She stirred to life among the smell of animal dung and and the sound of a distant thunderclap. The young elf maiden who had moments ago been at her camp in the Gouldwood, entertaining travelers now realized her unconsciousness after having drank the men's wine, was no accident. Her head rang with pain and a trickle of water from the leaky barn roof brought her to full consciousness.
Before her eyes could focus the trickling water made her realize that she was nude. Once she had realized her body and the the pain in her neck and shoulders, she figured out she was bound against a wooden wall, shackled against her will, arms above her head. The sound of a nearby struggle and muffled cries brings her eyes to focus.
To her right was a man, conscious, nude and manacled to the wall as well in this old barn; beyond him a large open door at the end of the barn that spilled out into a wooded blackened abyss, only ever lit temporarily by the occasional flicker of lightning. To her left, the source of the struggling sounds. Another woman, a half-elf if her eyes didn't deceive her, whom had been stripped of her clothes as well, had been removed from her manacles that hung nearby along the wall. Three men wearing feathery black mantles had expertly pinned the woman to the ground. Two held her arms while the third hosted himself behind her. Beyond them, another open barn door leading into the same black.
The elf maiden snapped her head to the right for an answer, or something from the man. His face was fixed on the horrific scene before him until he met the maidens gaze. After locking eyes he darts his vision to the ground, as if to point with his eyes to something. It was a symbol in Druidic, a secret language known only by those of the secretive orders of nature, drawn in the dirt on the barn floor by the mans foot.
The maiden then realized again in her still-dizzy state, "I am Autumn Willow, not some helpless elf maiden, I have to help this girl, especially if she , and this man, are one of mine". The symbol belied this though, it was directions 'to run' for the open barn door. Clearly the male druid had a plan. The brigands had positioned themselves correctly, and just before the woman was mounted one of the men stood and kicked the man behind her. "Don't get her pregnant you fool, we need her mobile and able"! the assailant shouted.
"Fine"!
The man then repositioned himself and took to sodomizing her instead . The woman made a sound that Autumn knew she would never be able to forget, it's the sound of defeat, the sound of pain, the sound of suffering. Shackled and helpless, the only thing Autumn could do is well up with tears as the woman cried out, well aware she would probably be next.
Autumn couldn't help but think of different times, and the choices she made that got her here. What if she had never left home? What if she had stayed as a princess in Voranthis? She would be living in Elven court with the high elves married to Lord Artrae, living a life of lavish content. This was her choice though, to leave it all, be an ovate of Merryheart Meadow; and entertain travelers at her tiny brush hut that pretend to be friendly then poison her with foul wine.
As nature takes, it also shall give. A lesson that snapped to her quick, yet brash mind as a screech pierces the sound of the awful raping. The sound was unmistakable. it was the sound of terror, the sound of natures fury. It was the sound of an owlbear. What some would consider an awful freak of nature, druids often consider allies, in that they can cause malevolence on a massive scale. They reclaim nature and exemplify the lesson of Nan'tu'enk, or, what is fittest, survives the best. A massive creature, usually larger than a brown bear and the keenest of senses the owl can offer, is well suited to deliver punishment. Autumn had only ever seen them tame in the meadow and the owlbear riders when she was younger, when the East Riverlands were attacked once by marauding orc tribes that had paired in war with drow forces.
Barely responsive, crying and covered in dirt and straw, the young woman looked up with her mouth agape, peering out from her tangled hair. She rose from her knees shaking like the leaves that once adorned her hair. She turned towards the far open door, away from the owlbear, towards the way the male druid had pointed to and began to move towards it. As her gait picked up speed from a shaky walk to a jog, she stopped suddenly. Autumn struggled to understand this decision- what was she thinking? get out of here!
The woman began to move quickly, grabbing a branding iron from the opposite wall in the barn. The sound of men yelling and stirring beyond the side door could be heard by now, and soon they would return. As the owlbear trampled brush it let out another horrific screech-roar. The woman returned to Autumn and using the iron began to pry at the pins that secured the manacles to the barn wall. On her second try she broke the wood away, dropping splinters down into Autumns silvery hair.
As Autumn was freed from the wall, the barn filled up with men in the same black mantles, all prepared with crossbows, bows, and swords. The woman looked to Autumn, "run, get out of here" and turned to heave towards releasing the male in the same way. A snap of a crossbow stood out and stops the woman in her tracks. The large bolt drove through her small frame and nearly punctured Autumn as well. She instantly succumbbed to the wound, falling forward into the dusty hay. The men turned their attention to the larger threat outside and began firing bolts and arrows towards it. Autumn thought that perhaps they hadn't noticed she was broken away from the wall, after all she hadn't moved an inch other than bringing her arms down in front of her.
Autumn knew she should run. She knew anything else was far to risky and would cost her life. She looked to the other man, to tell him she would be back to help him, to thank him, to reassure him somehow that he had done something great, but no words came out. The man was concentrating and an incantation began to form on his lips. As it did she also remembered she had practiced the same utterance recently and snapped around to aid him in his casting. The group of men stood firing out the barn door, unaware that the hay beneath was beginning to grow and shift. with the strength of both spells combined the little bit of hay grew into massive amounts of thick vegetation, wrapping up the legs of the men and slowing their pursuit and battle.
The man commanded her to run again and Autumn, in nothing but her shackles, darted into the blanket of night. The entanglement on the troop gave her the head start she needed to gain away from their pursuit. She ran through the thick brush and thorny foliage, knowing she couldn't stop. Torch lights followed her in prompt fashion. Perhaps they had routed the owlbear, or maybe more men came from the small door. In any event, Autumn knew stopping meant death, or worse. She ran as long as her body could run, until her legs gave out and she was out of breath and energy. The rain poured down on her as she could hear the men approaching through the woods behind her. She drew another deep breath, she could feel how famished she was. She thought to herself "How long was I out"? "and where am I"?
Still she knew she couldn't answer this now, she had to keep moving. Ahead she could see faint light from a fire or torch. She brought her self to her feet again, which had been scraped and punctured from the harsh forest bed. She again began running, then sprinting to gain ground again. Three of the men had gained on her and were catching up to her hastily. She broke through the woods edge, and was running with such effort that her feet nearly went forward out from under her, without her, as she broke through to open flat ground. In what was just enough to steps to regain her balance and speed she strode from flat grassy ground to hard muddy trail and had reached what was the source of the light. She hadn't stopped though and ran smack into the side of a stopped wagon on the trail.
Chapter 2
Grout and Durrock Stoneforge were headed north.The brothers had sold their load of armor and weapons, finely crafted in the forges of Thunderholme, to the lord of Castle Crag, Charles Garboud. He had in turn given them a new cart, horses and a load of casks of Turmish wine to be taken north to Shadowdale, which would also pay a hefty commission upon its arrival. The Moonsea Ride had been as good to them as their last transactions had been, at least until now. Torrential rain had caused a low spot in the road to become soft and boggy. It swallowed the left cartwheel and stopped the heavy cargo from moving any further. As the dwarves cursed the weather, pulled at their beards and plotted on how to get the cart loose, they were interrupted by the desperate screams of a the elf maiden, whom made her presence known by using the cart to stop her sprint.
"Whosatchagotdair"?! Grout hollered out while coming around from the back of the wagon. Durrock brought himself around from the front of the wagon and replied "Tun'd me, dis here little elf". Autumn was surrounded by what was possibly worse than the men chasing her. The dwarf that spoke first wore an eye patch with scars coming out from under it and hefted a war hammer with his grumblings. The saving grace for autumn was the presence of Moradin's anvil, crafted from metal and affixed on the front of his round wooden shield. The symbol of the dwarven god meant this scarred creature was likely benevolent. She could only hope the other dwarf wielding the axe was as friendly. She plead out "Help me"! They're after me, you have to help me please"!
The dwarves looked slightly confused until the torches through the woods began to near the trails edge. Three of the black-shouldered men broke out onto the trail. They stood in a sparing yet equidistant formation, forming a line and advancing forward slowly, with torches in one hand and weapons in the other. "Just give us the girl, we don't want no trouble" one of the men snarled out, pointing to her with his longsword in hand. "I recon she ainchur cargo to take", Grout replied. Durrock piped up in support of his twin brother with a sneering grin beneath his unbraided beard "Comengeter boys" and swung his axe masterfully to the side, snagging her chains and breaking them apart against the side of the wagon. More shaken, Autumn had taken this opportunity to slip under the cart and behind the wheel she had run into. The brigand responded confidently "She belongs to us, just give her over. We will fight the three of you for her". The dwarves again looked at each other confused. Three? What had they meant?
Pagonel Al-Thor had finished checking his trap lines, having brought in a bountiful harvest of meat to give to the orphanages in the capitol. The pelts he would trade in to a local hidesman for money which he would then use to round out the other, non-meat food supplies for the orphans. He had loaded his mule as was guiding it through the thick woods when he heard some commotion out on the nearby road. He tied the equine carrier up and let himself out onto the trail opposite to where the pursuit had lead to the dwarves. Since he wasn't clear as to what was going on, he stood silently, watching it all unfold until he heard the men claim the naked elf as property.
A blackened scar bisects Pagonel's bald head in a straight line that reaches from above his eyes all the way back to this neck. on both sides of the line where his forehead meets the top of his head are two additional blackened circles. The scar was a symbol, and hearing the men claim ownership of the elf made pagonel aware of it again. It almost burned on his skin again as his ire raised inside him. He would know the truth now. He would arrest these men himself and bring them back to the capitol to answer for what they had done here. He spoke up in the most regal tone he could muster to interrupt the confused dwarves and bring the attention of the captors to him "Mine name is Pagonel Al-Thor, High Scribe to General Touraineio Varga, and in his name and the name of the Dalelands I order you to lay down your arms and come with me in peace".
The men responded with hearty laughter almost instantly, looking at each other as if they were being confronted by a child. A scribe? Who was he anyways? He wasn't even armed! It was the collective thought painted on their faces. The previous negotiator of the pack of men turned his head slightly and issued an order "go holler for the rest to get over here". The other brigand obliged and turned to yell for the others and draw them in from the timber behind. Upon turning around his movement is stopped and his face runs into a hard surface.
The man drops his torch in awe and fear as he pulled his face from the chest of a muscular gargantuan. As the man peered up to view the creature a flash of lightning illuminated what the torches failed to reach well in the storm. The red eyes of the hulk flashed against the flicker of lightning and the grey skinned beast let out a guttural and crippling roar. The man stumbled back and the other two turn their attention to the monster just in time to watch it bury it's humongous two handed great axe into the mans shoulder, burying it down to his lung, right through his feathery mantle, through his leather armor, his flesh and his bones. The man fell from the axe screaming his last bit of life out, just enough to alert the rest of the men to their position. Autumn, naked and terrified, was comforted a bit inside, for the cavalry had arrived.
Brutus had come to Autumns camp regularly, to bring her campfire wood, split it, and pile it up. He had brought her hides and food in the winter. He would always get a warm hug and smile in return. He knew it made him happy inside, all the pay he ever needed. It was also a feeling he never had any words for. Nor could he ever conjugate the word friend, but he had a vast understanding that the little elf was his only one. She had tried to teach him a few words and show him things he didn't know anything about. He liked this too, but moreover just wanted to be near someone that would rather sit by him than spit on him. He became concerned of course when he came by and she wasn't home.
Brutus, as loyal as could be, waited at her camp. She might have went to a nearby copse for supplies. After a ten day this became an unlikely option, so Brutus moved. He followed the trail he thought was odd. Even with his size and stature he didn't leave a trail that large. It had also not rained, which was fortunate, because the 3 men that had been here were unwashed, and left a scent trail any cur, or half-orc, in this case, could follow, and he could smell, that she had left with them.
He followed the men north through the Gouldwood, and into the Reaches. Sometimes he had lost the scent trail or lost their tracks, but still he always had something; including fresh campsites for him to use When he reached the top of the highest hills in the Reaches, it had began to rain one day, and wash away the evidence he was following like a faithful hound. Brutus almost turned for home, he was close to home, but he started to feel as though she was in trouble and knew he might be her only hope.
Brutus remembered back to how he had met Autumn, when a trio of men tried to bully her at her market stand. He had only meant to stop them, but they pulled out weapons. The one that pulled the dagger lost his hand, and the one that swung at him lost his life. If not for him, they may have hurt Autumn. He remembered everything so vividly, what he was eating when they approached her, what she was wearing, how she smelled....and just like that, while walking, smelling, and perceiving, all in a daydream, the memory of her scent came rushing to life. His nose picked up on her female scent, and though the elven menses was faint and often short lived, it left a scent stronger than the body at norm. For three full ten day he tracked her in total, until he ended up here. Pursuing her captors, protecting his only friend, with a blood lust he had never felt before.
The dwarves were no strangers to battle though either, and had had a long standing hatred for orcs. To them, there was already going to be a battle, and now a weird looking orc showed up to make the pleasure of battle even greater. Orcs are how they earned their scars, orcs kept them from serving in the vanguard in the Shade War 5 years back. and to the brothers, they only deserved death and elimination. The only saving grace is that it had swung against one of their enemies and somehow looked almost human-like. It's skin wasn't putrid green, but a bluish grey. "Dairs-a-ugliest orc I ever saw" Grout murmured to Durrock. "Still gots im a neck ta open tho"! Durrock exclaimed back as he took off for battle.
Brutus made for the wagon. He had to protect her with his body, and get between her and the ugly short men with the long beards. Grout could feel his heart beat into his throat as the beast approached, and began to draw up a prayer he used for smiting. Raising his hammer and looking for a good spot to fell this lug, he noticed the small bronze badge affixed to his shoulder strap. It was a bear standing on its hind legs on top of a hill. This was the symbol of Hydark, the local lords herald. The lords here would rather see their families and houses terminated than to see their crests worn in mockery by a foe. This half-orc didn't have this badge by mistake, nor did he have it by defeating the men who once bore it. This was his crest, no doubt, but how?
Grout could've been dead ten times to the orc had it ever lifted his axe to him, as he himself had not properly drawn his shield up against him. He caught himself that second later and snarled to the orc "Im gunna flay ya"!
Autumn counted out promptly to him. "He's a friend of mine. Don't..don't you hurt him. I will unleash the wrath of nature upon you if you do". The dwarf turned to her with an eyebrow raised, and sighed slightly, and in the same fluid motion joined his brother in the charge against the brigands which was already in motion. The warriors tangled sword and shield and axe swings with near misses momentarily. The brigands were skilled, and were much better warriors than they were negotiators. They had repressed the dwarves back to the cargo wagon while some of the other brigands came from the woods to do battle and claim the elf again.
Pagonel had watched long enough. He had warned them and told them to desist. Now the lines of battle were crossed and he had to act. If peace could not be reached he would become the peacemaker. He lunged into battle running down the sloping grass onto the road and springing over the cart between the drenched canopy and over the barrels clearing the narrow space only disturbing the air between. He landed lightly beside Durrock, surprising the gnarled warrior with his grace. with a rebounding spring from his landing, Pagonel landed a right cross short on Durrocks opponent face, driving the wounded foe to his back. Unconscious, but not dead. Did he deserve death, most likely, but Pagonel had a moral code to uphold, perhaps no one else present would, or in the orc's case could, understand it, but the men must be brought before trial and answer aloud for their crimes. This was Pagonel's directive, prerogative, and now, motive.
The brush began to rustle and produced another half dozen of the brigands. Suddenly, this team of chance meeting was outnumbered, and skillfully outclassed when fighting against those that were clearly some sort of brotherhood. Still the dwarves, orc, and monk fought on as well as they could.
Grout moved around to meet the new enemies stirring a battle chant to his war hammer. "For Clagadin"! He had almost certainly shattered the ribcage of the man as his hammer trailed a pale red light behind the swing that landed into him with certain force.
As he fell the skulk, a shaken yet defiant Autumn murmured out the incantation again as more men poured out of the woods after her. She took the grass from its tiny hoof beaten length into raging vines that swallowed up nearly a third of their ranks. By then they would be joined on the trail by the sound of hoof beats from the south.
Pagonel was pleased to see the arrival of Lord Silvos Nightstar. A man he had yet to meet bunt knew well of through tale and script. Silvos was due to arrive in the capitol in the next two days, but had made haste along the road, and had pushed his men and their horses to make the journey's stop so they could get out of the wet rain and into dry lodging.
Silvos, a knight of Myth Drannor, was a beacon even in the darkness. His plate armor shined and the emblazoned symbol to Corellon on the breast plate glistened even amidst the rain and waning torch light. His full helm gleamed atop his proud steel and solid frame. The silvery mock stag horns on it were as bright as a dwarven miner's headlamp. His men rode behind him, all seven of them rode in pairs with his right hand steward as his side. They broke formation and immediately seized the element of battle bringing fairer number into combat.
Silvos stayed upon his mount, and rode fearlessly inward. Where most knights would have had a shield to protect their off hand, the sturdy elf instead drew a second short sword from behind him, lending an apt battle arm to either side of his mount. As he hacked through the first of the brigands he could ride to he ordered one of his men, the hunter of the group, to drop his bow to the elf, whom had cowered on the opposite side of the trail, away from danger.
As the man routed to drop his bow, Pagonel offered an untiring Brutus his fist in support, in hopes to subdue any foes that were in his path of rage, before the crusher eviscerated them. The peacekeeper almost felt sorry for the brigands, he thought to himself as he threw punch after punch. They probably though capturing a small naked elf girl was going to be easy, and here the brigands were, suddenly outnumbered and being destroyed and torn apart by what had to certainly be the things of their nightmares. Brutus fought mercilessly, offering no salvation with every swing of his axe, utterly decimating whatever stopped the wild swings, roaring out with every heave.
The tempo of the battle had increased to a full scale war scene by the time each had done their part. Autumn had carefully selected a target and unleashed a shaky arrow towards it. She wasn't even sure if she had hit home since the grass was so thick it simply appeared to swallow up the arrow. Grout hadn't stopped for the grass though and with a hunger for battle charged through and met his brothers side whom had already torn down a few of the feather topped men.
The grass was dastardly though and gave way to one of the brigands to come through and land a sword into grouts full, yet solid gut. The dwarf showed no pain though. Grout was proud at the blow, not for he who landed it, but that this time he had gotten to save Durrock from what could've been a deadly blow. The twin couldn't see it that way though and quickly fixed his formation to be able to offer his shield to his brother so that this would happen again. He followed this with a beastly roar and sank his axe into the leg of the lucky bandit. The bandit was fearless and snarled at the blow, reared his sword up to take the open spot the dwarf left, and was struck down by Silvos' short sword before he could take the swing. The bold paladin and his men had cut through the remainder of the petty fools, the few and wisest of which surrendered when surrounded by the horsemen.
Chapter 3
Silvos had cloaked the nude maiden to shield her from the rain. The cloak was loose and hung about her like a child wearing their fathers clothing. Still she was able to slow her shivering to a speakable tone "This is Brutus. He's ok." Autumn said to the dwarves whom had immediately turned toward the orc with chests pounding and blood lust still charged.
"Aye, ya best be keepin 'im where I canna smell 'im then"! Durrock huffed defiantly.
The hulk was still heaving air and ready to swing. Almost blind to what was foe and friend. To him, it was either dead or about to be. A voice pierced the red. Autumn spoke to him as softly as a doves summer song "Brutus, it's ok, we're ok".
He stopped and lowered his axe, looking around him side to side and front to back then lowering his head to look at her "ohh kayy"? he graveled out lowly "Willohh....ohh kayy". His rage had been soothed.
"Yes, we all are Brutus".
Pagonel and some of Silvos' envoy had taken to binding the criminals hands and feet, sitting them in a line against the wagon. Pagonel was going to begin interrogating them but knew he needed them to be conscious and fully aware. He began to offer them water and silently emptied a full waterskin between the four of them to bring them to. This would help them be calm and refreshed and perhaps less afraid. They hadn't sat trial yet, so they didn't deserve death. They didn't even know what they had done. The monk even briefly entertained the idea that the elf and the orc may have set them up to look like the crooks and themselves be the perpetrators, though doubtful. His intuition told him otherwise.
The others in the envoy were bringing about one of the members of his team that had been slain. Silvos' attention turned towards them. He approached the troop that was carrying the body to the wagon. "Who is it"?
One of the men peered up from the corpse "It's Artarn Squall my Lord". This was the third of the lord elites that had died since they moved south out of Cormanthor and through the eastern dales. The first to a late night goblin raid on their camp, the second was killed at Blackfeather Bridge for cheating in a card game, by a transient thief from Yhaunn. The goblins and the thief met the same fate, Silvos promptly beheaded each and everyone of them for their crimes. He knew this time he couldn't be the justiciar here though. This unarmed fighting master had plans for them. He approached the scared monk and removed his gauntlet but not his glove, extedning towards him he voices his proper tone "Lord Silvos Nightstar of Myth Drannor, I come in service of sword for Lady Coronal Ilsevele Miritar and in faith for Corellon".
The monk accepted his handshake as he stood from watering the bandits "I am Pagonel Al-Thor, High Scribe to his Lordship and General Touraineio Varga. We've been expecting your visit my lord, and I must say, we are all, quite happy to see you and yours arrive early. These men are to be returned to the capitol and jailed, I know you would have their heads for taking the lives of one of your men but I must insist things be done with due process".
The helm of the knight swings around, surveying the dead bodies, "We killed about a dozen, captured four. They barely bested one of us. Seems fair to me, so long as these men never see the light of day again".
"they are in the jurisdiction of General Argys Jor. You can rest assure they won't. He doesn't like taking prisoners".
"I see".
"Yes, well then, shall we determine what they know"?
The monk turned and began to question them. He started by offering them an easier trial "I will personally guarantee your safety and your lives if you tell us where you came from, who you are, work for and what you were doing".
The brigand spat on him "Piss off, Jor can do what he wants to us, but we ain't talkin"!
Pagonel already had a good idea of where they came from and was almost certain he had seen those mantle's before. They had come from the Strider guild house off the trail that way about a half a throw. What didn't make sense is that they weren't Striders. The Striders were an elite group of rangers sworn to serve the Dalelands and protect its denizens with their lives. If they were routed from their hold by brigands, it wasn't these brigands. A strider is a true force to be reckoned with. Most of them served King Falus the Silver in the Shade War, having battled everything from ogres and kobold sorcerers to shadow dragons and worse, and then went on to lead their own guild houses and train their own men. A few brigands certainly couldn't push them aside, nor could they have passed by the ranger house without having been detected. Now it was time to play tough.
Pagonel turns his head slightly to look Autumn in the eyes, once her eyes locked in with his he glanced to the brute and raised an eyebrow. Autumn returned with a concurring smirk "Brutus, squeeze him" pointing to the spitting man.
Brutus grabbed hold of the man by the shoulders picking him up in a still sitting position. He snarled out loudly revealing his short tusk-ish teeth and prominent veins in his tree trunk of a neck. The destroyer slammed the brigands body into the cart, lurching the air from his body. The man stayed his resolve fast though. Autumn spoke in a flat tone "You'd better tell the man what we need to know, my friend may not be so nice next time". Brutus repeated the act twice more on the druidess' command. The man held his tongue though, but with each blow Pagonel became more and more concerned that they were crossing the line. The kidnapper next to the abused one became more and more rattled with each blow against the cart until he finally cracked in fear.
"I will tell you what you need to know if you let us go".
The other three turn to him and shout jeers
"Fool"!
"Traitor"!
"Coward"!
Pagonel began to haggle break "I offered you your life, you'll be lucky to have that".
"Fine then, let me go and I'll tell you what you want to know". The others toiled again with insults.
"No, tell us what we need to know".
The man sat quietly with his head down for a moment, then lifted his head to speak. The other men stirred again ordering him to be silent, reminding him that he would be killed in any situation.
"We are the black hand, and no one can break us"!
Pagonel gave the signal and Autumn commanded Brutus from the man. The monk spoke "I can guarantee you nothing, but that's enough to confirm my suspicions. They are Zhentarim".
Autumn turned away from calming Brutus "Who's that"?
"A network of merchants and thieves, They used to be a society dedicated to Bane, but since the spell plague they disconnected from him and lost a great deal of their numbers" he replied.
Autumn spoke back "I know where they were, maybe there are some still there".
Silvos added in "Let's make haste. Dwarves, you fought bravely, if I should lend my men to guard your wagon and these captives, would you lend us your might and blessings"? Pagonel added, "I can offer your repair for your cart and lodging as well once we reach Ashabenford".
"Long as-r cargo stays safe ya got muh steel. ya helped us in-a-pinch" Grout announced. Durrock nodded in compliance from the top of the wagon.
Pagonel noticed the nod, and then looked at the cargo. They were oaken casks, all tucked into the wagon bed, side by side. Each one marked with a wood burnt serifed letter "T". Any commoner might have known nothing about the barrels, but any merchant worth their salt would know these were fakes for the real thing. This was clearly supposed to be casks of Turmish wine, except if they were really from the southern nation beyond the sea they would've been marked with a filigree around the "T". No doubt they were filled with swill. This wasn't illegal as much as Pagonael thought this deception should be, what was though is if they were passed off as Turmish wine and someone unknowingly were to be ripped off by someone. He felt the need to speak out "Do you know the casks on your wagon are fakes"?
Durrock looked back "Dun really care, we ain't sellin em, jus gotta deliver em". Pagonel nodded but remained concerned as the team moved off through the woods.
The short trample on foot was enough time for the six to briefly introduce themselves with the exception of Brutus whom was introduced by Autumn. Autumn could feel herself begin to tremble as the party began to approach the clearing where the guildhouse sat. Was there going to be more men? If there were, they could surely hear them trampling the brush. The paranoia of be taken by surprise or being outnumbered began to set into her. Moreover, the fear of a scavenging, and still hungry owlbear, was a prominent threat. She promptly warned the other five as stoically as possible.
The building was quiet though. The oil lanterns in the barn still flickered, but no creatures remained. Not the Zhents, nor the captives, no one. Brutus began to sniff the air and take in everything he could. He followed is swine-like nose to the spot where the woman had been shot after releasing Autumn. He groaned "Blud" pointing to the dirt and hay which had clumped together and red stains respectively.
A thorough search of the barn revealed little, and the guild house itself, which was connected by the small door where Autumn had seen the men come through revealed about as much. The hall had not much else but bunks, long tables with benches and a large stoney hearth with a cauldron of stew still on the boil and half empty. The end table bore the possessions of the three captives. Autumn claimed what of the other druids spell components she could salvage and reclaimed her things. "They were druids also". She told the others "we were all druids".
The others looked confused but there was little speculation between them as they were all busy investigating the guild house. Pagonel remained fixed on a cloak hanging on the wall. The cloak was a deep green color and the shoulder pin was a wolf head in shape. One the back of the cloak in it's center was a masterful embroidery. A purple outline in the shape of a shield with two grey swords crossing in an "X" shape, woven between the swords is an arrow pointing upward, the tip of which was a white star and the flight 2 red ribbons that trailed and flowed off over the black background.
Silvos and the others came to a table around the cloak as they finished their otherwise empty searches. Pagonel explained that the cloak belonged to one of the Striders. "Each thing on the cloak was for a companion of King Falus and himself. The Striders took the symbol in homage after the shade war was over and their kingdom fell from the sky. They were part of that war. These thieves couldn't have pushed them from this den. However, a Strider never forgets his cloak either, and they would die before being stripped of it".
The dwarves returned from the rear of the guild "Nay sign of a fight, but a tunna bolt-n-arrows out inna brush and inna trees". Silvos spoke "Let's get back and get that cart out". The party assembled.
The team returned to the wagon and collectively and promptly removed it from the muck and began to limp it into the Mistledale capitol of Ashabenford while escorted by Silvos and his horsemen. Meanwhile, Autumn donned her property on the ride, and realized that her compass was gone. Her heart sank and she nervously asked if anyone had found it, but no one had. She began to toil in her head over what could happen if it fell into the wrong hands.
Chapter 4
By the time the team had reached the gates it was but a few hours before daybreak and weariness was setting in well. Pagonel and a few of Silvos's men deliver the captured brigands to the guards at the wall stairs outside the city. "These men are to be jailed and watched, they are dangerous criminals and are not to be trusted. Understood"? commanded Pagonel.
The complacent guard obliged and yelled up to the wall "Karl! The port"! The portculus was raised in the quiet night to allow the passage of the rag tag gang.
Autumn dismounted the rear of the cargo wagon and weaved through the horses with Brutus in tow, approaching Silvos "Thanks for all your help, when you find out more my lord, would you let us know"?
"Pagonel said he would quarter us, I'm sure that meant you as well dear lady".
"Thanks, but I just prefer the out of doors, even if it rains" Autumn turned her palm up letting it fill quickly.
Silvos replied with a heavy voice. "As you wish, I know there is a large frequented camping site for travelers back towards the junction, near the big stump and first fork in the road, flat ground for your tent, and a nice open area with a small stream nearby for fresh water."
She thanked the knight and wandered off with Brutus through the heavy rain.
With the cart wobbled up to the teamster for work at first light, and the bandits handed over, Pagonel lead the party to the Hall of Banners. The hall was a former temple to Tyr that was nested at the center of the city that had several adjacent and connected keeps and towers built onto it later. The temple was converted after the god was slain so long ago. The other temples to the rest of the triad still stood in the city, resembling what the hall once looked like. Still every effort had clearly been made to make additions to the temple out of the same smooth cut white stone so that it matched the towering rectangular temples and high city walls. It was the base of operations for not only Mistledale but also all of the Dalelands.
The large oaken doors were parted for the monk by a guard standing post on either side as the esteemed scribe approached. He pace never broke as he lead the knight, his men and the dwarves into the famed building. The lower halls were lined with tapestries that tell of former lords and heroes of the Dalelands and lit by small torch sconces spaced evenly between the storytelling cloth. At the end of the halls were perpendicular stair wells with decorative garlands of fresh flowers and lit with wrought iron candle holders which were topped with decades of waxy icicles.
The main hall, on the former temples top floor, was dubbed after the namesake of the building and consumed the entire floor of the structure. Stained glass windows lined each wall and reached up to a high vaulted ceiling where large chandeliers made from twisted and woven elk racks hung from the old wooden beams at the peak. Along the windows and walls edge were numerous large, fancy seats, one for each lord of the provinces of the Dalelands, above the seats hung the province lords banner and above those, the banner of the lord that ruled the dales they were situated within. Parting the smaller thrones were five that were larger with a center one being much larger than the rest.
Above the center throne hung a single banner, larger than the rest of them, adorned with a black wolfs head on a dark green field, with six tapers at its end, each taper to represent each of the main dales. This was the main emblem of Falus the Silver, whom had by decree, united the Dales and succeeded from Cormanthor just five years prior after the Shade War ended. The elves of Cormanthor agreed to the separation from them, it was an area they hadn't ruled fastidiously and needed unified protection to ensure something like the Shade War or the Weeping War could be protected against from ever happening again, or dealt with in an organized way if it did. the agreement was inked in with the elves gaining the new kingdoms protection if called upon for such instances.
The throne to the right of the kings had a banner above it with a white owl on it on a gold cloth that ended in a single taper. It was the herald of General Touraineio Varga, whom ruled over Shadowdale and Daggerdale both to the west. He was a close friend of the new king and had supported Faluses ascent. He was one of the former warden generals of the Dalelands prior to the new rulership, along with three others who openly opposed the rule of the new king. The four generals collectively had agreed to the treaty of succession to make the Dalelands it's own country though, as it gave them a number of advantages. It granted defined political boundaries for which to rule over, the banner men of each province to serve beneath them officially, as well as the right to draw taxes from it's people and all the titles and privileges that comes with being named a royal house. Pagonel proudly displayed a bronze owl pin on his sash that was his badge of duty to the General.
The center of the room sat inset, lower than the border of thrones as an open court, separated by a railing made of the same white stone as the building was constructed of. the otherwise empty space of the floor was broken up by a very long mahogany table. The table was lined with chairs of the same wood, more than twenty in total. atop the table was a veritable feast of foods that keep well; baked goods, cheeses, decanters of wine, fresh figs, apples and various hand fruits from all over covered the center of the table. inedible items on the table included small wax pots and censers. Only two ugly things broke apart the beauty of the room and the table, it's corner which was missing and had appeared to be snapped off at some point in the tables long history, and the man seated at its end.
The cotton topped man peered up at the scribe and his guests as he entered into the hall. One couldn't be sure if his eyes were heavy and bagged from late middle age and the stresses of life or because he was still writing and composing documents on parchment at his seat well into the twilight hours. The man looked back down at his paper and quickly finished what he was writing, grimacing and snapping the plume to and fro with the same intent and pomp that was painted onto his determined and unimpressed face. Replacing the quill to it's home he looked up and waited, meeting eyes with the monk.
Pagonel spoke up and approached the table "Lord Argys, may I present, Lord Silvos Nightstar of Myth Drannor and Grout and Durrock Stoneforge of Thunderholme, they aided me in defeating and capturing a group of Brigands along the Moonsea Ride".
the dwarves remained still taking in the room, when the scribe had promised quartering, they hadn't thought they would be treated to the fine hall, and were more counting on a room at the local flea inhabited inn. The plated lord moved forward with his men taking a linear formation behind him, all with red strings tie around their weapons, binding them to their sheaths. The elven lord dropped to a knee and his men simultaneously copied him. "Lord General Jor, I come from Myth Drannor on a mission of peace and as a diplomat in the service of your kingdoms whilst I and my men are here".
The general stood out of obligation "you and your men are most welcome, we have been expecting you. It is late, no doubt you and your men would take dry clothes and quartering"? A servant maiden stirred from beside the door where she had been as still as the empty thrones prior to the generals request. "This way", and with a welcoming smile lead the lords men from the room to chamber them accordingly. Silvos stayed behind in hopes to gain audience from the general who had gone back to his document without another word.
The general peered up to the knight with a more annoyed look "was there more or may we conduct court in the morn"? He asked in a sarcastic tone equivalent to a dog's grumble it would give off as if it had been pet to hard by a unknowing child. The knight turned to address Silvos and the dwarves gave their leave to find a wet ale to nurse Grout's belly. The monk piped up again, this time a bit more cautiously "Lord--". Just then the stairs clattered and a side door from another lower stairwell produced an enormous man in white clothing embroidered in gold carrying several scrolls.The man was every bit the size of Brutus and a large silvering beard that hid his aging and his scarred face as well. A deep voice erupted from the man as another knee bend was well uway by the monk and knight "no need, we aren't in court. Lord Silvos, glad you made it here okay, I trust the road was well to you and your envoy"?
"Lord Varga, twas indeed fair, but I lost three men along the way, the most recent of which is still with us and needs an appropriate burial" The elf replied.
The white general nodded "that he shall have, how did he pass"?
Silvos told the story as it had happened and Pagonel confirmed the details. The lord looked concerned as he approached the large table, pouring himself a large cup of tea to begin his early morn. "Pagonel, bring me this girl and her monster, I will apologize to her in person, and so will you Jor" he said turning his head to the end of the table.
The general looked back up in pure contempt as if he had listened to the details of the conversation the whole time while writing "I cant make apologies to every commoner that falls victim to the scum growing on the pines in my woods".
Touraineio exclaimed 'These men were held up in a Strider guild house and had kidnapped three druids, if they have routed your men or killed them to commit such a crime you may very well want to know the details and should certainly owe the people of your land a due apology for failing to protect them as our creed dictates"!
Argys stood now, and even though he wasn't as large a human as the white general, his presence seemingly let off a wave of authority that was followed with a booming tone "They aren't my men! The Striders are the men of your king! The same king that refuses to relinquish his claim to the throne to the lot of us wardens and the same king that has thus far failed to do naught but live as a myth in an alleged iron tower that no one can even find! The very same king, that left his people in a spiral of famine that he began. If you seek an apology for failure to be a proper ruler, seek it from the tit of a king that you claim to support"!
Touraineio growled back "So be it then, if you won't issue an appropriate sentiment for the fouling of your people then I will".
Pagonel bowed and made haste from the tower. Silvos accompanied him with the intention of gathering the dwarves so that the as many people involved, with the exception of his men, would be present before the general whom he knew would have more questions for them along with his apology.
Silvos located the dwarves quickly whom were with their cargo consuming ale they had with them. They had failed to find an inn that would open it's doors this late in the night and had retired to drinking at their wagon. Pagonel found the elf maiden and the orc whom had yet to fully settle their campsite in the dark and rain which had now become but a drizzle. He approached the young maiden that was eating a few berries from small pouch and sitting on the ground "My Lord Varga summons you and Brutus to the Hall of Banners".
Her heart began to pound in her throat instantly, she knew it was unwise to refuse a lord, especially one of the generals; but she couldn't know if she was a wanted person by now, to be captured and returned to her homeland to answer for her evasions. She nervously began to pack up her things and Brutus followed suit helping her. She agreed and followed Pagonel into the city. She couldn't help but wonder if they would treat her any better than the brigands did if they found out who she was. She walked towards the white stronghold through the dim city streets that were beginning to stir to life by now with trumpeting poultry and early birds that had rose to empty their chamber pots onto wet streets. Her anxiety worsened once she entered the shadow of the building and she could feel locked within it's imposing prison.
The six of them were reunited in about as willing of a fashion as their first encounter, haphazardly and unsure of reason. The dwarves, disgruntled at the lack of booze meandered at the back of the group stowing away their pipes and items they had used while cart sitting, so that they could make a proper and diplomatic meeting. Autumn stayed near Brutus between the dwarves and the castelions that lead the way before her, attempting to keep her head low and hood up in while front of the guards the group passed in hopes that no one would spot her.
A third person had joined the two generals at the table at this point. A waking and tired looking elder with a snow white beard that disappeared under the table into his lap. A red pin of an eagle with its wings and claws spread apart identified with the same shape and style of Argys Jor's banner above the thrones of Mistledale and Battledale. His dark red robes and variety of small pouches around his cinches gave away his extensive arcane knowledge. He dawdled between a meal of oats and a scroll laid out over an open book, darting his eyes back and forth between documents and managing the occasional bite of food. Jor was hard at work on his documents, swaying the quill as if it were an extension of his articulated and half angry speech. Touraineio sat consuming a large platter of various foods, combing and tending to his beard, wrapping it into sections as it would make wearing a full helm much easier. Even though he hadn't been in a battle in five full years and hadn't even donned his armor in a few months, he wouldn't be caught unprepared for the opportunity to arise.
Pagonel announced his presence "My Lords, we have returned". Touraineio immediately stood and wiped the crumbs from the corner of his mouth. The wizard stood as well, which also brought Jor to a halt whom remained seated and appeared to be annoyed further with the reminder of the situation. "I have heard of your struggles and assault, on behalf of the crown, I wish to apologize to you for the perils you endured". Argys almost went back to his writing before taking a second take at the mountain of creature next to Autumn. He spoke in an irreverent tone "Pagonel, what are you doing with Candle Hydark's bastard"?
"Pardon me my lord"? Pagonel raised an eyebrow.
"The half-orc behind you is the bastard son of Lord Candle Hydark of the reaches. The half-orc looked blank and unassuming, not knowing what he was being accused of as the faces in the room turned towards him. Autumn was a bit relieved as the attention would be away from her even if only momentarily. The red lord spoke down on Pagonel again in the same cold voice "I see. I'm supposed to quarter him because his father shoved his prick into some orcish whore? I suppose you should think we should take notice and weep out for anyone. Isn't your heart out of bl--"?
Varga interrupted "Enough! I'll hear no more of you, these bunch have had a hard lot and are not deserving of your impetuous condescension! Now, young elf, speak and tell me what you know of these would be captors of yours. What is your name"?
Autumn was nervous as the attention of the room spanned back to her. "I am the druidess Autumn Willow my lord, I was captured by some travelers who poisoned me at my home in the Gouldwood, the others that were captured at the guildhouse I did not know but were druids as well".
A rusty voice sounded out from the old wizard "Ahem, if my eyes do not deceive me, I believe you intend to. No, I'm certain of it, you are Melikka's--".
Autumn interrupted the elder knwing the ruse was up in an instant, the wise elder had spotted her "There is no need my lord, I can introduce myself. I was given the name Elimmire of house Ancalime of Voranthis. I gave up my name and left home after my nameday of becoming to join the order of Merryheart Meadow".
The heads of the table looked astonished as the wizard continued "My name is Feliste Wandover young dove, and I was to be your headmaster and instructor at my school of transmutation and thaumaturgy. If I am not to be mistaken, you were to be wed to a lord of Myth Drannor after your induction into the school, correct"?
"Yes, Lord Artrae of Elven Court, my lord". Silvos turns his head in interest towards her.
Argys interjected in a much calmer tone than before "So you ran from home and gave up a life others can only dream of and would likely kill for to live a life freezing in the winters in some sod hut eating bark? Why would you leave that life"?
"Because, my lord. It wasn't good enough for me".
She paused and lowered her head "I suppose you'll be wanting to keep me here to fulfill my obligations then"?
Touraineio said "No, you've already been captured once today and held against your will. That's enough bda luck for once don't you think? I won't be holding you".
Argys mulled over his chalice breaking again from his documents "I have no interest in interfering in the family affairs of my lords houses unless it concerns mine or the welfare of my lands, neither of which could your staying or leaving effect. I will tell you my lady, that General Woodband will have an elite and particular interest in having your marriage to Lord Artrae come to fruition". The advisor and general nodded along in agreement. The wizard added in "Whether you stay..or go... it makes no difference to me, you'd be just another student I wouldn't have to teach in my old age" he chuckled.
Touraineio spoke in his naturally deep voice "He will be here prior to Shieldmeet in a month or so for preparation of the festival. If you see him you'll know who he is. He has golden plate armor with platinum embellishments. There's more money in that armor than in all the Dalelands".
Silvos inquired "what's his interest in getting her to the alter"?
Argys replied "He could join their houses and take the credit and use Artrae's influence to help open the Tangled Trees again for another road to Myth Drannor and the Western Dales. It would cut his merchants travel time down greatly and he could avoid having to send as many envoys down Rauthauvyr's Road to protect them".
Silvos responded "Couldn't he just go the way I travelled, and stay his merchant a safer course if he used the roads to the south through the other Dales"?
"Heh, and then make Blackfeather prosperous by paying duties on every cart that crosses that cursed old bridge? He'd rather rot than watch the Heronbones and General Belos profit from his pocket. Moreover though, I'd gamble he'd be interested in cutting down his shipping on lands time, ask the dwarven merchants over there if they like only having five months to cart goods from their mountains down to the valleys". A bit of cynicism began to fill his voice as he led on "The winters are longer than ever thanks to the everlasting cloud our great and powerful ghost of a king left behind after his war".
The dwarves nod and Grout spoke "It is laborious and troublesome, I will admit, especially with the frequent rains that accompanied the changes in the sky, but our Hammer-Queen Umbar has enlightened us on how things occured during the war and that it was necessary to fell the floating aisle that caused the cloudcover ".
Touraineio smiled under his black beard and nodded, "You'd have know the truth too, had you joined us in battle Argys".
Argys smirked back as he packed up his goods from the table, ending his long and arduous night "Someone had to run your kingdoms while you were off fighting his pointless war. Just feel lucky I gave them back. It has been a long night for all, I for one, am to retire for the remainder of it". He made his way for the staircase parting the gang of still soaked travelers a few steps prior to them with his commanding presence.
Touraineio spoke "It has been a long night indeed. All of you should rest. Pagonel, have fresh clothes brought to them and their wet ones washed and dried while they rest so they have dry gear for the morning. I want to see you all back here at my table after you all sleep. We are going to figure out
just what happened to you out there".
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Whew, that was a whopper of a session, and admittedly, I had no idea that it would take me that long to recite it in story form. It actually went a little longer than what I wrote here but I wanted to end at the end of a chapter. The session was a monster in multiple ways. I informed the players before the game began that no one there was new anymore so the difficulty would become more real and increased.
In turn, Jason had no idea he would begin the game naked and defenseless. He navigated it with flawlessness and even gambled his safety a bit to play his character well when he cast Entanglement prior to fleeing the guild house barn. He was also brave to reveal himself to the generals knowing what could conspire from the choice.
I took some dialogue liberties in order to bring the story to life, so what was said isn't word for word, but it is fairly close and all events that conspired are true to what happened in the game.
I wanted to begin the story in a strong way and open the game with some mystery and a plot hook. I chose this scene in particular to reflect the cruel side of a peaceful place that lies within a stones throw of civilization.
Rob shined through playing a character that was Lawful Good. this is often hard to do, especially when the law can conflict with the progress of the game or in this case, when it came to getting answers. It would have been easier, and has happened in the past where characters that are lawful turn their heads while the closer to neutral ones do the torturing to get answers. So good job Rob. You and Jason were definitely my MVP's this time around.
Greg, along with everyone else, me included, took a little adjusting to get used to the new system. When grout was gut wounded, I swung at him with the brigand, and since he was adjacent to Travis, the brigand had to roll with disadvantage against Greg's guy. Disadvantage means I had to roll twice and take the worse of the two rolls (the inverse of advantage of course) and with his Armor Class (how hard he is to hit) nearing 20, it made him VERY hard to hit. I rolled double 19's (on a 20-sided dice) and sliced him, max damaged the roll, and hit him for 8 damage. That all sounded epic on my part until the 8 damage right? Well, we all found out that 8 damage is a LOT in 5th edition and Greg watched himself become mortally wounded in an instant, even as well defended as he was.
Germ found out it is rather difficult to make extensive contributions to role playing with a character that has a limited (but growing) vocabulary. He did wear his acting hat well though and is adjusting well. Brutus is a far cry from Falus (Yes, the king that was mentioned in the story! and Yes, Germ did mean to name him Falus, and I now realize how funny that exaclty was, if you were paying attention I even joked about it in the story) I do want all the readers to know though that each character was very vital in bringing the game to life and each played their parts well.
Travis had his guy down mechanically pretty well as did Will and they were technically and strategically on point throughout the game. Will did an excellent job running a group of henchmen on the spot without seeing stat sheets prior.
I'm very glad I've had an expressed interest up until now in this and it seems like it's a growing one for you readers out there. I want to thank anyone that read all this to here and hope I hooked you in and see you back after next week. Here's some pics of our game board during the fight with the Zhents. Enjoy!
