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?

Watchfires & Thrones Session #35

The hobgoblins have an agenda and the events on their itinerary occur depending on certain criteria. Unfortunately, the party doesn’t know what this agenda is or what criteria drive it. For example: if the hobgoblins in Stonehell had been eradicated before a certain date, the party would have arrived upriver and found things to be quiet, the hobgoblins still in the midst of preparing their assault on the Kinan-M’Nath. But the party took too long looking for the Redoubt’s backdoor and events moved ahead without their knowledge. So instead of a peaceful frontier fort and a bevy of unsuspecting hobgoblins, the party discovered that war has come to the frontier—and they’re smack dab in the middle of it.

When it comes to having different possibilities available, I’m not ashamed to borrow from published source material. The session’s adventure was just such a case. Perhaps tellingly, the players noted that this game felt different from the rest, largely because part of it was lifted wholesale from a module. Those of you familiar with Night’s Dark Terror will undoubtedly recognize certain events in both this session and the next.

The Society returned to town and began preparations for the next day’s trip upriver. Supplies were purchased, a porter was hired, and an extra fighting man brought into their ranks to help in the upcoming raid. Cleopos the Porter learned that his employer, Grumble, assumed that he possessed some form of superhuman strength as he was gradually laden with more and more supplies until it became nearly impossible for him to move, thus providing a valuable lesson about encumbrance. Luckily, the dwarf took pity on his two-legged pony and redistributed the burden.

In regards to party composition, it was deemed more cost-effective to hire another fighter, a young swordsman named Fisk, than to pay for either the raising of Rondo Fleagle or to use the bloodgem to resurrect him from the grave. Due to certain time limits, this was likely to be the party’s last chance to rescue the slain dwarf’s shade from the grim lands—unless they reconsider using the gem to return him to life. It looks like a trip to the dwarven capitol to return Rondo’s corpse to his familial crypt will indeed be in order.

On the following morning, the party assembled at the river dock to meet Ayvok Sulg, owner and captain of the Otter, a merchant riverboat. Sulg and his crew were hired to take the party upriver to Fort Wolf’s Head, from which they would foray onto Hob’s Hill in search of the Citadel of Iron Might and Furious Devotion. The party was somewhat taken aback by Sulg’s first mate, a towering lizardfolk named Kryhiss, but nevertheless got settled aboard the cramped riverboat. As the last of the provisions were loaded, the Otter cast off and the crew went to work rowing the loaded vessel upriver.

The trip was quiet and pleasant despite the cramped conditions. As the party watched Blackpool fade in the distance, the land became wetter and stands of reeds and bulrushes began to appear. The water took a darker hue, becoming nearly ebony as the wetlands grew around them. Flocks of ducks soared overhead and the occasional twisted and stunted tree could be seen atop a hummock of dry land. The party began to nervously recall the tales of a giant turtle that was preying on boats and Kaldar took the opportunity to acquaint himself with the lizardfolk sailor to see what he could learn. He did gain some knowledge of Kryhiss’ homeland (“Murkmire,” the grey-green first mate said, sweeping a clawed finger across the rush-filled marsh around them) and that there was a turtle of enormous size attacking ships. But the scaly humanoid had a crew to direct and Kaldar wisely left him to his chores.

As night approached, Captain Sulg informed the party that they would be mooring for the night in a small swamp village with the unpleasant-sounding name of Scuttlehole. It was a necessary precaution since most sensible captains avoided traveling on the river after dark. The party had already observed one lumber drive passing them on the River Phol. These massive collections of stripped timber were poled downriver by the woodsmen of the Howling Wilderness, and Sulg had no desire to run into one of these drifting hazards in the dark of night.

Sulg suggested with much emphasis that the party remain onboard when the moored for the night. Scuttlehole was an unpleasant place, a rough swamp town which didn’t welcome unknown faces. In fact, Sulg explained, the local form of justice entailed the magistrate asking who was responsible for any crimes or disturbance. Whoever was implicated by the majority was summarily dragged to the woolly gator pit and tossed in with no trial or appeal.

As the Otter pulled into Scuttlehole’s “harbor” (nothing more than a collection of pilings driven into the riverbed), the adventurers got their first look at the place. Half the community was constructed on raised walkways that rose above both water and swamp. The buildings were green with mildew and moss, and the few trees along the bank were draped with hangman’s moss. A butcher was lethargically chopping the heads off of fish and casting the bodies into the river below, where the water frothed and roiled with blood. A pair of red lanterns dangled from a large two-story structure built over the river, and the laughter and commotion from within left little mystery as to what purpose it served. A few sputtering braziers produced a pungent smoke, keeping the worst of the mosquitoes and biting flies away. The party decided to give the settlement’s dubious accommodations a pass. Kryhiss and two other crewmen did depart on the Otter’s single skiff to visit town, however. The party posted a watch but other than the crewmembers returning around midnight, the evening passed without incident.

The next morning saw the Otter hoisting anchor and heading back upriver. Soon after the boat sailed out of sight of the swamp village, the Murkmire began to dry up and rolling hills and forest became visible along the banks of the river. The boat passed a ford in the river, easily crossing it with its 2’ draft. A walled town with the unsurprising name of Oldford stood on the eastern banks of the river near the crossing. Small children waved at the vessel as she passed while wagons, cattle and drovers paused partially submerged in the river at the ford to allow the boat right of way.

It was late afternoon when the River Phol widened and another lumber drive with its pole-men passed the Otter. Ahead was Snake Island, a long, narrow isle that sat almost 200’ from the eastern bank of the river. As was custom, Sulg turned the craft to pass through the channel that separated the island from shore in order best avoid any more lumber drives headed downriver. As they reached the midpoint of their trip through the channel, the Otter lurched suddenly and stopped, throwing its passengers and crew off-balance as it unexpectedly hit a submerged snag in the river. That obstacle was the least of their worries because a volley of arrows suddenly rained down on the boat from the eastern shore!

Emerging from the woods was a score of raiders. Some were stripped down to loincloths and bore wicked-looking knives in their teeth. Frothing at the mouth and with wild gleams in their eyes, these twelve dove into the river and began swimming towards the motionless boat. Eight more archers continued to rain arrows down on the ship, killing two crew members before the rest took cover amongst the crates and sacks strapped to the deck. The party bravely rose to their feet and began returning fire or to prepare to meet the boarders.

The party’s arrows were concentrated on a chainmail-clad figure who strode amongst the archers, encouraging them and ordering their fire. After thirty seconds of concentrated fire, this figure lay dead on the ground with six arrows piercing his body. The remaining archers looked uncertain for a moment, but continued their attack.

With most of the party’s attention on the archers and closing swimmers, one crewman almost went unnoticed as he rose to his feet and drew a curved dagger from his belt sash. Creeping towards where Baragkus and Kryhiss stood, he prepared to plunge the knife into the lizardman’s scaly back. Only the cry of a comrade alerted the first mate and the fighter to this treachery, allowing Kryhiss to escape the backstab with a mere grazing of the blade. Facing the angry Lizardman and the brawny Baragkus, the sinister sailor decided to throw himself overboard rather than risk their blades. Alas, he was prevented from fleeing by Baragkus and instead turned and ran towards the port side of the boat. As he prepared to dive over the side, Captain Sulg drew his own blade and killed the traitorous dog.

The last of the shoreline archers were laid low by the party, but not before Korlack suffered a grievous wound from one of their yard-long shafts. The magic-user fell into unconsciousness, leaving him defenseless as the mad-eyed swimmers reached the boat’s starboard side and began boarding. Lyrax ran forward to pour a healing elixir down his throat while Kaldar and the recently-hired Fisk stood on the gunwales and started beating back the borders. Closer to the stern, Baragkus, Kryhiss, Raijek, and Mars Markus held started cutting down boarders as the climbed from the water.
The boarders, even in their mad rage, had no hope of winning the day and it wasn’t long before the last of their bloodied bodies splashed over the side of the boat to vanish beneath the river’s surface. The party stood victorious once again.

With the threat gone, the party took to examining the few corpses that remained aboard the Otter. The swimming mad men had nothing but knives and loincloths, but the traitorous sailor was another story. In addition to his well-made blade, a tattoo was discovered on his left forearm. Depicting either a crow or a raven, this piece of body art gave the Society the idea that what they had just battled was a Storm Crow ambush. Knowing that clandestine organization’s alliance with the hobgoblins, if the Crows were behind the attack, it could only be assumed that the hobgoblins knew they were coming. What this might mean to their planned assault remains to be seen.

Captain Sulg and his crew determined that the Otter had struck a series of strategically-placed logs hidden under the river’s surface. With night falling fast, the boat would be forced to wait until daylight to free itself and continue the trip upriver. The party took the opportunity to explore the riverbank and loot the slain ambushers. The chainmail-wearing leader was also found to have a bird tattoo, lending more evidence to their suspicions. In addition to the bodies, a trail was found that led to a small clearing that bore the signs of a recent campfire. Another trail led further north along the river, terminating at the water’s edge where three large canoes were concealed amongst the underbrush. This was obviously the way their attackers had arrived on the scene. And since the Otter move twice as fast as any canoe, their assailants must have been in place before they arrived. This led to some speculation as to what the crewmen who went ashore at Scuttlehole were doing…

The party returned with the canoes to find that Captain Sulg had established a camp on the shore of Snake Island, unloading some of the boat’s cargo to reduce its weight and lessen its draft. The party took the opportunity to explore part of Snake Island, a heavily overgrown and forested isle, but night came before they could venture too far from camp. They returned and spent a pensive but uneventful night on dry land.

The following morning saw the Otter freed and the trip continued upriver after the party stashed one of their newly-discovered canoes on Snake Island “just in case.” After another half day on the river, the Otter finally rounded a bend and the party caught their first glimpse of Hob’s Hill. This forested prominence rose above the western bank of the river, a good mile away from the other shore. The Otter pulled along the eastern bank to tie up to a piling near the shore and allow the Society to debark. Captain Sulg informed them that he’d likely be back this way in three or four days after he had concluded his business at one of the northern lumber camps. Giving the party instructions to follow a trail through the forest beyond the riverbank, he told them they’d reach Fort Wolf’s Head by sundown…if they hurried. With that, the Otter and her crew began to pull away and start upriver again.

The party paused to hide their two remaining canoes at the forest’s edge before heading down the trail. The forest was still, shadowy, and peaceful, and the party made good time along what was obviously a regularly traveled path. As night fell, the party heard the sound of a burbling stream ahead…and something less placid. Faintly, the sound of screams and clashing steel drifted through the still air and the woods to the east suddenly began to glow orange and red. Rushing down the path, the party broke through the trees to emerge in the midst of battle.
On the far side of a narrow river stood a frontier settlement ringed by a palisade of hewn trees and under attack by scores of orange- and green-skinned goblins. The settlement’s northern wall and barn were in flames and desperate defenders fired arrows down at their chanting attackers. From the underbrush around the party, ten goblins dressed in wolf pelts leaped to their feet and hurled spears at the new arrivals. Minor wounds were taken, but Korlack’s sleep spell quickly rendered the goblin attackers inert.The party pushed toward the wooden bridge that crossed the small river and terminated at a gatehouse. From atop the parapet of the wooden barbican came a warning cry. A man dressed in leathers pointed to the south and screamed for the party to get inside the wall. Looking down the riverbank, the party saw a dozen goblins riding the largest wolves they had ever seen. The goblin cavalry was headed their way with murder in their eyes.

The party dashed across the bridge and through the gate that opened to meet them. As a barrage of goblin spears slammed into the wooden walls of the gatehouse, the portal shut behind them, granting the weary travelers a moment of respite.

But it would soon become clear that they faced a long and dangerous night ahead…

Map of Blackpool

Blackpool Map Key

Places to Stay
1. The Dead Dragon Inn
2. Toilers’ House (rooming house for itinerant laborers)

Places to Worship
3. Sanctuary of the Sovereign Flame (Temple of the Sovereign)
4. Chapel of the Square Deal (Temple to Chadem)
5. The Fortunate House (Temple to Chance)
6. The Tabernacle (Non-denominational worship house)

Places to Play
7. Mother Thums’ (house of ill-repute)
8. The Pit (games of chance)
9. Progo’s Theatre and Song Hall (performance hall)
10. Goodwife Esbah’s (2 in 6 chance of beer for sale)
11. The Begging Bandit (rough and tumble tavern)
12. Tobben’s Tilbyr (dwarven brauhaus)

Goods & Services
13. Chast the Scribe (spellbooks decoded, maps for sale)
14. The Quiet Repose (undertaker)
15. Japh Nidg, Silversmith (jewelry and gemstones bought and sold)
16. Fleetfoot’s Messenger Service (letters & parcels delivered)
17. The War House (fighter’s college)
18. Hortuuk’s Hides & Skins (leatherworker & furrier)
19. “Cheap Scrap Timber”/Doran the Wondersmith (lumber scraps [ground floor], artificer [second floor])
20. The Chortling Ghost (magic supplies & sundries)
21. “Gud Horsus” (stables & saddles)
22. Conundrum of Steel (blacksmith & part-time weaponsmith)
23. The Mother Lode (provisions, outdoor gear, & mining supplies)
24. Ferritixmus the Wheelwright (wagons repaired & sold)
25. Strongbow Arrowsmith (bowyer/fletcher)
26. Flora’s Remedies (herbs & folk medicines)
27. The Sacred Forge (Ferrumic smith – 2 in 6 chance of being open)

Civic Sites
A. Grain Silos & Cisterns
B. Watch Barracks
C. Council Hall
D. Assayer & Claim Office
E. Common Well

A Partial Map of the Kinan-M'Nath

After months of real time in the campaign world, the players finally got their hands on a map of the region. The Kinan-M'Nath is largely based on the Outdoor Survival map so any similarities are intentional. The acquisition of a map arrived just in time, as I'm foreseeing several overland journeys in the weeks to come. The hobgoblin citadel (not pictured) is a likely candidate for sacking and looting, and there is the matter of returning Rondo Fleagle's earthly remains to his people in Dro-Baan Khaz. And you can never be sure when or where a giant turtle will strike. They are amphibious after all...

Clerics and Weapons

While I'm on a clerical kick, here's the official "Why can't clerics use pointy things?" explanation for the campaign world. This originally appeared on the Obsidian Portal wiki, but I never got around to reposting it here.

As stated in all the early editions of D&D, clerics are restricted to blunt weapons, leaving it up to the referee to enforce and/or explain this restriction. Here’s mine:

In the year 941, the nobles of both the Great Empire and Nan-Matal were concerned with the growing influence of the various sects within their borders. Looking to strip these priests of the ability to raise private armies, the nobles attempted to outlaw the carrying of weaponry by any servant of an established temple. The clergy was outraged at the proposal and threatened to withhold services, rites, and prayers from anyone of noble birth. The nobles counter-threaten to evict every clergyman from their borders. Ultimately, cooler heads stepped in to work a compromise, and at the Diet of Tides held during Starfall of that year, the clergy agreed to limit their arms to the mace, hammer, cudgel, staff, and sling. For more than six centuries, it has been illegal for any cleric to carry an edged weapon and any found doing so faces immediate arrest. This restriction does not apply to the so-called martial clergy of some non-human churches. Thus, fighter/clerics and the like are allowed to bear any weapon legally so long as they adhere to the normal laws of weapon possession in the Uncertain Lands.

Now, since there is currently one cleric running around the campaign who came from another world where the rules were a little different, what might this limitation mean to Mars Markus? Mars has been operating under the grandfather clause and is still allowed to use his edged weapons that he's trained in. The reason he escapes incarceration is that the cult of Mog is unknown in the Kinan-M'Nath and is therefore not covered by the Diet of Tides. Should our servant of the Spider ever decide to start pushing that old time Arachnid Religion (or establish a stronghold), he might attract the attention of ecclesiastical law and risk incarceration. But for now, Mars can get away with it.

Watchfires & Thrones Session #27

After successfully taking control of the Ghost Beggars’ main quarters and running off the bandit leaders, the party paused to take stock of their situation: should they flee with the monies and intelligence they accrued or see their raid through to the end, bitter or otherwise? “We stay,” they sighed wearily.

After hogtying their captured bandit securely, the party positioned themselves around the main cave and in the leader’s quarters to cover all the entrances while they ransacked the place. The footlockers in the main cave held worthless personal belongings, as the bandits seemed to mistrust their fellows and kept their wealth upon them. The leader’s quarters held a stout chest, albeit one whose lock lay upon the ground next to it as if it had been hurriedly opened and cast aside. Rondo volunteered to examine the chest and discovered disheveled clothes and a small sack containing gold and silver. It was obvious, however, that something had been removed from the container and carried off.

Hoover’s eyes scanned the floor of the leader’s den and he detected a single pair of footprints departing the cave to the east. That trail lead to a tall passage that could be easily navigated by the humans in the band. To the west lay a short tunnel, one standing but 4’ in height. It was possible one of the leaders fled that way, but the adventurers were unwilling to follow the cobra into its hole. They gathered up their loot and captive before heading east in search of whoever fled in that direction.

The passage led to an ancient kitchen, dust-covered and decayed. On a hook from the ceiling swayed a much out-of-place bird cage which seemed a recent addition. Peering inside, the party saw a dead cockatoo, its feet pointed towards the ceiling and a dagger sunk into its chest. Whoever fled this way had killed the bird in cold blood. What a fiend! The dusty floor attested to the cad’s path of flight, and sensing their quarry was gaining ground by the minute, the party stepped up their pursuit.

Passing through a few more caves with little time to take in their details, the party found themselves back in the bandit’s latrine cave. From there, they made a beeline to the stable cave only to find that two of the steeds that had been so recently saddled by Waren were now gone. From outside the cave, our heroes heard the sound of hooves in rapid flight and growing fainter by the moment. Hoover, Raijek, and Dardath leap upon the three remaining saddled horses and took off after the escaping outlaw, leaving Rondo, Waren, the invisible Anwar, and the sleeping bandit prisoner in the stables.

Outside, the party on horseback saw two steeds fleeing down the trail towards the nearby forest and drove their own mounts hard to close the distance. A frantic race erupted between the pursuers and the pursued, with the fleeing outlaw keeping just ahead of the party. The adventurers were able to close the distance enough to clearly see that they were chasing a bald and robed figure who rode one mount while leading a spare behind him. They had found the bandit sorcerer, but where was the leader?

Despite their efforts, the trio was only able to close the distance enough for Raijek to make a desperate shot at the magic-user with his crossbow. Despite the odds, the monk struck his target in the shoulder, but the fleeing mage stayed mounted. Dardath hurled a javelin in hopes of bringing down the bandit, but it sailed harmlessly into the trees. The sorcerer made it to the forest and, even with the blood trail and Hoovers’ best efforts, the three adventurers soon lost their quarry’s trail amidst the dim woods, dry stream beds, and numerous trails. Frustrated, they headed back to the bandit caves to inform their comrades. Little did they know their friends were facing problems of their own…

Back at the caves, Waren was in the process of saddling the remaining horse (with Anwar “supervising”) as Rondo kept watch on the cave’s entrance when the sound of clanking armor alert the trio they were not alone. Stepping from the gloom of the western tunnel was the bandit leader. Dressed in plate mail and bearing not only two swords, but a bulging purse on his belt, the outlaw looked at the now saddled horse and then grinned at the trio standing between him and freedom.

Rondo charged the bandit with the hope of bowling the outlaw over with his patented Dwarven Combat Roll—but ended up flat on his back and barely able to deflect the longsword aimed at his prone form. Waren produced his mace and shield and charged towards the embattled pair while Anwar snuck around to approach the bandit leader from the rear.

Unable to rise under the bandit’s hail of blows, Rondo brought his knee up and caught his assailant in the codpiece, rolling a “20” in the process. The sound of crunching metal plating was heard and the bandit doubled over in pain, allowing Rondo to regain his feet and Waren to reach the melee. Anwar, invisible, got down on all fours behind the groaning bandit.

As the outlaw feebly defended himself from Rondo’s next attack, Waren, having planned this with Anwar, rushed the bandit with shield outstretched, blasting the still unsteady man with a mighty blow. He stumbled backwards only to encounter the snickering mage and was bowled over onto the ground. Rondo stepped down hard on the outlaw’s main hand, pinning his longsword to the floor. “Surrender yet?” the dwarf inquired.

The bandit king snarled and drew his short sword with his off hand, earning a blow in the process. Unfortunately for Rondo, despite his bad position, he was able to thrust his blade in between the dwarf’s armor and Rondo went down bleeding. Anwar, still behind the bandit, pulled out a shovel to bash in the bandit’s head, thought again and produced a flask of oil, looked about to see no lit torches, then put it way and drew his scimitar. While that was occurring, the bandit and Waren were locked in battle.

Anwar was able to score a hit on the bandit’s unprotected back and Waren bashed the outlaw fiercely, but the cleric of Donblas was struck hard in return and fell unconscious from the pain. Although heavily wounded, the bandit locked eyes with the now alone Anwar and gripped his weapons menacingly. Anwar lowered his scimitar and stepped away, giving the bandit free passage to the saddled horse.

The bandit king laughed, complemented the turbaned sorcerer on his intelligence, and leapt into the saddle before riding out of the cave as if a pack of hellhounds pursued him. Unfortunately for the bandit leader, he chose to ride down the trail towards the forest below, not knowing that Hoover, Dardath, and Raijek were headed back that way.

As the aforementioned trio reached the edge of the forest, they saw a mounted figure riding hell-bent down the trail. As it got closer, they were able to see it was not one of their comrades and paused to allow the rider to close the distance—the better to launch a volley of missiles. Dardath’s barbarian heritage got the best of him, however, and he broke cover to charge the fleeing bandit screaming. Hoover sighed and put an arrow through the bandit’s skull, dropping the outlaw to the ground dead. The Ghost Beggar bandits would no longer be a threat to the Kinan-M’Nath. After stripping the corpse of valuables, which included several gemstones and the keen-edged short sword, the three returned to the caves to find Anwar ministering to Rondo and Waren. Battered and triumphant, the Society of Planewalkers returned to Blackpool to claim their reward from Azix Tsam, the “gray-man” who first put them onto this task oh so long ago.

When the party arrived at the gate of the walled town, they found that the usual cadre of four guards had been doubled and that these men were looking much more alert than usual. The guardsmen stood down once they recognized the members and the watch serjeant informed them that Say’skel the Mottled had commanded the Society to attend him the moment that all their members were assembled in town. The weary adventurers rode up to the Mad Manor and began to unwind. Anwar took the gems that the band had acquired from the bandits down to Shortshanks the Appraiser’s office in the basement, only to discover that the halfling had no interest looking at the stones until the adventurers had visited Say’skel. “It doesn’t pay to keep people who throw balls of fire around waiting, you know,” he advised.

The adventurers gather all their mobile members (and a few assorted hangers-on) and headed to the Keep. There, they found themselves hurried inside, but not before getting a glimpse at the ongoing process of replacing the keep’s wooden palisade with stone walls. The workers had been busy for the walls were three-quarters finished. Inside the keep, the band met with Say’skel in a rustically decorated side hall and he informed them that developments had occurred since they last spoke.

After sending for a specialist from Ilrahtyr to speak with the spirit of Norrim Gaz, the Storm Crow agent the party had slain in Modnar’s cellar, a foreboding plan had been uncovered. The Storm Crows were in the area because they were selling weapons to the hobgoblins of the Kinan-M’Nath. It seems that a particularly charismatic and powerful hobgoblin has fired the flames of expansion amongst the goblinoid tribes and decreed that it was time for a new nation-state to arise in the Uncertain Lands, one with a hobgoblin aristocracy. To that end, the hobgoblins were planning on pushing across the border into the Principality of Dhrin to annex its cultivated lands and its citizens. The Storm Crows intended to grow wealthy in the coming conflict and were doing their best to meet the armament demands of the warmongering hobgoblins.

It was further learned that a small force of hobgoblins had already gained a foothold in the region just across the border from Blackpool. An expeditionary force had occupied a portion of Stonehell Dungeon and was intent on turning more of that ancient prison into a hobgoblin fortress from which to launch sorties into Dhrin. The close proximity of this goblinoid redoubt was of overwhelming concern to Say’skel and Lord Warden Cryt. The Lord Warden would pay 100 gold marks apiece to anyone who could locate and dislodge this hobgoblin threat from the dungeon before it became too entrenched.

Another option was presented to help curtail the hobgoblin threat to Blackpool and the rest of the borderlands. The Storm Crow agent had revealed that their initial negations with the hobgoblins had occurred at a stronghold located beneath a large forested hill some two days upriver of Blackpool. Known as Hob’s Hill, this wooded mount stood on the western bank of the River Phol. The nearest “civilized” settlement to the hill was a rough-and-tumble outpost called Fort Wolfshead, a place frequented by prospectors, fishermen, trappers, and barbarians, most of whom avoided Hob’s Hill altogether.

Lord Warden Cryt surmised that, rather than lopping off the “sword-wielding arm” of the hobgoblin threat, striking its head clean off would prove more decisive. He was therefore willing to pay 250 gold marks each to anyone willing to travel upriver to locate, scout out, and, if possible, disrupt the hobgoblin stronghold beneath Hob’s Hill. Travel could be arranged, but the agents would need to provision themselves. Half their payment would be provided upfront to allow for this. In any event, time was of the essence and something had to be done soon.

Say’skel stepped from the room to allow the Society to discuss the Lord Warden’s proposals. There was some talk of tackling both missions at once by sending half their number north to Hob’s Hill while the rest assaulted the redoubt in Stonehell (which is precisely why I had Say’skel summon all the adventurers. Resource management is an important skill in these games and I was interested to see what the guys would do with their numbers). In the end, it was decided that a portion of their membership would travel to Stonehell to deal with the hobgoblin expeditionary force and possibly gain some intelligence regarding the stronghold under Hob’s Hill. They requested magical aid and received a potion of healing with three draughts in it. Their request for an official writ identifying them as agent of the Lord Warden was turned down, however, for the following reason:

The spirit of Norrim Gaz was able to identify one of the other two Storm Crow agents operating in the Kinan-M’Nath. That agent was a human magic-user who went by the name “Jaben Frost.” Frost was a young male with pale blond hair and a penchant for wearing ice-blue robes. He was active in and around Stonehell Dungeon, but his exact whereabouts were unknown. The third Storm Crow agent’s identity was unknown to Gaz, meaning that almost anyone might be working for that foul league. Since Lord Warden Cryt and Say’skel believed that the Crows were unaware of how much the forces of civilization in the Kinan-M’Nath had learned, they didn’t want to tip their hand by sending writ-bearing agents about who would be bound to raise the suspicions of the enemy.

As it turns out, the secrecy of these missions was already in jeopardy. Word had leaked out that a Storm Crow agent had been slain near Blackpool. This news caused a cloud of fear and paranoia to settle over the frontier town. Everyone in Blackpool knew that the presence of a Storm Crow was an omen of evil things to come. Suspicion of outsiders was rife, there was a run on arrows and weapons, and even guard dogs were hard to come by as the residents prepared to defend themselves. This accounted for the increased and more vigilant guards at the gate.

The party left the keep and began to prepare to return to Stonehell. Unfortunately, their departure was delayed by four days as they waited for certain members to complete their training. Whether this delay will have nasty consequences remains to be seen…

The party, composed of Aieglos, Anwar, Baragkus, Grumble, Kaldar, Krunk, and Waren, along with two recently hired linkmen, Dirk Sodbuster and Rolf Sheepminder, returned to the dungeon. Having procured a trio of hounds, the party intended to revisit the strange woman known as Klydessia of the Sisters of the Argent Moon to see what they might learn about the second level of Stonehell and the hobgoblins who laired there.

Things were going well for the adventurers and they were closing in on their destination when they reached the crossroads that led to both the former orc lair and the cricket caves. It was then that Kaldar’s ears detected the soft padding of feet coming from the direction of the caves. The party prepared to defend themselves, gripping their weapons and raising their shields. That’s when the first ferret of enormous proportions peered its cure fuzzy head around the corner and blinked at them with its adorable albeit beady little eyes.

Then came another ferret. And another. Each bounded into the intersection like a fuzzy coil of springs and before the party knew it, they stood facing eight of the 3’ long weasels. (I’ve decided that a pack of giant ferrets is officially known as a “tussle.” I don’t care what science might say.) The fuzzies started chittering as they got a whiff of the three dogs that accompanied the band, their lean flanks suggesting it had been awhile since the weasels had eaten. This agitation was enough to send Krunk over the edge and he charged the tussle with weapon held high. Baragkus followed in his wake.

A pitched melee broke out between the two fighting men and the ferrets, with one of the spring-loaded fuzzy wuzzies landing a critical hit on Krunk. The thought of being slain by a bunch of oversized house pets send the berserker into his first frenzy and he began hacking at the cute widdle nookums. Waren and Grumble, situated in the party’s second rank, took out the occasional ferret that dodged between the warriors to try and get at the hounds.

Aieglos, looking to get a shot in at those ferrets not locked in combat at the rear of the tussle, had Dirk and Rolf set the 10’ ladder they were carrying against the wall of the corridor and began to scale its rungs. That, my friends, was a tactic I did not expect to see, but I suspect it won’t be the last time that I see it. Fortunately, Krunk’s berserker madness defeated the last of the fuzzy threats before the ladder offensive could see actual combat.

As the berserker cooled down, wounds were dressed and the barbarian quaffed a hearty draught of wine. But, just as the band was preparing to move on, they caught the sound of something else headed their way…

Overview of the Kinan-M'Nath

Now that summer is over (in the unofficial "it's after Labor Day" sort of way), I'm gleefully awaiting the coming of autumn with all its chill air and changing leaves. This time of year affects my senses and truly gets me in the proper mindset for playing D&D. The cold wind, a crackling fire, and the rustling of fallen leaves always makes me think of high adventure.

In particularly, the change in the weather will also be closely resembling the environment found in the Kinan-M'Nath (although you're currently exploring it in the early spring, not the start of fall). I found the following in my campaign notes folder. It formally appeared on the Obsidian Portal wiki, but with that shut down, I'm reposting it here so that you get a better idea of just what is outside the window of the Mad Manor, and what type of environment your characters are operating in.

The following are general notes about the geography, climate, and people of the Kinan-M’Nath.

• Much of the Kinan-M’Nath is rich in raw, rough pastoral and sylvan beauty. Winters are long in the Kinan-M’Nath, with snow sometimes falling into the late spring. Areas of deep green woodlands are punctuated by jagged granite mountain peaks capped with snow and ice. In deep crevasses in the shadowy mountains, ice remains year round. Glittering streams trickle down from the peaks, winding through beautiful meadow valleys and thick stands of aspen, fir, and pine trees. In the spring, apple trees erupt in showers of pink and white blossoms. Waterfalls are common in the high peaks, throwing rainbows of color against exposed granite cliff faces in the bright afternoon sun. Many caves dot the hills and mountains of the Kinan-M’Nath.
  
  
• Common animals found in the Kinan-M’Nath include deer, rabbits, wolves, moose, panthers, black bears, owls, hawks, ravens, songbirds, boars, stags, and sturgeon.
  
  
• The human populace is largely descended from the Scalva, a nomadic tribe of barbarians who traveled along rivers on massive houseboat-like rafts. The Scalva eventually became an agrarian society and settled on the lands bordering the major rivers in the Kinan-M’Nath. Despite centuries of settled existence, the people of the Kinan-M’Nath still bear traces of their barbaric ancestry. Black and brown hair is common; dark-eyed blondes less so. Young, unmarried men wear the hair long and grow beards, only to trim both once they marry. Women wear their hair long and loose, although young girls often braid their tresses. The most common professions amongst these people are fishermen, herdsmen, farmers, lumberers, and miners.
  
  
• Homes are usually timber and plaster affairs standing 2 to 3 stories in height. Many are whitewashed every other spring, with yellow and red commonly used to paint the trim. Window boxes filled with flowers are a common decoration.
  
  
• Staple crops include potatoes, turnips, and cabbage. Berries grow in abundance during the summer. Goat cheese and sheep’s blood pudding are local delicacies.
  
  
• Weddings among the people of the Kinan-M’Nath are joyous, colorful, and boisterous events that usually include a procession through the village. In the spring, families with girls of marriageable age often adorn their doors with wreaths of wild flowers to attract potential suitors.
  
  
• During the winter, heavy snow makes travel by snowshoe and sleigh most desirable for those who must be about.

Modi, the Storm Lord

The Storm Lord is a god of contradictions, and many of his worshipers would seem to have little in common. On one hand, Modi is the patron of berserkers who call upon his might and anger to drive them into a frothing battle rage. On the other hand, he is also served by a devoted group of martial monks who eschew worldly pleasures and dedicate themselves to become natural weapons of furious destruction. His symbol is a crossed hammer and lightning bolt and his clergy wears ruby red and storm gray raiment. Modi is said to be one of the Stranger Gods who came to this world from elsewhere, yet he is commonly considered to be a half or blood brother to the sea goddesses, Tidiah and Maelstyz, and is often called upon by sailors to intercede on their behalf when Maelstyz threatens them with destruction.