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 slightly 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!

Run Rabbit Run

Under the watchful eyes of his faithful hound; Mir Hundur and his magical staff; Dijonn, Liga Bur sceptically tugs on the two magical rabbit fur boots, gifted to him by Lord Urdurel. Despite his doubts though, he’s amazed to discover that the small boots readily stretch and extend to fit over his long Halfling feet. Halfling feet that now, due to their disproportionate length and sable coloured fur covering, actually resemble the long back feet of a giant Jack-rabbit!

He’d never felt the need for footwear before and had always, secretly, taken pride in the fact that, despite his smaller stature compared to his Orcish brethren, his feet had always been bigger and tougher than theirs. 

Looking down at them now though, he has to admit that they feel pretty good wrapped in the soft leather and fur. Better than good. He feels ‘springy’ for the first time in his life. 

Springier and stridier!

The Gods Laugh

Due to the gods of fate, my wife, a cousin, my brother, my parents and my son all independently ignoring my plans, I went from having an entirely free Sunday the 26th, to having multiple plans, including two separate London shows and three family visits!

Thanks to you all for being so obliging, we can still battle the elements, witches and assassins, but just a day earlier.

See you all on Saturday the 25th at 9am!

One Sword, Two Boards

Examining his new, heavy metal, heater style shield, Fortu traces the stylised octopus design with two of his fingertips. Although dark, it’s so well rendered, he can almost imagine the tentacles reaching out to envelop his opponents. It radiates a level of defensive magical energy that even he can sense and it’s an extremely generous gift from Lord Urdurel… 

Although, considering what he and his companions have agreed to do for him, it’s more of a bribe really.

Fortu compares it to his old magic shield. ‘Old magic shield’? How strange that he’s become so quickly accustomed to possessing these fantastical magical items. His ‘old magic shield’ had saved him from serious injury many times, deflecting sword thrusts that otherwise would have wounded him, but now, just by the heft of them, he can tell how superior the new one actually is.

Looking at the two large shields side by side, it’s a shame he can’t use them both simultaneously, but then he wouldn’t be able to use his impossibly sharp and indestructible Flamberge Bastard sword. Another magical item that he couldn’t even have imagined wielding when he was in the brutal gladiator pits of Tuatata.

‘Awesome’ he had named it but Lord Urdurel said that, when he owned it, he’d called it the ‘Sovereign sword’ and the ‘Kingmaker’. Fortu frowns as he recalls the old man’s next words.

‘That’s not what it’s really called though...’

Turning the heavy, but perfectly balanced, Adamantine blade in the flickering lamplight of his spacious private room, Fortu observes the way that the engraved letters on both sides of the base of the blade gleam sinisterly. He’s possessed this sword for almost two months, ever since prying it out of the gauntlet of the mechanical knight that stood guard outside the main entrance of Dulcetta’s lost tower.

In all that time though, despite travelling through towns and villages, he still hasn’t managed to have the words translated.

In truth though, he hadn’t tried that hard and even now, when Lord Urdurel had dangled the truth in front of him, he’d balked. Why was he so reluctant to know what his sword’s inscription actually says? Perhaps, after everything he’s learned over the last few months, it’s because he suspects what language the inscription is actually written in?