Unkempt Contempt

Liga Bur had encountered several Orcs on his travels since being driven from his Dark-Star clan in the Broken lands, beyond the boarders of so called ‘civilisation’. Young Orcs selling themselves out as mercenaries or guards. In the Human lands, they’d been a surprising number of Half-Orcs, rejected by their tribes or raised by their Human Mothers. None of them were fully accepted by the Humans though. They’d always felt a certain level of fear and distrust.

Understandable, considering the general Orcish reputation, but unfair never-the-less. As a Halfling, raised by Orcs, Liga Bur understood their mindset. He understood their specific morality and the pride they had in their race, their tribe and their emblems.

The seven ‘Orcs’ he’d encountered today though, shook him to his core. He’d always assumed that the silent Red-Eyes that drove his Father’s Dark-Star tribe further and further into the inhospitable Dead-Lands were just one, unwaveringly evil tribe. They all wore the same dark colours with a red circle on their chests. These ones though, they looked and acted so similarly; Silent, fearless and with eyes showing no iris or pupil, just blood-red sclera, but their tribal colours and emblems didn’t match. 

Although he hadn’t recognised any of them, he’d counted at least four different tribal symbols and rather than seeming proud of them, these Orcs seemed less than indifferent to them. Contemptuous even! 

No Orc, not even ones from the lesser tribes, would behave that way.

He’d instructed his friends to dismember the, somehow not-quite-dead-or-alive bodies. Hopefully that’ll be enough to stop them rising again, like the ones who’d attacked his adoptive family so relentlessly all those many months ago.

The Gods Above and Below

“Your… supposedly unaware,‘not-so-free-willed’ vassals are becoming increasingly suspicious of your ‘heavy handed’ involvement.”

Moradin glares angrily around at the gathered gods, but while the others remain silent, it’s small Yondalla who responds calmly but firmly.

“Impossible. We have kept out touches feather light.”

The Dwarven god barks out a deep laugh.

“Feather light? Your Halfling; Liga Bur feels the weight of the world pushing down on him and the Elf; Arowe was so sure of Solonor‘s Interventions, he was deliberately attempting impossible ‘trick-shots’ just to prove himself wrong!”

The Elven god of Hunting; Solonor Thelandira, responds directly.

“He was a supremely skilful archer regardless of my help. And I sent him on a separate quest to prevent any possible cross contamination.”

Moradin turns his stare to the beastial; Erythnul.

“The Human you selected also suspects your influence.”

The huge Bugbear’s face twists and changes with every thought.

“True, his night-time visions of past, present and future are much more enlightening than I’d.., than we’d expected.”

Standing tall behind him, the striking, golden goddess; Mayaheine steps forward.

“Fortu was the obvious choice. As a male though, we just didn’t expect our, seemingly ignorant blunt instrument to exhibit such sensitivity to the dream-state .”

Moradin’s stern expression breaks for a moment in surprise.

“Didn’t expect? Didn’t expect?! That dark talent boils deeply within his very blood!”

Yondalla lifts her chin defiantly.

“Well what of your Dwarf? Does he not suspect your obvious involvement? Did he not realise that it was you who unveiled that Assassin? Does he not feel your heavy hand pushing him onward?”

Moradin laughs again. Wider and louder this time.

“Of course he does! Banaal’s my Cleric. Everything he does is under my influence and his every action is done in my name!”

Yondalla pauses for a moment.

“Perhaps you’re right. It’s against all the celestial rules and laws, but considering the lead the Demon Prince has on us… Perhaps the time for subtlety is behind us? Perhaps we should reveal ourselves? Perhaps our help can be a little more… overt?”

From the shadows, a huge, eye-patch wearing Orc god steps forward and growls.

“It’s about time!”

Son of a Witch!

Quickly rereading Fortu’s letter while the others prepare to move on, Rifkin feels the high quality parchment between his sensitive thumb and fingers.

‘My Darling Little One,
I’m so sorry that I couldn’t be there for you.
I’m sorry that I missed sharing in your laughter or comforting you when you cried.
I’m sorry that my selfish choices made life hard for you.
Know though, that you were born from love and that love is everlasting.
If you can find it in your heart to forgive me, follow the map and come find me.
Once there, light one of the candles.
There is much I need to tell you.
Love,
Your Mother;
Viccissa.’

Carefully refolding the paper along its original crease-lines, the Bard places the letter gently back in the compartment on top of the silver music box. Alongside the equally well preserved map showing the location of Viccissa’s apparent grave and under the four magical (presumably ‘speak to the dead) candles.

If it’s to be believed, the letter raises a few concerning questions. 

Firstly the three digit code: 142. How did she know his name would end up as two numerals pronounced together and why did she think that he’d somehow remember that her pet name for him was ‘Little one’?

Rifkin smiles at the pragmatistic Liga Bur’s no-nonsense suggestion. The Halfling always surprises him with his cool head and often brutal rational. No wonder the powerful Druid; Thornberg chose him back in the Fey lands. If two sequential numbers were known, the remaining options were only one to ten.

Brilliant!

Secondly, what important information could Fortu’s mother possibly have to impart on her son, a quarter of a century after her death?

And thirdly, why would her old ‘Den-mother’; Megarna bother sharing this information? By the tone of Megarna’s voice, when she delivered the silver box, there was no love lost between them. It even sounded like they’d hated each-other!

If Fortu decided to visit his Mother’s burial site now though, it would take him a month or so to get there… 

He’d effectively be taken off the board and his fighting skills that had proven themselves vital, especially after the loss of the Elven Archer; Arowe and Liga Bur’s transformation from Ranger to Druid.

Banaal and Liga Bur had been wise to take precautions though. A silver music box from Fortu’s infancy, just happens to turn up at the (almost) exact time and place as this mysterious Viccissa predicted?

Rifkin gently closes the lid and the heart-shaped clasp clicks back into place. Instinctively testing a theory, he tries to reopen it but, just as before, the heart resists. Only Fortu was ‘allowed’ to open the box.

Another mystery. Did the Witches manage to open it? Did they know what the letter said? Did they perhaps tamper with it in some way?

It’s all so unlikely, and yet he’d heard plenty of stories in his travels about witches foreseeing the future in knucklebones and chicken blood. There’d even been a mad woman in his own home village, who swore she could tell your fortune just by looking at tea-leaves!

Could this Viccissa see the future? Could she have passed this gift down to her son? Fortu’s fevered dreams did seem to often lead him to truths he shouldn’t rationally know. Almost like he himself was a… a…

A Fortune teller?

…

A Fortu.. ne teller!

Rifkin gasps as he almost drops the precious silver music box.

“It can’t be!?”

Fairer Sharer

Without the surprisingly trustworthy Henshaw to help him, Rifkin counts out the gold coins by himself into seven equal piles. Seven equal piles for seven men? No, as the Triplets still refuse to accept any extra gold for their service. It still feels wrong to exclude them but he allots, as agreed, double shares to Banaal, Fortu and Liga Bur and keeps a single share for himself. Then, he sorts out the magical equipment. 

The two daggers are deceptively powerful but not really the style of anyone here. They could make useful back-up weapons though.

The glass web-wand is tragically, unusable by anyone here. It’s a bit like the ‘Burning-hands’ wand they got from Sir Briefadel’s fake Wizard squire; Egrow. Only usable by Wizards or those especially skilled with magical devices.

The poison vials are also dangerous to use, unless skilled with their storage and application. 

The twenty-four flaming crossbow bolts though, are usable by Fortu, Banaal AND the Triplets… Could this be another way of ‘sneaking’ them a little more help?

Despite still not using his, potentially cursed, magic ‘Vampire’ sword, Rifkin’s finger trails along Danté’s black, oily Leather armour. It’d helped him slip through Liga Bur’s entanglement spell but it was worthless to his teammates…

(After a few conversations.)

Current gold totals

Banaal:
Gold: 1606gp
10 gems (worth 100gp each)
4 gems (worth 50gp each)

Six +1 ‘Flaming’ Crossbow bolts

Fortu:
Gold: 1934gp
6 gems (worth 25gp each)

Liga Bur:
Gold: 411gp 

Rifkin:
Gold: 1550gp
7 gems (worth 25gp each)
+1 Leather armour (improved Slickness)

Ringo:

Six +1 ‘Flaming’ Crossbow bolts

Locket:

Six +1 ‘Flaming’ Crossbow bolts

Chape:

Five +1 ‘Flaming’ Crossbow bolts

+1 Heavy metal shield.

In addition:

Two +3 medium sized magic Daggers

Five vials of (handily labeled) Blue Whinnis poison

Wand of Webs

Fourteen Masterwork daggers

Blood Ties

Deo’s protective growl wakes Fortu and alerts him of the repetitive tapping on their second story window of the Knot wave inn. Rolling slowly out of the comfortable bed, Fortu draws back the heavy curtain to reveal the tip of a broomstick gently rapping against the thin pane. Directly below, standing alone in the rain, is the broomstick’s mistress. Dressed head to toe in black, the old woman beckons him, unsmiling, down to the courtyard.

Shaking his roommate; Rifkin awake, the two of them quickly pull on some clothes and knock for the others. Once gathered, bleary-eyed, all seven of them make their way down the stairs, through the dark hall and unbolt the back door. 

Shuffling out, they stand ranged in a line, under the shelter of the eaves, while the Witch stands ten feet away, seemingly unfazed by the cold rain, her scraggly black cat curled around her ankle. Fortu, Liga Bur and Rifkin recognise her as the fortune teller from the Scarborough fair, but her ‘costume’ is very different now and along with it, her attitude. 

Rifkin opens his mouth to speak, but Megarna rudely silences him with a raised palm.

“I’m here to speak with Fortu. The rest of you have no immediate interest to me, but I promise; no harm will come to any of you today… unless you wish it.”

As she speaks, she gestures upward and, despite the darkness, the distance and the rain, you can clearly see the silhouettes of six similarly clad Witches, circling overhead.

Fortu raises his chin but doesn’t move forward. Instead, Megarna steps towards him, even as she summons her broom down from the window above.

“Against my advice, my Mistress has requested that I offer you this final chance to give up this pointless quest against her. I thought you seemed familiar when I first met you in my tent half a year ago. Hetzabah sniffed you out though, as soon as she first smelt you. Your blood is our blood. Demon blood. The blood that grants Witches their mystical power and connection to their Dark Lord. Blood you gained through our coven sister…Your Mother. If you join us, I’ll even tell you where you can find her.”

Unable to fully deny his interest, the unarmoured Fortu answers, low but steady.

“I’ve no time for your lies. Get away from here and take your stinking coven with you.”

Taking another step forward, Megarna pulls out an ornate silver box from under her black cloak and, with the click of a tiny switch, music like tiny bells, rings out in the courtyard. 

Before Fortu can say anything further though, the bristling Dwarf; Banal, grips his holy symbol and barks.

“You heard the man. Begone Witch!”

Unshaken, Megarna, grabs hold of the broomstick floating beside her and, almost provocatively, turns her back to the adventurers. As she scoops up her black cat, she deliberately places the expensive looking music box down in its place, before allowing herself to be slowly pulled aloft by her magical broomstick.

Danté’s Poisonous Legacy

After using up every healing spell he had on his Halfling and Human friends, Rifkin watches Banaal drag back the lead assassin’s corpse. Up close, the man looks near to seventy, despite his recent movements seeming to be that of a much younger man. His black, leather armour is weirdly oily to the touch and obviously magic of some sort… Probably the reason why Liga Bur’s entangling spell was so ineffectual. Likewise his dagger; the twin of the one Fortu had already retrieved by the waterfront. This one’s a lot cooler though; temperature wise. There’s also, several vials and a translucent glass-like wand. Both of which, because of what he’d seen, the Bard can guess at.

Human sized Leather armour +1 (slick improved)

Two +3 medium sized magic Daggers

Five vials of Blue Whinnis poison

Wand of Webs

160gp

Plus:

Twenty-six +1 ‘Flaming’ Crossbow bolts

Fourteen Masterwork daggers and 140gp combined taken from the Assassin corpses.

The Disadvantage of Superior Action Economy

Arowe, Fortu and Liga Bur. Having the Party made up of three Fighter class Player Characters posed a few problems for me as your Dungeon Master.

Easily solved problems though.

An Elven Archer, a Human Gladiator and a Halfling Tracker (plus his hound) actually made creating combat encounters pretty easy. All I needed was a way to divvi out healing when needed. Potions, plentiful and freely available would have done it but it also gave me the option of shoehorning in a suitable Non Player Character.

Rifkin; A Bard who could both bolster the Party and heal you during and after battles. He also allowed me to offer advice within the game when needed. He worked well for me because his Bardic ‘inspiration’ and personal cowardice made him super-easy to handle during combat encounters. 

This meant three/five characters vs whatever monster/monsters you were facing sped by quite quickly in round by round combat.

Then, thanks to David/Fortu’s moment of mercy, you also acquired three more melee based henchmen. Henchmen that I hadn’t planned on giving you.

Henshaw; a defensive based but intelligent Fighter, Doberman; a mindless chop-monster and Barbella; the slightly more complicated sort-of-thief-back-stabber.

So now, with seven/eight ‘heroes’ vs whatever monster/monsters I threw at you. Combat became twice as slow…

Half as fast?

Then Scott ‘evolved’ Liga Bur from Ranger to full Druid and added extra healing (if he ever selected it) and several more options in combat, not least of which, was the ability to summon multiple more combatants during the battles. 

He also rescued the flaming executioner/prisoner; Dijonn and had him bound to a magical staff. Another, potentially independently acting, morally dubious, member of the team!

Seven/nine (plus) ‘heroes’ vs whatever monster/monsters I throw at you.

Then Assif ‘retired’ his quick-on-the-draw, archer; Arowe and brought in a Dwarven Cleric and his fantastically well trained Mule; Murmul.

Seven/Ten (plus) ‘heroes’ vs whatever monster/monsters I throw at you.

More combat options to be sure and yet another healing opportunity but in Banaal’s second combat encounter, he summoned an Air-elemental. A pattern he’d oft repeat!

Now combats are running at around three-times slower…

A third as fast?

I did ‘cancel’ your evil trio of Henchies recently but I almost immediately replaced them with the (much more dependable and untreacherous) good triplets.

Given the current numbers, it can still work but it’s gotten progressively harder for me to plan and run the adventure, the more wheels are simultaneously turning. More player options mean more planning for me and more combatants, perversely means much, much, much longer combats.

In addition, the larger and more powerful the Party, the tougher and more numerous the enemy needs to be to compensate. The obvious additional consequence but pertinent to the speed of combat.

I’m guessing that ( unless they’re easy-peasy walk-overs) this slows the ‘average’ battle down to about one combat per session.

The last Mar-Gin river crossing combat encounter involved sixteen 4th level Rogues, a 5th level Witch and a 9th level Assassin verses 8th level; Fortu, Liga Bur and Banaal, 6th level Rifkin, three 4th level Fighter triplets; Locket, Chape and Ringo, a 5th level Captain Lynchin, four of his 2nd level guards plus the dogs; Mir Hundur and Deo, five riding gee-gees, the massive Night Fever, Dijonn and two divine summoned creatures; the Celestial Hippogryph and the giant Squid!

Plus poor innocent bystander (boat-stander?); Jane!

Forty-two (weird cosmic coincidence?) pieces simultaneously on the board!

To be honest, confusing as it is, I kinda-sorta love it, but it does potentially create two (four-hour) session combats. 

Ultimately, this is the bloated (despite only having three player-characters) situation we’ve created for ourselves and if you can live with it, so can I.

:)

Kicking Ass(assin)

EVERYTHING’S GONE WRONG!!!

Old-man Danté can barely believe his own eyes!

Somehow his entire plan had collapsed, like a crooked house of cards, in less than a minute!

After seemingly defeating the Halfling Druid, his air-support Witch; Mallophor had fled, due to the concentrated crossbow fire of the Zinerian guards. 

The same local guards that had miraculously beaten four of his invisible Assassins!

Then the big, heavily armoured Fighter had somehow managed to swim from the mid-river moored barge to his shore, undetected before chopping down half-a-dozen of his men!

Still, Danté felt confident.

All but two of the adventurers were marooned onboard the sinking barge and of the other two, one was dead (or hiding) in the water and the other was being worn down by his remaining men. A flapping, summoned Hippogryph had been a distraction but his men had made relatively short work of it.

Then though, when he’d committed to dispatching the Fighter himself, the man hadn’t fallen! Despite cleverly slipping his enchanted blade through a small gap in the warrior's octopus-styled plate-mail. Despite his hard won skills and murderous intent, the darkly armoured man had somehow managed to twist away, just enough, to save his kidneys from the killing stroke!

Danté couldn’t believe it!

Even his precious poison had failed to affect the bastard-sword swinging annoyance!

After evading another flaming pillar, Danté steps back into his conjured fog bank and, from his wand, casts a net of thick, sticky webs as he passes. If the Fighter is confident enough to enter this obscured area, he’ll be caught up and stopped regardless.

His men are lost now, but no matter; he can always recruit and train more. The priority now is to escape. Turning invisible, despite the slash he’d gotten from the Fighter, he smiles. No-one can stop him now…

Suddenly root-like tendrils wriggle from the ground, trying to grab at him, but despite his agility boosting buffs being, somehow dispelled, he’s still fast enough to tip-toe through this new impediment. It might actually slow the wretched Fighter down even more.

As he clears the end of the fog-bank, Danté glances back over his shoulder. No-one’s following. Unseen now, he makes his way up the slope and into the mountain pass. Eighteen seconds and he’ll be out of the accursed adventurers’ reach.

Suddenly a crossbow bolt creases his invisible shoulder!

Spinning around in disbelief, just for a moment he sees the Dwarf Cleric, crossbow raised, clear of the fog-bank, behind him, before he disappears from sight!

How’s the Dwarf seeing him? How’s he moving through the grabbing weeds? Why wasn’t he caught by his conjured webs?!

Danté tries to run but the traitorous ground continues to drag at his heels!

Then the Dwarf; Banaal reappears, even closer now and shoots him again!

This time the bolt draws blood!

Looking back over his shoulder, the invisible Assassin feels ice-cold fear trickle down his old spine.

His feet are clear now and he’s just six seconds from the turn but, with a sinking feeling, he knows he’s not going to make it.

This wasn’t fair! 

He’d worked so hard! 

Waited so long! 

This wasn’t how this was supposed to go down!!!

Subotage

Coordinating their actions with the sudden snagging of the barge mid-river, the two young Assassins screw their time-release devices directly onto the underside of the Spinning Jenny’s hull. It’s a difficult underwater task, but the Witch bestowed ‘water-breathing’ potions make it eminently possible and they’ve drilled for this mission in more ways than one. The very act of securing these two delayed release items in place, alerts the passengers above but all they need is about half a minute.

The small screw holes consequently allow river water to seep up onto the barge’s flat bottom but at a rate unlikely to alarm or much reduce the ferry’s buoyancy or speed. The screw holes though, are merely a precursor of what’s to come.

After a thumbs up gesture to each-other, the two Assassins release their grips from under the hull and allow the current of the river to carry them clear of the boat. Although still underwater, they can see their Witch air-support exchanging magical bolts of energy with an eagle. An eagle who’s obviously the Halfling Druid shape-changer they’d been forewarned about.

Flaming crossbow bolts also continue to rain down on the barge from their teammates on the Agentian side of the river. Their plan is working, despite a few wrinkles…

The armoured knight is in the water but somehow not drowning and striking surprisingly fast towards the far side, where their leader; Danté is standing.

Exchanging looks, the two submerged young men gesture frantically to each other. Should they continue to drift to safety or chase after the man they know as; Fortu?

Just then a terrific splash pulls their attention. The Druid-eagle; Liga Bur has taken a flaming bolt from one of their teammates’ crossbows and fallen into the water.

Then, just as the timer was set for, the two bombs under the barge explode! Their upward facing charges, momentarily lifts the barge up off the water and blasts two huge holes in the flat hull, sending wooden splinters into everyone standing nearby. 

The horses shriek as they rear and strain against their tethered reins, the two dogs struggle to obey their master’s instructions and Rifkin and the Ferry-woman; Jane are injured. Only the sturdy Dwarf-priest; Banaal, his stubborn Mule and the huge, black Warhorse seem unfazed.

The two submerged Assassins grin and high-five each-other.

Nothing could go wrong now!

D&D is Confusing and Difficult to Schedule

Last weeks session ended up mostly being about finishing off the complicated, multiple combatant, river crossing encounter. Good fun but exhausting. It ended with Fortu, Liga Bur and Banaal doggedly hunting down the badly injured but invisible and cunning; Danté. Fortunately for the Party, Banaal’s magical cloak gives him the ability to become ethereal and therefore see other invisible, ethereal creatures. I took that to mean that he could therefore see ALL invisible creatures.

After reading the rules however, I discovered that it doesn’t actually allow for that.

So, as a group, do we decide to double down on my error and allow all invisible characters and creatures to see each-other for the remainder of the campaign or accept Banaal’s observation of Danté was just a strange (possibly god given) glitch in our shared fantasy?

As for the next session, are any of you, all of you free for the morning of any of these weekend dates?

July

Saturday the 4th

Sunday the 5th

Saturday the 11th

Sunday the 12th

Saturday the 18th

Sunday 19th

Let me know if and when you’re available in this month as soon as you can and I’ll get to work building the next set of glue and cardboard traps encounters.

Thanks boys for the quickie response. Sunday the 19th of July is our mutually selected game-date. Now, will it be another massively complicated and overblown combat encounter or maybe just a talky-talky one? I’ve got four weeks to think about it and then four days to actually write something down!

The Three Debt Arrears

Gazing at the gleaming longsword in his hand, Chape examines the perfect blade, exquisite hilt and customised blue leather grip. It’s a beautiful sword. A weapon forged by a master craftsman. An artisan working in unison with a specialist wizard. Although he’d seen many magical weapons before, he’d never dreamed of ever actually owning one. 

Tearing his eyes from the fantastically expensive, gifted sword, he looks to the faces of his equally dumbfounded brothers.

“These swords could save our parents’ farm. We could pay off all their debts and have plenty left to replenish the livestock and even buy some extra adjoining land from our neighbours…”

Chape’s words trail off and his brother; Locket takes up the thought.

“The sale of just ONE of these swords could do that!”

Ringo’s the one who finishes the thought though. 

“Selling these gifts would be an insult to Rifkin and his adventurer friends. Our wages are already covering the loan interest repayments and we’ll eventually find a way to cover the original obligation.”

Circling back, Chape, claps both his identical brothers on their sturdy shoulders.

“Agreed. Although he referred to it being a ‘small gift’, we all know there’s nothing small about it. We show our gratitude to Rifkin, Liga Bur, Banaal and Fortu by guarding them with our lives. We’re already keeping the farm afloat with our three regular wages. When one of us eventually gets promoted to Sargent, we’ll slowly, but surely pay back that outstanding balance.”

Smiling broadly, all three of the brothers raise their shiny, new, enchanted longswords into the air and, for a joyous moment, forget about their current responsibilities and shout out their childhood battle cry…

“THREE FOR ME AND ME FOR THREE!”

Dwarvine Intervention

Everything happened so fast and Captain Lynchin mentally curses himself for lulling so completely. He’d been warned of a possible attack but years of small town complacency had dulled his instincts and now, because of it, his friend lies dead. Poor Freddie; the ferryman barely got the chance to realise what’d happened to him, before he’d crumpled to the shingle covered ground, blood gushing from both his belly and back. The Assassin had literally appeared out of thin-air and driven his shortsword all the way in through his kidneys and out through his guts. The self-same grinning Assassin, who now stands, fully revealed, over Freddie’s still life-blood leaking corpse, laughing manically!

Ordering his four men to attack, they too are immediately ambushed and assaulted by three more of the lying-in-wait, invisible Assassins. Captain Lynchin bares his white teeth and draws his Longsword to join the fray before his (caught flat-footed) men are also slaughtered, but then… A miracle!

All of his men and all four of the, now revealed, Assassins are bathed in a wide circle of golden light. A glow that merely warms him and his men but somehow, causes the Assassins to writhe and scream in agony, giving him and his men the chance they need to finish the job.

Soon all four of the Assassins on his bank are dead and Freddy revenged, but the battle is far from finished. Looking over at the Spinning Jenny, Captain Lynchin sees that the barge is already on fire and taking barrage after barrage of flaming crossbow bolts from the opposite side of the river. 

The Dwarven war-priest Banaal makes momentary eye contact and gives a curt nod of affirmation, as he simultaneously summons a deluge of water from above to extinguish the oily, burning canopy above, before turning his attention to the remaining Assassins on the Argentian bank.

It’s only then that Captain Lynchin realises that it was the Dwarven priest that had saved his life; his life and the lives of all four of his men. That the only reason he’s not lying dead beside his friend; Freddy, is due to the Dwarven priest; Banaal’s divine intervention!

Finaghan Begins Again

Lounging in the back-room of the (formerly secret) bar, his feet still casually up on the desk, the head of the Stowanian Thieves’ guild, watches the Dwarf, the Halfling, the demi-Elf and the armoured Human walk back up the wooden stairs and out of his (now compromised) hideout.

It had taken Finaghan decades of lying and scheming to claw his way up to being named head of the Cottis Thieves’ guild. Dante’s recent splinter group of Assassins though, had rapidly become a painful thorn in his side. A thorn that the four Adventurers had kindly volunteered to tweeze out for him. Not just offered, but paid him fifty gold pieces for the privilege!

A paltry sum considering, but the feeble bribe still tickled him.

Dante had always been… difficult, arrogant, always chaffing against his authority, but with the resurgence of the Witches, his attitude had shifted into something much more… condescending. It hadn’t been long before the older man had poached a large slew of his Thieves’ guild minions for his competitive Assassins’ guild. Nearly a quarter of his members!

A loss in number that had greatly diminished his influence and the guilds’ power. Mostly though, it was a personal and professional slight that Finaghan couldn’t let stand.

Allowing Fortu and his adventurer friends to take care of this… problem, also overcame the sanction against guilds working openly against other guilds.

Finaghan smiles. Losing a lowly lookout and having to establish a new base of operations, is a small price to pay for getting rid of ‘old-man’ Dante. With him gone, most of his traitorous ex-Thieves’ guild members will come cringing and scurrying back.

He might even allow them to rejoin… after a certain amount of grovelling and an additional ‘buy-back-in’ fee.

Shouting over to one of his trusted barmen, Finaghan calls out.

“Bring over a fresh bottle of rum. The best we have; I feel like pre-celebrating a certain forthcoming victory!”

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 adventurers, while the ten South-bank and four East-bank Assassins peppered the front-facing and back-facing Adventurers 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.

Overworked, overstretched and overwhelmed Scott has spoken and the possible dates whittled down to just two. As I, the mighty DM get the final decision; the 7th of June it is. I don’t know why, but I just like Sundays!

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.

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!

Uncivil Villains

“Please. Please don’t call me that.”

Cringing but still pleading, the gusset soaked lookout tries to shield his face whilst simultaneously covering his shamefully sopping crotch.

The four thugs surrounding him, all laugh raucously.

“What? ‘Pants-Wetter-Tattle-Tale’?”

“Why shouldn’t we?”

“yeah, that’s what you is, isn’t you?”

“You’re a stinky little pisser and you ratted us out to that armoured tosser, didn’t you?”

The smaller man, in the centre of the quartet of Thieves guild enforcers, gulps and begs.

“I didn’t mean to. I was trying to blend in and be inconspicuous, like what I was told to, but there was a Dwarf who noticed me somehow.”

One of the larger thugs shrugs.

“So what? You didn’t have to admit nothing.”

The quailing lookout grabs a handful of the big thugs tunic.

“It wasn’t him that made me squeal; it was the armoured Knight.”

Brushing off the clinging hands, the enforcer scowls.

“A Knight? A Knight?! If you ain’t learned to lie to a poncey nobleman, who can you be trusted to lie to?”

The young, panicking gang member, snatches at the bigger man’s grey tunic again.

“You don’t understand! He weren’t like no normal Knight what I’d ever seen before. His armour was dark and creepy but his eyes! His eyes were black as pitch! It was like he was Death himself and he was gonna rob me of my soul!”

The leader of the thugs shoves the slender lookout to the ground, where the others proceed to kick and stamp on him until he finally stops moving or moaning.

Walking away, the last thug mutters.

“Pants-Wetter-Tattle-Tale… That sorta sounds like one of those funny, long Gnomish names, don’t it?”

His three goon friends all turn and snigger at the slightly racist observation, despite their ex-lookout’s blood and brains still staining their boots.

Three Score and Seven Years Ago

The extremely impressive, Moradin mantled, Dwarven couple enter the much less impressive, blocky Human tower. Behind them, holding onto his Father’s trailing robe, scampers a very shy and very young Dwarven child. They’re led up the stone steps and announced to the waiting Lord Urdurel and his young wife; Lady Dulcetta. The beautiful, flaxen-haired woman smiles up at her husband before he addresses the two Dwarven ambassadors.

“Welcome to Cottis; the capital of Stowan and, soon to be, the greatest city in all the world!”

It’s the bigger-bearded of the two that answers, as his wife squeezes his meaty hand in a subtle warning not to be too facetious in his response.

“It is indeed an honour to be invited to oversee this massive… by Human standards, project. Our team of architects and stonemasons will do our best to create a metropolis that surpasses anything Human eyes have ever seen.

Sensing her husbands rising annoyance at their, barely concealed conceit, Lady Dulcetta stands, revealing her bulging pregnancy.

“We’re sure that our combined efforts will result in an awe inspiring marvel that will last the ages, and I hope our children will become firm friends over the coming decade.”

Slightly taken aback, the lesser-bearded of the two Dwarves, smiles warmly and honestly.

“I’m sure little Banaal here will love acting as guardian to your baby, once he or she arrives.”

Lord Urdurel, though remaining seated, also smiles. He knows that it’s only his gold that’s persuaded the Dwarves to send their artisans and emissaries, but he also understands that it’s only with their help, that he can create the towering wonder he wants to build here. 

“It would indeed be a blessing for our coming child to have such a stout defender as brave Banaal.”

Peeping out from behind his Father, Banaal puffs out his little chest in pride. He’s already determined that he’ll do his upmost to protect this fragile Human baby from whoever, or whatever, seeks to do them harm.