Duo eyed dog Deo

 Fortu was happy that Riffers had agreed to accompany him to the dog breeders, just a little surprised that Liga Bur came with them. Was it to offer advice or to keep an eye on the volatile warrior?

He couldn't blame the nu druid for worrying, for weeks now Fortu had felt his rage building. The inner voice urging him to violent acts: it seemed that ever since his strange dreams in the Givrad Void, when he'd drowned in the blood sand, that all his emotions were aggressive/ violent.

He'd executed the mage Moody, yes he was a slaver, yes he was scum and deserved to be punished - but was it Fortu's right to kill him.

The guard in the woods, yes he was an enemy that was trying to ambush them, yes he'd been offered surrender but chose to flee - but he was surrendering, just before Fortu took his life.

The spy in the tavern, yes he was working for the witches, yes he was a trained killer who drew first - but Fortu was looking to cause a reaction an excuse to kill.

So yes it was fair that Liga Bur might think he needed to be chaperoned.

Fortu had spotted the dog breeder's as they'd arrived in town. The morning after the fight in the flaming barn, feeling he needed to get away from the curious crowds forming, Fortu felt an urge to get a dog. He'd been raised in the fight pits with scavenger dogs and occasionally war dogs were used in fights. Part of his early chores were to feed and clean their stalls, he'd felt relaxed with them.

The breeder had quite a selection of dogs, one whose praise he was full off caught Fortu's eye. The breeder announced what he probably thought an exorbitant amount, seeing Riffers wince it no doubt was. Fortu though still had little concept of wealth, he had the gold he wanted the dog and before the breeder could change his mind Fortu bought her. Leaving Riffers to sort the papers, he watched bemused as Liga Bur had a chat with the dog.

Back at the wagon Fortu sat with the dog, brushing her coat and letting her get used to all the new smells.

'what's her name then? ask Chape, hesitant to approach the unstable fighter but like most interested in the new party member.

'Deo, seen it carved in some of those shrines along the road. Not sure what it means but its short and even I can spell it' Fortu glanced up with possibly the first smile Chape had seen from him.

'oi Riffers, what colour eyes has she got?'

'they are golden, like an evening sunset'

'damn me, that's what I thought. Only now one is crimson like a blood red moon.'

New Year, Same Scheduling Problems

After stuffing ourselves with turkey and trifle, let us now turn our attention to your, less fortunate, alternate selves. No feasts or family reunions for them as they’re all far from home, if they have families or homes at all. Instead they face the final leg of their journey towards the capital city; Cottis, where they’ll finally get to meet Sir Briefadel’s much maligned father, the legendary; Lord Urdurel and perhaps do a bit of magic shopping in the January sales.

Possible dates for a probable role-playing-no-combat D&D session. January’s currently pretty good for me but February is already looking distinctly shaky…

2026

January

Saturday the 17th

Sunday the 18th

Saturday the 24th

Sunday the 25th

Saturday the 31st

February

Sunday the 1st

Saturday the 21st

Sunday the 22nd

Hopefully enough options here. Let me know if you can do any of these 9am morning dates. 

Also, remember to forward me your new 8th level character sheets. 

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