite chief, Grabbles.
Sootscale hissed. “Give it to me!” He snatched the statue out of Mikmek’s hands. For several moments, he simply stared at it, his brow furrowed. Finally , he seemed to reach some sort of decision. He raised the statue over his head, then threw it the floor, smashing it into a hundred pieces. All around him, the other kobolds gasped, and some of them screamed out.
“Death to Tartuk!” Sootscale cried, raising his fist over his head. After a moment, Mikmek echoed the cry, and after that, so did the entire tribe.
____________________________________________________________
Tartuk closed his eyes and took a deep breath. The purple-scaled kobold shaman knew they were coming for him. This moment had always been inevitable, and in some ways, he welcomed it. Tartuk was tortured. He had not been born a kobold, but in fact, had begun life as a gnome. He had been slain in a fight against a group of ogres that had been tormenting his village, but his ‘heroic’ sacrifice was enough to give his people a chance to defeat the giants and, sorrowed by his death, unanimously vote to restore him to life…by having him reincarnated! The bitter irony of the whole situation was that Tartuk had never meant to give his life in defense of his village. In fact, he’d actually been trying to surrender to the ogres, and had offered to help them in return for sparing his life, but the ogres had crushed him before he had the chance to speak his peace. When his people saw his new body, they were scandalized. Enraged, he fled into the forest, nursing a deep grudge. He found a tribe of kobolds, joined them, used his magic and manipulative lies to rally them, and led his new army in an attack against his old village. Since that time, the mad sorcerer had drifted through several River Kingdoms, periodically haunting towns and murdering gnomes he found, and at other times, insinuating himself into kobold tribes, taking them over from within, and then driving them to extinction by forcing them into wars they could not possibly win. The Sootscales had been but his latest project. Now, apparently, his ruse had been pierced and they were coming for him. Tartuk sighed again. At least it would save him the trouble of doing himself in. He opened his eyes once more, and their they were…his executioners.
The battle, such as it was, was quick and decisive. Though Tartuk exhorted the other kobolds to kill the “infidels” for daring to defile their holy statue, his tribemates did no such thing, instead cheering madly when Stevhan’s blade felled the shaman.
“Now Sootscales and big foots can be friends!” Sootscale declared as his people danced and capered about.
“Yes, about that,” Velox said, “do you know that you’ve made your home in a silver mine?”
Sootscale shrugged. “Sootscales can’t take shiny out of walls.”
“We can,” Velox said calmly. “Would you let us?”
Sootscale shrugged again. “Sure…as long as Sootscales get a percentage.” His grin was wide and toothy.
“Kobolds small…not stupid!”
_________________________________________________________________
With the Sootscale problem sorted out, the companions were very close to fulfilling the demands of their original charter from Restov. All that really remained was seeking out the Stag Lord…a task which sounded much easier than reality was likely to dictate. The explorers decided a return to Oleg’s was in order before they bearded the bandit lord in his lair, and so they turned their horses north once more. On the way back, they took a more circuitous route, and found themselves on the southern shore of the Shrike River. A thick, sagging rope hung across the river, apparently all that remained of a bridge that may once have spanned it. A signpost read, “Nettle’s Crossing…5 coppers…ring bell for service.” Sure enough, a rusty bell hung next to the sign. A little way down the shore, the crumbled remains of a burnt-down wooden building was slowly being overtaken by encroaching vegetation.
“Guess we oughta do what the sign says,” Tungdill grumped as he reached for the bell.
“No, wait!” Velox cried, but it was too late. The dwarf had already given the bell a tug. As its tinny peal was fading, Stevhan spied movement some distance down river.
“Look…there!” he called, pointing.
When the others turned, they beheld a truly horrible tableau. Crawling up from a large pile of rubble mid-stream, was the corpse of some long-dead unfortunate. Its flesh was putrescent, and it clutched a dripping ranseur in its bony hands. It stepped out into the water, and then, to the disbelief of the watchers, began walking upon the surface of the river…against the current!
“You are not my tormentors!” the corpse called out in an eerie, soggy voice. “I am he who was called Davik Nettles! Throw the Stag Lord’s body into the river, that I may look upon his death…or join me in his stead!”
“We share a common enemy!” Velox called back. “If we are successful in our endeavor, we will return his body here and do as you ask!”
Davik bobbed his head once, then simply melted back into the river.
Man, this is awesome stuff! I'm looking forward to DM:ing Kingmaker in the next few months and this was simply brilliant! Big thanks! If you got more please share, okay?!