Do we play or do we go now?

It’s been nearly four months since our last online session and over a month since my last overblown Orange-inn expositional post. I’ve hopefully managed to wring every relevant bit of campaign backstory out of my head and into our shared consciousness and allowed myself a small respite from my own compulsive madness. Now though, we need to make the group decision whether we want to continue forward together with this campaign or not? 

Will the stoic, ex-gladiator; Fortu be prepared to continue putting his newly found freedom and life on the line in the aid of the small ‘g’ goddess; Estrid, whom he still doesn’t entirely trust?

Is the phenomenally skillful, Elvish archer; Arowe’s high-drama desire for fame and adventure still not satiated, or is he now content to return home to his noble Mother and wastrel of a Father in Glendorne?

Does the now, ‘older but wiser’ Halfling; Liga Bur take his recent Druidic vow to the ‘Circle of the Scale’ to mean the end of his commitment to his friends and their shared mission?

If so, will the vengeful and ambitious Sir Briefadel manage to raise his demon army and swarm through his Father’s kingdom and the lands beyond unopposed? 

If the three of you are still feeling the itch for adventure, let me know here, so I can start planning ahead and, if so, do we want to continue playing on-line or in-person? Three-hour, regular monthly, Saturday morning blocks, sat at our own home desks or quarterly game weekends down at the ‘Cottage of Doom’?

If you collectively, all actively want to continue, let me know how you’d prefer to proceed? I’m more than happy to carry on, as I’m (after my brief sabbatical) still enjoying the game and am eager to know what happens next? 

Who is the mysterious and powerful, demonic benefactor that the Hag; Hetzabah is going to petition to help her son?

Is her erstwhile husband; Lord Urdurel still sound enough of mind and body to realistically command a force to oppose her?

It’s entirely up to the three of you, both practically and figuratively. If you go there will be trouble, if you stay it will be double. So come on and let me know…

The End or the Beginning?

It’s early morning, with the dawn sky still hazy with the rising golden sun still partially hidden behind the trees. Although there are several of the Fey creatures still enjoying the gentle music, wine and each-others company, the Elven Arowe is the only member of the Party still conscious when the large, shadowy oak tree at the edge of the clearing, opens up again and the mighty Thornberg steps through. The Archer hurriedly shakes the nearby Fortu and Rifkin awake and the three of them try to peer around and behind the enormous Druid and his shaggy, over-sized, brown bear to see if their Halfling friend; Liga Bur is still with him. All of them break into relieved smiles at the sight of their diminutive scout companion, but… 

…

He looks tired somehow, weary.

…

No, not tired.

…

He looks older.

…

Older and wiser.

Four Seasons in One Day

With one hand grasping the thick, wiry pelt of Thornberg’s huge brown bear; Bamse and the other wrapped in the reassuring, softer fur of his own hound; Mir Hundur, Liga Bur, after what seems like hours of silent plodding through vague, formless, earthy nothingness, follows the towering Thornberg out of the magical ‘Green path’ and feels the gentle rays of sunshine warmly kiss his face.

Unsure what to expect; Liga Bur had agreed to Thornberg's 'price' out of a weird feeling that it was somehow fated to be, as much as a way to save his friends from a potentially unwinnable battle. The bright sunlight momentarily dazzles him, but as his eyes adjust, he's pleased to see the old, winged dog; Dawk and the handsome adolescent fox sitting beneath the arching trees, waiting for him on the path, both of their tails wagging.

After stroking each of them on the undersides of their upturned chins, the big, bearded Druid guides Liga Bur to a beautifully tended glade, with a massive circle of stone Menhir’s arranged like pillars. There’s a small pool of crystal clear water and a comfortable looking thatched, wooden cabin slightly distant. Liga Bur notices the new, small and vibrantly coloured wildflowers freshly emerged from the lush and fertile soil; it’s Spring here… Wherever ‘here’ is?

Looking around, Liga Bur feels no danger. On the contrary, the battle-scarred Halfling has never felt such a sense of serenity. Birds sing in the trees surrounding the grove and succulent fruit hangs from almost every branch.  

It’s only then, that Thornberg finally speaks. His voice is deep and gravelly, like a man who doesn’t speak often and has grown unaccustomed to it.

“This is to be your home for a while. These four animals; my bear, your hound, the hawk-dog and the fox will be your companions and I will be your teacher and guide. Despite your, surprisingly thorough, basic training in the 'Green' arts, you still have much to learn, and although you must forsake your bow and your lance, this is far from a prison sentence. Rather than a punishment, I will share the secrets of our Druidic order and perhaps, over time, we will become friends. I do not say this lightly, for all our obvious differences, I believe in you. I believe in you because of the reports from my Satyr friend; Magritte, the Centaur Prince; Tsigane and the Frost giant; Droofin. I believe in you because this little adolescent fox and this elderly hawk-dog didn't just vouch for you; they championed you.”

The training is difficult but rewarding and as Spring passes into Summer, Liga Bur watches with pride as the little fox grows from cub to bold, young Reynard.

The Summer seems long, but the company is good and the initially intimidating; Thornberg turns out to be a surprisingly kind and patient man.

Summer turns to Autumn and with it the realisation that the grey in the muzzle of the old Dawk has spread all the way down to his rudder-like tail and his movements have become slow and hesitant.

Winter finally arrives and the snow that falls can't mask the sadness as the athritic Dawk finally succumbs to old-age.

Mir Hundur, the now adult fox and the great bear; Bamse all howl in the moonlight, as Thornberg lays the wrapped body of the strange, hybrid creature into the freshly dug ground. Liga Bur can’t hide his tears for this silly, brave and gentle soul. He’d grown fond of the kind-hearted creature and although he understood everything mortal has to die, the pain of the loss takes him back to everything and everyone he’d already lost and his heart breaks anew.

The bulky, brown-robed Thornberg places his muddy but reassuringly heavy hand on Liga Bur's shoulder.

"This is your final lesson. For every summer, there must be a winter. For every day, there must be a night. For every birth, there must be a death. For this is the way of balance and, now a full year has passed, you have finally earned entry into the Circle of the Scale."

The Greatest Gift

After watching their Halfling boss disappear through a magical oak tree with the huge Druid, Henshaw finds himself clambering to his armoured feet. Neither he or his two mercenary associates have said more than a few words since their return to the Fissian Feylands, but Henshaw can’t seem to stop himself now.

Approaching the Fey goddess; Estrid, his path is immediately blocked by one of her uncannily aware Dryad protectors and, in response, several yards away, the equally-alert Barbella half draws his enchanted cold-iron short sword. Thankfully for them both though, the goddess of the pool, with a slightly sardonic expression, waves her guard away.

“What is it that you want Human?”

Henshaw gnaws nervously at his bottom lip for a moment before replying.

“… I just wanted to thank you,.. In person like.”

Blond Henshaw is a lean but tall man; possibly as tall as Fortu but the goddess meets his gaze without having to raise her chin.

“Thank me for what?”

The lanky soldier licks his sore lip before responding.

“For me life, your majesty. Considering what Sir Briefadel had us do, I know letting us live couldn’t have been an easy decision.”

The stern expression drifting from her face, Estrid smiles slightly and her transcendental beauty warms his soul.

“You know, it was your Human patron; Fortu and the ever-so-slightly-Elf; Rifkin who pleaded for your lives? Without their interference, I would gladly have let you and your brothers-in-arms, bleed out on the battle field.”

The straw-blond soldier rubs his, suddenly hot and itchy ear, before answering.

“That just makes it more important that I thank you. I ain’t exactly what you’d call a good man, but what we done…  it was wrong and… and I’m sorry for my part in it.”

The goddess, her face softening further, seems to look past his eyes and deeper into his very thoughts..

“I… believe you. You and your fellow soldiers invaded my glade. Attacked us without provocation and killed dozens of my friends but I also now know that you were lied to and duped by your own so-called leader.”

Taking Henshaw’s face in her gentle hand, the goddess’ expression becomes fully beatific and his eyes well up in response.

“He did but ‘I woz just following orders’ ain’t no excuse. You chose forgiveness, despite the righteousness of your anger.”

Estrid’s smile falters a little at the Human’s earnestness.

“That isn’t entirely true. I merely used your lives as a bargaining tool to secure the adventurers’ aid. Still, I’m surprisingly glad that I did and that you and your two compatriots survived.”

As Henshaw wanders back, slightly dazed, to his friends, the goddess of the pool’s eyebrows contort a little in confusion. Did she, inadvertently, with her cynical, selfish act, ironically turn a sinner’s soul toward the light?

One for All

The music and wine continue to flow but the massive figure of Thornberg, standing back in the shadows of the surrounding trees, finally makes his looming presence felt. His voice is both deep and grave.

“I’m glad that The five of you made it back safely from the void between worlds, but I also want you to know, that I know what you’ve done. Three members of my brotherhood have been killed in the last few months and I knew that you were involved somehow. Koenig, the Three-Quarterling and Zephir.”

The monstrous brown bear growls to reinforce Thornberg’s menacing tone,

“However, Zephir of the oasis was killed before you’d even arrived there and I cannot blame you for carving up his mindless, reanimated corpse. You had a hand in the death of the pacifistic Three-Quarterling but not the murder itself, but his father? You are, all four of you, responsible for Koenig’s death. He may have been over-zealous and acting far beyond his remit, but he was still a member of the Circle of the Scale and a price must be paid. Balance must be restored and although our creed is usually a life for a life, many voices has spoken up for you. From the little fox to Droofin the Frost-giant. As such, instead of death, one of your group must relinquish their current life and swear allegiance to our order.”

The adventurers respond very differently to this surprising news. Man of few words; Fortu reaches for the hilt of his indestructible sword, Rifkin opens his mouth, searching for a convincing argument to use in their defence but Liga Bur does the opposite, biting down to prevent himself revealing his true thoughts. It is the Elf; Arowe though, who breaks the silence.

“I’ll do it. To save my friends, I’ll join your Brotherhood.”

The bulky, bearded Druid’s eyes widen in response before laughing it off.

“Tis a surprisingly noble offer Elf, but the choice has already been made. The Halfling has already received rudimentary training and possesses a natural aptitude for our craft. What say you Liga Bur?”

The Final Session

As promised, the warm evening is full of wild music and wilder dance, with Fey wine flowing freely and both savoury and sweet treats laid out on every raised surface. Rifkin adds his voice and music to Magritte’s melodies and the Fey adjacent Arowe enjoys the wanton dancing and uninhibited ‘gifts’ of the Dryad women.

Despite his deep-rooted suspicion and rejection of the aromatic wines, Fortu still finds himself intoxicated by the charm and warmth of these strange woodland creatures. Creatures that he would have considered dangerous enemies just a month ago.

Liga Bur too enjoys the sudden change of pace and environment. Regardless of his ghostly guard; Padrik, the Halfling hadn’t slept easily in weeks, ever since he was first targeted by the nightmare Hag. Here, surrounded by enchanting pixies and nixies, he finally feels safe.

It’s Arowe though, who notices that there’re only three Dryads present, and casting around, he sees for the first time, that one of the four large oak-trees in the glade is dead and withered. He also realises that a new sapling is growing in its shade and beside that sapling is a shy little dryad girl. She appears to be about eight-years-old but Arowe knows well enough to understand the different growth rates and life expectancies of certain Fey.

The three Human mercenaries though are quieter, well aware that they’d attacked their hosts (and killed several of them) the last time they were here. One thing is certain though; all seven of them; Human, Elf and Halfling, are changed men. How could they not be? They’ve explored strange new worlds together, encountered bizarre creatures and discovered new civilisations. They’ve seen horrors and wonders beyond their imaginations and travelled to where few men have ever been before!

Love is in the Air

The octopus-armoured Fortu, eagerly (but unnecessarily) supported by two of the fawning, small but perfectly formed, amphibious Nixies, finds his footing, wades forward up the gentle slope and breaks the surface of the magical pool. Just drinking a mouthful of the enchanted water refreshes him as much as a full nights rest and he feels the aches and stresses from the previous day, wash away as if they’d never been. As the water cascades off of him, leaving him completely dry, he hears the exquisite voices of the Fey creatures singing in harmony. Looking up, he sees three of the Dryads, the smiling Satyr; Magritte and, in the centre, the beautiful ‘goddess’ herself; Estrid. They’re standing in a semi-circle, waist-deep in the water, with their hands outstretched in welcome.

Even as the Four Nixies swim up and down the underwater, hundred foot pipe, retrieving the less submersible Party members, Fortu, despite his distrust, can’t help but gaze upon Estrid. Her beauty is beyond compare, with flaming locks of auburn hair, ivory skin and, her (previously terrifying) eyes are of emerald green. Though not a man comfortable with the ‘gentler’ emotions, Fortu reflects upon the difference between the tall and athletic Estrid’s and overly curvaceous Hetzabah’s beauty; Estrid’s seems to fill his heart, whereas Hetzabah’s seemed to fill an entirely different organ, about two feet lower down.

The heavily armoured, but strangely unencumbered in the water, warrior, accepts Estrid’s proffered hand and allows her to pull him forward. She stands about the same impressive height as him in the water but her kind smile is like a breath of Spring and Fortu, for a moment, forgets why he was so angry with her.

Behind him, two of the Nxies emerge with his Halfling friend and his slobbery dog, before the small, green-skinned women dive back down to retrieve the others.

Liga Bur looks about himself suspiciously, but on seeing no signs of aggression, treads water while holding onto his soggy, doggy-paddling companion. The welcoming choral song the Fey creatures are singing is warm and genuine and even the ever-vigilant, Orc-raised Halfling feels himself lull a little.

Fortu and Liga Bur are soon joined by Arowe and Rifkin and all of them have been guided to the safety of the grassy bank before a coughing and spluttering Henshaw, Barbella and Doberman break the surface of the crystal-clear pool.

Still (mostly) wearing the same uniforms that they attacked the Fey in, the three soldiers weren’t given the magical, water-breathing Nixie kiss and are choking by the time they escape the hundred-foot deep, underwater sinkhole pipe. The four Nixies roughly pull them to the shallower water but their actions are obviously begrudging and Fortu is coldly reminded of the general ill-will felt between the Fey and Humans.

Still, when Estrid finally speaks, her voice is soft, like Summer rain.

“Welcome home my champions. We have much to discuss, but before we’re forced deal with the evil that’s to come, please rest after your arduous journey, share our food and enjoy our music, wine and… our company.”

Fortu feels a wave of confusion wash over him as he battles conflicting emotions. The goddess; Estrid seems so different this time around; kind, generous and objectively, (whatever he may think of her past actions) breathtakingly lovely.