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.

The Righteous Follow the Light of a Dark Star

In the gloom of Megarna’s thatched hut, the young Witch; Kasandra deeply inhales the herb infused smoke and stares intensely at the blood-soaked knuckle bones in the wooden bowl.

“Our enemies fate will depend upon whether they follow the light of a dark star.”

Megarna scowls.

“Yes, yes. I know all about the Halfling’s importance. He is the only one who truly understands how we plan to upset the balance of this world and the others trust him to lead them in the right direction. What else?”

Kasandra breathes in the thick, aromatic smoke once more.

“I see that the Dark-star has changed. He has turned from the crimson of the Orcs to the celadon of the Druids.”

Megarna’s brow furrows.

“Changed direction? To their benefit or ours?”

The young auger cowers under the penetrating glare of the High Crone of her recently joined Coven.

“To theirs my Mistress. To theirs.”

'he fled too late'

 For a few moments, as Henshaw led Barbella and Doberman through the group heading to stand with their old buddies, Fortu felt the rage of betrayal. Already cursing his own failure at spotting the well planned ambush, the old Liga Bur would never have been so clumsy but Fortu still had a lot to learn, he'd thought that by now the trio were firm members of the group. As he turned to face them, his hand dropping to the hilt of his 'awesome' sword, murderous thoughts of killing all three, he saw Henshaw's wink. Based on his years in the fight pit and the tells taught him by Liga Bur and maybe just a naïve desire to believe he trusted their actions.

As they moved forward he took up their position to the rear, he counted eight bandits - four pup orcs and four guardsmen. Rolling his shoulders he unsheathed his sword ready for the havoc of battle.

Fortu was lucky to be able to close the distance to his foes and meet them at the edge of the clearing, this meant that although outnumbered he could only be faced by four at a time. The young orcs we keen but untried, feinting high he struck low taking the foremost orc in the thigh his return swing slicing across the now dead orcs throat, as he'd been trained in the pits the return swing cleaved into the next orc just below the ribs.

Fortu saw that his opponents were heavily out classed; his training, better armour and of course awesome sword assured Fortu of the outcome. The orcs would fight to the death, their honour code permitted giving or receiving no quarter, but the guards were just like Henshaw maybe they would see reason. Yelling as he swung 'awesome' "flee now or die, you will not win" He'd hoped that the sight of him cleaving through the orcs, blood and viscera splattering freely would set the guards to flee but the fools didn't. Maybe they thought their numbers and the archers in the trees would sway the fight but behind him Banal, Liga Bur and (eventually) Henshaw and the boys had diminished the ranks of the other guards. With each swing of 'awesome' he shouted for them to flee until only two remained. It was then that they realised defeat was imminent and fled. Sensibly in different directions, they fled into the overgrown forest. But Fortu was now passed caring for their well being, he'd taken a couple of arrows and the orcs with their great axes had also wounded him. In pain and battle rage he crashed into the woods, his armoured figure easily catching one guard slowed by the thickness of vegetation. The guard on hearing Fortu's pursuit stopped and turned, his face may have shown fear his actions were definitely of surrender but all Fortu saw in his anger was an enemy. His left hand raised, his thumb horizontal wavering, then just like so many times in the pits it dropped down.

As he withdrew the blade and returned to the others he was unsure but thought he heard whispered a mans voice "that's my boy"

No Honour Among Sleaze

The skirmish is over almost as fast as it began and Spider Murphy and his rag-tag band of mercenaries and cut-throats are either dead or driven off. 

After calming down the over-excited Doberman, blonde mopped Henshaw turns to Barbella.

“Why’d ya do it? Why did you betray your old friend O’Malley? I thought you said that you were only ‘Doing what you were told, for the sake of all the gold’?”

The smaller, swarthier Barbella shrugs.

“You trust the adventurers, so I trust the adventurers.”

Henshaw beams at his old friend.

“You secret softy. I knew I hung around you for a reason.”

Baring his teeth and exposing the occasional gold replacement, Barbella smiles tightly.

“You realise that I did it for you, not them and on top of that, I wouldn’t trust Spider Murphy further than I could throw ‘im’”

Henshaw raises his eyebrows in response.

“That’s fair. Safer to associate with the good you know, than a self-serving psychopath!”