Howling Wilderness Map

Now that the party's adventures in the distant North have come to a fiery conclusion, resulting in their map becoming a gentle rain of ash in a dragon's lair, I thought I post my surviving copy as a reminder of all the fun we had under Hob's Hill.


That sound is my players lighting torches, sharpening pitchforks, and howling for my blood.

Next week: It's new 1st level characters back in Stonehell. The dungeon has some surprises in store for these hungry young adventurers. I can't wait to see what we come up with this time around (other than the octopus that is).

Watchfires & Thrones Session #43

After their brief but ferocious encounter with the giant killer shrews, the party headed south down a newly discovered tunnel. Before long, the fetid smell of mold and large carnivore was detected in the air, under which was the scent of fresh water, and Grumble and Kejair, as the demi-humans of the party were sent ahead to scout. The party had come to believe that water would lead them out of the caves underneath Hob’s Hill and were now dedicated to finding that precious liquid.

Grumble and Kejair progressed a short distance before coming to a cave, one which seemed to have a small grotto located behind it. The smell was thicker here and the duo crossed the cave cautiously towards the smaller opening. Their progress was halted by the snuffling, growling hulk of an owlbear who emerged from the cave and hooted at them menacingly. The two turned and ran; the owlbear dropping to all fours in pursuit. As the dwarf and elf reached the party, the owlbear’s claws tore apart Kejair, splattering the walls of the tunnel with gore.

The owlbear was a tough opponent, but volleys of arrows and the fact that it could not connect with both its claws to rend the party to pieces led to its ultimate defeat. The party returned to its lair and found a small clean pool of water inside, the source of the smell they had detected, but not a way out. Taking a new path, the party found themselves once again near the throne room of King Don III and decided not to deal with his madness again unless absolutely necessary. They returned to the octagonal entry chamber to pursue one of the few remaining paths left open to them.

This tunnel brought them south, past were a side passage branched off from the main path. The party trudged along, intending to continue down the main thoroughfare when a translucent pseudopod emerged to swipe at Baragkus. The blow missed, but a large cubic form followed close behind, threatening to envelop the entire party. Gelatinous cube!

The band turned and fled, but poor Baragkus was overtaken by the cube and devoured. Hoping to retrieve his corpse before it was completely dissolved so as to raise him from the dead, the party turned to battle the beast. Axe blows, arrows, and a finely time flask of oil and thrown torch defeated the beast, allowing the party to recovered the fighting man’s body and collect a score or two of gold coins. Hardly an equal trade.

Now burdened with Baragkus’ body, the party turned down the side tunnel and again detected the smell of water, although this time it bore a slightly sulfurous taint. In a small cave adjacent to the passage the party discovered a mineral laden pool of water, which again provided no egress from the caves. Continuing along, they became excited to see a doorway ahead of them, the first they had encountered outside the eight that stood in the octagonal chamber. After examining the door, the party opened it and almost began to cry.

It was an octagonal chamber.

Luckily, the party noticed that this one lacked the “N” they had inscribed on the northernmost door way in the first octagonal room they had found themselves in. This led them to suspect they had either encountered a second such chamber or that the door had been replaced in their absence. Either was a likely scenario at this point. They sat scrutinizing Mars’ map and concluded that unless there had been grievous errors, they had indeed found a second chamber.

Deciding to finish their explorations before tackling a new batch of doors, the party headed towards the main tunnel, only to hear the heavy sounds of footfalls. They ran into the two ogres they had previously encountered, who expressed their distress of coming to watch over them only to find them gone after their initial encounter. The party explained that they had gotten lost and the ogres offered to lead them back, but the party dismissed the help. The ogres shrugged, filled their waterskins from the sulfurous water of the cave, and departed.

The party took a left at the side tunnel-main tunnel junction and found that the main tunnel terminated in a dead end, exactly as the ogres had told them it would. Some poking around revealed another false wall, one that led back into the grotto that held the slain wizard and the treasure trove. The party decided to rest again in this sanctuary before exploring the doors in the second octagonal room and rested without incident.

Healed and prepared for new challenges, the party ventured back to the octagonal chamber, encountering a quartet of flying piranha birds as they went. After dispatching the avian killers, the party found that the door to the chamber was open, as were three of the doors within. From one came the smell of water and the sound of churning rapids. Could it be?

Yes, it could. The party found themselves on a rocky beach, a roiling subterranean river heading to the east away from the labyrinth of caverns. Knowing the river they had crossed to reach the hill lay in that direction, the party followed a narrow rocky ledge that abutted the water and came across another rocky beach and wide tunnel some 500 feet down the watercourse. They ventured into the tunnel with both caution and exasperation. Would this underground hell never end?

Taking one of the tunnel’s forks by whim, the party headed on an east and southern route that took them to the site of a large rock fall. The tunnel continued on at the top of the rocky incline and the fall appeared to be relatively stable and climbable. Seeing as up was the direction they wished to go, the band elected Gareth to scale the slope first and the dwarf began his ascent.

Halfway up the slope, a giant rattler was disturbed by the climber and struck out at the dwarf. With no weapon at hand and poison fangs in his face, Gareth threw himself back and into the air, tumbling down the slope and damaging himself in the fall. The great snake advanced on the party, slithering down the rocky course, but was slain by arrows and daggers before it got close enough to strike. The snake dead, the party scaled the slope without incident and continued along the tunnel that awaited them at its apex.

As the group followed this new tunnel, exhaustion had taken its toll on their senses and they were surprised by an old and hated foe: the crab spider. Dropping from the ceiling above into their very midst, the arachnid sank its fangs into Grumble, pumping poison into the wrestler’s bloodstream. A blown saving throw later, the dwarf lay dead on the ground and a potion of human control in his gut, the last ditch effort of pouring unidentified potions into a dying party member having failed a second time.

Now down another fighter (and burdened by his corpse as well as Baragkus’), the party continued down the passage, praying for the sight of daylight. They instead found a large cavern occupied by the motionless forms of two large iguana-like lizards. The reptiles lay stretched out; their eye shut tight, and taking no notice of the party. So the adventures naturally decided to kill them.

To do so, Korlack drank a potion of invisibility and his elven cloak was given to Cullen. The plan was to sneak up to the lizards and stab them in their sleep. The two crept forward (assumingly) and Korlack plunged his dagger into the slumbering lizard, which immediately awoke and was peppered by arrows. As each struck, the beast’s back grew redder and redder and waves of heat flowed off the animal. One last arrow struck home and the lizard died, expelling a blast of fiery breath into the air as it collapsed onto the ground.

That’s when the party noticed that the second lizard remained unmoving. “Cullen,” they called out, but not reply came. That sonofabitch! He had taken the cloak and snuck off, obviously thinking that he had a better chance of getting out of this place alone with a magical cloak than with these trouble magnets. Oh, the party was pissed.

At the far end of the lizard cave stood a stone, slab-like door, which the party pried open despite its great weight. In the small cave beyond it lay a decrepit living quarters. A skeleton dressed in plate armor lay slumped on a creaking chair, a longsword near it bony hand. A quiver of five arrows hung on its back and a broken longbow lay under an ancient table. The party helped themselves to armor, arrows, and sword and continued to search the room, finding a secret door in one wall. This led to a narrow, slightly upward heading passage that ended in a blank wall. Further searching found the secret door at this dead end, and the concealed portal was opened to reveal an awesome sight beyond it.

A great cavern stretched out before the party. At the far end was a wide tunnel from which the dim light of the surface world shone. At long last the exit had been found! One problem: Between them and the exit lay the great form of a red dragon!!!

The party returned to the skeleton’s room and planned their egress as best as they could. It was decided that Mars Markus would cloak them all in a silence spell to cover their crossing. Marlowe would bear the magical arms they had found and equip himself with one of the rings of fire resistance. If all turned bad, Marlowe would try and fight the beast while the others ran with their slain comrades, hopefully buying them time to escape. The party rested fitfully and then prepared. Slinking back up the tunnel, they entered the cavern.

The party followed the southern wall, slipping past the dragon’s body until they reached the midway point of the cavern. That’s when the dragon’s head rose, its neck pivoting to place the party directly in the wyrm’s line of sight…and more importantly, breath.

The dragon inquired as to whom was sneaking into his home and the party was forced to try and talk their way out of their dire predicament. Shedding the silence spell since it no longer did them any good, the band began to tell the dragon their story—their arrival in this world, their exploits in Stonehell, their involvement in the Hobgoblin War—anything to keep the beast’s attention and win mercy from it.

As Mars recounted their tale, the dragon listened with interest at first, but as the story dragged on, it became less entertained and began to drum its talons impatiently. The party pressed on, hoping for a streak of luck that would save them. The dragon, eventually deciding that these interlopers needed a reminder of the prowess of its kind, shifted its great bulk, inhaled, and incinerated the party.

Watchfires & Thrones Session #42

Baragkus, Grumble, Marlowe, Lyrax, and Kejair tumbled down a long, twisting slope, their bodies battered by the stone walls and floor of the slide. Their descent ended abruptly when they fell through a hinged door to land on the floor of an octagonal room shrouded in darkness. As they collected themselves and nursed their new bruises, Grumble and Kejair were able to determine that the chamber they now resided in contained a series of eight identical doors, one set in each wall. The party began to kindle a light so that its human contingent could see as well.

Meanwhile, back above, Mars, Korlack, and the rest began to plan how to extradite their compatriots from the shaft. From the faintness of their voices, it seemed as if the unlucky adventurers had tumbled hundreds of feet and the boys upstairs had a mere 50’ or so of cord amongst them. They decided that they needed to cross the 20’ wide chute mouth and reach the hobgoblin storeroom they had discovered earlier. At least 700’ of stout hemp rope awaited them there.

The upstairs group managed to string a line across the open chute mouth and started crossing over. Mars, Fisk, Cleopos, and Cullen had reached the far side when a trio of bugbears appeared from out of the gloom and charged down the corridor. Fisk and Mars did their best to defeat the hulky brutes, but Mars was knocked to the ground and wounds began to accumulate. Rather than perish, Mars dove into the chute, followed swiftly by the other three, leaving just Korlack and Gareth in the hallway—but on the far side of the cute from the bugbear menaces.

While this pitched combat was taking place, the boys down below had managed to get a torch going and started to examine the chamber in more detail. Their search was interrupted by two pale, wild-eyed madmen who charged into the room from one of its many doors and attacked the newcomers, jabbering gibberish and frothing spittle. The fight was brief, but painful for the party who found themselves nursing new wounds on top of their recent bruises.

The downstairs group proceeded to examine all the doors, opening each in turn to see what lay beyond them. Each stretched off into darkness: long twisting tunnels that vanished into the gloom without a clue of where they may lead. Grumble and Kejair took the chance at venturing down one to scout ahead and discovered it eventually lead to a large cave; one that their infravision determined was occupied by at least three dog-sized heat sources. They retreated back to the octagonal chamber just in time to witness Mars Markus, Fisk, Cleopos, and Cullen come crashing down the chute to join them.

Upstairs, Korlack and Gareth watched as the bugbears slinked away into the gloom and were forced to decide whether to join their companions or continue with the rescue effort. This debate was interrupted by the sound of large, running feet that herald the charge of the largest of the bugbears attempting the leap the chute and slay the two remaining interlopers. The hulking beast launched itself into the air, broadsword held high to chop down its first victim—only to miss the far end of the chute’s open mouth by three feet. Tumbling, ass over teakettle, the bugbear disappeared out of sight down the slide. Fearing this to be the first of such assaults, Korlack and Gareth sighed, pulled out the mage’s bedroll and proceeded to use it as a sled as they too entered the chute to rejoin their companions.

The party below was busy watching the doors for danger when one dropped right into their midst. The bugbear surprised all of them, but was too stunned to take advantage of his literal drop on them. Getting to its feet, it was quickly engaged by the rest of the band, dying under their blows as Korlack and Gareth came sliding into the room to reunite the party once again.

Battered, lost, and uncertain of their next step, the party chose to drink wine and bind their wounds as they planned. This rest was unfortunately interrupted by two more subterranean madmen charging into the room via the door closest to Fisk, making the much wounded hired sword their first target. Their hacking attacks were more than enough to slay the injured fighter and the party suffered their first death beneath Hob’s Hill. It would not be their last.

The party was able to defeat the two madmen in the moments afterward, but they had lost a valuable ally and were still horribly injured, tired, and desperate so they again chose to take time to bind their wounds and recoup. THIS rest was interrupted by the tramp of heavy boot steps and yet another door opened to reveal TWO ogres!

Marlowe stepped to forefront and engaged the ogres in conversation using their own tongue, an effort the giants appreciated. They revealed that they had fallen down the very same chute some time ago and were currently working for King Don III, the lord of the Underworld. They were in fact on their way to report to him right then and the party could follow them if they wished. Suspicious, but with no better options, the party joined the ogres.

Through another door and down a new tunnel, the party was brought into the audience chamber of King Don III, a pale and obviously insane potentate who sat upon a stone chair and wrapped himself in an unraveling purple rug. The party tried to gain assistance from the so-called king, but they were unable to decipher his twisted thought process and treaded very close to outright treason to the king’s thinking. He offered to allow them to rest in the octagonal chamber with the ogres as watchmen and told the party to go back to that place and await the return of the two hulking brutes. King Don III had to speak with the ogres first…

Suspecting their doom was being plotted, the party returned to the octagonal room and departed immediately after leaving Fisk’s body in the center of the room and an “N” inscribed on the northernmost door. In the hours ahead, the party would wind their way through several corridors, finding nothing but empty caves, bugbears who were willing to fight them to the death over the ownership of their pants, and a dead-end cave where ghouls were dining on the (later revealed) corpse of Fisk. All these passages eventually lead back to the octagonal room!

A side note: Jack, the player who runs Mars Markus and Anwar, loves to map out any and every subterranean space the party explores, sometime to the point of distraction. One of the reasons I decided to run Horror on the Hill (which is the basis of this part of the campaign) was because this part of it is a twisting labyrinth designed to make mappers crazy. All my directions and descriptions were vague and rapid-fire, leaving poor Jack to try and keep up with my narration of the labyrinth. At one point the rest of the group was in hysterics at Jack’s frantic effort to draw my verbal account of the dungeon. Some swear steam was actually seen rising from his ears.

The party’s exploratory efforts were finally rewarded when they discovered a dead-end tunnel, one that appeared a little too dead-end if you catch my drift. Sure enough, Grumble’s inspection of the stone revealed a false wall and the almost empty cave beyond it. In this obviously undisturbed grotto lay a long-dead wizard clutching a spellbook and bag. A page of the spellbook contained his last message to the world:

6th Day of The Blaze, 1098 GCR

To think that it ends this way: Prydaree Kuhlth, Master of Wands and Agent of the Cerulean Flame, perishes in a gods’ forsaken cave beneath the site of his greatest victory. Should anyone find my missive, please let it be known that I was successful in my task and bury me where I shall not be found and my grave remain unriled.

Four days ago, I was summoned into the presence of His Exalted Supremacy,Draz Stephan Hastane and tasked with a great service to the empire: the recovery of the Hypnopsychomachina. This device, a creation of His Supremacy’s debased but genius sister, Isodore, had fallen into the possession of the Whelps of Tsathoggua and was spirited away to their noxious fane in the hinterlands of the Empire. With the Retreat to occur in less than three faces, it was imperative that the device be recovered before the Hastane dynastic line vacated this mortal realm for good. As the most trusted agent of the Imperial Secret Watch, it fell to me to recover it.

The journey northeast into the Howling Wilderness took but hours with the Modi Goats and I located the profane temple in short order. With no time or desire for subtlety, lightning was my harbinger and the lower initiates of the Great Sloth-Bat fell twitching before my assault. Their faith was no match for my spells and I hewed them down like wheat before the whirlwind.

Locating the High Foulness’ inner sanctum was no more difficult, but I nearly underestimated my opponent. Our battle—my spells against his prayers—was fierce and I nearly perished in the combat. Nevertheless, I prevailed, albeit injured, and took possession of the Hypnopsychomachina. I prepared to return back to His Supremacy in triumph.

In my hubris, I failed to detect a simple trap that sent me tumbling in this subterranean hell. My abrupt descent was arrested by a collision with the rocky floor that shattered my left arm and right leg. Drained of spells and lacking healing draughts, I crawled about in the darkness for a seeming eternity before finding this small refuge. There are other things down here with me and it is only a matter of time before I’m found or I die from my wounds. Even if I could rest and replenish my spells, my injuries make it impossible for me to make the intricate gestures needed to perform all by the slightest of magics.

I’ve produced one final spell, a simple illumination cantrip by which I might pen this final message on a blank page within my traveling spellbook. I hope the light lasts long enough for me to finish my work.

If another practitioner of the Ineffable Path finds this, my work is given unto you free of geas or curse. Use what you may with my blessings and I regret I leave but a minor tome to you rather than my master workbook of spells. Oh what mysteries I have in those pages!

It is likely that the Retreat will have passed before this is found. If such be the case, I also entrust the Hypnopsychomachina to whomever finds my remains. Its power is ingenious if subtle. When used correctly, the device

It appeared that poor Prydaree’s light spell did indeed expire before he could complete his missive.

While this was being deciphered, Marlowe opened the bag to find an iron skull, one the size of a nine year-old child’s. Ten indentations where arranged around the skull, five to a side, and the object has black glass-like lenses for eye. Placing his fingers in the indentations and staring into the eyes, the world fell away from Marlowe…

The next thing he knew, he was standing along a roadside with various other highway men, awaiting a fat priest and his load of church gold. Robbing the cleric, the freebooter’s vision shifted to a dingy bar tavern where a fight erupted over a stolen pouch. Next he experienced a knife in that back at the hands of an “ally” and died in a pool of blood, only to find himself again plundering a chest from aboard a burning merchant ship. These visions were indistinguishable from reality and the freebooter seemed to pass several days of his life engaged in his chosen career. Then, without warning, Marlowe found himself back in the cave with the skull in hand. Less than a second had passed, but Marlowe was now a more experienced freebooter, having been trained to second level. From the skull came an indistinct voice that said “fourteen.”

The rest of the party was suspicious about Marlowe following this, but didn’t press the issue and the freebooter took full possession of the skull. The party rested, confident (and correct) that they’d be undisturbed in the cave, allowing them to heal and regain spells for the first time in seemingly forever. The next morning, Grumble discovered another false wall in the cave that led to a hidden treasure trove of coins, jewels, objects d’art, magical plate mail, sword, a ring of fire resistance, and potions of healing.

Rest, armed, and feeling confident, the party left the cave and returned to the octagonal room. They were running out of doors and tunnels and so decided to proceed down the path that Grumble and Kejair had explored much earlier. This led to back to the cave and they learned that the heat-producing forms were in truth giant killer shrews that proved to be more dangerous than they initially seemed. Baragkus took several mean wounds in the fight, but the three vicious beasts were overcome…which unfortunately meant the party had orphaned the naked, pink offspring they discovered immediately afterwards in the shrews’ nest. Despite an attempt on Mars’ part to adopt and raise the newborns, some poison was dispensed and a quiet murder in the dark settled the issue in time for the session to come to a close.

Watchfires & Thrones Session #41

The band made it back the evil priest’s hidden quarters without encountering any opposition. The Citadel seemed quiet—perhaps too much so. Once they closed the secret door behind them, the party collapsed to the floor, exhausted. It had been a long and draining day. Mars and Korlack tucked themselves in for a long sleep so they could recover their spells while the rest of the band divided up a watch schedule.

Grumble was on alert first and towards the end of his vigil he heard the sounds of hobgoblin voices from seemingly on the other side of the priest’s western wall. For a brief moment, he heard what sounded like a voice speaking Common, but it was abruptly cut off. The voices faded as quickly as they had appeared, and the dwarven wrestler woke Lyrax to take his shift.

The human archer sat quietly in the dim room, his eyes and ears sharp to catch the sound of any approaching danger. His watchfulness was rewarded at the middle of his shift when he heard a “click” come from the western wall of the room. A section of wall swung open on concealed hinges to reveal a pair of very surprised hobgoblins coming to fetch their priest. A party of hardened adventurers was not what they expected!

Before they could raise a hue and cry, Lyrax nocked an arrow and fired. His first shot rammed its way through the lead hobgoblin’s right eye, slaying it on the spot. The fighting man immediately nocked a second missile and sent it into the remaining hobgoblin’s heart, dropping him to the ground with the clatter of splint mail. His actions failed to awaken his exhausted companions. Dragging the two dead hobgoblins into the room, he shut the secret door and barricaded it with their corpses.

An hour later, Baragkus awoke to take his shift and was surprised to find the room a bit more crowded than it was when he went to sleep. Lyrax filled him in on the events that took place during his watch and then settled down to catch some rest in the corner by the room’s only visible door.

Baragkus leaned against his great sword and proceeded to count the minutes until it was time to wake the rest of the band and get back to slaying hobgoblins. The gods, perhaps sensing his impatience, were kind enough to send another band of hobgoblins, this time accompanied by a pair of goblins, to the priest’s quarters. The previous duo had been dispatched to fetch the evil cleric and someone was beginning to wonder what happened to them.

The door to the room swung open and Baragkus charged towards the opening portal, catching the two hobgoblins off guard. The opening door thumped into Lyrax, jostling him awake and he looked up to see Baragkus swinging a sword right above him. Wiping the sleep from his eyes, he too caught sight of the hobgoblins and shoved the door fiercely back at the orange-skinned intruders.

Baragkus wounded his first foe and Lyrax’s shove sent the second off balance. From behind the hobgoblins, one of their goblin lackeys hurled a knife into the fray, but missed. It clattered to the floor, awakening Cullen, who sprang to his feet and readied his short bow.

The melee in the doorway continued, but the noise was insufficient to wake most of the party. Mars looked up for a moment before turning over and drawing his blanket over his head. Korlack snored away. Grumble nuzzled closer to Cleopos, dreaming of hairy, short women. Cullen and the goblin continued to exchange missiles and the thief finally dropped his target.

At this time, Baragkus slew his own foe and Lyrax climbed to his feet and drew his sword, backing up the burly warrior. The remaining goblin stepped up to close the gap and was swiftly dispatched, leaving only the second hobgoblin. That poor soul barely had time to consider retreat before it too collapsed in its death throes in a pool of blood. Baragkus and Lyrax dragged the corpses into the increasingly crowded room, mopped up the blood in the hall as best they could, and waited out the last remaining hour of the “night’s” watch.

The rest of the band woke up shortly thereafter and wine was drunk, spells prepared, prayers said, and weapons readied. Once set, the band departed the room through the newly revealed secret door and found themselves in the temple they had recently stumbled upon. Their map indicated that unopened door stood waiting in the hall outside and the party vacated the fane to continue their search for the hobgoblin command.

Out in the hall they found the first door locked, but Cullen was able to pick the simple security measure. Behind the door lay a dining hall, gloomy and empty. Half the party had ventured into it when the sound of a door opening at the room’s dark southern end was heard. This was immediately followed by a yelp of surprise, the dropping of crockery, and the sound of the door slamming shut. Goblin servants, the party surmised.

A moment later, Gareth shouted, “Dere makin’ a ruun for it!” and pointed down the hallway. A second door had opened south of the party’s position and a quartet of goblin servants were running down the corridor. Gareth, torch in hand and murder in his eyes, took off after them and the rest of the party swiftly followed.

The four goblins reached a third door and began shouting for aid. The door swung open and they vanished inside with the party hot on their heels. Mars and Gareth reached the door first and saw that the chamber beyond held four hobgoblin guards in addition to the goblin servants. The two clashed in the doorway with the first pair of hobgoblin guards while the rest of the group fell into position behind the cleric and dwarf, readying missile weapons or moving to strike around the two combatants.

The party’s missiles quickly dropped the goblins, but the two remaining hobgoblins flipped a pair of tables over and took cover behind their thick oaken tops. Gareth took a near fatal blow and was forced to retreat, allowing Grumble to move forward and press his own attack. Moments later, Mars and Grumble had cleared the doorway and the party slowly edged into the room, eyes peeled and weapons ready.

Fisk and Baragkus were the first to catch sight of the two remaining hobgoblins crawling across the floor behind their impromptu barricades, making their way towards a door on the opposite end of the room. They fired and killed one of the slinking guards, but the second reached the door and rushed through it with the party close behind. The door opened into another north-south corridor and their quarry turned south, reaching another closed door just a short distance from the guard room. As the hobgoblin threw open the door and tried to escape, he was cut down and the party stood triumphant yet again. Plus, they now suspected that their ultimate goal, the hobgoblin warlord and his inner circle, lay to the south in the direction of the guard’s flight.

The party collected themselves and continued along to the south. The corridor split and they took the southern fork before finding themselves in a long east-west corridor. Two side passages split off from the main corridor. The northern one ended in a single door, one held shut by a wooden wedge kicked under the portal, and the southern one terminated in two doors on either side of the hall. The wedged door seemed the more interesting and, after making sure it was quiet beyond and untrapped, the party burst into the room ready for anything.

Anything except of a pair of gagged prisoners tied to two chairs, that is.

The party freed the duo, a human freebooter named Marlowe Freemann and an elf named Kejair. The two had been hired by one of the local homesteads to determine where the spate of current attacks against the frontier forts had come from. The two arrived on Hob’s Hill to find that the knoll was alive with hobgoblin patrols. Someone had stirred up the hornets’ nest and they were themselves captured by one of the search parties. They were dragged back to the Citadel and question by the hobgoblin warlord before being stowed away in this room while the hobgoblins awaited the Citadel’s evil priest to come and assist their questioning. But, for some reason, the sinister minister never showed up…

Passing out weapons to the armored but unarmed adventurers, the party learned that the warlord’s throne room lay just down the hall and that he was there holding court with a half-dozen or so other hobgoblins. A rough sketch was made and the party, now two members stronger, left the room and headed back to the main corridor.

Fearing a rush of reinforcements at their back during their assault, the party turned down the southern passage to see what lay in those rooms. Both turned out to be barracks, but only one was currently occupied. A six-count of sleeping hobgoblins lay in the bunks of the manned quarters and they were quietly dispatched with knives across their throats. With that bloody work finished, the party headed to the hobgoblin court and, plan prepared, threw open the room’s massive double doors to rain holy hell down on the unsuspecting occupants within.

The party rushed in to confront a quartet of hobgoblins who stood around a fire pit in the center of the cross-shaped room. At the opposite end, atop a great stone and wood throne, sat a hulking, scarred specimen of hobgoblinkind that could only be Warlord Zoka; a pair of brawny bodyguards flanked his throne, spears clenched in calluses hands.

Baragkus, Grumble, and Kejair charged up to face the quartet of hobgoblins while Korlack and Mars intoned magic words to drop incapacitating enchantments upon the hobgoblins. Mars successfully held Warlord Zoka as he sprung to his feet and pointed at the intruders; Korlack’s sleep spell put three of the hobgoblins—and the elf, Kejair—into supernatural slumber.

One of the Warlord’s bodyguards raced into the fray and another pair of hobgoblins appeared from the southern wing of the room where they had been drinking draughts of fearsomely bad rot gut from a large keg. The other bodyguard stood his ground to defend his motionless commander.

Lyrax and Fisk began sending flight after flight of arrows towards the Warlord, many of which struck home with bloody thuds. Gareth, nearly incapacitated from his wounds, and Korlack, now spell-less, waited in the hall outside, shouting encouragement to their companions. Marlowe and Cullen slinked into the room, looking to position themselves for the best sneak attack.

The bodyguard kicked one of the sleeping hobgoblins awake as he reached the battle and the other two charged in to clash with the two fighting men and the spider priest. Blows were exchanged with ferocity and accuracy, and the floor was soon awash with blood hobgoblin, dwarf, and human. Marlowe approached the inert commander and was blocked by the second bodyguard—and he soon found himself in trouble! The bodyguard was more than a match for the highwayman, and only by sacrificing his shield did he survive a blow that would have surely slain him. Baragkus and Grumble both downed their foes and rushed to their new comrade’s assistance. Mars held his ground, keeping the remaining hobgoblin from slaying the sleeping Kejair, while Cullen, off in one corner, began lobbing shafts at the hobgoblin commander as well. Soon, Warlord Zoka looked like a porcupine, but still refused to fall (I wonder why?)

The combined forces of Baragkus and Grumble were enough to drop the second bodyguard, saving Marlowe, and Mars downed his own foe immediately thereafter. When the last of the remaining hobgoblins fell, the party approached Zoka with the intent to dispatch or capture him. They then learned that he was very dead, having been slain by an arrow sometime ago, but unable to collapse due to Mars’ magical hold. Victory! The Hobgoblin Menace was no more!

The party searched the room, finding both the Warlord’s and the bodyguards’ chambers attached to the throne room. Coin was located, a necklace looted, and a curious crimson ring adorned the Warlord’s finger. Yet, something was missing.

A renewed and more intensive search finally uncovered a secret treasure vault containing two very trapped chests. The Warlord’s key easily bypassed their protections, however, and a bevy of coins and several muddy brown and gray potion bottles were found within them. The party encumbered themselves with this loot and started back towards the surface, looking forward to the trip back to Blackpool with word of their victory.

It was about that time when the floor opened up underneath Baragkus, Grumble, Marlowe, and Lyrax, sending them tumbling down a concealed chute in the corridor outside the throne room. Mars and Kejair teetered on the edge of the precipice before them for a moment before the elf went tumbling after the foursome. Mars, his own plunge arrested by Korlack, looked first at the mage, Cullen, Gareth, Fisk, and Cleopos, and then down at the long, dark, sloping chute in front of them…

Watchfires & Thrones Session #40

The party freed the captive dwarf from his ball and chain restraints as he introduced himself: Gareth Ironhead, slave to the hobgoblins’ forges for almost a year. He was very excited and grateful to be released and readily agreed to accompany the party on their assault against the hobgoblin high command. Gareth was able to provide some intelligence regarding the dungeon around them. He had heard that the hobgoblins had captured a new prisoner and were holding him somewhere to the north. Gareth also knew that an evil human priest also dwelt amongst the hobgoblins and that fellow had quarters to the east. The hobgoblins themselves lived in the passages to the south.

The party, looking to gather more allies, left the smithy and backtracked north. One unexplored passage led to a filthy but unoccupied lounge. Past it, they discovered what appeared to be a prison wing. One door led to an empty cell, while another stout portal was found to be locked. Grumble, perhaps enraged by the indignities inflicted on his fellow dwarf, proceeded to try and bash the door in with his steel-toed wrestling boot—only to have his blow rebound ineffectively.

From beyond the door, the sound of snorting and grumbling was detected. A voice, speaking in a gruff, unknown tongue shouted something out. Baragkus’ magic helm deciphered the phrase to be, “Idiot! Use yer key!” The party banged on the door in response and the grumbling continued, getting louder as the speaker approached the door. “What? ‘Cho loose it agan?” came another inquiry as the door swung open.

The surprised bugbear opening the door was greeted with an axe to the chest and a sword through the gut. Another of his kind, obviously just awakened and rising from bed, rushed for his battle axe but was cut down as he lifted it above his head. In moments, the party had overcome the prison’s guards. In a locked chest, the party found a suit of leather armor, some weapons, and an obvious set of thieves’ tools. Undersized for bugbears, these must belong to another denizen of the prison wing and the band moved along down the hall in search of that person.

A third door was encountered just as they heard the sound of the lounge door behind them swinging open. They spun about to see a quartet of silhouettes emerging from the dimly lit room beyond. Hobgoblins! As the two forces rushed one another, a hail of arrows brought down three of the orange-skinned bastards before the party’s fighting men clashed with the sole survivor. With two-to-one odds, the hobgoblin found a quick if not painless death.

The party opened the door they had been interrupted at to find a morose-looking human male imprisoned within. He too was relieved to see human and demihumans faces and introduced himself as Cullen, a “freelance procurer” who had run across a hobgoblin patrol on his way to Fort Wolf’s Head. Cullen was agreeable to help out the party in return for a cut of any loot found and the party returned to him his equipment, arms, and tools of the trade.

With now two more members and only a seemingly empty cave where water was collected remaining in the north wing, the party headed back the way they came and decided to see if they could find the evil priest’s quarters. Many of their number were still injured and the prospect of liberating some healing potions or curative scrolls was an alluring one. In fact, wounds had gotten so bad that Mars Markus graciously offered his sole remaining potion of healing to Grumble provided he replace it once they returned to civilization (hee hee).

The party headed east and found a long corridor that eventually turned south and passed several doors. The first portal, located down a short side passage was bypassed, but the next two were cautiously examined. Both were locked and beyond the ability of Cullen to pick, so Baragkus and Grumble went to work with their crowbars.

As the party worked to pry one door open, they suddenly found themselves under fire. A patrol of goblins had been shadowing them and took the opportunity to rain arrows down on Korlack and Mars, the party’s lantern-bearers. Korlack took a grim wound, but the missiles bounced off Mars’ seemingly impenetrable plate mail. Baragkus and Gareth charged into battle, sending the goblins scurrying and dying. As they chased their quarry around a corner, they encountered more of the green-skinned guards and the battle continued in a surprisingly simultaneously manner (The party and I tied initiative rolls consecutively for three or four rounds. No lie.). Ultimately, the goblins were slain and the door was pried open.

The room beyond contained an office. Comfortable benches lined the walls and a large desk stood in one corner. A small pumice statue depicting the sloth-bat thing the party had encountered in various places around Hob’s Hill sat atop the desk. Korlack swiftly collected this ornament as Grumble opened the first of the desk’s two drawers. After being reminded of traps, Grumble looked down to find only a sheaf of plain parchment, quills, and stoppered ink. Now, more cautiously, he called Cullen over and had the “guy who knows a guy” inspect the second drawer. No trap was found, but it was locked—a lock which Cullen quickly dismantled…triggering the poison needle trap in the process. Luckily, Cullen made his saving throw and the party was able to collect a pouch full of small, badly cut pieces of amber and a scroll of cure light wounds.

Feeling emboldened by this discovery, the party attacked the second door in the hallway and again demonstrated that brute force and a crowbar beat any thief in the business. Behind the portal lay a cozy salon. Niches holding beeswax candles lined the walls and a low table stood in the corner flanked by four chairs. A shelf hung on one wall and held four fine crystal goblets and two cut glass decanters of purple-black wine. Baragkus and Korlack availed themselves to the vino while Grumble, his suspicions raised by the party’s mapping efforts, began to inspect the walls. A secret portal was found in the west wall.

The party ventured down the occulted corridor and found the secret chambers of the evil priest. Interrupting him as he wrote his homily of evil for his next service, the evil priest didn’t have time to complete his invocation of “Tsathoggua, aid me!” before he took an arrow in the face. Moving into melee distance, Baragkus cut him down while Grumble rolled around on the floor…or at least that’s what it looked like. The dwarf’s attempt to slide under the priest’s worktable and attack were less than effective.

With the priest dead, the party rifled the room. Korlack collected the priest’s papers, which appeared to be written in the Black Speech, the tongue of Chaos. Under the bed, a long, narrow chest was discovered and it contained coins, a vial of clear liquid, and a grey-green cloak. Risking the wrath of whatever evil god the dead priest paid homage to, Korlack took the initiative to don the garment...and become dim. It must be a legendary elvish cloak! Baragkus, his magical helm perched atop his head, discovered that priest’s mace bore runes that could be read as “Tergel” when glimpsed with the helm and collected the weapon as his own.

Finding no other means of egress, the party returned to the secret passage and found another concealed portal that led the back to the main corridor. They paused to investigate the door they had passed, but it led to an empty albeit well-used torture chamber.

Heading into now unexplored territory, the party took a southbound corridor at their first intersection and came across an array of doors. The first, again pried open with much grunting and swearing, revealed a sizeable cache of supplies. There were enough torches, cloaks, rations, and other supplies to meet the needs of two hundred hobgoblin warriors.

The next door was locked, but a pair of sizeable double doors across the hall from them proved unlocked and the party ventured inside. Several of the adventurers felt an unnerving chill crawl down their spine as the passed over the threshold. In the dim light of their torches, the party saw a row of rough-hewn wooden benches marching towards a towing statue of pumice. The carving again depicted the bat-sloth deity, and the glint of gems was detected in the effigy’s eye sockets. However, the statue’s prodigious pot belly would make scaling the sculpture difficult, so Grumble and Baragkus headed back to the storeroom to loot some useful deity-climbing tools.

Outside in the hallway, the two fighters walked right into a trio of skulking bugbears and battle commenced.

Unfortunately, unlike the first duel with the bugbears, these three proved to be formidable opponents. As the two fighting men stood their ground, each suffered horrible wounds and their cries for aid roused the rest of the party to come charging to their assistance. As Baragkus tried to disengage from combat, Gareth rushed to his side. He traded blows once before he found himself facing two of the beasts and was swiftly dropped into unconsciousness by their attacks. Meanwhile, Grumble also found himself in dire circumstances and tried to move into a position where others could aid him. This left Cullen exposed to the brawny goblinoids blows and the thief, demonstrating the battle sense of his chosen profession, said “Skut this!” and scampered away in retreat.

Korlack, ignored by the bugbears thanks to his newly acquired magical cloak, was able to move into position and dropped two of the creatures into magical slumber. The last bugbear, enraged, charged into the midst of the party and began to assail Mars Markus with his broadsword. The Spider God, perhaps taking pity on the fact that Mars’ player was absent from the session, intervened and allowed the cleric’s proxy dice-roller to generate a natural 20, slaying the bugbear before he could breach the priest’s armor.

Although no lives were lost, the party was badly beaten and without spells. A suggestion was made to secure themselves in the chamber with the statue, reinforcing the doors with the benches. However, an alternate suggestion was fielded: Return to the priest’s secret chamber and take refuge there. This was decided to be the wiser course of action and the Society of Planewalkers slinked back down to the hidden quarters and prepared to get some rest…

We’re off again this coming weekend. Recaps will return after April 3rd.

Watchfires & Thrones Session #38

The Society approached the vine-covered and crumbling masonry walls that protruded from the forest greenery like the bones of an old corpse. Beyond the largest space in the barrier they could see a vast overgrown courtyard, its former well-manicured grounds now being recovered by the forest. Their eyes detected a steaming crevasse amongst the undergrowth, a crack in the earth that emitted wisps of steam and humid air. Beyond it stood weatherworn pairs of pillars leading to block-like building. A large decorative pool lay to their right, its waters thick with green algae and disturbed by the motions of fish or other wildlife. A low bunkhouse of stone stood beside the waters, showing no sign of recent use or occupancy. To their left, a wild, overgrown garden lay. Thickets of trees, bushes, and vines turned the area into a tangle of leaves and brush. Facing the former garden was a large stone structure, obviously a temple or abbey. A well-used trail bearing the marks of hobnailed boots led from the break in the wall directly to that foreboding building.

Deducing that the temple-like structure housed the hobgoblin command, the party wasted no time in further explorations and headed directly towards the building. Baragkus and Grumble took the lead, traveling slightly ahead of the rest of the party in hopes that Baragkus’ crude disguise might allow them to pass by any unseen sentries without being challenged. As the duo approached the massive stone doors that provided entrance to the temple, a rustle in the overgrown garden caught Grumble’s ear. Emerging from the hive of vines were three goblins, spears in hand and arms cocked back to throw!

Grumble shouted an alarm and charged the trio, spears already in the air as he ran. Two struck home, glancing off both he and Baragkus’ mail with little injury. Grumble fell upon the goblins, his axe whistling in the air as he battered against their crude armor. Baragkus and the rest of the party, now recovered from the shock of the sudden attack, rushed forward to assist.

As they closed the distance, their eyes caught sight of another six goblins exiting the network of paths that wound through the overgrown garden. The two groups of three also bore spears and swords and wasted no time in lobbing their missiles at the band. Kaldar and Lyrax began returning fire with their bows as Mars, Korlack, and Fisk charged in to aid Grumble and Baragkus.

The two groups met with a clash of steel and it was obvious that most of the goblins were outclassed from the first. One was rendered unconscious by the flat of Grumble’s axe and the others were quickly vanquished. A particularly large specimen of the goblin race, armed with a shield in addition to his blade, stood the longest against the party, even avoiding a blow that Grumble was convinced should have struck home. His resistance was finally overcome by Baragkus’ attack from behind, which caused the goblin brute to collapse into unconsciousness.

The party dragged their two captive up against the temple’s wall, positioning themselves in a corner they hoped was unobserved. After tying them up, Grumble shook them awake and began to interrogate them in his overzealous command of Gobbledy. It took a moment for the goblin leader to decipher the dwarf’s, um, “unique” command of the goblinoid language, but once accomplished he proved to be more than willing to answer all the party’s questions with the provision that he and his brother-in-law be let go and be allowed to leave, never to return.

The goblin confirmed that the hobgoblins did live inside the big temple, dwelling beneath the structure in the dungeon below. As he and the rest of the garden goblins were not allowed entrance into the building, he couldn’t provide a detailed layout, but assured them that the party’s quarry was indeed inside. He also revealed that a party of humans, four in robes and two in armor, had arrived the day before yesterday, entering the temple but not seen leaving. The party thanked him and, true to their word, allowed the duo to leave unharmed, their possessions (including the magic shield that had rendered the leader so difficult to strike and whose existence is now revealed) returned to them.

The band approached the massive temple doors and gaped at the bizarre relief that adorned them: a pot-bellied, humanoid creature that seemed to bear the aspects of both bat and sloth in one unwholesome combination. The decoration peered back at its observers with a laconic expression, almost as if it knew the fate of any who dared enter the temple was grim, yet it was beyond caring of such mortal concerns. Baragkus placed an ear against the door and heard only silence beyond.

The doors were pushed open to reveal a large, high-ceiling room, its flat roof held aloft by five 20’ tall statues depicting the same entity that graced the portals. The room was lit by a dying sun allowed entrance through the now open doors and it was plain to see that the room was unoccupied, clean, and bore no visible exits. Yet the goblins had assured the Society that entrance to the hobgoblins’ lair lay within. The party carefully entered.

As Baragkus and Fisk stood watch, Kaldar and Korlack checked the walls for secret doors while Mars and Grumble investigated the statures and floor. After an hour of poking, prodding, and even attempting to disbelieve illusions, the party failed to find any concealed exits to the room. Stumped, they sat down to wait, hoping that time would reveal any hidden egresses from the chamber. (DM’s Hint of the Day: You should always have another explorer check your work when searching for secret doors and other compartments.)

An hour had passed when a section of the wall closest to Mars and Grumble swung open with a click. A bored-looking hobgoblin stood behind the secret door, his eyes widening suddenly when he noticed the unexpected visitors in the area beyond. He frantically struggled to close the door as Grumble launched himself like a missile at both the portal and the hobgoblin sentry. Grumble had apparently decided to revel in his wrestling background in this session, which would produce comical (to me) results later on.

The dwarf collided with the door, falling to the ground with a crash as his body sprawled across the secret door’s threshold, preventing the sentry from shutting it. Mars charged at the guard, swinging his sword at the orange-skinned goblin’s head. His short blade clanged against the stone without effect. The guard, muttering curses, ran Grumble through with his spear, scoring the first of several critical hits against the dwarf that session. Grumble shrugged off the wound and tried to trip the guard without success.

The rest of the party scrambled to their feet and raced across the chamber as the dwarf and cleric continued to battle the guard without success. Lyrax shot an arrow across the room and opened a wound along the hobgoblin’s arm, which convinced the sentry to flee and seek reinforcements. From his vantage point on the floor, Grumble watched the hobgoblin run a short distance down the corridor beyond the secret portal and pass through a door to the north. The party swiftly reassembled itself and set off in pursuit of the creature.

The corridor beyond the secret door ran straight for 60’ before ending. A much narrow corridor met the passage just beyond the secret door and the portal through which the hobgoblin fled lay 10’ beyond the side corridor. The party assembled themselves outside the door and attempted to open it. The door was secured, however, and it took several moments and a crowbar before they were able to pry to door open…and they immediately found themselves under attack.

The room beyond was obviously a barracks, one occupied by six goblins and a half-dozen hobgoblins. The goblins stood closest to the door and they rained their spears down on the party as soon as they sought to enter the room. At the far end of the chamber were the hobgoblins, three of whom sported drawn short bows and scanned the battlefield for targets of opportunity. The party began to try and fight their way into the room and a long, pitched battle commenced—one that would take up a great deal of the game session.

Allow me to digress and break the narrative here. One of the aspects of classic D&D that I find superior to later editions is the round-by-round initiative system. While many prefer the simplicity of rolling once at the start of a battle and then repeating that order again and again, I find that having the uncertainty of resolving initiative each round not only makes battle flow faster (strangely enough) but gives it a greater sense of urgency. You never know if you’ll get that spell off before you get perforated with arrows or cut down your opponent before his can finish you off. That’s great, tension building stuff. Of course, the downside is that when you have a session where the dice start to go against you constantly, even the simplest of fights can turn into battles whose events are remembered far and wide.

Over the course of the next hour or so of real time, the players found themselves pitted more against their own rolls than the enemy. Low “to hit” rolls plagued everyone and a disproportionate amount of those rolls were “1”s; luckily not fumbles, but it was still odd how often that single digit glare balefully up from the guys’ dice. The referee, on the other hand, was on a hot streak, and the party felt the pain.

As the Society boldly battled to cut down the goblins that stood in their way, the small humanoids avoided blow after blow, landing more than a few in return. The hobgoblin archers at the rear of the chamber fired through the doorway to strike party members in the hallway with great accuracy. Kaldar, his body clad in plate mail and his preternatural dexterity protecting him was pushed to the forefront to drop a sleep spell upon the massed goblinoids. As he did so, the archers took aim and fired, albeit with little chance of striking his AC of 0. The dice clattered: 6, 19, 20! A single arrow sailed past the massed fighters to strike the elf just before he could complete his incantation, ruining his daily spell and injuring him greatly to boot.

From this point on it was a grind. Mars managed to hold a single hobgoblin with a prayer to Mog, but the majority of the fight was an old fashioned slobber-knocker. Korlack did slip in and drop a successful sleep spell on the hobgoblins near the end of the battle, which finally freed the party from suffering through missile fire each round, but it was almost too little, too late. The party was badly beaten by the time the fight ended, but the battle ended with a hobgoblin prisoner who was both asleep and held by magic.

And that’s when the ogres showed up.

Unbeknownst to the party, a pair of ogres had quarters just down the hall from the barracks. As the battle raged, I made a check every few rounds to see if they heard the scuffle and came to investigate. They only heard the sounds of battle just as the melee came to a close, which was lucky (when looked at in a certain way) because the party would have otherwise found themselves in a pitched, two front battle with nowhere to run to had the brutes arrived earlier.

There were a few half-hearted chuckles when I dropped the ogre miniatures in the hallway as the players hoped I was joking. They had taken a lot of lumps in the fight and were not up to dealing with two ogres now but they had little choice. The fighters (and Mars) stepped up to the door to try and hold them back, but Baragkus took a door to the face when the lead ogre bashed it off its already weakened hinges with his club. To complicate matter, Grumble decided to employ his special wrestling “piggy back attack” maneuver against the brutes and leapt upon Baragkus’ back without warning. This both negated Baragkus’ dexterity bonuses and allowed the ogres to hit two targets with a single blow. The sole thing going for the party was that only a single ogre could attack at a time through the doorway.

The ogres landed a few blows, one of which would have killed Grumble outright had he not chosen that moment to cash in his “protection from death” card. Baragkus quaffed a healing potion which likely saved his own skin. Finally, the first ogre fell, allowing the party to concentrate their efforts on a single opponent and the second ogre fell seconds later.

The band had determined that there was a single locked door at the rear of the chamber during the brief interlude between battles, but decided to run for the hills before the hobgoblins could rally more reinforcements. To the party’s mind, their excursion had been a failure. The hobgoblins obviously outnumbered them and they had no hope of battling their way into the dungeon below and slaying the hobgoblin command. They gave up, utterly and completely, and I’m sure that decision will have absolutely no ramifications on the rest of the campaign.

Fleeing into the night, the party decided to lay low and nurse their wounds before heading back to the cave they had used the night before. They wanted to see if they could extract some information from their hobgoblin captive and possibly go through the pouches they had lifted from the dead goblinoids. As they reached the barren clearing at the end of the trail, they looked about for a place to hide…

How about the abandoned cemetery? Sure! Let’s go hide there.

That sound you just heard was my hand colliding with my forehead.

The party reached the thorn-filled, overgrown cemetery with dreams of taking shelter in a mausoleum so that only one worg at a time could attack them. Not long after arriving, they detected the sound of something coming their way from both the south and the northwest. In the flickering gloom of their single lantern, the party saw four lithe, leonine forms streaking out of the shadows, their long, filth-encrusted talons and slavering mouths leading the way. A quartet of ghouls!These undead, having the benefit of open ground, attacked from two directions, making it impossible for Mars Markus to turn all four at once. To make matters worse, the ghouls won initiative and closed on the party before they could react. In the first round, Baragkus, Fisk, Lyrax, and Cleopos the porter were all struck and paralyzed, leaving only Grumble, Mars, Korlack, and Kaldar standing. Of those four, only Kaldar the elf would be safe from the ghouls’ incapacitating touch.

The players stared at the carnage, fully anticipating a TPK to end the session. Luckily, Mars was able to turn two of the ghouls and Grumble, with the dice finally on his side, cut down one ghoul and then the next with his bonus attack. Mars reached into his pouch and pulled out a scroll that would ward of the undead for an undetermined amount of time and read the words swiftly. A barrier of blue fire erupted in a 30’ diameter and the party closed ranks. With four people mobile, some hard decisions were about to be made in regard to who was dragged to safety and who remained behind as ghoul chow. The captive hobgoblin was slain outright and the fate of Cleopos was in the balance when he began to stir. One by one, the paralyzed party members started to regain motion as the protective barrier collapsed. With only Baragkus still inert, the party slung him between them and departed the cemetery in the dead of night, hoping to make it back to their cave shelter and avoid any hobgoblin patrols…

Watchfires & Thrones Session #37

Having driven off or slain the remaining goblins, the party collapsed in an exhausted heap. Most looked forward to a long rest after having been awake, travelling, and battling for their lives for twenty-four hours straight. There remained a question of what to do with the residents of Fort Wolf’s Head who were now living in a compromised fortification and had suffered the loss of their patriarch.

The party debated several options, including packing the survivors off and sending them either downriver or to another settlement. Tars, the eldest son of the slain leader, Pidar, was not about to abandon the homestead his farther build—no matter how tentative its future seemed.

Fortunately for all, the decision was resolved when a party of fifteen woodsmen arrived at the settlement. Hailing from one of the few nearby homesteads, these men had caught sight of the flames in the night and marched through the darkness to come to the aid of their fellow settlers. With their help, the family of Fort Wolf’s Head would be able to begin rebuilding and bolster their numbers enough to feel safe should the goblins try and mount another attack. The party was now free to continue with their mission. If their mission was still attainable, that is.

According to the party’s intelligence, the traitorous Storm Crow agent was due to meet with the hobgoblin command on the 25th of The Bloom—that very day. Exhausted, with no idea where the hobgoblin citadel lay, and a good half-day or more of travel ahead of them, it was obvious that the party would miss the arrival of the agent. Not knowing how long he intended to remain at the Citadel, the band could only hope that he dallied long enough that they might find him in residence when they finally located the goblin stronghold.

After a brief excursion outside the partially destroyed walls of the homestead, the adventurers determined that the goblins had fled east, away from their intended goal. Some discussion was made about tracking them down, but time limits, fatigue, and the encroaching darkness sent the party back inside to rest.

The party spent the rest of the day and the following evening at Fort Wolf’s Head, resting, healing, and memorizing spells for their journey out to Hob’s Hill. On the morning of the 26th of the Bloom, the band departed the homestead and journeyed west, encountering signs of the wolf-mounted goblins, but these quickly disappeared as they got closer to the river. Luckily, their recently-acquired canoes remained hidden in the underbrush and they crossed the river without incident to arrive at the base of Hob’s Hill.

They landed on the shore of a peaceful meadow strewn with wildflowers and watered by a gurgling waterfall that cascaded down the slope of the hill. A brief search uncovered an animal trail that led into the thick forest that covered the mound, winding its way slowly up towards the crown of the rise. The party ventured into the cool forest shadows, eyes peeled for danger.

After an hour of travel and picking branches at random, the party found themselves under attack by stirges, but were able to quickly dispatch these with only minor injuries. They would not be so lucky later in the day when they chanced upon a pair of giant, droning bees, flittering about the woods in search of nectar. The majority of the group stood stock still or dove for cover behind the bole of a tree. Raijek the monk, however, decided to engage the buzzing apoidea and charged towards them with his claymore ready. Having caught their attention, he then fled back to the band and took cover behind his comrades. The bees were having none of it and remained fixated on the unarmored martial artist. A sting later saw one bee dead and the monk writhing on the ground, bloody froth sputtering from his lips. The other bee buzzed away, disinterested.

Having seen the signs of fatal poison once before, the party did their best to lave his wounds and draw out the poison. A healing potion was forced down his throat to no avail and a “Hail Chance” attempt to save him by giving the dying monk an unidentified potion revealed it to be a potion of giant strength—which did nothing to save Raijek. He then expired on the forest floor, the first party casualty in weeks.

The party took a moment of silence before Grumble and Mars slung the dead monk in between them and the party traveled on. The light was failing and they had yet to discover any sign of hobgoblins. They were not looking forward to a night spent in the dark woods with who-knew-what lurking around them.

The trail ahead seemed to enter a clearing and Korlack was sent down the path to see what lay ahead. The animal trail did indeed terminate in a rocky clearing that ran up the slope of the hill. At the base of the open area stood a cave mouth surrounded by tumbled boulders and brush; at the top stood a tall humanoid-shaped statue, much worn by weather and time. The magic-user returned to collect the rest of the party and they creeped along the edge of the forest before dashing towards the cave and into its dark mouth.

Relieved at finding shelter just as the sun went down, the Society did a quick, incomplete recon of the grotto, finding much tumbled stone and a pool of stagnant water. Bedding down for the night next to the pool, the party set up watches and awaited the coming of dawn. An hour before daybreak, their rest was interrupted by the five giant bats who made the cave their home returning from their nocturnal hunt. Angered at finding intruders in their lair, the five fluttering fledermaus laid into the party. With half the band stripped of their armor, the combat was more brutal than expected and poor Kaldar nearly died in the struggle. Most of the other party members suffered some damage before the bats were overcome.

The party took a long breakfast to heal up before resuming their trek. Outside the cave they headed up the hill to examine the statue in greater detail. The granite form stood 8’ tall and seemed to have once depicted a pit-bellied humanoid form with a languid expression. Two empty eye sockets showed signs of tool marks around the edges of the eyes, leading the Society to believe that the sculpture once held jewels in its visage. Cursing their luck at arriving several centuries too late to loot the statue, the party chose one of the four trails leading out of the clearing at random and began their search anew.

Their trail led them on a winding journey that eventually reached a rocky promontory bare of forest cover. From that lofty post, the party was able to get their bearings and they determined that they now knew their position on the map they had been provided with. They assumed their target lay further to the northwest and returned to the trail with hopes of finding a path that headed in that direction.

Their trek was interrupted less than an hour later by the sudden cry of Lyrax’s dog. Trailing the party, the hound had walked beneath a giant horned chameleon perched atop a branch in ambush. Its tongue had snatched the poor dog off the ground and into its gaping maw. The party whirled about the see the dog hanging halfway from the now-revealed lizard’s mouth. As they watched it horror, the chameleon slurped the rest of the dog down its throat and sighed contently. Unwilling to allow the wanton murder of a party member—even a less than reliable war dog—pass without address, the Society unleashed a hail of missile fire on the beast, slaying it as it descended to do battle.

A dog down in membership, the band continued down the trail to find that it terminated at a river. The freshet continued a short distance before plunging down an embankment to a small pool 80’ below. At the edge of the pool, another trail began, running deeper into the woods to the west. As it seemed to lead in the direction they wished to travel, the party carefully descended the slope via ropes and redundant safety lines. A length of hemp cordage was left behind to assist a sudden retreat back up the hill if they encountered danger ahead.

The trail led deep, deep into the forest. The party followed the winding path for nearly two hours and they began to suspect that they might be on the wrong leg. Just as they were preparing to double back and see if they had missed a turn-off, the sound of heavy footfalls and a baritone humming was detected heading in their direction. The party scattered into the woods and dove for cover.

They had just ducked out of sight when a hulking figure dragging a tree limb behind it stomped down the trail. The swarm of flies buzzing about its head and the jagged tusks protruding from its mouth marked it as an ogre, one of prodigious size. The massive beast continued down the path, obliviously caught up in its own meager thoughts. However, just as it passed the band's position, it stopped abruptly and began to sniff the air.

The party waited tensely, hands wrapped around the weapons and preparing for the worse. After a moment’s pause, they were relieved to see the ogre start up its journey once again. At that moment, Baragkus, tired of wandering aimlessly about on the hill, stepped out and hailed the brute with confidence that his recently identified magical helm would allow communication between the two.

Things might have turned bad for the valiant man-at-arms when he discovered that the enchanted helmet only allowed him to understand unknown spoken speech, not speak it himself. Luckily, the ogre had enough command of the common trade patois to understand Baragkus’ words of greeting. The two began a protracted exchange with the fighting man hoping to discover the location of the hobgoblin citadel and the ogre attempting to wheedle as much coin out of the lost traveler as possible. Offers were made and counter-offers proposed, and eventually the ogre revealed that the trail they currently stood upon led to the hobgoblin lair and departed with an extra hundred gold coins in his pouch. Armed with this new information, the rest of the party emerged from the trees and their westward journey recommenced.

Another two hours on the trail brought the party to the southern edge of a massive clearing. The ground here was rocky and only tuffs of scraggly grass poked its spear-like blades from the gray earth. The party began to skirt the barren meadow, keeping to the woods as they journeyed northward. The woods were quiet and an almost preternatural hush hung in the stifling air.

The band had almost reached the edge of the meadow when they detected two features previously obscured by the thick trees. In the northwest corner of the meadow, several white, featureless stones protruded from the ground. Cloaked in thick, thorny underbrush, these monuments hinted at being a long-forgotten cemetery, one untended for centuries. Directly ahead of the party, a thin trail exited the woods into the clearing and the sound of jingling mail and clanking steel indicated that someone was headed down it!

The party hunkered down and prepared to meet the unseen forces with steel. Through a break in the trees, they saw the orange skin and red uniforms of hobgoblins—a small patrol obviously on their rounds. For once, the party was to be the ambushers and not the victims of a trap. A volley of arrows rained out of the trees upon the patrol as the band’s melee men ran amongst the boles to meet the enemy. Half of the patrol dropped, yard-long shafts riddling their bodies, before the fighting men burst from the woods to cut down the remaining goblinoid soldiers. In less than a minute, the hobgoblins lay dead.

Cocking their ears to listen for possible reinforcements, the band seemed pleased to find their attack was undetected by any other hobgoblin forces and riffled through the dead soldiers’ pouches for coin and intelligence. A mere handful of the former and none of the later was found, but Baragkus, seeing his brawny physique was comparable to that of a hobgoblin, liberated one of the dead creature’s helmets and placed it atop his head, hoping to be mistaken for one of the massive goblins if observed by the enemy at a distance.

The trail the hobgoblins had been traveling ran east and up a slope, and the party suspect that their objective lay in that direction. With caution, they moved back the way the patrol had come and was rewarded with the sight of ancient, vine-covered walls in the trees ahead. The Hobgoblin Citadel had been found. Now all that remained was to infiltrate it and disrupt the threat to the Kinan-M’Nath. What could possibly go wrong?