04 April 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)
Exploring Thundertree
 |
| The party's exploration of Thundertree ruins so far |
The party dusted themselves down after the combat with the zombies and looked around the square. They could
see no other enemies nearby, so were unconcerned with attempting to remain
quiet. Nobby dashed over to the two buildings on either side of the square to
see if they contained anything useful; both buildings were in a serious state
of disrepair, full of rubble but nothing of value. He signalled to the others
and they formed up into a line to proceed south to explore the southeast of
Thundertree. Nobby led the party forwards, with Buck and Guillerme close
behind. Kisandra and Barendil brought up the rear, keeping their eyes open for attack
from behind, as well as watching over Droop who wandered along in the middle of
the group.
A loud rustling in the bushes ahead made Nobby pause, when
all of a sudden a large brown shape burst from the undergrowth and onto the
path in front of him before charging off on the other side and disappearing
from view. Though it was only there for a brief moment, Nobby heard the
unmistakable pitter-patter of hundreds of tiny feet and smelled the familiar
smell of sapient pearwood. Somehow, the Luggage had found its way to this
strange world too… For some reason, this cheered Nobby, though he knew better
than to go chasing the angry box down when it was acting like this. If he was
lucky, he might encounter it again, and it would let him know whether it was
safe to approach – or, as safe as it could ever be to approach a homicidal
chest on legs.
 |
| The Luggage |
The Trees are Alive
Continuing south along the road, Nobby led Guillerme and
Buck towards the building to the right of the path. Unfortunately, the rogue led
them into an ambush as suddenly the trees and shrubs surrounding them burst
into life, uprooting themselves and moving into attack positions! The three
warriors at the front were taken by surprise, while Kisandra, Barendil and
Droop looked on, preparing to help their companions as best as they could.
 |
Trees and shrubs
uproot themselves
and move to attack the party |
Guillerme was confronted by a large animated tree, while
Buck and Nobby were each set upon by two smaller adversaries, scratching at
them with branches and twigs. The large tree swung a mighty arm-branch around
in a circle, smacking down onto Guillerme’s helm with an almighty crack. Already
weakened due to his injuries suffered during the zombie fight, the paladin fell
to the ground, knocked out cold. His companions could see that he wasn’t moving
at all, as the mobile tree looked for another victim.
 |
| Guillerme faces off against a large, angry, animated
tree |
While Buck and Nobby fended off the less devastating attacks
from the smaller plant monsters, Barendil ran forwards and grabbed Guillerme’s
cloak, dragging the stricken human to safety. The ranger also signalled to
Droop to come and help the paladin and the cowardly goblin managed to hold his
nerve enough to scurry forwards and take a healing potion from Barendil’s pack –
finally taking the chance to prove his quality to the group he had attached
himself to.
Kisandra had seen the devastation caused by a single blow
from the large treeman, but could also tell that the lumbering monster would
not be able to move as quickly as she could. She therefore retreated to a safe
distance to be able to cast spells at the arboreal menace, first probing its
defences with a True Strike cantrip before blasting it with a Witch Bolt. Her magical
reserves were not fully recharged since fighting the zombies, so the magical
lightning was not as strong as it could be, but it still scorched the bark of
her target as the arcane electricity sparked and fizzed in the air. Kisandra maintained
her focus so that the spell continued to arc between her fingers and the tree,
continuing to damage the monster.
Nobby decided to repeat his trick with the spiders, grabbing
a flask of oil from his pack and dousing the two shrub monsters in front of him
with the liquid. Perhaps too excited by the prospect of setting them aflame, or
maybe distracted by their grasping branches, he hastily pulled the lit dog end
from his mouth and threw it at the shrubs without first retreating to a safe distance.
The fag spun end over end and struck the first oil-soaked shrub, which ignited
with a fireball – both igniting the second shrub and severely singing Nobby, burning
his eyebrows clean off his forehead (not that Nobby’s forehead was particularly
clean, but it was not at least bald).
Barendil stood guard over Guillerme’s prone form, gripping
his magical longsword, Talon, in front of him. Guillerme was coughing up blood
at this point and seemed very close to death. The treeman lurched over and took
a swipe at the elf, cuffing him hard on the shoulder. Incensed with rage, the
elf ranger roared and swung his sword, two-handed, in a furious arc to chop at
the tree’s leg. The monster remained standing but large chunks of wood had been
hacked away. Meanwhile, Droop used the distraction to sneak in behind Barendil
and pour the healing potion down Guillerme’s throat, bringing the paladin back
from the brink of death. He spluttered and blinked his eyes open, looking pale
and confused, but alive. Noticing the efforts that Barendil and Droop had both
gone to in helping their companion, Nobby felt an uncommon warmth within
himself, feeling that perhaps these fellows could be true comrades who would risk
their own lives to help a degenerate like himself. He shook himself and, as the
two shrub monsters in front of him succumbed to the flames that engulfed them,
he drew his bow to help deal with the remaining enemies, a more immediate and
familiar concern.
Dragging himself to his feet, Guillerme bravely ran away,
stumbling to the shelter of the treeline – hoping that the tree he hid behind
was not about to attack him. Fortunately, it did not, so he pulled out one of
his potions of healing and removed the cork with his teeth before draining the
contents. He then cast Shield of Faith on himself to provide some additional
protection should he be attacked again, then unshouldered his crossbow to
provide some ranged support for Barendil, who was still fiercely fighting sword
to branch with the treeman.
As most of the party concentrated on the large treeman, Buck
solidly swung his warhammer and destroyed the smaller shrubs in front of him.
Kisandra’s Witch Bolt continued to crackle and burn the bark of the treeman
while Nobby fired an arrow that stuck into its trunk with a THWACK. In response,
it turned with a creaking movement to face the rogue and stepped towards him,
raising its fists in preparation to strike down but, before it could get far,
the leg that Barendil had hacked with his sword gave way and the monster began
to topple sideways. If its face hadn’t been made of wood it may have looked
more surprised, but with a slow inevitability the treeman crashed to the ground,
twigs and smaller branches snapping from it. Now that the monster was lying
prone and struggling to right itself, Guillerme felt emboldened enough to
charge in, swinging his glaive. He chopped down with all his strength and split
the wooden monster in twain; the two halves stopped moving and the magic that
had animated them dissipated so that it simply resembled two piles of sticks.
Guillerme sat down heavily, leaning back against the wood and regaining his breath.
Friar Buck walked towards Guillerme and put his hand on his
shoulder. The cleric looked from the paladin to the rest of the party, his eyes
finally resting on Barendil.
“Well fought, master elf,” began Buck. “We should all be
proud of our combined efforts here, but you most of all have shown true
comradeship in protecting our companion here.”
Barendil nodded solemnly in reply as he wiped then sheathed
his sword.
“And you!” Buck exclaimed as he pointed at Droop, “excellent
work my little friend.”
The diminutive goblin
looked like he might burst with pride at the compliment from the Friar.
A Much-Needed Rest
Nobby looked about at the dismembered tree corpses. He
couldn’t find any ears anywhere. When Kisandra heard him grumbling, she offered
to press some leaves for him as a trophy of sorts – Nobby’s expression told her
that she shouldn’t waste her time. The rogue busied himself gathering the dead
plant monsters into a large pyre and setting them on fire. Nobody was quite
sure whether this was a strategic decision or some sort of revenge, but they
left him to get on with it.
Clearly needing some rest and recuperation, the party
returned north to the town square and sequestered themselves in the watch
barracks to make use of the bunks to have some comfort as they slept. Although
the mid-afternoon sun was still high in the sky, the party decided to hole up
for the rest of the day and throughout the night – they didn’t want to venture
forth into the ruins once darkness fell. Choosing the fortified barracks was a
shrewd decision as it was one of the few defendable structures they had found
within the town.
Barendil and Guillerme were the most heavily injured of the
party, so they both got their heads down first. Buck and Kisandra tended to the
fire while Nobby took the first watch and started to muse to himself about the
strange land he found himself in. When Barendil woke from his slumber (as an
elf he didn’t require much sleep), he went to relieve Nobby. The rogue’s eyes
were heavy and he fell asleep where he sat, by the fire, curled up like a dog.
As Barendil stood by the window, on the lookout for danger, he heard Nobby
mumbling what sounded like some sort of inner monologue in his sleep…
As Nobby sat there listening to his new pals
round the campfire, letting these weird Easter fables wash over him, he was
getting very confused. There is apparently some sort of rabbit that lays easter
eggs? And people seek out these eggs and gorge on them? Back home on Discworld
they did have rabbits and, okay, they lay these small round brown balls, but he
was pretty sure they weren’t made of chocolate and probably tasted worse than
that expensive artisan stuff anyway. Maybe better than the coconut ones though.
Whilst thinking of those rabbits his mind did wander a bit, meandering through
nightmare-inducing animated children’s movies; that infamous “Rabbit of Caerbannog”;
a bit of confusion as to why women seem to like them so much and finally to
those big floppy ears. Ears. E-A-R-S … ooohhh yeeeahhh…
Kisandra’s ears were a bit on the small side,
but very neat. And it looked as though she kept them very clean; more likely to
find honey than wax in there. Guillerme once said (rather quietly) she was easy
on the ear and Buck said she certainly had a sympathetic ear. Nobby had heard
her say she would always lend an ear if needed, although not directly to him. But
that was OK, taking something that would be given lessened the fun of the
chase. In fact, Nobby had been informed she often turned a deaf ear to him
(Nobby assumed Buck’s “sympathetic ear” comment was a polite term for this
ailment). But she does amazingly well for someone that can only hear from one
ear. Nobby had taken to standing different sides of her to have a chat, to see
if she would turn her head one way or another, but even as an expert
investigator he couldn’t determine which one was deaf. Maybe one was clogged up
as she was often pulled aside by Barendil so he might have a word in her ear.
For some reason this would also result in either Nobby, Buck or Guillerme
making a close inspection of their shoes. All in all, definitely not sow’s ears,
but they weren’t exactly what Nobby was looking for. 5 out of 10.
Guillerme’s ears were respectable dishes but
his helix looked a bit funny, presumable from that toff inbreeding. Nobby often
observed Guillerme having a good waxy clean out with his sixth finger. In fact,
Guillerme often said some weird things about his hearing: he said he loved to
hear the women moan but not complain. Nobby found this very confusing as they
were the same thing weren’t they? And this comment immediately got the others
complaining but it just made Guillerme happier?! Barendil said he had nothing
between the ears, but Nobby decided he shouldn’t hold that against the ears
themselves. In fact, Barendil had a bit to say about Guillerme’s ears and often
remarked he had had to give him an earful. Nobby couldn’t see much in his ears (he
peeked when Guillerme was sleeping) so assumed they had a small capacity – a
black mark in Nobby’s book. Sildar had said Guillerme was very wet behind the
ears too and would be for a while. Nobby did check that as well and, whilst
perhaps a bit sweaty, they weren’t too wet – nothing like Buck’s ears were when
he fell asleep after quaffing all that ale. Ultimately, Guillerme’s ears are of
inferior quality. 2 out of 10. Actually, it was often said Guillerme was very
good making a pig’s ear of things – Nobby would have to speak to him about that
as he would like to do the same. 3 out of 10.
Buck’s ears were big and jolly, with jiggly
lobes. This pleased Nobby no end! When he swung his warhammer Nobby would often
admire the lobes, flailing around like they were trying to swat at a nuisance
wasp. Mesmerizing. Buck said he could hear the Gods talking to him, which Nobby
supposed meant his ears were of good quality. That said, Nobby had no interest
in hearing the Gods. It’s not that he didn’t believe in them, he knew they
existed back on Discworld. But (even in the privacy of his own mind Nobby
looked over his shoulder just thinking this), they’re bastards! Shame a decent
bloke like Buck spent his life believing in them when they didn’t believe in
humans; at least not any more than they believe in a pawn in whatever game
they’re playing this time. Funny that he can hear the gods, but also often
exclaim to Nobby that he couldn’t believe his ears. Nobby was only talking
about his boot collection from the wars. Guillerme commented that Buck could
talk your ears off too. Nobby had so much to learn! Learning that skill would
certainly save time looking for suitable whetstones. Buck should keep his ears
to the ground with Nobby about. 7 out of 10!!
Mr Barendil had a gorgeous set of ears on
him! Quite clean (not too clean from that forest living) and they came to a
point at the top. They wouldn’t look out of place on a spaceship science
officer (L-space had put some weird memories in Nobby’s head). Nobby often
found himself idly fingering his dagger whilst inappropriately staring at the
side of Mr Barendil’s head. It was the closest Nobby came to experiencing
shame. But when Mr Barendil’s ears grew scarlet and suddenly turned his head to
glare at Nobby he felt alive! And whenever Mr Barendil said his ears were
pricking Nobby was giddy. There was a slight downside in that Mr Barendil said
he couldn’t listen to Nobby. Yet this seemed strange as Nobby was sure he would
somehow listen intently to Nobby’s every action. The chase was on! Maybe he
could read Nobby’s mind – he would often say Nobby was close to being out on
his ear. But Nobby knew the game was afoot. Those ears: all the years they have
been around, the places they have been, the things they must have heard, Nobby
could only imagine. And he did oh so much. FILTH! 10 out of 10!
Barendil shuddered as the sleeping Nobby stopped his
murmuring monologue and began snoring noisily. He looked up and noticed that
Kisandra was standing in the doorway, looking equally bemused at this insight
into the human rogue’s fragile state of mind. With an unspoken understanding,
they knew they would have to keep an eye on Nobby…
Nobby woke early. The sun was barely poking over the horizon
and the fire was burning low. Barendil was nowhere to be seen, presumably doing
his normal patrolling that he liked to do, and everyone else was still sleeping.
Excitedly, Nobby got up from his place by the fire and crept to the room where
Guillerme slumberered. In all the excitement of the previous evening, Nobby
had forgotten about his regular ritual of rifling through the paladin’s
belongings to see what amusements he could find. As his light fingers worked
through the pack, he tried to stifle a whoop of joy – he’d struck gold! No
letter to daddy in Guillerme’s posh, cursive script, this time, but potentially
something better. It looked like poetry! Oh, this was going to be hilarious to
read to the rest of the group in the morning, thought Nobby to himself as he
crept back out of the room clutching the piece of parchment.
 |
Some of Guillerme's poetry, discovered
by Nobby, carelessly discarded at the
bottom of the paladin's pack
in a secret pocket |
A Nefarious Plot
Fully rested and healed, the party continued in their
exploration of Thundertree, proceeding south past the still-smouldering remains
of Nobby’s funeral pyre from the previous afternoon. They continued on, more
cautiously than before, until they saw a building in the southeast corner of
the town. Though this building was fairly run down, someone had gone to the
trouble of boarding up as many of the holes as possible and making it slightly
more defensible. Looking carefully, a sentry could be seen standing on the
upper floor of the building – apparently human, with pale skin and deep purple
robes, wearing a black mask on his face. The party ducked into the undergrowth
next to the road, but the sentry did not appear to have noticed them yet.
 |
A sentry stands on the upper floor of a building that
has been fortified with planks of wood |
Kisandra looked at the sentry intently. Something about his
garb seemed familiar to her… suddenly, she had it. The purple robes and the black
mask were the conventional uniform of the Cult of the Dragon. She had read
about these nefarious individuals at great length during her studies with
Hornraven – any group that showed such an interest in dragons was worth
studying in her attempts to understand where her own power had come from. But
the more she had read about them, the more she despised them. The Dragon Cult
sought to free the evil dragon queen, Tiamat, from her imprisonment in the Nine
Hells. This would unleash untold devastation on the world – they could not be
allowed to succeed.
As she relayed what she knew of the cultists to the rest of
the adventurers, their eyes widened at the implications of what Kisandra was
saying. They guessed there had to be a link between these cultists and the blue
dragon that they had encountered, though the details were a mystery. There was
agreement in the group that these cultists had to be stopped, but also an
awareness that this could be the tip of the iceberg – there could be other
cultists at large across the Sword Coast. In order to understand what was going
on and present some useful information to the various factions they had allied
themselves with, the adventurers would need to gather more information.
“Don’t you worry lads, leave it to me,” Nobby said with
remarkable confidence. “I’ve got a plan… just tell me, who is it that
imprisoned this Tiamatata dragon queenie?”
Rolling her eyes at his pronunciation but deciding to put
her faith in Nobby, Kisandra replied, “It was Asmodeus, Lord of Devils and
ruler of the Nine Hells. Some sort of pact keeps her confined within the Hells,
but there are those that would see her released.”
“Got it,” replied
Nobby, taking a notebook and pencil from his pack. “Let me do the talking, but I
might need a bit of muscle.”
Guillerme and Buck assured him they were up to the task, neither
looking particularly clear they understood exactly what the task was. Barendil
and Kisandra elected to remain hidden in the trees, to provide a rear-guard if
necessary.
 |
A number of dragon cultists emerge from
deeper within the building |
Marching boldly up to the door, Nobby put on his best Mister
Vimes impression and hammered his fist against the timbers.
“Inspection! Open up!” he shouted in a tone that surprised
his two comrades.
The door opened a crack and a black mask peered out.
“Who the hell do you think you are?” asked the masked man
inside the building.
“Who the hell am I? You better change that attitude sonny-Jim,
I’m here on behalf of the devil-worshippers checking that you’re doing the
right thing on behalf of your trapped dragon queen, you understand? Now, let me
and my associates in, and we’ll give this establishment a proper going over.”
For some reason, Nobby’s demeanour and surprising confidence,
plus use of a notebook like a clipboard, confused the cultist, who stepped back
and let the three of them into the building. Buck and Guillerme followed Nobby
in through the door, looking almost as bewildered as the cultist did behind his
black mask.
Within the room were a couple of large tables, covered in
maps, charts, books and various parchments of notes. In the corner a tall shape
was covered by a blanket. Nobby strode around the room, tutting as he appeared
to make notes. Two more cultists emerged from the back room, looking at their
companion for an explanation. He shrugged as Nobby continued his charade.
“Disgraceful,” Nobby said, “it’s a mess in here. Tell me,
what exactly are you trying to achieve here in Thundertree?”
One of the newly-emerged cultists strode forwards
threateningly.
“Buck, punch him!” ordered Nobby as the man approached.
Without thinking twice, Buck balled his fist tightly and hit
the cultist squarely in the jaw, dropping him in a crumpled heap on the floor. The
man was out cold and the other two suddenly became slightly more compliant.
“We are seeking to entreat with various dragons of the land,
to bring them to our cause,” explained one of the cultists. “We heard there was
a Blue here in Thundertree – we haven’t seen it yet, but we’ve seen the tell-tale
signs. We’ve only been here a couple of days, once we’re ready we’ll make our
move… Why do you want to know? Surely you know why we’re here?”
“Of course *I* know,” scoffed Nobby, “I’m here to make sure
*you* know.” He shook his head. “Now, get the rest of them in here, pronto.”
The rest of the cultists filed into the room, not entirely
sure why they were doing what this small, strange looking man was telling them
to. The one Buck had hit remained unconscious, and Nobby approached the one
that he suspected was the leader.
“Sloppy operation,” remarked Nobby. “That Asmodeus, he ain’t
gonna be happy about what’s going on here.”
The cult leader looked like he was going to protest.
“Hit him!” yelled Nobby, standing back so Buck could land
another ringing blow on the cult leader’s head, dropping him like a stone.
This seemed to be the last straw for their deception as the
rest of the cultists drew their weapons. Buck called out to Nobby that he wasn’t
happy to kill these men as he hadn’t seen them doing anything wrong yet, but as
one of them swung his polearm at the cleric he couldn’t stop his natural
reaction which exploded angry divine lightning to throw the assailant back,
dead, against the wall. He rolled up his sleeves to go chasing another cultist
bare-handed and couldn’t stop a grin from spreading across his face; he didn’t
know what was going on, but he was having a whale of a time.
Nobby slipped over to the window and shouted for Kisandra
and Barendil to come in and help them now that things had got a bit more ‘fighty’.
Guillerme launched himself forwards with glaive held high, having less
compunction about slaying the cultists than Buck had.
Returning from the window, Nobby quickly knelt and slid a
dagger in between the ribs of the cult leader, who was still dazed on the floor
from Buck’s thunderous punch. Kisandra and Barendil burst into the room, sending
arrows and spells at the remaining cultists.
Soon, the only remaining enemies were the one unconscious
cultist on the floor near the door and one other, injured at the back of the
room. He turned to flee. Kisandra called out that they needed to keep one alive
for further questioning, but she shot a Magic Missile at the retreating cultist
– it was imperative that none escaped.
They moved to tie up the unconscious cultist and Buck moved
forward to put his arm on Nobby’s shoulder.
“There will be no torturing,” the cleric said firmly. Nobby
shrugged his assent.
When the cultist awoke, he struggled against his bonds briefly
before slumping back in defeat. He looked around despondently at his dead
brethren. When interrogated, he confirmed that the Cult was there to entreat
the Blue dragon, but they had not made contact yet. He also said that theirs was
one cell of many, located throughout the land, working towards restoring Tiamat
to her former glory. He didn’t appear to be lying but Kisandra confirmed he was
telling the truth by detecting his thoughts.
Barendil was incensed at the thought of the evil Tiamat
being brought back into the Material Plane. He drew his sword and swiftly
pierced the cultist’s heart, before turning to the others.
“This is a threat to the realms that we will have to answer,”
he declared. “Tiamat cannot be allowed to rise. But we must complete our
current task first and save those Rockseeker brothers, if they are still
breathing…”
 |
One cell of dragon cultists has been destroyed,
but how many others exist along the Sword Coast? |
Kisandra searched through the charts and parchments on the
tables. One piece caught her eye – it listed five colours, some of them crossed
out, others with notes next to them. It was clear to her that this represented
the various primary colours of chromatic dragon in Faerûn and seemed to be a to-do
list for the cultists. They had ticked off a Green and a Black, identified the
locations of a Blue and a White, but had not found a suitable Red so far. What
they were doing with the dragons was unclear to her. Nor was she sure what was
meant by ‘Tributes’. Still, she took the parchment as it seemed like important information
for uncovering the wider truth about what the Cult of the Dragon may be up to.
 |
| A parchment catches Kisandra's eye |
Walking to the back of the room, Kisandra removed the sheet
and found it was covering a large bird cage. Within the cage stood a shimmering
bronze figure, looking like a small statue of a dragon until it suddenly moved.
“A pseudodragon…” she whispered, staring with wonder at the
little creature.
Barendil came over and looked approvingly at the little
metallic dragon. He unhooked the door of the cage, allowing the cowering
creature to slowly emerge from its captivity. Between the two of them, Barendil
and Kisandra coaxed the little dragon out and held out food for it to eat.
Gradually, it appeared to relax in their presence, realising that its ordeal
was over.
“Wonderous,” said Kisandra. “We shall have to find a name
for you little one.”
 |
Kisandra walked round, examining the
little bronze pseudodragon |
Party Correspondence
As the party took stock of their surroundings in the cultist
lair, Kisandra drew parchment and ink from her pack.
“I feel we need to urgently inform someone of this,” she
said, “so I am going to write to Sister Garaele to inform the Harpers of these
troubling events. I will also write to my father, Bran Hornraven, as he should have
a better idea of what to do for the best welfare of this gorgeous little
dragon.” She smiled and stroked the pseudodragon under the chin as she spoke.
“Barendil, would you mind awfully if we used Perry to
deliver these messages to Phandalin? I know it is a task beneath your noble
bird’s capabilities, but I believe we need to pass on this information with the
utmost haste and he can certainly fly there quicker than us.”
Barendil nodded his agreement and called his falcon to land
on his arm as Kisandra swiftly wrote out two letters.
“If Perry can deliver them both to Garaele, I am sure she
will have the means to deliver the second message onto Bran,” she said.
Guillerme wandered back towards the front door and noticed
Kisandra writing her letters.
“Oh, great idea!” exclaimed the paladin. “I was going to
write to my father, I may as well tell you all about it before Nobby gets a
chance to read it out to you,” he continued with annoyance as Nobby giggled
into his hand. “At least this way I avoid him trying to embarrass me.”
As Guillerme reached for his own parchment and quill, Nobby
noticed a smaller scrap fall to the ground and swiftly picked it up before
Guillerme could retrieve it.
“More poetry!” crowed Nobby. “Settle in ladies and gents,
this should be a doozy…”
 |
Kisandra's letter to Sister Garaele,
reporting events to The Harpers |
 |
Kisandra's letter to her adoptive father,
mentor and friend, Bran Hornraven |
 |
Guillerme's letter to his father,
Monsieur don d'Lyonne |
 |
| More of Guillerme's poetry |
