The Fountain of Youth

Captain DeLeón watches the adventurers leave on fresh horseback, accompanied by a sturdy wagon and three of his best men. Everything should be fine but he still finds himself worrying. Lord Urdurel entrusted him to protect this forward position and he’s proud of his High commander’s faith in him.

He’d handled the removal of Briefadel’s ‘scum’ mercenaries from the adventurers poorly though. He’d hoped that being subtle and removing the three men out of sight of their ‘Masters’, would have made everything easier but, instead, he’d managed to infuriate and accidentally antagonise the ex-gladiator; Fortu.

The other thing that bothered him was the story that the Demi-Elf Bard shared with him yesterday, during their debriefs. Could those strange, gourd-like barrels truly contain the ‘Elixir of youth’? That the pool they were drawn from would stave off the skeletal hands of the Grim Reaper himself?

Pulling off one of his heavy metal gauntlets, Captain DeLeón inspects the back of his own hand. He’s only in his forties and still full of vim and vigour, but the lines are beginning to show. Is it possible that, less than a month’s ride away, lies the secret to eternal life?

Still, it seems likely that, considering the fact that the very same pool lays atop the dimensional portal mentioned, this would also be the place Sir Briefadel and his hellish army would probably re-emerge from.

The Captain bites his bottom lip for a moment, before shaking his helmed head. One month there and one month back. Two months too long to relinquish his position to one of his underlings at such a vulnerable time. 

Smiling wryly, Captain DeLeón shrugs and mutters out loud.

“I guess I’ll just have to earn my immortality the old fashioned way; with tales of my glorious and heroic death in battle!”

His smile falters a little though.

“I wonder if that Rifkin fellow would compose and perform it for me?”

Scarp Burrow

Examining the overgrown, long unmaintained and slightly listing ‘Wayside shrine’, Liga Bur tries to dredge up some trace of a memory. Barbella had referred to them as ‘Thumb-shrines’ due to their diminutive two-foot height, upper-half arch-like recesses and rounded stone tops. Apparently there were dozens of them, dotted about in the surrounding area. All long abandoned now, but with different carvings and implied offerings. This one’s shallow alcove still contained the broken remnants of a tiny pottery vase and the engraved image of a daisy-like flower below the ‘window’ supported that assumption. 

The town itself is built on several central hillocks but the surrounding, smaller mounds, still display evidence of unused Halfling defences. Forgotten and settled, perfectly round boulders, once ready to set thundering down the slopes, now lie half-buried in the soil, their wooden chocks and short iron levers, rotted away or rusted to uselessness.

Once back through… Scarborough’s ten-foot-tall outer palisade wall, Liga Bur allows the others to bluff their way to O’Maley’s lockbox treasure and is unbothered by the separation of Henshaw, Barbella and Doberman. If he’s learnt anything about these three men, it’s that they’re all natural born survivors. 

Now, that his attitude has been altered and his inner ‘third’ eye has been opened by his mentor; Thornberg, he notices all the clues he missed during his first visit here, many months ago. The complicated underground tunnels and, low-ceilinged storage system and the occasional, architecturally mismatched, cellar doorway.

Perhaps he just didn’t want to see the obvious signs last time? Perhaps he deliberately avoided contact with the travelling Halfling acrobat troop, out of some misplaced sense of shame? What did he know of Halfling culture beyond secretly studying and learning the language as a child?

But now, he could no longer ignore or deny the truth. The Lightning Tree had been right; this used to be a Halfling settlement. A peaceful farming community, attacked and overrun about twenty to thirty years ago by an ambitious and uncaring Sir Briefadel! 

Desecrated by the mercenaries under his command. Human mercenaries probably. Immoral sell-swords just like Henshaw, Barbella and Doberman!

Bad Boys Stick Together

Standing to, a slightly scruffy, attention opposite their potential new Captain, Henshaw, Barbella and Doberman consider his pitch. As usual, it’s the shrewd-headed Henshaw who acts as their joint representative.

“So your offer is; abandon the adventurers, transfer our allegiance from Briafadel to Urdurel and reenlist in his army, but this time in a position of greater authority?”

Captain DeLeón shrugs.

“You must refer to him as ‘Lord Urdurel’, but overall; yes.”

Barbella sidles forward to stand beside his friend and teammate.

“With complete pardons for ALL our past crimes and we get to keep ALL our stuff?”

Captain DeLeón grinds his perfect teeth. He’s dealt with men like this all his life. Self serving men. Men who put their needs way above the needs of others. Men who simply lust for violence. Looking at Barbella, he can’t help but to add a barb to his offer.

“Unlike you, I’m not a thief. Your recent acquisitions and possessions are yours to keep, but I expect you to restrain yourself from pilfering from your new brothers-in-arms.”

Ignoring the insightful insult to his friend, Henshaw speaks again.

“What kind of ‘position of authority’ are you suggesting?”

Summing up, Captain DeLeón, is as concise as he can be.

“Well, you and Barbella will be immediately promoted to sergeant with a substantial increase in pay from what you were getting before.”

Narrowing his eyes, Henshaw indicates his boulder-shaped colleague.

“How substantial? We woz on a half share of loot with the adventurers and, before that, on 5sp per day under Briefadel.”

The handsome Captain brushes a hand through his thick but silvering hair.

“I can’t match an adventurer’s irregular ‘salary’ but the life of a soldier is, ironically, still a lot safer than adventuring and men of your… ability deserve a lot more than what Briefafel was paying you. How does 8sp a day sound? Plus three square meals on top.”

Henshaw nods in satisfaction at the notion of  full board and meals, plus 24 gold a month, before adding.

“And Doberman?”

Captain DeLeón visibly winces.

“Ah… Would you accept a Corporal’s salary of 6sp a day for him, as long as he serves directly under one of you?”

Henshaw and Barbella look at each-other wide-eyed and laugh simultaneously…

“Bagsy not it!”

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!”

Opposing Magic Numbers

In the draped gloom of her heavy, circular, travelling tent, Megarna stares into her crystal ball sat in the centre of the small, round table.

“I’ve been tracking them since they returned to Fissa, as you asked me to, Mistress.”

In the centre of the glassy orb a face can be dimly seen. An ancient, grotesque and evil face.

“And their number remains seven?”

Megarna, her eyes slightly averted from the intensity of the expression on Hetzabah’s true face..

“Yes, despite the Elven Archer leaving them, his place has been almost immediately taken up by a Dwarven Cleric of Moriden.”

Hetzabah spits.

“Four Humans, a Halfling, a Demi-Elf and their new Dwarven recruit. Seven is a bad number for us. A terrible omen. A fated powerful number for the Gods of Law and Good.”

Megarna tries to meet her Mistress’s eyes.

“But our Coven has reached eleven. Only two more recruits needed to reach the equally powerful number thirteen. A magnifier for the powers of evil.”

In the core of the crystal ball, Hetzabah cackles.

“True enough my loyal servant. This game still goes our way. These ‘heroes’ barely comprehend the stakes of their involvement.”

Who, Where, Why, What, How and When?

Who is the physically and emotionally scarred Fortu and what series of tragically unfortunate events led him to a brutal childhood in the gladiatorial fighting pits and whose fevered and nightmarish dreams seem often to be more like confusing and indecipherable prophecies?

Where did Mahd Boss find the baby Liga Bur and why did Hetzabah’s eyes briefly flashing ‘blood red’ make the Halfling tracker involuntarily shudder and remind him so much of the unrelenting and supernatural army that drove his Darkstar tribe into the unsurvivable ‘cursed lands’?

Why does Arowe’s High-Elven Father; Filigren despise him so and why does his beautiful and noble Mother; Lissomny put up with a Husband so obviously beneath her, especially considering that all the prestige, power and wealth come from her side of the family?

What drives the obviously cowardly Rifkin to risk his life adventuring instead of using his natural beauty and musical talent to simply earn a decent living in any one of the Human cities and towns he’d travelled through before his chance meeting with Arowe, Liga Bur and Fortu?

How are any of you going to discover the answers to all these, as of so far, unsolved and unasked questions?

And finally…

When will the Party come to fully trust the mercenary, ill intentioned, take what they want, killers for hire; Henshaw, Barbella and Doberman?

Practice masks Defect

After listening to, and learning from, his friends, Fortu realises that he’s not the only member of their group to have learned a few new tricks during their last few months under the harsh and multiple Calcientan suns. Arowe’s phenomenal speed and accuracy with his magical longbow has somehow, amazingly, incomprehensibly, improved still further and little Liga Bur, even before his Druidic rebirth, had focused on improving his rudimentary, though supernatural, animal summoning abilities. 

Rifkin, Henshaw, Barbella and even Doberman have also noticeably improved their skills, through a combination of experience and surprisingly dedicated practice, during their dead-time travelling with him and his friends. Having watched, gold toothed, Barbella, sneakily sliding around the battlefields, always ‘going for the soft bits’ or  looking to ‘Stab ‘em where it ‘urts’, the ex-gladiator realises that they share a certain understanding of human anatomy and vulnerability.

While he watched them train though, Fortu also noticed that the nimble Barbella mostly just practiced rolling about and dodging with Rifkin. The only obvious difference between the two of them is that Barbella did it with a dagger clenched betwixt his teeth and Rifkin whilst cradling his precious mandolin, as if it were a baby.

Henshaw and Doberman’s mock battles though, have become longer lasting and much more entertaining of late, with Henshaw doubling down on his awkward looking ‘crab-like’ defensive stance. Despite its ridiculous appearance, it’s remarkably effective but at the expense of a shockingly poor, though slowly improving, offence. Doberman, at the other extreme, just batters at Henshaw’s shield with little skill or regard to his own safety but with an ever increasing, bulging-eyed ferocity. In Doberman’s chubby, stubby fingers, Fortu’s gifted, enchanted Bastard sword will always be just a two-handed axe.

…

Actually, Moon-faced Doberman appears to have learnt very little from the last few months. He has however, seemed to have grown even more resilient to food poisoning since his last few bouts of projectile diarrhoea.

Please make the following changes to your henchmen…

Henshaw: 

Gained a level in Fighter:

(4th level Fighter)

4th level attribute bonus: +1 Strength.

+8HPs, +1 to hit, +1 Fortitude.

New Feat: Weapon Specialisation 

(Long sword +2 damage).

Skills: +1 in Climb, Jump, Swim / +2 Ride.

Barbella : 

Gained a level in Rogue: 

(2nd level Fighter/2nd level Rogue)

4th level attribute bonus: +1 Dexterity.

+5HPs, +1 to hit, +1Reflex.

New Class Ability: Evasion.

Skills: +1 in Climb, Jump, Swim, Balance, Hide, Move Silently, Tumble, Escape artist, Sleight of Hand, Use Rope.

Doberman: 

Gained a level in Barbarian:

(4th level Barbarian)

4th level attribute bonus: +1 Constitution.

+12HPs, +1 to hit, +1 Fortitude. 

New Class Ability: Rage x 2 per day

Skills: +1 in Climb, Jump, Swim.

The (Apparent) Allies

Rifkin: 

Born and raised in the backwards, sister-wife village of Loretto by his Human Mother. Rifkin’s Quarter-Elf, travelling minstrel Father was killed by his Mother’s close-minded, inbred relatives while she was still pregnant with him. Loathed by the villagers for being different, the teenage Rifkin took his Father’s mandolin and left the moment his Mother died. Though cowed by the constant beatings of his youth and timorous by nature, Rifkin still sought adventure and used his good looks, natural charm and musical skills to earn a living.

Estrid:

A powerful, magical and long lived Fey creature, beautiful but righteous, Estrid, as ‘goddess’ of the pool, guards the magical glade, deep in the Feylands. She protects both her people and the mysterious portal beneath the life extending properties of the crystal clear waters themselves. She granted the outlander adventurers ’Champion’ status and her protection within the Feylands in exchange for their help. Now though, Estrid’s concern and priorities have changed with the return of the adventurers and their alarming news.

Thornberg:

A haystack of a man and powerful member of the ‘Circle of the Scale’ Druidic order. Thornberg (and his gigantic bear; Bamse) has recently spent a year of his life in a bubble in time, teaching the Halfling outrider; Liga Bur, the secrets of the ‘Green’. He has grown fond of Liga Bur over those twelve months and wants to keep him close but still respects the scarred Halfling’s desire for both justice and independence.

Tsigan:

The Centaur Prince, initially an enemy, has become a powerful ally to the Party, alongside his noble Father and the rest of his semi-savage herd. Despite his rescuing of Rifkin, under the Calcientan suns, he still feels indebted to Fortu, Arowe and Liga Bur.

Magritte: 

The dashing but pragmatic Satyr has formed a liking and an admiration for the adventurer, especially Fortu. A nimble, talented warrior and potion keeper, he also has the ear of (the occasionally suspicious and often ferocious) Estrid.

Henshaw:

A mercenary from a family of mercenaries, Henshaw is lean, tall, surprisingly intelligent and, perhaps as a consequence of that intelligence, overly cautious. Although a self-professed ‘Bad-guy’, his recent association with Fortu, Liga Bur, Arowe and Rifkin has caused him to re-evaluate some of his previous life choices.

Barbella:

Lifelong friend of Henshaw, Barbella is a thief of the lowest order. A goatee sporting, gold-toothed mugger and backstabber, he is however surprisingly skillful in several useful areas and loyal, at least to Henshaw.

Doberman:

As dumb as he is fat, Doberman is almost too stupid to be considered merely ‘retarded’. Treated as an imbecilic but tolerated pet by Henshaw and Barbella, he is strong, round and relentless in a fight. 

Dijonn:

A small but psychopathic fire elemental, left behind in the desert oasis when the Party was forced to travel through the water filled passageways between dimensions. It has, however, sworn a ‘life debt’ to Liga Bur when he was rescued from a hundred years trapped on a meagre wick in the ‘Singing tower’.

Lightning Tree:

Though a monstrous, flesh eating tree, it possesses a fine mind and a surprising store of knowledge. It also, weirdly, considers Fortu its friend for sparing its life and still waits patiently in the Fey forests for his return with that promised meat.

Shananaghan:

One of the two remaining ‘summoning’ charms on Rifkin’s bracelet, the tiny but foul-tempered, gossamer-winged Pixie has decidedly mixed feelings about the Party. Non-Fey creatures, especially Humans, are the hated enemy but the goddess; Estrid has ordered him to assist the Party to the best of his ability when summoned and, although begrudgingly, he’ll do it for her.

Lorellie.

The second and last of the two remaining magical charms on Rifkin’s bracelet, the flirtatious, small, green-skinned and fin-toed Nixie is more Fey-curious about the outsiders than antagonistic. Physically weak but a powerful swimmer and natural water breather, she may yet prove vital in an aquatic environment.

The Circle of the Scale

A brief three chapter recap…

Module 1: The Rat King

The recently freed Human Gladiator; Fortu, the thrill seeking Elven Archer; Arowe and the Orc raised Halfling Tracker; Liga Bur met up, travelling on foot through the region of, magic-use-restricted, Stowan, toward Scar Borough. Though cautious at first, they found themselves bonding after rescuing a naked, demi-elven Bard; Rifkin from a band of bandits, lead by the Afro-haired; Spider Murphy. Only he escaped the slaughter by taking to the trees, after swearing his revenge on Rifkin.

In town, the newly formed, four-man, Party encountered the usual corrupt town guards and spent some time at the town fete, where they met a worryingly convincing fortune teller; Madame Morgana, a troop of acrobat Halflings and several travelling merchants, including potion seller; Al-Khemi.

Then, hired as a group by the leader of the small town; Sir Briefadel, to discover what happened to Rat-catcher; Hamlyn and why an outlying tannery hadn’t made two scheduled deliveries. The Party found everyone dead, including the hung-by-the-neck; Hamlyn and were soon set upon by a crazed old Druid leading a mass of rats of various sizes. The battle was fierce but, despite being bitten and infected, the four adventurers managed to kill Koenig and survive. On their return to town, they passed on a map they’d found and the magical set of ‘rat summoning’ panpipes to Sir Briefadel.

Module 2: The Wolf Pact

Impressed by the Party’s tenacity, Sir Briefadel recruited them to accompany himself and his personal Wizard; Egrow-the-Magnificent, to find the magical pool deep within the Feylands shown on the map. 

During their horseback (aside from the Mir Hundur riding Liga Bur) journey, they encountered wild boars, bears and a little fox before finally arriving at a hidden glade. Once there, they battled strange hybrid creatures, such as the owl-horse; Howl, the orc-scorpion; Scorcion and the half-halfling, half-human; Three-Quarterling. Sir Briefadel took great delight in crushing the pacifistic, in-a-fish-form Three-Quarterling and killing him. Slightly disturbed by his behaviour, the Party searched the Three-Quarterling’s comfortable and fortified den. Enraged by finding ‘the wrong pool’ Sir Briefadel commissioned the Party to search on without him, as he rode back with Egrow to Scar Borough.

Travelling on with a rescued, old hawk-dog; Dawk, the Party encountered a tribe of Centaurs lead by the handsome; Prince Tsigan and after sparing their lives, were invited back to speak to his Father and chief; Rozinante. Though suspicious, the Party were welcomed and actively helped by the inner group of malformed Centaurists.

Next came a malevolent talking tree and then a wolf-pack, led by the Werewolf; Kane. Those battles were hard and the Party were lucky to escape unscathed. Then came the Dryad archer ambush and the discovery of the second magical pool and its Fey goddess guardian; Estrid.

But before trust could be earned from either side, the glade was overrun with Human soldiers! Sir Briefadel had planted a small scrying device, hidden in one of the horses saddlebags and used his Witch ally; Morgana to help him create a portal, linking Estrid’s glade to the Courtyard in Scar Borough. The battle was fierce and brutal with the tiny Fey Pixies, Nixies and Dryads trading their lives for their Queen. Realising the treachery, Fortu found himself fighting back-to-back with the charming Satyr, Magritte and Liga Bur and Arowe picking off the Human soldiers from protected positions atop the rocky formations. Despite their ‘cold-iron’ weapons though, the Human soldiers were quickly overwhelmed and it became apparent that they were just being used as a distraction so Sir Briefadel could reach the pool unconfronted. He and his, suspiciously clever Hawk, successfully made it through the hidden dimensional gateway, deep below the pool but the ‘Wizard’ Egrow was caught and stopped by Liga Bur.

Realising his dire situation, Sergeant Philco and a few of his men surrendered but they were butchered anyway, alongside their blinded Captain and the bleeding Egrow. Fortu was appalled but wise enough to keep the worst of his anger to himself.

Module 3: The Givrad Void

In exchange for her gratitude and the lives of the three surviving town guards; Henshaw, Doberman and Barbella, the Party agreed to help Estrid and persued the dastardly Sir Briefadel through the void. Whatever plans he had, he mustn’t be allowed back through the portal!

After a disconcerting journey, the, now enlarged, Party travelled to an ice world called Kik-ri, where they encountered a gigantic, burrowing insectoid monster and a friendly Frost giant called; Droofin.

Then they travelled to a three-sunned, desert world called Calcinta. After a skirmish with a group of human, snake and monkey zombies, they were back on Sir Briefadel’s trail and Liga Bur led them to an oasis, where they met a strange but welcoming merchant of magic; Whackeem. After that Arowe killed a highflying hawk before the Party were hunted down and captured by its owner, a wrathful slaver, Magician; Moody and his mounted swordsmen. Only Rifkin managed to escape, thanks to the aid of the (magical bangle) summoned Tsigan.

Fortu then realised, to his horror, that he (and his companions) had been returned to the slave arena. After several fraught death-matches, the Party managed to escape during an attempted city revolt and Rifkin’s cleverly timed rescue plan. They then, by an accident of fate, encountered and captured the very slaver that put them in that predicament. Moody pleaded for his life, but after unwillingly guiding the Party to the, apparently mythical ‘Singing Tower’, Fortu slit his throat.

More giant insectoid, pounce-predator creatures caused a moment of fright and the strange, targeted and protracted, dream harassment of Liga Bur, but the Halfling Ranger still successfully led the Party to the mystically shrouded tower.

Dulcetta’s tower itself was full of traps and tricks but it also acted as a prison to several other apparent malefactors, such as Dijonn the tiny fire elemental and Pardrik the teenage ghost guard. After rescuing them and evading the living green slime, Fortu, Arowe, Liga Bur, Rifkin, Henshaw, Doberman and Barbella finally caught up with Sir Briefadel again and his beautiful, raven-haired Mother. After rejecting his offer to join him, there was a brief melee, after which they fled on flying horseback.

Giving up any hope of still being able to track them down, the Party headed back to the void and to Estrid’s pool, where, despite their failure, they were welcomed with open arms, genuine smiles, music, sex, food and wine.

Liga Bur was forced to sacrifice himself for his friends though, after the mighty Thornberg demanded restitution for the deaths of three of his brothers. The Halfling was forced to give up his lance, his bow and a year of his life to join Thornberg’s Druidic brotherhood; ‘The Circle of the Scale’.

Now though, decisions must be made.

Next…

Module 4: Return of the Demon

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?

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.

No Choice at All

Emerging out of the vertical watery portal first, Fortu draws his massive sword and, although slightly disoriented from the mind-bending dimensional trip, looks around the Givrad void for potential trouble. He’s not eager to fight anymore of those gigantic Hooked Horrors again after nearly having his throat ripped out last time. Thankfully there’s nothing of immediate concern, other than the disorienting sky, odd gravity, pool of dried blood beneath his feet and the dark crimson trail of it leading away.

Liga Bur and Arowe emerge next, reassured by Fortu’s stalwart presence. The canny Halfling immediately confirms Fortu’s suspicion that it’s the slaughtered camel’s blood and follows the trail until it splits. One bloody trail leads back to the portal to Fissa and Estrid’s pool, the other to wherever Hetzabah has taken her son to raise his army.

Although Liga Bur has no interest in pursuing Sir Briefadel, he still notices the words, scrawled in blood on the path beneath each of the portals. The writing under the one the evil Eldrich Knight and his Mother went through reads, ‘Chase me to Hell!’ and the one leading back to Fissa reads, ‘Run back to Daddy!’.

The astonishingly tall and slender Elf; Arowe smiles. The overwhelming hate that he’d felt for Sir Briefadel has, thankfully, faded to a more rational level and he can see the goading messages for what they are. 

As soon as Rifkin and the others are safely through, they all head to the portal they all first entered the Givrad Void and prepare to swim back. The Bard hesitates for a moment, before Fortu’s about to step in.

“I hope Magritte has got those Nixies in place, otherwise some of us are going to drown at the bottom of that hundred foot, underwater pipe!”

Running his tongue around the circular scar inside his cheek, Fortu merely smiles, confident in his magical armours special ability. He knows that he’s safe from drowning while wearing the helmet and that the armour will allow him to swim upwards as if he were completely unburdened.

An In-Tents Battle - Shit’s got Ethereal!!

Scouring the desert for her prey, Hetzabah’s soulless, but faithful black, Nightmare steed, beats its powerful bat-like wings as they draw ever closer. This time it’ll be different. This time, she won’t go after the tenacious Halfling tracker. This time, she’ll target the dangerous Elven archer…

Fire and Water

The last few days travel pass uneventfully and the Party finally get to within sight of the doubly-dead; Zephir’s oasis. It’s withered and browned a fair bit since they were first here but, considering it contains their way back home to Fissa, it’s still a very welcome sight.

Scattered prone around the outer periphery are several tall, multi-limbed bodies though. Several dead, tall, multi-limbed bodies. The corpses of about a score of the nomadic, insectoid Tri-Kreen. The skilled Liga Bur initially suspects another zombie trap but, after ‘careful’ inspection with a ten foot pole, he’s relieved to find them merely mundanely dead. Probably innocent desert travellers exploiting the free water supply here and killed needlessly and mercilessly by Sir Briefadel, his Mother and the dark horse they rode in on.

Scouting ahead and grateful to find no opposition guarding the inner oasis, Liga Bur cautiously approaches the top of the central stone well. Once there though, the fiery Dijonn on realising what’s happening, suddenly flares wildly atop his torch perch.

“Oh No, Oh No, Oh No! Please Master, don’t put me down the well! Leave me here; I can guard the oasis for you. I can easily survive on just the dead, dried out bushes and trees. I promise I won’t burn the living green stuff!”

Rifkin’s slightly-almond eyes also flair, but far more subtly as he hears Dijonn’s terrified hisses and crackles. Why hadn’t he thought about this before now? There’s no way that the flame-bodied Dijonn could survive for even a second underwater and there’s no way to protect him from it for anything more than a few moments.

Arowe immediately comes to the little elementals defence and Liga Bur has no interest in extinguishing his spluttering servant. The canny Halfling had noticed that Dijonn always shrank to his smallest, unnoticeable flame whenever Ghostly Pardrik was on guard or when the Hag had visited. The fire elemental was definitely hiding something, but what?

Still, whatever that ‘what’ is, it’s no reason to kill him. The rough Halfling had begun to question his own cynicism of late. He hadn’t trusted Fortu, Arowe or Rifkin when he’d first met them on the road to Scar Borough, and now he’d trust them with his life. He had been trusting them to protect him from the protracted attacks from the Hag and they’d not let him down. Considering his past losses, it’s hard to have faith in people but perhaps it’s time to change that mindset. Perhaps he could have faith in something bigger than himself. Something deeper. Perhaps he should choose to believe that Henshaw and Doberman weren’t secretly plotting against him… Barbella would be more of a stretch though.

After making Dijonn swear on his favourite fire gods not to burn down the entire oasis, Liga Bur frees the tiny elemental by gently transferring it from his torch to a dried out bush on the dead outskirts of deader Zephir’s oasis garden.

Immediately growing larger, as he consumes the dry and brittle bush, Dijonn smirks as he wavers the Party goodbye.

“Good luck skin-wearers!.”

Fright for the Knight

 

After Doberman barrels into the surprisingly shocked Sir Briefadel and his voluptuous, dark-eyed mother, battle is joined. The open mouth shaped observation platform is small though; too small to allow easy access and Hetzabah and Sir Briefadel exploit that fact, refusing to get drawn away from the partial safety of the toothy edge, leaving no opportunity for flanking or double-teaming. The Party’s numbers do give them the edge though, enabling Liga Bur and Barbella to race back into the tower and out onto Dulcetta’s outstretched hands. Eventually the evil Mother and Son duo are forced to jump to the relative safety of the darkness below but not before Arowe, Liga Bur and Barbella get their long (and cross) bow shots in to surprisingly good, near fatal effect.

The ‘Night’ Watchmen

The ghost of the young Cottisonian soldier; Pardrik sways easily, as he shimmers in the bright sunlight. His form and features have become clearer somehow, after each completed guard duty. More defined and in focus after each re-emergence, even though his spirit form had been shredded, defeated and dismissed several times by the ethereal but still vicious Hag and her phantom steed. Regardless of that though, he’d always reformed by the next shift. Despite their pitiful existence, ghosts are notoriously hard to actually ‘kill’ again. 

It’s the end of his and Arowe’s seventh eight-hour guard duty, and Pardrik notices that his Elven partner seems finally, to have calmed down. The ghost hovers over the still sleeping Halfling, but thanks to the clever positioning of his bones, he’d been able to move freely around the marquee and act as an early, though imminent, warning system for all his new friends. Now though, a feeling of anxiety runs through him. Like his ghostly form, his mind had become less clouded after each successfully completed shift, and now he wonders if the Halfling; Liga Bur was correct in his assumption about fulfilling his previously failed duty. He was cursed on the orders of Lord Urdurel to exist forever, tortured by the unending sight of the young Lady Lamenta’s dying moments. A testimony to his failure to protect her. 

Now though, after serving those seven nights of duty, that he’d failed to give her, was his curse truly over? The last three days had been spent just quietly standing, as the Hag and her badly injured Nightmare steed hadn’t reappeared.

As if in answer to his silent thoughts, a beam of bluish light, despite the natural brightness around him, somehow seems to illuminate him from above and he feels a pull upward.

“My friend! It appears you were right and, in protecting you, my curse has been lifted. I didn’t dare believe it but, after a century of suffering, I’ve served my penance and can finally return to the afterlife I deserved.”

Liga Bur, who’d suspected as much, quickly summons his teammates to say goodbye to their insubstantial ally. Pardrik takes the opportunity to thank them all in turn but deliberately finishes on Arowe.

“It is you, that I’ve spent the most time with over this last week. The magical hand you possess, your sharp Elven senses and your uncanny trancing ability have made you the ideal partner. While I stood guard on the ethereal plane, you guarded the material one. Now though, from now on, I’m afraid you must guard alone.”

The ghostly soldier instructs Arowe to lay the ornate, magical rapier he’d gotten from Magritte on the warm sand before placing his own immaterial longsword overtop it. The two swords exist in the same space for a moment before the spirit sword fades from existence, leaving only Arowe’s rapier behind. It looks different though in some way. It’s magical glow has turned from an orangey gold to a blueish silver and the blade, despite the warm sand, is unnaturally cool to the touch.

As Arowe turns, he sees that Pardrik too is fading, but rather than a feeling of sadness, now that his anger is no longer magnified by the Oath-bow, he shares the smiling teenager’s joy.

Arowe’s bejewelled +2 Rapier (that he was given by Magritte in exchange for his sinisterly intelligent one) has now been further enhanced by the parting gift of the ghost; Pardrik and now has a +3 bonus on attack and damage as well as having the ‘Ghost touch’ feature! 

Bottle Bottom - Bottle Neck

 

Thankfully, due to the too small access point, the flapping, glass abdomened, mechanical bat/gnat creatures can only get through the overhead hatch one at a time. Despite that though, the small, overcrowded, multi-exited chamber is soon full of the terrifying, needle-nosed, clickity-clackity, blood-siphoning creatures!

Death Wish

Unimpressed by the impotent threats of the ghostly guard/prisoner Pardrik or the pitiful statues of the teenage Lady Lamenta surrounding him, Fortu instead examines the solid cold-iron door and its full sized representation of, who can only be, the wide stanced, hands-on-hips, eye-patch wearing Lord Urdurel.

Labyrinth of Temptation

With his mighty sword illuminated by Rifkin’s spell, the heavily armoured Fortu leads the way through the dark and twisting labyrinth…