21 February 2021
The party
· Kisandra Starlight – Half-Elf Sorceress (Heather)
· Barendil Dawnwood – Elf Ranger (Robert)
· Guillerme don d’Lyonne – Human Paladin (Martin)
· Friar Buck Norris – Human Cleric (Silas)
· Nobby Nobbs – Human (probably) Rogue (Tom)
Prologue: New Friends Feathered and Fair
After dispatching the orcs that had disturbed their camp the
previous night, the adventurers managed to get their heads down for a proper
rest. They awoke the next day feeling well rested and somehow more capable,
feeling that they had learned a significant amount from their adventures so
far.
Barendil spied a small shape spiralling in the sky far above
them and made a cawing sound, enticing a hawk down to land on his wrist. He fed
the bird some scraps of meat and stroked its head, feeling an instant
connection between himself and the animal.
Meanwhile, Guillerme finally roused himself from his bedroll
and surreptitiously stuffed a piece of parchment into his pack. He insisted
that the rest of the party refer to him as ‘Cloak Guillerme’ from now on but
would not be drawn further on why.
It appeared that at least two of the party now had friends
in high places.
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| Barendil and his new feathered companion |
Old Owl Well
They had pitched their camp to the south of the Triboar
Trail, not far from the location of Old Owl Well, so it was only a short walk
in the morning to reach the objective set for them by Daran Edermath. As they
crested a low ridge, the adventurers could see the crumbling ruins of a small
fortification. What was left of the fallen walls surrounded a small courtyard,
within which stood an ancient-looking watchtower and a well with a red tiled
roof. The watchtower was standing, just about, but certainly looked like it had
seen better days. Beside the well stood a bright red tent with a yellow trim
round the roof.
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| Old Owl Well |
Remembering Daran’s warning about undead activity in the
area, Guillerme stepped forwards and dropped to one knee, extending his
consciousness out towards the ruins. He did indeed feel the unnatural aura of
undeath, emanating strongly from the watchtower itself. The party therefore decided
to investigate the red tent first, to see if they could find out any information
that may help them before being set upon by whatever creatures may have risen
from their graves.
Barendil and Friar
Buck poked their heads into the tent flap, surprising a red robed wizard inside
who was busy at a writing desk. The wizard’s head was bald and tattooed with a
swirling purple pattern. Jumping up, he ushered them out of his tent and stood
in front of it, demanding to know what the meaning of this intrusion was.
“Who are you and what are you doing barging into my tent?”
asked the wizard, rage filling his dark eyes. “I thought you were more of those
damned orcs come to plunder and disturb my work… but you’re not, so why are you
here?”
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| The Red Wizard stands outside his tent |
“My name is Hamun Kost,” came the reply, as the wizard’s
demeanour softened. “I am a Red Wizard from Thay, as you may have guessed,
researching ancient sites of the magical Netheril Empire. This watchtower,” he
gestured to his right, “is one such site I believe. I would have completed my
studies by now if I hadn’t been harassed so much by those orcs. If you want to
make yourselves useful, I would be grateful if you travelled to Wyvern Tor and slayed
them all.”
The name of Wyvern Tor was familiar to the group, as the
townmaster of Phandalin had likewise put a bounty on the heads of the
greenskins that were holed up there, harrying local traffic along the Trail. Figuring
they could kill two orcs with one stone, the party took Hamun Kost’s request
seriously, though some questions remained about exactly what he was doing in
the area. Some of the party were not quite satisfied with his explanation so
far.
“So what about these undead?” asked Guillerme, gripping his
glaive. “I know that they are here.”
“Hmmmm?” replied Kost, almost absentmindedly. “Well,
zombies, yes – how else do you think I am going to keep those ravaging orcs at
bay?! Oh, I know, you paladins have a problem with it, and necromancy is
generally frowned upon in the Sword Coast, but where I come from it isn’t
attached to such stigma.”
Guillerme was taken aback, he didn’t know what to say. To
have the wizard admit he had been raising the dead? It was unbelievable! But
his companions whispered that the mage didn’t seem to be aggressive and that
perhaps we was simply researching the history of Netheril, as he had said.
Kisandra decided to investigate further, raising two fingers
to her right temple and focusing on the Red Wizard. As a person walking through
a thick cloud of fog, she penetrated his mind and was able to detect his
primary thoughts. He was indeed a Red Wizard from Thay, and he was
investigating the fall of the Netheril Empire. Satisfied so far, Kisandra
focused her mind more sharply and began to dig through the layers of Kost’s
consciousness. He had also been truthful about the orcs disturbing his studies.
Before she could dig further, Kost held up a wagging finger and clicked his
tongue against his teeth in annoyance.
“Now, now, young lady. Keep out of my mind please,” he said.
“I’ll let that one pass, but if you try it again, I won’t be so accommodating.”
Chastised, Kisandra turned away from the wizard, nodding to
the others that he was being truthful, as far as she could tell. It was then
that she noticed Nobby appeared to be missing. Where had the dirty little man
got to…
Catman
Nobby quietly lifted the canvas at the rear of the tent and
crawled on his belly into the wizard’s travelling abode, silent and unassuming.
Hamun Kost continued his conversation with the companions just outside the
entrance of the tent, not suspecting the crafty rogue’s intentions. Looking
around, Nobby could see a well-appointed tent, much more comfortable than the
arrangements he had been used to, camping underneath the stars with naught but
a rock for a pillow. The red-garbed wizard had a writing desk, a comfy chair
and a decent bed arranged around a tasteful rug, but it was the large chest at
the foot of the bed that really grabbed Nobby’s attention. He wiggled fully
into the tent, remaining silent as a shadow, and sidled up towards the chest.
Carefully, he tried the lid of chest and found it to be locked so he slowly
removed the lockpicks from his pocket, clasping them together to avoid them
jingling. He risked a quick look over his shoulder and saw that the wizard was
still gesticulating animatedly, looking out and away from the interior of his
canvas sanctuary.
Focusing to the task at hand, Nobby deftly inserted first
one and then a second pick into the lock, moving them ever so slightly and
feeling the resistance of the lock mechanism within. He was familiar with this
style of lock – his main challenge was getting this done quickly and not
alerting the wizard to what he was doing. With a quiet *click*, the lock was
released and Nobby was able to open the chest. Fortunately, the hinges had been
recently oiled and so there wasn’t even the slightest squeak as he lifted the
lid back and gazed at the contents within. He removed everything that seemed
valuable, including a fine silver ring with a shield embossed on it that he
immediately slipped on one of his fingers. A faint tingling sensation told him
that this ring held magical power within it. Nobby turned slightly and caught
Kisandra’s eye through the tent flap, giving her a crooked toothy grin and a
cheeky wink before crawling back to the rear of the tent. The half-elf
sorceress, for her part, did her best to hide her irritation at Nobby’s risk
taking, and wondered if he realised how ridiculous he looked trying to wink
surreptitiously when one of his eyes was covered with a gaudy, glinting,
jewel-encrusted eyepatch.
As he reached the canvas at the back of the tent, Nobby
thought he was home free. His left foot caught in the rug on the floor,
creating a slight scuffing sound which carried through a lull in the
conversation outside. Hamun Kost began to turn, but Kisandra called out in
alarm to try and grab the wizard’s attention and prevent him from noticing the thief
crawling about in his sleeping quarters. Kost remained more interested in the
noise from behind himself, but by this point the rest of the party had realised
what was happening and so joined in the efforts to distract the wizard before
Nobby’s jig was up. Barendil spluttered something incomprehensible, while Buck
tried to remember the steps and words to his favourite dancing song. It fell to
Guillerme to say something that did arrest the wizard’s attention, stepping
forwards and denouncing the practice of necromancy as foul and unnatural. The
Red Wizard stopped mid-turn and rotated his eyes to stare back at the paladin. He’d
always hated paladins, thinking they were better than everyone else, and he
debated internally whether to bother engaging this ignorant ox in any
conversation about his chosen school of magic. Deciding that it wasn’t worth
his time, he shook his head and peered back into the tent, seeing nothing out
of the ordinary.
Guillerme’s distraction had given Nobby just enough time to squeeze out beneath the canvas with the spoils of his raid. The paladin would later go on to berate Nobby for his behaviour, but the rogue didn’t really listen – besides which, he figured that if Guillerme had decided to help distract the mark then, deep down, he must have agreed with Nobby’s behaviour. Right? Right. And it was a great score, plenty of coin, a gemstone, and this nice tingly ring had come in a bejewelled box that must be worth a bob or two. Guillerme had just about finished banging on by the time Nobby had completed his mental inventory of the spoils and seemed to be expecting some sort of response. Nobby drew up the best “sorry Commander Vimes” face he could muster and muttered something about learning his lesson and not doing it again. This seemed to placate the paladin, at least for the moment.
Wyvern Tor
It was a relatively short distance cross-country for the
party to travel from Old Owl Well to Wyvern Tor. They had decided to pursue the
orcs and come to a resolution on what to do about Hamun Kost once the greenskin
threat was neutralised. Barendil let his falcon soar high into the air,
providing the party with an additional vantage point to locate the orc
encampment. Although Wyvern Tor itself was visible from miles around, the camp itself
was rather more well hidden somewhere in the hills and boulders surrounding the
main escarpment.
Friar Buck searched through the scrub, kicking some bracken
out of the way and wiping his sweating bald pate with the back of his hand. He
spotted some footprints and beckoned to Barendil to come and cast his experienced
eye over them. The elf confirmed that they were orc tracks, so surmised the
lair was near, and that these tracks had been made recently. After some more traipsing
around the area, a cawing sound from his falcon alerted the ranger to some
wispy smoke that was almost missed in the clouds. Tracing the smoke to the
ground indicated where the orc camp was located, within a cave dug into the
side of the hill. A single orc sentry could just about be seen, sitting on a
rock outside the cave’s mouth.
Barendil and Nobby stole forwards silently, Barendil leading
the way to help his companion avoid alerting the sentry but recognising that he
would let Nobby and his assassin’s instincts take the first shot. It was
crucial that they dispatch this orc without him warning the rest of the tribe.
Once within range, the two stealthy archers took up positions
and sighted their bows. Barendil released his arrow a mere heartbeat after Nobby’s
crossbow bolt had been loosed, the two missiles thudding into the orc sentry
moments apart from one another. The orc fell without so much as a whisper
thanks to their deadly accuracy.
Signalling to the others to come and join them, Barendil and
Nobby kept a wary eye on the cave entrance and surrounding area. No other
movement could be seen. The party moved as one to the entrance and prepared to
enter the lair, Barendil stopping only to order his falcon to perch on the
rocks above the entrance and provide a warning should they be attacked from
behind.
The orcs within the lair were caught unawares by the party
of adventurers storming into their sanctuary. Several orcs sat around a campfire,
while one particularly large and vicious-looking beast was sitting towards the
back of the cave with one arm draped on a large wooden chest. A grumbling ogre
towered over this orc, looking up with a mouthful of chicken as the adventurers
rushed forward into the orc camp.
Guillerme clasped his hands together in prayer and Blessed Kisandra,
Barendil and Nobby to aid the aim of their ranged attacks to capitalise on the
surprise the orcs were feeling. The sorceress then waved he hands through the
air, drawing power into herself, and blasted the huge ogre with a powerful
Witch Bolt. Staggering, the eight-foot-tall beast remained upright but looked
down at the crackling beam of energy that still pulsed with power from Kisandra’s
hands and tried to swat it away with his meaty hands.
Friar Buck used one of his new spells, Shatter, to target
several of the orcs around the campfire. The magical force blasted outwards,
smashing orcs backwards and nearly extinguishing the fire. Part of the magical
force extended far enough to further damage the ogre and wound the orc boss.
Barendil immediately followed this up with a shot from his bow, empowered with
the magic of thorns, which struck the ogre dead and spattered across a couple
of nearby orcs, felling another.
The adventurers had struck with such sudden ferocity that
they had managed to slay the orc leader and his ogre bodyguard, plus several of
the warriors, leaving just three orcs alive. Those orcs now panicked and ran to
escape. The only exit, however, was the cave mouth that the party had entered
through and so the scared greenskins scrambled past the adventurers as best as
they could. This gave the heroes an opportunity to turn and run the orcs down,
attacking their undefended backs.
Guillerme and Buck both turned and ran after the fleeing
orcs. Two of the greenskins turned and retaliated against Guillerme, surprising
him with their strength even as they were running in fear. A ringing blow
against his armour made him wince and tears rolled down his cheeks at the pain –
he was glad in that moment to be wearing a full helm that prevented his companions
from seeing the waterworks. All three running orcs were finally taken down,
with Barendil skewering the final one with a well-aimed arrow.
With the orcs dealt with, the party searched the lair but found nothing of value save some coins and three vials of perfume in the wooden chest that the orc boss still cradled in his arm. He had been killed so quickly that he hadn’t even had time to stand.
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| The orcs of Wyvern Tor (deceased) |
Return to Phandalin
Having dealt with the orcs, the adventurers decided to take some
time to have a short rest in the cave, making use of the deceased greenskins’
hospitality. Upon leaving the cave, Barendil began striding back towards the Triboar
Trail, to return to Phandalin.
“Wait!” cried Guillerme. “We should go back and deal with
that necromancer, shouldn’t we?”
The elf shook his head and replied, “no point, we need to
return to old Edermath and relay the information we gathered. That wizard isn’t
hurting anyone at the moment, and we were asked simply to find out what was happening
up there.”
“But… but… necromancers are evil!” spluttered the paladin
incredulously.
“That’s as may be,” said Barendil, “but he’s just
researching up there, he’s no immediate threat to anyone out here in the middle
of nowhere.”
“It is my sworn duty to vanquish evil,” Guillerme declared forcefully.
He then decided to try another tack by reminding the party that Hamun Kost had
said he would be indebted to them for slaying the orcs, so perhaps there was
some sort of reward money involved. Nobby squirmed and looked somewhere else as
he felt the bulging coin purse on his belt.
“Look, Nobby’s nicked his stuff anyway so he’s unlikely to
be happy about that, and Kisandra has read his mind – he is totally focused on
whatever magical nonsense he is studying, no plans to go invading the town or
anything,” said Barendil with a sigh.
Guillerme shook his head, looking to Friar Buck for support
but the cleric was unusually quiet. Finally, the paladin spoke. “I don’t place
my faith in the magical trickery of she-elf witches…”
“Shut your mouth and listen, you religious nutter!” shouted
Barendil, losing his calm and detached demeanour to rush forwards and thrust a pointing
finger into Guillerme’s face. “Don’t doubt the word of someone with elven blood!”
Seeing that the argument was escalating, Kisandra stepped in
to try and calm the two warriors. She attempted to reassure Guillerme of what
she had detected in Kost’s mind and reminded them that they fought on the same
side. Ultimately, they agreed to put it to a vote. Guillerme was outvoted four
to one in favour of Barendil’s plan to head back to Phandalin. Even Friar Buck
felt it was more sensible to return and regroup rather than rashly attacking
the Red Wizard.
The party began to follow Barendil back to the Trail, with
Guillerme sullenly walking at the rear.
“Tell me to shut my mouth,” he muttered. “I’m a big deal
back home you know, we should be vanquishing evil wherever we find it.”
Guillerme didn’t stop grumbling to himself until they
stopped marching for the day and began to set up camp. Barendil stared at the
paladin before walking away into the trees without a word to patrol the area.
A fire was burning by the time Barendil began walking back
towards the camp, when suddenly he was aware of a large creature moving through
the trees ahead, perhaps attracted to the light of the campfire. The elf managed
to shout a warning to his companions just before a huge mound of fur and
feathers came barrelling out of a bush to his left – it was a mighty Owlbear!
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| A mighty Owlbear charges from the trees |
Barendil was taken aback by the speed of the beast, which
was on him almost as soon as his warning had left his lips. With a mighty
bellow, the Owlbear first swatted the elf with one of it’s enormous paws and
then bit deep into is shoulders as he stood, dazed from the first blow. Shaking
the ranger like a dog with a rat, the Owlbear threw him several feet to one
side where he landed in a crumpled heap, not moving. Just before it could move
in to start devouring it’s meal, the rest of the party charged in towards the
beast, shouting their warcries – fortunately they had been close enough to hear
Barendil’s warning shout.
Buck ran forward with his shield held out in front to block
the beast’s path, while Guillerme scurried over to the fallen elf and poured a
healing draught down his throat. Spluttering, Barendil opened his eyes and
nodded his thanks to the paladin.
Meanwhile, Nobby had hidden behind some trees and was peppering
the monster with crossbow bolts. Kisandra was throwing what magic she could at
the Owlbear, but had not had a chance to fully rest yet so found her magical
reserves depleted from the day’s adventuring. Still, between the two of them
and Buck’s ferocious hammering, the Owlbear was gradually being forced backwards.
With Barendil back on his feet, Guillerme joined the fray
with his glaive, slicing down at the feathered beast. The elf ranger limped back
into the treeline, leaning against a trunk to help support himself while he
drew an arrow from his quiver. Sighting the bow expertly despite his injuries,
he sent an arrow flying straight into the Owlbear’s eye, dropping the animal to
the ground. Its chest heaved once, twice, three times more and finally it was completely
still. The party gathered around Barendil to help him back to the camp so that
they could tend to his wounds.
The rest of that night, as well as the following day and
night, passed uneventfully and the party made their way back to Phandalin. They
immediately went to talk to Daran Edermath at his orchard, finding the old
adventurer again sampling some of his delicious cider.
“Well met my friends,” he greeted them. “What news from the
wilderness?”
They relayed the information they had gathered about Hamun
Kost and his request to slay the orcs at Wyvern Tor – the greenskins had been
just as much of a problem for him as they had been for the townspeople and
traders on the Triboar Trail. It was clear that he had been raising the dead,
but according to him that was purely to defend his site of study from orc
incursion.
Edermath nodded as they talked, taking the information in.
Finally he gave his verdict.
“You did well,” he began. “I agree – this Hamun Kost doesn’t
sound like an immediate threat. While it is true that the Red Wizards are no
friends of the Order of the Gauntlet, we refrain from striking until we know
evildoers have transgressed in some way. I will keep an eye on his activities
and contact my superiors for guidance so that we can proceed in the best way.”
“And I am most impressed,” continued Daran, “that you have
made the Triboar Trail safe once again from the predations of orcs. This is wonderful
news – you should make haste to claim your reward from the townmaster. After
saving the town from those damned Redbrands, you’re really starting to make a
name for yourselves – cheers!”
He raised a large jug of scrumpy and poured a round of
drinks for the adventurers.
A Well-Earned Rest
The adventurers claimed their reward from Harbin the
Townmaster, who still appeared to be blindly rejecting the evidence of the problems
caused by the Redbrand menace but was thankful for the orc threat being
neutralised. They decided to take their hard-earned money and spend some of it
celebrating in the Stonehill Tavern, resting and relaxing while they pondered
their next move. Mirna had suggested they investigate the ruins of Thundertree,
which sounded like an appealing option, but was it pulling them away from their
primary objective? They also wanted to find out what Daran Edermath decided
about Old Owl Well and whether they had further work to perform along the
Triboar Trail.
Barthen told them that Nundro and Tharden Rockseeker had
still not returned to town; the dwarf brothers were well overdue for a resupply.
This was of some concern, particularly as the third brother, Gundren, was still
being held captive by the Cragmaw Goblins and the party currently had little
idea where Cragmaw Castle was – other than the fact it was to the north, in the
forest somewhere. The little goblin, Droop, that they had liberated from
Bugbear savagery in Tresander Manor had told them that much but had also said
that he didn’t know the exact way to get the to castle. Friar Buck suddenly
realised that they had all but forgotten the goblin in their haste to get to
Old Owl Well, so he asked the innkeeper if he had seen Droop.
“That dirty little goblin?” the innkeeper said with a look of
serious disdain. “Can’t believe I let you bring him in here… filthy creatures…
I kicked him out when you left town, but I’ve seen him skulking around the
alley out the back, poking in the bins.”
Buck went out into the alleyway, cupping his hands around
his mouth and calling for the little goblin. There was a rustling sound and
suddenly a small green shape came running out of a pile of rubbish, arms
outstretched and a ridiculous toothy grin on his little face. The goblin was
delighted to see the Friar again, and after some weeks of travelling with Nobby,
Buck didn’t find the goblin’s odour quite as unpleasant as he might have done.
Epilogue
While the party were carousing and enjoying a well-earned break in the Stonehill Tavern with a few tankards of ale (or, in Friar Buck’s case, a few flagons), Guillerme took himself off to the other side of the common room with parchment and quill. Curious as to what he was up to, Nobby had a quick look through his pack later that night and found a letter, written in beautiful script, addressed to Monsieur Don d’Lyonne – Guillerme’s father.
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| Guillerme's letter to father |
