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Bastard Son of the great-grandchild of the sister's gibbon's friend of the nephew of the Campaign that Would Not Die, now in 3.75e
Møøse Trained By: Hugh Foster
Møøse Trained By: Hugh Foster
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Bastard Son of the great-grandchild of the sister's gibbon's friend of the nephew of the Campaign that Would Not Die, now in 3.75e Møøse Trained By: Hugh Foster |
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Early the next morning, Calcryx was soaring above the ruins, checking the bugbear camp was unchanged, and soaring down the valley and onwards for an hour to ensure the raiders were not in imminent danger of returning. With that done, the Tanks considered how to assault the camp.
The bugbears had bullied the goblin slaves into building several barricades, which while not encircling their camp, provided respectable cover against oncoming attackers and missile fire. The bugbears were spread along these redoubts, clearly to stiffen goblin resolve. One remained in reserve, with the last of the Devil Birds beside him.
Eventually, they decided to sneak up along the foot of the valley to come in behind the camp. Borax used his Ranger training to apply some camouflage, and Calcryx was detailed to take the sorcerer's earless head out in a big loop and drop it from the 'front' of the defences as a distraction.
This worked splendidly. As the rest worked carefully from the scree to behind the tents, the little dragon dive-bombed in and dropped the head. The bugbear on the central defence was just wondering what the dragonling had dropped when the head of Gwynn the sorcerer struck him neatly between the eyes, smashing his own skull to flinders. As a distraction it was first-rate, and the surprise was complete when the party assaulted the last bird from the back. A longsword, a flaming warhammer and a darting rapier cut chunks out of the infernal monster, producing a deafening squawk of fury. Meepo, possibly thinking ahead, slapped a Magic Missile into the bugbear standing next to the bird. It started to turn, but Ruby slashed her blade across its throat and it went down in a pile of blood and feathers. As Meepo repeated his spell, Calvis slipped past him and slashed his way into the tent to his right. Is he running away? wondered Ruby, but Calvis hadn't abandoned them before.
The combination of the death from the sky and the bird being killed was too much for the goblins, and they broke and fled out across the valley floor in all directions - with the exception of one, who looked as though he was Chief Slave; he hefted his short sword and advanced on the flank of the party. The reserve bugbear and Borax joined battle, the dwarf wielding his flaming warhammer as the remaining bugbears closed in from the abandoned defences. Ruby moved around the dead bird to engage the first one. As she did, Calvis' rapier ripped down the side of the tent he'd disappeared into. Glancing out, he shanked Borax's bugbear from behind, grinned, and disappeared back inside.
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At the rear of the party, Chief Goblin was advancing on Meepo, clearly feeling he was an easy target. Meepo did not like goblins! Sharply making his arcane gestures, he snapped out the words and his Magic Missile blasted straight into the goblin's face - and straight out the back of his head. The goblin dropped twitching, and Meepo spent the next combat round dancing on the spot crowing "Meepo is the greatest sorcerer In. The. World!!"
Another bugbear reached the fight now, and clambered up onto the dead bird to get height on Ruby. As he did so, Borax finished his opponent and clove across to the newly-arrived one, slashing his legs from below. Ruby's opponent was staggering, near death as she carved him up with her sword.
With Borax and Calvis now flanking the bugbears, Ruby executed a neat figure-eight strike and dropped the pair of them. This was too much for one of the last two approaching, and it turned and fled out into the valley as Borax stepped into combat with the other. Ruby in her turn moved to flank it, and Meepo, concentrating again, bounced another Magic Missile into it. Borax gripped his warhammer and, as the flames died, smashed the bugbear to the ground.
Ruby stuck her sword in the ground, shrugged her bow off her shoulder and loaded an arrow. Her first shot only staggered the fleeing warrior, but a couple more brought him down. She looked around for the goblins, intending to finish up the job - and could see none at all. They'd all gone to ground. As the others finished up at the battle site, she stalked the valley, hunting them down one by one. They were truly pathetic, wretched specimens, cowering and begging as the hulking half-hob ruthlessly tracked them down and slaughtered them. Only two, which had squirmed into the ruins somewhere she could not find them, survived.
The bugbear tents proved to be the most basic of camps, personal gear only and a few odd coins. Gwynn the sorcerer's tent had a smaller version of the crypt's summoning circle made of silver wire, which Ruby screwed into a ball and took; the big tent, obviously that of the warlord, was decked out in barbaric splendor and yielded some small valuables that had obviously attracted his attention.
Leaving the camp in flames behind them, they gathered the rescuees and the loot and headed back up the valley, re-acquiring Terence and Brew at the watch-tower. There they rested for the night, providing food and basic medical care for the freed prisoners, who were all apparently from a village called Knowle.
The trip back to Aeglor's Fist was fairly slow, despite Calvis' ministrations to the battered prisoners. Calcryx flew observation, as all were worried about the bugbear raiders returning at the wrong moment, but fortune was with them and they were unmolested.
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No-one was going to miss such a rag-tag band approaching, and Lieutenant Faran met them with an escort as they approached the fort. His first priority was getting the civilians inside and settled, which he organized. As this was happening, it occurred to Borax and Ruby that there were a lot more soldiers around the fortress; the new arrivals appeared cut from rather better cloth than the garrison Faran had to make do with. "Oh, has the wnaker come back then?" asked Borac. Faran glanced around nervously; "The Commander has indeed returned," he stressed, "and please be diplomatic?"
Once the rescuees were safely bestowed he took the party into the castle, organizing food and drink as before. Settling them before the roaring fireplace, he asked them to relate their adventures. This they did, unpacking a dripping and unpleasant bag of ears and beaks at the relevant point. Ruby was particularly eloquent. Grinning, Faran counted out the promised bounty, then added a respectable bonus for the rescue of the prisoners. "I'll send a strong patrol out to sweep up those raiders," he promised. Ruby eyed him for a moment. The birds and their riders had been a tough challenge to herself and Borax; she wondered how ordinary soldiers would manage matched against them. She didn't comment.
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A young squire came in and spoke to Faran, who nodded. "Commander Brasshelm would like to meet you," he said, standing up. Borax and Ruby exchanged glances, and nodded, rising also. The squire led them deeper into the castle, delivering them to a well-appointed room fitted out as a nobleman's study and library.
The baron was seated behind the desk, and rose to offer his hand. Then he looked at Faran, and picked up a large clinking bag. "Here, Daval," he said, "our budget's gone up a bit. See if you can hire some recruits as well as these experts?" He smiled at the Tanks to show this was not a criticism. Faran departed, looking a bit surprised, and Brasshelm poured ale for them and himself. To the rather wary Borax he apologized; "I fear I don't know your language to greet you in," he said. Too right you don't, thought Borax.
"Lady and gentlemen," he said once all were settled, "Thank you once again for your aid to the Order, and the people of the frontier. If you wouldn't mind, please would you recount your endeavours for me?" The request was reasonable and courteous, so Ruby launched into the tale again, aided by occasional additions from Borax and squeaks of "Greatest sorcerer in. the. world!" at the appropriate moment. Calvis said little but his eyes were sharp as he took it all in. Brasshelm listened attentively, asking relevant questions and making shrewd observations as the tale unfolded. "Unusual to find a sorcerer that powerful in a bugbear," he said, "I'm glad he's out of action." At the description of the loot, he commented, "I wonder where they were shipping it out to," when they mentioned it all being neatly bagged up in sacks. As this continued, the Tanks formed an impression of this man that they had not expected; rather than the fool and fop wastrel they had expected, they realized they were dealing with a competent and intelligent leader.
At the end, he sat back.
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"Well," he said, "It's good to meet such capable people. As it happens, I have vacancies on my own next expedition, due to depart for the borderlands in a month or so. I could use your team; would you like to ride with me?" Borax glanced up at him. "Ride?" he said. Brasshelm grinned. "We have ponies and light horses of various sizes; I'm sure we can find something to suit you."
Ruby asked what the mission entailed. Brasshelm admitted that he couldn't tell them everything; his orders prevented it, but the basic remit was to ride the borderlands looking for ancient elf ruins. He explained something only really known to frontiersmen, that the construction of the Stormwall had had unexpected consequences. While the eldritch power the elves had used to regrow the forests of Belamir had been enclosed by the wall, the area outside it had been excluded by the fortification. As a result, the land between the wall and Stryre had regressed somewhat, becoming more barren and dangerous as it relapsed under the residue of Varkar Barduric's Desolation.
 DM Note: There it was in the DMG II; hiring classed characters costs Level Squared in gp per day. Nice and easy. |
Sometimes they'd survey and find nothing, and sometimes they'd find elvish ruins worth exploring. These tended to attract local dangerous creatures as well as the poisons of Desolation, making the excercise "thrilling". He explained that certain items might be present that were the objects of his orders, but that ordinary loot would be split between the company. "I have no need of old elf gold," he said comfortably. Members of his expedition were paid standard mercenary rates.
He made no effort to press them for a decision, saying if they were interested to present themselves in a month. Thanking him for the refreshments, the party headed back out to the courtyard. There, Faran came to see them off. "I expect you're heading back to Utkinton?" he said. "If so, would you go on a bit and check on this Knowle place? I can guess the answer, but if it is still a going concern, we can see about returning these survivors there. One-fifty," he finished, meaning marks. The pair accepted this, and set off for Utkinton.
As night was falling, the party reached Utkinton. It was hard to miss the conclusion that the Guild tiff was getting worse; two burned buildings were noticable as they walked past. Determining not to get involved, they headed over to their usual inn, The Knave's Helm. Dragasol was pleased to see them again, and glad to rent them the same room again. "Thanks for bringing me Neithar," he commented, "that elf is a good attraction. Evenings are busier now and business is good." Ruby muttered to herself; she still viewed the bard's decision to stay behind as a bit ungrateful. Dragasol peered over the bar and down. "Ah, there you are," he commented, and handed down a mug of what Ruby couldn't help noticing was the worst cider in the place. Meepo drank deeply, making little reptillian noises of contentment.
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While Borax settled in for a quiet evening with a couple of ales, Ruby headed off to see how her investment was doing. Rowla's forge was warm, as forges all are, and the young smith was industriously making a hoe. Ruby waited until she'd finished and dropped it into the quenching vat, then accepted Rowla's affectionate hug as graciously as she could. Trade, it seemed, was picking up, and she had several orders for work and more coming in as time went on. "All thanks to you," she said warmly. "Any trouble from the lowlife?" asked Ruby "Lug's been round," said Rowla, "he came to apologize. I gave him a job," she said with slight embarrassment, "delivering things. Most of them get there."
Rowla and Calcryx hit it off for some reason, the normally irascible dragon rather taking to her. He'd been watching her work, and piped up - unusual for him in a town. "Not very efficient dropping the metal in water," he said, "let me try". She heated and shaped a paring knife, and held it up. Calcryx breathed icy air across it, and it cooled instantly, covered in ice which stretched half-way up the tongs. Slowly the ice melted in the overall heat, and Rowla rotated the results, peering at it closely. "There's a ... pattern in the metal," she said softly. "This could be interesting. I'll have a look at it later and see what this has done to it." She actually gave the dragon a hug, which he pretended to dislike, not very successfully.
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Back in the Helm, Borax was very comfortable in his chair as he felt the ale ease the aches out of his muscles. A polite cough, followed by "Well, hello there," announced a visitor and he looked up to see Neithar.
"Good to see you", said the ex-Scorpion Elf bard, "may I join you?" When Borax didn't refuse, he waved across to Dragasol and lifted two fingers. Two ales arrived pronto and Neithar sat down.
He chatted to Borax, and almost against his will the dwarf began to warm to him again. Neithar had grown into his role as tavern entertainer as well as playing gigs elsewhere, and had improved his outfit which was bright and cheerful - except for plain leather boots, marking him neutral in the local kerfuffle. He also had a good servicable sword and a light mail shirt. He told Borax of his two encounters with aggressive cobblers; he'd talked one out of a fight, "I had to kill the other," he added calmly. His anecdotes were amusing and diverting, and Borax noticed his slight odd accent was completely gone; he sounded exactly like a local.
"I don't know if you've got any expeditions planned," he continued, "but if so and you'll take me, I'd like to get out of town until this all blows over. It'd give me a chance to repay my debt to you two - and gather some new songs and stories, of course!"
The next morning, Borax broke it to Ruby that they had a new companion - who felt in their debt. "Yippee." said Ruby flatly, but she reserved judgement on whether he'd be useful or not. They set out for Knowle, only a day's walk, and soon emerged from some trees into sight of distant buildings. None of them had any expertise with farming, so the blown cabbages in the first field interested no-one but Terence the mule; the lack of smoke and the weeds in the barley, however, increased the impression that all was not well.
Sure enough, Knowle was a ruin. Most of the buildings had been burned down, and unburied corpses strewed the whole area. Time and local scavengers had not been kind, and the atmosphere was not pleasant. Calling out seemed futile, but amazingly it brought forth a scrawny, filthy old man, half-starved, who'd been hiding in a cellar for days on end. After some aid from Calvis he was able to name himself - Sabhka. Ruby glanced around. "Let's get these buried," she said quietly. Sabhka stared at her for a moment, then shambled off, coming back with half-a-dozen spades and mattocks. Despite being at the edge of exhaustion, he insisted on digging and carrying, collapsing frequently for a while, then dragging himself up to continue. Finally it was done, and Calvis rummaged in his memory for the funeral service to Lynien. Sadly, he remembered it very poorly, dwelling on "well, that's chance, sometimes it's a bugger" and similar themes.
Returned to the Fist, Sabhka was greeted with tearful disbelief by his neighbors. Fading quietly from this scene, Ruby and Borax collected their payment for checking it out - plus a bonus for a survivor - and hit the road to investigate the other commisssion - Slitheren bandits.
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Session Date: 1st June 2026 |
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