1st-2nd of Eleint (The Fading) – Summer 1486
Location: Mornbryn's Shield & Surbrin Trail
Mornbryn's Shield was a small village on the western fringe of the Evermoors, that huge expanse of boggy swamp and mist that was home to countless trolls, ettins and other creatures who posed a constant threat to the settlements on its borders. A horseshoe ridge of stone formed a natural rampart along the west and south sides of the settlement, protecting it against flooding when the Surbrin River swelled in the spring. A small stone keep with fire-hurling catapults aimed toward the moors was positioned on the eastern edge of town and in its shadow was the ‘Troll in Flames’ Inn, the drop-off point for the beer wagon. Smacky pulled the horses into the covered barn and instantly young boys dressed in black closed the doors behind them concealing the view from the town square. The lads tapped every barrel letting the spoilt ale pour into dirt drains on the floor and past the stabled horses who bent to drink the malty water despite the rusty contamination.
As Pinko and Seeps dismounted the cart a middle-aged man with a receding hairline and harsh features stepped out from the rear door of the inn. He wore old armour which seemed to have been made for him when he was ten years younger and twenty pounds lighter than he now presented. Despite his chubby rolls, he still held himself as a man who knew which end of the sword to use with some skill. His attention was immediately drawn to the driver’s bench seat that still showed heavy blood staining from the late Lessilar’s untimely demise. His gaze rolled upwards into the broadly smiling face of Smacky Beareagle, still holding the reins. “Wez brought your ‘Beer’ from our sames friends.” he proclaimed, winking twice and using air quotes to emphasise the top secret hidden meaning in this declaration. “And not without some trouble it would seem.” the man construed returning his attention to a small unidentified fragment of Lessilar wedged between the wooden wagon boards. The black-clad youths had started pulling the hidden weapons from the now empty barrels. “Looks like it’s all here boss” the eldest one offered. The balding man turned to the party. “Just as well. You three can stay the night, then on the morrow you can sod off.” The offer was made with no mirth and in a matter-of-fact manner that Seeps could not ignore. “While I’m always down for some experimentation, exactly whom are we sodding off from?” she queried. But he was already back through the door and if he heard the question chose not to respond. “That’s Oboth miss.” chimed in one of the lads. “He ain’t the friendliest, best stay out of his way.”
It was clear the inn was serving as some kind of headquarters for Oboth and his men, meaning they were not locals. In fact, except the innkeeper who by the way he kept watch showed he bore the patrons little love, everyone inside was obviously an armed mercenary. Oboth tossed the sallow barman a small bag of coins. “I have three new guests.” He spat the final word as though it pained him. “Feed ‘em, cheap ale only, one room, one night. Then they will be leaving.” He shot the group a glance and sat down at his desk in the corner by a cold fireplace, swinging open a huge leather-bound book that bore the flying snake of the Zhentarim on the cover and started to take notes.
“Does we getz paid for dis?” Smacky questioned over a poor dinner of overcooked rabbit and sour ale. While the half-orc was not exactly softly spoken it was still some feat of hearing that Oboth registered the comment instantly across the busy bar. Without looking up he barked a command to prevent the anticipated forthcoming interruption to his work. “Give them the package from Bargewright then ensure I am not disturbed.” The closest mercenary to him fished a box from under his leader's chair and unceremoniously dumped it in front of Smacky who tore into it like a kid on Midsummer’s Eve. Inside was a wheel of cheese wrapped in fine silk, a black bottle of "Old Bargewright" wine, and a note written in a floral hand. “Zira, The Happy Cow, Daggerford.” It was signed with a ridiculously embellished “N” which Pinko took for their more gracious Zhent host Nalaskur who sent them on this delivery. “Daggerford is miles away to the south.” reflected Pinko staring at the char-coaled piece of rodent in front of him. “Whoever or whatever Zira is will have to wait. There is something I must do up here.”
The druid decided now was the time to share the drug-induced vision of his homeland he experienced while sampling the local vegetation in Waterdeep. He expressed his desire to return with the cure to the transformation lock curse as soon as possible as he believed his mentor and head of the commune, Getafix, was somehow still alive. The Neverwinter Wood was not far from here, they could take the road south to Yartar then cross the Surbrin River, take the Evermoor way west through to the Tribor trail and be under the eaves of Woods in four or five days' time. “Dat will also take us back nears where me found my brother.“ Nodded Smacky, a small tear in his eye. “We kills dem orcs, magic poop your friends den go look for what killed Sir Smackypow?” he suggested more resolutely, absentmindedly stroking the stuffed owlbear head tied to his belt. “As I promised,” said Pinko, patting the barbarian gently on the shoulder.
Seepage made dry retching noises at this beautiful moment of genuine affection between the boys. “Look I’m totally down for hunting orcs or whatever trashed your place Pinks, but errr, can we like, avoid going anywhere near Tribor?” she suggested. “Oh yes, your friend Lord Protector Darathra resides there doesn’t she?” enquired Pinko jokingly, but the tiefling’s reaction was not what the druid expected. Hellfire and darkness flashed over her body instantly bringing silence and the attention of the whole room followed by the sound of weapons being drawn. Cockseepage stared at the single candle in the middle of the table but didn’t move or respond. As no immediate threat presented itself, the tension fell and the din of conversation slowly returned to the bar. Without moving her gaze from the flickering flame Seeps asked her companions “Do you wanna know how I got these scars?” She pulled up her tunic, the 11 keloid lines encircling the fist-shaped brand around her navel still glowed with the remnants of the magical fire that had recently passed over her. “They tried to purify me." She paused. "They tied me down and each in turn seared my flesh, one by one, slowly, deliberately, with their holy blades. I can still smell my own skin burning. Still hear my own screams ringing out in their blasted temple. Still see her raising the mark of the good Order of the Gauntlet up high glowing white hot with radiant magics and burying it into my gut… still feel their false deity enter me and battle my patron for control of my soul before I blacked out.” She fell silent, eyes still locked on the candlelight unblinking. “So ‘ow did yous get away den?” asked the transfixed Smacky in a hushed tone. It took a while for a response to come and the voice that left Seep's lips was not her own, but a deep and foreboding tenor filled with dread. “I let them think they’d won.”
Leaving Oboth to whatever insurrection he and the shipment of weapons were intended for, the party left Mornbryn’s Shield early the next day and traveled a few miles south towards Yartar. Pinko stayed close to Seeps who was even more withdrawn and paranoid than usual, likely in light of the previous night's revelations. Smacky was out scouting ahead, desperately looking for something to cheer the warlock up. He liked happy murder-hobo Seeps more than dark and brooding Seeps. When he came skipping back joyfully with one finger held up to his lips and a big smile on his face it was obvious he’d managed to spy something up ahead that he thought would provide just the boost she needed. “Giants!” he beamed. “ ‘ill Giants! Two of dem!”
Heading into the forest on the side of the road and proceeding with caution, the sound of falling trees and smashing branches was audible several hundred feet before the source of the commotion was visible. Two male hill giants were setting up something of a roadblock with the trunks of their felled foliage and having a good old chat that from what Pinko and Seepage could understand was about whose wife was the fattest. Apparently, Thub’s missus had been packing on the pounds of late while Grun’s wife’s weight had plateaued. “I got this.” indicated Cockseepage directly as she darted out onto the road suicidally before her companions could stop her. Walking calmly up to near striking range of the massive brutes, she wove the incantation of a Suggestion spell around her and called out to Grun in the giant language. “Thub has been stealing the food you bring home for your wife for his own, that’s why she’s getting so big!” It was something of a gamble, but the spell twisted in the weak-minded giant’s tiny cranium and took hold. Ignoring the interloper, a heated argument erupted between the Thub and Grun who prided size over all else and gluttony as the way of achieving this. As tension rose Grun broke off a tree branch and belted Thub over the head
with it, knocking him to the ground. Smacky took this as his queue and charged out of the bushes hammer raised and brought it down on Thub’s temple, stunning him further. The suggestion spell having run its course, Seeps unleashed an eldritch blast on Grun as Pinko summoned a pack of wolves and then wild-shaped himself into their Dire Wolf Alpha and joined the fray, tearing chunks from the prone and dazed Thub.
Grun swung his tree branch at Smacks and sent him flying into the crude road barricade but the barbarian bounced off, charged back in, and shattered the giant’s ankle with Bluntrosethorn. Thub flailed in the dirt crushing a couple of Pink’s lupine allies but never made it back to his feet as Pinko and his remaining wolf pack ripped shreds from vital arteries and veins. Smacky danced between the legs of the hobbling Grun, turning him around and drawing his attention. Seeps fired ecky blasts from afar, but her aim seemed off
so Smacks decided on a surefire tactic to get her heart back in the game. “Oi Seepy! Go for a big BOOM!”. He called out between dodging branch blows. Never one to waste an invitation for collateral damage, Seepage got the message and in her renewed mirth even gave a quick warning call of “EARS!” before unleashing a Shatter blast that encompassed friend and foe alike. Heeding the hasty warning Pinko opted out of a Dire Wolf’s excellent hearing abilities and dropped his wild shape, stuffing his dreads in his ears just before the pulse of the thundercrack blew past, rattling his insides. Grun still stood, a thick red ooze leaking from his ears and raining down on Smacky below who was attempting to pull the ringing from his own ears with a fat green pinky finger. Slowly, like one of the trees he recently uprooted, the Hill Giant toppled over and crashed to the ground.
Picking through the enormous carcasses for any loose coins Pinko mused on exactly whose job it was to remove rotting dead giants from public roads, and what one would look like after a week or two. All these adventurers wander around the Sword Coast killing monsters on a daily basis, yet you rarely come across dead ones. Where did they go? There was enough meat here to feed a forest of bears for a week. While only a few measly coppers were located on Grun and Thub's remains, there was one prize that served to raise Seep's spirits back to her usual half-crazed but happy psychosis. A shiny and well-kept knife with a subtle blade and gentle swept back curve perfect for skinning a hippogriff if you were a Hill Giant. For Cockseepage it was long enough to be a sword, but could still in a pinch resume duties as a blade for her favourite hobby. She made a total mess of removing Grun’s face, but that was OK, she just needed more practice.
Next Episode: The Battle of the Bridge
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