The Colours of Magic

After travelling by horse and wagon from the outlying village of Scarborough, through the cattle ranching hamlet of Far-Haven and Iron mining village of Eisen-Heart, the Party eventually gain entry to the larger, wool-farming and spinning town of Thorn-Flek. Once there, Chape and Ringo leave their brother; Locket behind to stand guard, while they head off to the local garrison to announce their arrival and to grease the wheels with the local authority.

Ringo looks a little sheepish on his return, as he hands out the three cuts of coloured cloth to Banaal, Liga Bur and Rifkin. The material squares are all about six inches by six inches and come with a cunningly designed silver pin. 

“Attach these onto yourselves, somewhere that they’ll show.”

Liga Bur looks confused by this request but both Banaal and Rifkin accept theirs gracefully, if not gratefully.

The rough Halfling hesitates though.

“What’s this?”

Ringo takes a breath before trying to explain.

“It’s the law of the land. It didn’t really matter in the outer hamlets and villages, but now we’re in a larger town, we have to adhere to the rules. Magic isn’t forbidden here as such, but spell-casters must register at the town magistrate and present their colours in public.”

Rifkin, wrinkles his normally straight nose at the thought of it. He knew the rule and understood the reasoning, but still slightly objected to it.

“I thought Bards were exempt?”

Ringo shrugs.

“The general opinion of the people is that ‘Bard’s don’t really count’ but I’d rather not risk it. Using spells will draw attention that I’d rather avoid and cause conflict with this garrison, regardless of Captain DeLeón’s letter of safe passage.

Each of the three use their silver pins to attach their specific coloured cloth to themselves. Banaal looks heavenward, as he pins his white square to his leather belt. Rifkin pins his pink one to his breast, directly over his poetic heart and Liga Bur attaches his, dangerously flammable, brown one to his left shoulder, furthest away from where he generally grasps the sturdy wooden shaft of flaming Dijonn.

Noticing Fortu’s slightly disappointed expression at being the only one of them left out, Rifkin whispers.

“No coloured square for you just yet, as your connection to Mother Fissa is still in its infancy. If and when you can access the magic of the wilds, your cloth square will be the green of the forest.”

Assassins to the Slaughter

“What do you mean ‘All six of them are dead’?!”

The voice is so screeching and vitriolic, that the lower status Witch doesn’t dare look up, let alone make eye contact or reply to the screamed question. To end the expanding silence, Megarna answers the hanging question herself.

“So, of the eight Assassins we’ve sent to spy on or murder the adventurers, seven have been killed and the other one captured? When I first encountered these adventurers at the Scarborough fete, half a year ago, I dismissed them as mere, short-lived, thrill-seeking idiots, but they’ve proven to be much more tenacious and durable than I’d initially assessed them to be.”

The recently recruited, and still qualling, young Witch nods in agreement as her Coven leader continues talking, mostly it seems, just to hear the sound of her own voice.

“We shall have to find more foolish and violent men to do our bidding. Evil men but skilled in the art of murder. Send out six of our Sisters to find and recruit as many as you can of our old Assassins. They’ll be mostly old men now, but their sons and grandsons will serve us well enough.”

Finally recovering her ability to speak, the twenty-something Witch mumbles her agreement.

“Yes my Crone Mother. I shall see that it’s done but that will only leave seven of us to stymie the efforts of the adventurers.”

The elderly Megarna smiles, revealing her creepily long, yellowed teeth and hands the novice Witch her enchanted besom.

“Seven of us verses seven of them? Equal numbers, but with the Hag Queen and the Demon Prince on our side, that shall more than suffice.”

Fantasy Forensics

Raking through the burnt-out, but still hot, debris with his steel-capped toe, Captain Wimsey tries to piece together all the evidence he’d uncovered of the night before. Six, or possibly more, agents of a Witches coven had prepared a murderous arson attack against Lord Urdurel’s group of adventurers, while they slept inside.

Probably disguised as stable-hands or by stealthily climbing in through the upper hayloft window, one or more of the Assassins had entered the barn in the early evening, while only the wagoneer; Cookie and one or two of the triplet soldiers were present. They had then, somehow unnoticed, managed to drain the open-topped barrel of water and stealthily pull up the hinged loft ladder.

While that had been happening, a note found in the pocket of the dead ostler, indicated that he’d been lured out of the barn and back to his nearby cottage, under false pretences. Once there, he’d been murdered by the Assassins and his paddock padlock keys stolen.

Then the Assassins had simply waited until the middle of the night, once they were sure the majority of their targets were asleep, before actioning their plan.

Two of Captain Wimsey’s men had been killed while patrolling the surrounding area during the night shift but, judging by the location of their wounds, neither man had even seen their attackers coming. They were both stealthily stabbed from behind, before they could even shout a warning to each other, or to alert the adventurers inside.

After that, two of the Assassins rescaled the back of the barn and climbed in through the open upper level hayloft door, with flaming torches clenched between their teeth. Simultaneously, two more of them were silently chaining up the two doors from the outside and soaking them, and the outer walls in oil, before setting them alight.

The remaining two Assassins had stationed themselves behind the cover of the outer water-trough, with crossbows and poisoned bolts ready to catch anyone managing to break out of either the small or large front doors.

Next, the sleeping adventurers awoke. Probably alerted by one of them staying awake on watch duty and/or the smell of burning oil and smoke. Two of them had previously noticed the stored-away ladder and manhandled it back into position to sleep upstairs in the hayloft, while the others slept below on their bedrolls, around their large wagon.

Then things become even more bizarre. A large section of the lower wooden wall, inexplicably failed to burn down completely and, weirdly, both the two front doors as well, despite the oily residue still present. They still stand; two pointless doorways to the burnt down barn. Distant witnesses also reported seeing flashes of lightning, despite there being nary a cloud in the night sky. Sorcery? The garrison clerk did report that there were two divine spell-casters in the group. Whatever did occur though, it went very badly for the six Assassins. All dead, either sliced open by bladed weapon or fried crisp by that very lightning.

Walking out through the back of the blackened and skeletal remains of the big barn, Captain Wimsey turns a slow circle. Three men fell here but only one survived the twenty-foot drop. By the look of the two remaining, twisted corpses, they’d been killed before they fell.

Considering how fast the fire had spread, he’s surprised the adventurers managed to escape the flames and amazed that they’d all delayed long enough to free the horses too.

Apparently, the adventurers also refused the rewards offered by the owners of the other stabled horses they’d rescued and instead donated that, and the gold they’d found on the dead Assassins to help rebuild the barn. Only fifty gold pieces; not enough to pay for a whole new build but still generous. A hard to believe gesture, considering the reputation that had proceeded them.

Spare the Horses

In the blazing light of the burning building, while Cookie fusses over her two massive, but trembling, shire-horses and the Dwarf Banaal heals the burns of the injured ones, Locket looks over to his brothers.
“One dead ostler, two dead town guards, six dead assassins, and a, soon to be, razed to the ground barn.”
Chape responds with a shrug.
“It could’ve been worse. The adventurers helped us save all the horses, Cookie’s wagon’s hardly singed and all six of the gourd/barrels are safe and sound.”

It’s Ringo who considers the opposite viewpoint.
“But why are those assassins being so persistent? Why are the adventurers so important?!”
When the three Brothers volunteered for this mission, not one of them had considered it to be a dangerous task. Captain DeLeón had literally described it as just a ‘Simple babysitting job’.
Now though, with the obvious escalation of the Witches coven and still three days and one town to get through before completing their duty, each of the triplets feel the sinking dread of what may yet come…

Barn Burning Experience

As Scott pleaded mid-session, I checked everyone’s Orange Inn posts, and those in addition to the recent Assassination attempts, pushes you all up and over the line.

Congratulations everyone; you can all rise up to 8th level!

Fortu: 29,023xp (8th!) 

Banal: 28,398xp (8th!)

Liga Bur: 28,101xp (8th!)

Rifkin: 17,525xp (6th)

Triplets: 6,704xp (4th)

Modify your character sheets with new skills, HPs and class abilities etc. Also everyone enjoy that sweet bonus attribute point! Let me know where you stick it.

(David, this is your opportunity to check if Fortu’s magic +1 Strength medallion works in conjunction with his recently acquired +2 Gauntlets of Ogre power.  If not, take a point of strength and get him to 18 Strength as a base.)

Levels

1 : 0xp

2 : 1000xp

3 : 3000xp

4 : 6000xp

5 : 10,000xp

6 : 15,000xp

7 : 21,000xp

8 : 28,000xp

9 : 36,000xp

10: 45,000xp

The Scum that we Murder

The six men of the FarHaven garrison watch silently as the bloodsoaked Fortu and the Halfling; Liga Bur leave the terrified, supposed spy in their custody by the big wagon in the barn. After a few seconds, one of them gathers the confidence to speak.

“So… Did that big guy just do a murder?”

One of the others slowly nods his head.

“I think so. In the middle of the tavern. During the lunchtime rush period.”

The Sergeant coughs, both to clear his throat and reclaim some semblance of authority.

“No. The strange Halfling said that the two travellers pulled out their knives and drew first blood.”

The firsts soldier disagrees though.

“A fully armoured guy throws a punch with a mailed fist at two men sitting down in a bar, minding their own business. So what that he missed; wouldn’t you try to defend yourself?”

The Sergeant shakes his head and indicates the tied up survivor.

“I agree that Fortu’s actions seemed deliberately inflammatory and extremely… violent, but his instincts were right. This guy just confessed that they were indeed, spying on the adventurers.”

Another of the soldiers adds his voice to the conversation.

“So, not murder then?”

Taking in all the faces of the men in his command, the Sergeant makes his decision.

“We were placed here to oversee the construction of a beacon tower, make our presence felt and assist these adventurers, if they happpened to pass by this way. I’m not going to be the one who disobeyed Lord Urdurel’s directive, regardless of the adventurers’ actions.”

The six uniformed men all visibly relax, before the Sergeant speaks again.

“So, tomorrow morning, we’ll accompany the adventurers to this apparent signal point and allow the spy; Langet to post a false missive to his mysterious masters. Until then, let’s just get this man locked up in the garrison cell.”

As they leave, a small, bright-eyed, calico cat remains silent and hidden in the shadows for a few moments, before slinking casually out, unseen, through a narrow gap between two loose boards.

Filthy Rich & Banaal-Flap

Tracking arrows is hard enough, without having to worry about every single coin, so here’s the current individual gold and gem status, including new and old (for the last time) henchmen:

Fortu: Gold: 1,005gp + 6 gems (worth 25gp each)

Liga Bur: Gold: 930gp + 6 gems (worth 25gp each)

Rifkin: Gold: 372gp + 7 gems (worth 25gp each)

Henshaw: Gold: 9gp

Barbella: Gold: 473gp + 28 gems (worth 25gp each)

Doberman: Gold: 370gp + 2 gems (worth 25gp each)

Locket: Gold: 10gp

Chape: Gold: 10gp

Ringo: Gold: 10gp (+ 40gp of the Lord’s Guard’s money)

Cookie: Gold: 20gp

Banaal: -10gp bribe/damages paid to the innkeeper of the ‘Way-Out Inn’.

I mention this now, as the Party is currently in a fair sized village and heading towards a large town and then a city and, therefore has the rare (in my campaigns) opportunity to buy some stuff, including (possibly) magical potions etc!

Banaal was the only Party member to exploit this so far, when he replaced some of his used up expendables in Scarborough.

In answer to your unasked questions, yes Henshaw was honest and paid back his debts to Rifkin and Fortu in full. Doberman managed not to lose the majority of his money up his nose or in his ears and yes; Barbella was indeed a dirty thief, helping himself to extra gems and coins, whenever he got the chance.

I’ve actually got no idea what ‘starting money’ the Dwarven priest; Banaal currently has left over from his initial shop, recent shop and 10gp bar-room bribe. Fancy letting me know Assif and I’ll try to keep track of it for you?

Also, 50 gp weighs 1lb for encumbrance (20lbs+ worth of gold for Richie-rich Fortu) but fortunately, you currently have two horses, a mule, a riding dog and a two cart-horse-powered (Burt & Ernie) wagon.