Banaal's Diary : Entry #431

My thoughts turn back to Argentia always. Being just 6 years old when my parents were recruited to help build Cottis, Lord Urdurel's vanity city. I will never forget Lamenta - we were unlikely childhood friends.  Lord Urdurel and Dulcetta were doting parents and that time was full of fun. It is terrible to think what happened to them.

Now, so many years later the great Lord is building an army to stand against his son, corrupted by his witch mother.  I must understand who these people are and if they know more about Briafadel and his plans. Maybe it might even help to persuade the Dwarves to join the cause?

Banaal's Diary : Entry #430

 Another entry from Banaal's secret diary exposed ... 

Well, that was an absolute whirlwind. Turns out these guys are amazing, even if they do hang-out  with ex-henchmen of Briafedel.  Happening upon them at the Lightning Tree was lucky, but Murmel was luckier still. He would have been gone if it wasn't for the quick-thinking big man Fortu, that is for sure!

Then before you know it, we are ambushed by the strangest cats I've ever seen. These fey woods are a lot more dangerous than I could have believed. Moradin struck his faithful hammer to guide my hand and we were victorious.

Banaal's Diary : Entry #429

I sometimes think of my parents and the flight from the safety of family.  I let people think I was running from an abusive abbot, but they know the truth.  As a cleric of Moradin it is difficult to withhold the truth, but I know in my heart it is for good reason.  Briafadel and his men must not know that I am anything but a hapless adventurer.

The truth is, if I can prove the worthiness of this small band, then it might be possible to persuade the dwarves of the Argentia Mines to Lord Urdurel's cause.

.... more to come ...

As the Crone Flies

Smiling toothlessly to herself, the plump, old woman shuffles out of the filthy pig-shed where a young woman was being held. A special young woman, though she barely knows it herself. The nearby farmhouse is empty now. Empty, except for the corpses of the Farmer, his wife and his two other teenage daughters.

Whispering into the hidden ear of a beckoned crow, the old, mad-haired Witch; Bronwen smugly shares a secret message.

“I’ve found the thirteenth member of our baker’s dozen. With this poor, recently and… Tragically orphaned; Alwina, we’ve finally gotten our Witch’s coven!”

The crow then spreads out its oily, black wings and takes to the air, heading straight back to Megarna to share the news.

Thirteen Witches.Thirteen Sisters from the eager young to the shrewd old. A magical number. The sum at which the combination of their various powers unlock greater gifts. Gifts to rival Grand-Wizards and High-Priests!

Forest Rewards

Two minor +1 magic swords (No glow)?

Amongst all the dead mercenaries, in the end, that’s all they had of value. After encountering so many Cold-iron weapons, it’s a little surprising/disappointing that even one of these (enchantment aside) is made of mundane steel.

Not much of a reward for such an intense battle. 

Henshaw took O’Malley’s magical +1 Cold-iron Longsword with a grateful grin to add to his earlier gift of a standard healing potion and a ‘Barkskin’ one from the Satyr; Magritte’s potion bandolier.

Barbella took the potion of ‘Cat’s grace’, a ‘Delay poison’ and a standard healing potion, as well as holding onto a standard healing potion and a potion of ‘Bear’s endurance’ for Doberman.

Liga Bur took both the potions of ‘Cure Medium Wounds’ and one ‘Delay poison’.

The new Dwarf associate, Banaal proved his divine value and, as a reward, took a potion of ‘Barkskin’.

Fortu took the ‘Cure Serious Wounds’ and the ‘Bull’s Strength’ potions.

Rifkin accepted one of the standard healing potions for himself and stored the two potions of ‘Lesser Restoration’ for communal use. He also held onto Spider Murphy’s magical +1 (apparently ordinary) steel Shortsword.

Liga Bur also ended up holding O’Malley’s strongbox key, with its promised contents of 120gp.

O’Malley the Tally Stat

The professional soldier; Sergeant O’Malley still can’t believe that he’s not lying lifeless, amongst the leaf-litter on the forest floor. The enemy Dwarven Cleric had not only brought him back from the very brink of death but the adventurers had actually freed him too!

And all it had cost him, were the lives of nine of his men, his lockbox savings and his treasured, magical longsword.

Leading his three surviving men through the dense woodland, he reruns the recent events in his head and tries to recall what had happened over the last few months to get him here.

After being driven out of Scarborough by the imminent arrival of Lord Urdurel’s superior forces, O’Malley begrudgingly found himself leading a dozen directionless men. Sir Briefadel was gone, probably for good, as was Captain Hall and Sergeant Filko from a previous fiasco. As of his recent promotion, he was the highest ranking officer left in Scarborough and, as such, he’d found himself in charge, but without a salary or a mission.

It was then that Sir Briefadel’s elderly mystic advisor made herself known again. Madame Megarna was the one who had warned him to gather up the men and leave before any possible confrontation with Lord Urdurel’s troops and she appeared again, a while later, accompanied by Spider Murphy. 

He’d known the tall, Afro-sporting rogue, on and off, for over a decade and he’d been aware that Sergeant Filko had been in cahoots with him on several side-hussles in recent years. Jobs that didn’t directly concern Sir Briefadel or need to involve the more rigid, rules-driven; Captain Hall.

Offered pay and purpose, he, and the dozen men under him, gladly accepted. Morality wasn’t really a question for any of them. They were all mere mercenaries, often with murky pasts and in it just for the coin, not for any higher purpose or noble cause.

Madame Megarna had somehow known, approximately, where and when the adventurers would be passing through the forest, on their return journey from the Fey realm, with their saddle bags, hopefully full of magic and treasure. 

Her instructions had been crystal clear.

Travel to Bitboh wood, join forces with Spider Murphy’s bandits, as well as the handful of eager young Orcush warriors she’d hired, and ambush the party. Slaughter them to a man, elf, halfling and dwarf, but spare the horses and capture the weird gourd-like barrels unscathed. That’s all she wanted. Not even a share of the loot!

At the time, he’d felt supremely confident. Thirty well-organised, well-armed and well-armoured men verses just seven undisciplined adventurers, seemed an easy task. 

How wrong he’d been…

The Dead and the Fled

Surveying the score of bodies littering the forest floor, Rifkin feels a second wave of shame shudder through his slightly Elvish frame. Once again, when the chips were down, his cowardice rose up and overwhelmed him.

Many of their ambushers had managed to flee, but they were of little consequence. They’d been terrified at the end and, as much as he loathed himself for it, he understood them completely. After escaping with their lives, they’d not risk coming back.

Glancing over at Fortu, a man who’d fearlessly charged forward and held the line alone against eight well-armed soldiers and battle-hungry Orcs, he sinks even lower.

Inspiring tunes and a handful of minor healing spells; is that all he’s worth? 

As soon as that crossbow bolt glanced by him from the trees overhead, he fled with no thought or concern for anything or anyone beyond his own craven survival.

Never again though.

Pulling Spider Murphy’s magical shortsword out of his backpack, he wraps his slender musician’s fingers around its leathered hilt.

Never again would he allow himself to be so pathetic.