Witches get Stitches

The middle-aged Witch cackles manically, as she soars away ‘side-saddle’ atop her traditional flying besom. The broom, the pointy hat, the black dress and even her precious black cat, make her resemble the classic image of a Witch. Mallophor was never one for this cliché but the costume was one of Megarna’s conditions for joining her coven. A ‘forced’ decision that, despite her apparent bravado, she’s currently having serious doubts about, even as the distance between her and the adventurers increases.

The river ambush plan had been some-what elaborate but its execution, in practice, should have been simple.

Four of the Assassins hid invisibly in the dry area beneath the pier, ready to slink out and kill the ferry-wheel operator and secure the mule and barge tether control wheel.

Two Assassins, by the use of water-breathing potions, were hiding beneath the barge with hull boring and sabotage tools.

The slightly-less-than-hinged; Dante, having already killed the Agentian bank’s ferry-wheel controller and replaced him in a reasonable (from-a-distance) disguise, was to stop the boat mid-river, effectively mooring the barge and snagging the adventurers between the two shores.

Then, his hidden men would launch a barrage of magical flaming crossbow bolts to ignite the barge’s already oil-soaked canopy. This would frighten the horses onboard and hopefully distract the trapped adventures, while the ten South-bank and four East-bank Assassins peppered the front-facing and back-facing Adventures with additional repeated flaming crossbow bolt attacks.

Her task was simply to circle invisibly above until the Halfling shape-shifter flew into the air and then target him exclusively until he fell, was dead or fled. 

No plan survives past first contact but Mallophor had been surprised by how quickly this one had fallen apart.

The Dwarf, with his divine and targeted magic, managed to help the town Captain and his four men, overcome their invisible Assassins AND drench the burning barge canopy, extinguishing the fire.

The heavily armoured Human actually dived into the water and, more surprisingly, swam quickly and confidently to the opposite bank.

And the Halfling, as expected, flew up to assess the situation from a bird’s eye perspective. An easy target in avian form but she had not expected him to fight back so fiercely or effectively.

Despite that, Mallophor would have gleefully traded spells with him a little longer, but she was now also under attack from, thanks to the Dwarven war-priest’s interference, the now unopposed Captain Lynchin and his men. 

Already injured and unable to long withstand assaults from both Liga Bur’s lightning and the Stowanian soldier’s crossbow bolts, she leaves the insane but effective, Dante and his remaining, expendable men to fend for themselves. 

Slim to No Chance

Stopped mid-combat, mid-river crossing on the big (now leaking and smouldering) barge; the Spinning Jenny, the odds seem to be dipping in the Party’s favour, despite Liga Bur floundering in the river with only a few fish-finger’s of HPs remaining.

Captain Lynchin and his four Zinerian guards have (surprisingly) managed to defeat the invisible, backstabbing Assassins on the Cottis side of the river and secure the chain-ratchet wheel. Poor ferryman Rod was killed though.

Armoured Banaal’s stuck on the boat with Rifkin, Jane, Ringo, Chape and Locket and all the dogs, mules and horses, but his back-looking vantage point and evil targeting spells gave Captain Lynchin and his men the advantage they needed.

On the Agentian bank though, Fortu has just emerged from the water and already cut down one of the Assassins on that side. Only nine more to go, plus their old-man leader. The old man leader who somehow managed to slip out of the effects of Liga Bur’s flaming blast!

From a conversation I’ve seen on another thread, I’m guessing this is going to be an absolute bust, but just to confirm, please check the possible dates below…

May options

Saturday the 23rd

Sunday the 24th

Saturday the 30th

Sunday the 31st

June options

Saturday the 6th

Sunday the 7th

Saturday the 13th

Sunday the 14th

Saturday the 20th

Sunday the 21st

Saturday the 27th

Sunday the 28th

All 9am starts.

The Knot Wave Inn

The austere seeming tavern owner and bar manageress; Miss Smith (Stevie to her friends) watches the seven men leave after an early breakfast. The Captain of their small guard post; Lynchin, had paid for everything in advance; Dinner, drinks, board and breakfast, as apparently, these men were on an important mission for Lord Urdurel himself.

Who were these strange men? The three soldiers were identical triplets. Extremely unusual but not unheard of, especially in this region of Fissa. The neighbouring kingdom of Agentia was as famous for the twins in its royal family as it was for the silver in its mountains. The other four though; a well presented War-priest Dwarf, the roughest, toughest looking Halfling that she’d ever seen, a barely Elf-touched Bard and the darkly-armoured Human. She’d been surprised when Fortu had come down for dinner sans his Platemail. He was much younger than she’d first assumed. Tall, strong and handsome, despite the scars, but somehow… still innocent. Without his black lenses, there’d been kindness in his blue/grey eyes.

Stevie shakes her head, making her short bobbed, grey hair shimmy.

‘Innocent’? That made no sense. From the rumours she’d heard, he’d been a gladiator from overseas. A trained killer from birth and now a merciless, mercenary sell-sword.

Perhaps it’s her old poetic heart? Perhaps it’s just that she’d spent her entire life surrounded by contented, soft-spoken fisherfolk beside the Mar-Gin river with a plentiful, all-year-round supply of fish. Ziner is a blessed place. Beautiful and peaceful. A town that, because of the fifty-year destroyed bridge/boarder crossing, has been sheltered from violence, even through Lord Urdurel’s decades long wars against the bordering realms.

Looking up, Stevie realises that the seven men are already gone and far out of sight, but she calls out to them anyway.

“May the gods of mercy, shelter and protect you.”

Hackers and Stabbers

Almost immediately after leaving through Cottis’ huge eastern gate, Ringo spurs on his horse to close the gap and pulls four heavy money purses from his saddle bags.

“I didn’t get a chance to give you this before we left the capital, but I sold the eleven bandit horses as you asked and here’re your profits.”

Banaal, atop his faithful mule; Murmul, notices that Ringo  is now riding Maurice. The horse that Fortu had previously been riding before being given his huge current one; Night Fever. Banaal had also noticed Liga Bur’s suspicious look but dismissed the similarity between this horse and the description he’d been given of Hetzabah’s flaming hooved Nightmare as mere coincidence.

The other two of the triplet brothers had been given fresh riding horses too but Banaal hadn’t heard their names spoken aloud yet.

Three of the money bags contain 145gp each and these are handed out to Fortu, Banaal and Liga Bur.

A smaller one, containing 72gp is for Rifkin.

Rifkin smiles and thanks Ringo, but in response, pulls out three, almost identical, magical longswords from his own saddlebags and offers them to the three brothers. The only noticeable difference between the swords are the three different coloured leather grip wrappings.

“When I was selling the two tiny magical daggers we took from that Halfling psycho; Marvin, I was offered a much better deal on a trade rather than just straight gold.”

Rifkin looks to Fortu, Liga Bur and Banaal.

“I hope that’s alright with you?”

Locket, Chape and Ringo all initially hesitate but Rifkin does his best to reassure them.

“You’re not allowed to take payment or a fair cut of the reward for Marvin and his bandits. You’ve even just handed over all the gold you got for selling those horses! Surely though, you can’t refuse a small gift? A gift that makes your jobs of protecting us and completing your mission easier.”

The three brothers, then tentatively reach out in turn to take one of Rifkin’s proffered swords and their matching coloured scabbards. Each one is skillfully stitched with the initial of each brother; R, C and L. Rust red for Ringo, cerulean blue for Chape and a lemon yellow for Locket.

“Thanks” they say in turn.

Turning back to Fortu, Banaal and Liga Bur, Rifkin shrugs.

“Turns out that three standard sized, ‘minor’ magical, standard steel swords, cost a great deal less than those two tiny, ‘slightly more’ magical daggers though…”

And Rifkin takes out three more bags of gold and hands them out.

“Here’s another 400gp for Banaal and Fortu.”

Then, with a nervous shrug, he passes over a smaller pouch containing just 50gp to Liga Bur with a slightly worried expression.

“I took what you owed me from Nonogonagal’s magic emporium out of your share. Again, I hope that’s alright?”

Current gold totals 

Banaal:
Gold: 1520gp
10 gems (worth 100gp each)
4 gems (worth 50gp each)

Fortu:
Gold: 1851gp
6 gems (worth 25gp each)

Liga Bur:
Gold: 325gp (All debts cleared)

Rifkin:
Gold: 1508gp
7 gems (worth 25gp each)

In addition:

Locket: +1 magical Longsword with Lemon yellow hilt and scabbard.

Chape: +1 magical Longsword with Cerulean blue hilt and scabbard.

Ringo: +1 magical Longsword with Rust red hilt and scabbard.

Second and Third Among Equals

Hustling down the stone steps of the austere tower, expensive robes held up in their wizened hands, the two old men scowl at each other before Lord Dunning whispers.

“Do you see how he dismissed us when important secrets were about to be revealed?”

Equally disgruntled, Lord Kruger hisses back.

“He tells us we’re his equals but as soon as that letter from the Fey was drawn out, we were immediately excluded.”

Pulling his fellow Lord into a side chamber, Dunning quietly shuts the door behind them and glances around to confirm that they’re alone.

“Excluded? Expelled is what you mean. Whatever’s in those barrels, it has to be very important.”

Lord Kruger nods in agreement.

“Certainly more important than mere wine.”

The two elderly sub-leaders fall silent for a moment before Lord Kruger speaks again. His voice still kept low.

“I’m beginning to suspect that Lord Urdurel has no intention of naming either of us as his successor.”

It’s Lord Dunning’s turn to nod sagely.

“I think you may be right. After fourty years of promises. After fourty years of him saying that one of us will be promoted to ‘High Lord of all Stowan’, the man still lives! Not just lives but has refused to officially name me as his successor.”

Lord Kruger snaps to his full, unarched height.

“Refused to name ONE of us as his successor.”

Lord Dunning manages to hide his sneering reaction but still manages to respond.

“Yes, yes. That’s what I meant to say.”

Both men had led large factions of the country against Lord Urdurel after Lady Hetzabah had been cast out. The Capital had been decimated by him when the disguised Hag had claimed a seat at his side. Their causes had been just and Stown had teetered on civil war. It was only Lord Urdurel’s promise to form a triad high council and announce one of them leader on his death or retirement, that prevented it.

The two Lords had only been in their thirties then; a good decade and a half younger than Urdurel and the negotiations had been born from genuine repentance and the fact that he now had no deserving heirs still alive to inherit his title and no living heirs that actually deserved it. It was a reasonable pact.

Now though, as Lords Dunning and Kruger assess each other, they have to accept that they are heading towards their own final days with no expectation to outlive their stubborn, age defying ruler.

Recovering somewhat, Lord Dunning carefully forms the sentence in his mouth before he lets it out.

“I believe this triad has gone on long enough. I think that Lord Urdurel should be forced to ‘step down’ before this war against his mad son actually begins.”

Lord Kruger smiles.

“Yes, I believe you’re right. If Lord Urdurel were to ‘step down’, Sir Briefadel will have no reason to come here seeking revenge.”

Lord Dunning smiles in response.

“I’m glad, that after these last forty years, we’re finally in full accord.”

Night Fever

As Fortu joins his friends and the requested Triplet guards in the cobbled square outside their palatial castle rooms, several young squires approach, leading six fresh horses. He recognises the, now rested, groomed and gleaming; Maurice and Robin and three of the other new ones are of similar build, size and colour. Good, strong horses but they literally pale in comparison to the sixth black giant. The young squire firmly holding the heavily muscled destrier’s thick reins, smiles reassuringly as he notices Fortu’s reaction.

“He’s an intimidating beast to look at, true but Night Fever is very well trained and proper steadfast sir. Treat him well and he won’t let you down.”

Fortu is caught out by the boys use of the word ‘sir’ but he still visibly relaxes at the reassurance. Beside him though, unseen and unnoticed, Liga Bur shudders involuntarily.

A massive black horse named; ‘Night Fever’? Why does it remind him so much of Hetzabah’s flying, red-eyed, smoke-snorting, nightmare steed?

Night Fever

Heavy War Horse (Destrier)

Very large and drilled for battle.

Str: 18

Int: 2

Wis: 13

Dex: 12

Con: 18

Cha: 6

HPs: 42

AC: 18 

(Chain-shirt barding under an inky black horse-coat and a military saddle.) 

-2 armour check penalty

Move: 50’

Alignment: True Neutral 

Initiative: +1

Attack: Hoof: +6 to hit / Damage: 1d6+4

(full attack x2 hooves/1x bite +1 to hit/1d4+2 damage)

Reach: 5’

Feats: Endurance / Run

Skills: Listen: +5 / Spot: +4

Special: Scent / Low-light vision 

Saves: F: +8 / R: +5 / W: +2

Tricks: Guard / Heel / Come / Attack / Defend / Down

Gift wrap

Returning to Cottis, not just once but twice in the last few months, has been a bitter-sweet experience. Banaal had spent over ten years of his formative years here and had strong memories of Lord Urdurel and Lady Dulcetta, although from a child’s perspective.

His memories of Lamenta though were much stronger. From when she was a baby until, though about six years younger, she’d stood taller than him. They’d been inseparable best friends throughout the decade he’d spent in the Human lands. She was bright, warm and full of life and he had loved and protected her as if she’d been his little sister. Even now, he still can’t quite believe she’s dead. Not just dead but fifty-years interred in the dark, cold earth.

Lord Urdurel, though much older now, had welcomed him back with open arms and immediately shared his knowledge of the vile Hetzabah’s escape and the strange band of adventurers pursuing her. He’d then asked him to seek out these adventurers and bring them back to him.

A task he was more than happy to accept.

Now though, after successfully completing that mission, he stands alone in his luxurious and secure room in the castle and admires his reflection in the full-length mirror.

As a reward, Lord Urdurel had given him a cloak of sorts. A long cape-like wrap, so delicate it’s barely there at all. A wrap so fine, it looks more like a gossamer spider’s web draped over his broad shoulders.

This cobweb cloak though doesn’t tear to the touch. Instead it tears through the ethereal plane and allows its wearer to weave between them.

This gift of Lord Urdurel’s; a gift literally off of his own back, is probably worth more than all the gold that Banaal’s ever seen. 

Probably double that! Triple!! 

And despite that, considering the cloaks subtle power and who they’re going to eventually face, he thinks that its original cost, whatever it was, may yet prove to be a bargain!