Post by venger on Aug 25, 2008 9:17:32 GMT -5
Act 1:
A motley and ill equipped group of would-be adventurers finds themselves in the CityState of the Invincible Overlord, in the taproom of a modest inn. Hard of luck and low on cash they regale each other with various tales and rumors about places where fame and fortunes might be sought. Adair speaks of untold riches deep in the desert, far from normal paths; East, across the Tasman Sea, within the Land of Sand. Travel to the Land of Sand is expensive, though, and the land itself is dangerous. None present could afford such a journey. Baldric tells of the abandoned manor of a noble and the riches within:
"The thirteenth, fourteenth, fifteenth, and sixteenth Barons Hareth have come and gone, and now all that remains are the rubble-filled ruins of what were once noble dwellings. Even though Hareth village is nearby, the folk of the region are unlikely to have investigated the ruins, and Baron Hareth is unlikely to care, having moved on. With some effort and luck, the riches of a noble family might be ours," Baldric proclaims.
"That's nothing," Holmar says, "I know about a temple or monastery to ancient evil, long abandoned!"
"Yeah?" asks Draegos, intrigued. "Where is this monastery?"
"Nestled against the Shrill River, opposite Fort Guy. I have rough directions to the monastery, but it would take a group of like-minded folk to travel safely and thoroughly search it."
"That's weeks away!" the priest of Kord exclaims. "We can't afford to provision an expedition like that."
"And I suppose you have a better idea?" the fighter retorts.
"My friend Crommard, a sage of some repute, is organizing an expedition to the ruined elven fortress Jawarl Avignon." Twix, the elf, winces at Draegos' awful pronounciation. "It's a week's travel down the coastal road to the fishing village of Awad. The scholars are in need of an escort, but I believe I can sway them into allowing us to provide protection at the site against any that may disturb their archaeological dig. Plus, if they find something interesting, the more hands they have the better. We might even get to share in the profits of the expedition."
The others seem unconvinced.
"It's legitimate work. We'll be paid a daily wage and they'll provide food for the journey. Otherwise we're off in search of our own ruin, with no guarantee of reward. We'd be out of pocket on expenses and there's a chance we'd turn up with nothing."
Though Adair looks slightly aggrieved at the prospect of legitimate work, everyone else is amenable to the prospect.
Draegos leads his new-found friends to the home of Crommard the Sage, in the City State of the Invincible Overlord. Introductions are made and interest is expressed in providing security for the expedition. Crommard, visibly excited, begins talking about the wonders of the site and the wealth of orcish history that could be discovered therein. Baldric, something of a student of history and lore himself, immediately takes to Crommard’s tales. Pulling forth a large leather-bound tome, Crommard rambles at length about the history of Jawarl Avignon, a mighty elven fortress that fell some 300 years ago to an orcish army under the leadership of the great orc general Mondru. While Crommard leafs through the pages of the book, Baldric and Twix note that the text is orcish in nature.
"I didn't think orcs had books," remarks Draegos.
Crommard scoffs at the notion and begins to lecture him on the depth and richness of orcish culture. After a couple minutes, when it is clear that Crommard is not about to stop; Baldric interrupts, asking a question about the current state of the fortress, Jawarl Avignon. Draegos looks appropriately grateful. Crommard not noticing the exchange, continues on about the elven citadel. Soon after Jawarl Avignon was conquered, a horrible curse was laid down by the elves and it is said that all the orcs died horribly from a great plague. The site has been abandoned and avoided ever since. When asked about this curse and, more importantly, the plague, Crommard dismisses them as superstition.
"Are we ready to leave?" Crommard asks abruptly.
Holmar, ever-practical, looks startled. "This is an archaeological expedition. Won't we need supplies? A wagon? Labourers?"
Adair, having discovered nothing of obvious value in the sage's cluttered home, looks up and asks more pointedly, "How much are we being paid?"
"Sethus Maximi will handle those details," Crommard shrugs.
Almost on cue, a purple-robed man enters the room.
"Crommard, the wagon is packed, the mule is hitched and the scholar-labourers are ready to go- are these the guards you promised?" the man asks.
Nodding his assent, Crommard introduces Sethus Maximi and hurries away to finish his preparations for the journey.
"The blessings of Mushurg the Ring upon you," Sethus intones. Draegos, a priest of Kord, recognizes this as one of the many false and minor gods of the city states. Wisely he keeps this opinion to himself.
Haggling commences and it is agreed that each member of the expedition guard will be paid a gold piece per day for services rendered. Food will be provided to all for the seven day journey.
Without further discussion the party leaves the city proper and starts west along the trade road to Awad. The weather is fair and the road is smooth, the wagon rolls along without incident for the rest of the day. Camp is made, watches are set and in the morning the journey begins anew. The scholars, unused to long travel, set a slow pace. The countryside is calm and peaceful.
Several days of travel pass uneventfully. There is some grumbling when it is learned that pay will not be issued until the party reaches the fishing village of Awad, but this passes with the realization that there's nothing to buy in the wilderness.
"Easy work," Adair comments to Holmar Voss on the fifth day, from his perch atop the wagon.
"Boring, you mean," the scale-clad fighter huffs, keeping pace.
Suddenly, from the overgrowth along the side of the road, a voice barks, "surrender the wagon and your valuables and we'll spare your lives!"
"Ambush!" yells Holmar, unsheathing his longsword. Panicking, Crommard urges the mule to greater speed, while Sethus and the rest flee as quickly as possible down the road. Adair leaps from the wagon, his bow drawn, while Draegos and Baldrick struggle to keep up, exhorting the scholars to stand their ground and not become separated. From the bushes emerge five small dog-like humanoids, reptilian of mien, bearing wickedly-pointed javelins. Behind them comes a larger, armored humanoid wielding a broadsword.
"Kobolds!" Twix shouts, tracing an arcane sigil in the air. A shimmering field of magical energy forms in front of him. Aiming quickly, Adair dispatches a kobold from range with his short bow and Holmar advances slowly. Drawing his sword, Twix charges forward. Then, realizing that he'll close with the enemy much faster than the armor-clad Holmar, stops in mid-stride, pivots, and runs back toward his companions, shouting curses in orcish as he goes. A hail of javelins follows him and only his natural elven agility prevents him from being spitted. Further up the road, ahead of the wagon, another group of kobolds led by a similarly armored humanoid step out onto the path. Without hesitation they strike down the defenseless mule, arresting the flight of Crommard and his scholars. Adair attempts to shoot the kobolds, but they find cover behind the bulk of the now-stationary wagon. Draegos and Baldrick move to defend Crommard and his fellows. With a cry to his warrior-patron, Draegos skewers a kobold on his broadsword and smites another with the iron gauntlet of Kord, his symbol of worship. Hewing about with a great bastard sword, Baldrick is equally successful and makes short work of his diminuitive foes, coming face-to-face with the armored orc. They trade mighty blows but Baldrick is a hardy warrior, seemingly of barbarian stock, and proves the better swordsman. As he batters the orc to the ground, Holmar and Twix race up to the wagon.
"A couple of the kobolds escaped into the woods," Holmar says with annoyance, "but they paid a heavy price for attacking us."
The bodies of the fallen are stripped of all valuables; the javelins, the now-bloodied scale hauberks and their broadswords - all of which are piled on the wagon, to Crommard's dismay. The search yields some coin which is evenly distributed amongst the victors. Draegos offers a prayer to Kord and lays hands upon the injured, healing Baldrick and Holmar of their minor wounds. Sethus Maximi turned his attentions to the poor mule, saving its life by the grace of his strange god.
"Mushurg be praised."
"There's still daylight. Let us be away from here, lest they return in number," Holmar suggests prudently.
Hours later, far from the site of the battle, camp is struck and watches are assigned. The night passes uneventfully and in the early hours before sunrise Draegos and Sethus begin their prayers.
The guards are vigilant, wary of further attack, but none comes. As evening approaches on the sixth day, Twix's keen elven senses register the smell of salt and sea in the air, and Sethus concludes that they must be close to the coastal village of Awad.
"We'll camp here for the night and be at the village by midday tomorrow. We will resupply there," Sethus orders.
Crommard eagerly explains that once they reach the village, it's only a half a day to the citadel of Jawarl Avignon.
Around midnight, while Draegos and Baldrick stand watch, a great rustling is heard in the surrounding trees. All is dark outside the camp, but clearly something large approaches. Baldrick raises a hue and cry, drawing his bastard sword, while Draegos, broadsword in hand, pulls a flaming brand from the campfire. The others awaken, confused, as crashing through the brush comes a creature of nightmare, standing nine feet tall and wielding an immense club, carved with the face of a screaming woman. An ogre! Baldrick and Draegos ready themselves for its charge and then the monster is upon them. Draegos sticks it solidly with his broadsword, but the ogre seems not to notice and swipes at Baldrick with its massive club. A glancing blow sends Baldrick reeling, but he too lands a solid hit, evoking a bellow of rage from the behemoth. Before anyone else can react, a rain of javelins falls amongst the camp, skewering two of the unarmored scholars and one squarely striking Adair. With a yelp, Adair takes cover behind the wagon, looking for something to shoot. Twix runs off into the darkness, his elven sight rendered useless by the light. As Draegos and Baldrick battle the ogre, Holmar charges to attack. With two awesome strokes of his longsword, he cleaves the ogre nearly in half. The creature falls dead, dropping its large club, a look of shock in its eyes.
"By Kord, that was great!" Draegos yells, clapping Holmar on the back and dashing into the woods, toward the source of the javelins.
Nodding to himself, Holmar cannot help but agree.
Illuminating the scene with his flaming brand, Draegos finds Twix bravely engaging several kobolds. The rest of his companions quickly join him and together they make short work of the dog-faced humanoids.
A search of the fallen ogre turns up a large sack, filled with gold and silver coins and a big iron key.
"Now this is more like it," Adair grins.
Draegos offers the benedictions of Kord to the wounded and there is much rejoicing.
"We should take its head back to the village," Holmar suggests, hefting his longsword. "Maybe there's a reward."
Gory work, but Holmar is well-equipped for the task and after the sack is emptied of coin, the ogre's severed head is placed inside. Everyone rests well that night and in the morning, after prayers, camp is broken and the wagon sets off for the village of Awad.
A tiny scattering of crudely thatched huts, Awad is a welcome sight after a week's travel. As the wagon rolls into town, a crowd gathers. Clearly they don't receive many visitors in this sleepy village. Provisions are purchased and Sethus doles out the companions' long-awaited pay, seven gold apiece, as agreed. Holmar makes the acquaintance of the town's leader and blacksmith, Speaker Wiggins(?). After some negotiating, the Speaker agrees to purchase the arms and armor of the fallen orcs, but has no need for the crude javelins wielded by the kobolds. When asked about any ogre trouble, the Speaker tells tale of a horrible ogre named TROGDOR THE BURNINATOR who terrorizes the countryside. Eyeing Holmar, he suggests that a seasoned band of warriors might be successful in rooting out the ogre in it's lair and any who did so would be well-rewarded for their trouble.
"Well you're in luck, Mr. Speaker, because we are that seasoned band of warriors."
Fetching the bloodied sack from the rear of the wagon, Holmar dumps its contents on the ground.
Word spreads quickly throughout the village and soon everyone is gathered to witness as the Speaker presents Holmar with a much cleaner sack, this one filled with gold coins. The villagers cheer and the Speaker beams at Holmar and his companions.
"With the vile ogre Hegrash slain, our lands will know peace again. Take this gold and our heartfelt thanks," the Speaker proclaims. The crowd cheers.
With a smile to his new friend, Holmar mentions that the group is bound for the ruined fortress of Jawarl Avignon and how he would be grateful for any information the locals might have. Speaker Wiggins looks aghast and immediately the mood of the crowd shifts, those within earshot muttering to one another.
"Those ruins are cursed and I would advise you not to go. You'll bring a horrible plague down on us all." Speaker Wiggins states solemnly, turning to leave, the discussion at an end. The crowd begins to disperse, many of the villagers shaking their heads.
Holmar blinks, surprised.
"That didn't go so well," laughs Twix.
Crommard snorts, "There is no curse. Superstitious nonsense I tell you."
Draegos and Adair look at one another with uncertainty.
"There's always that ogre's key to investigate..."
A motley and ill equipped group of would-be adventurers finds themselves in the CityState of the Invincible Overlord, in the taproom of a modest inn. Hard of luck and low on cash they regale each other with various tales and rumors about places where fame and fortunes might be sought. Adair speaks of untold riches deep in the desert, far from normal paths; East, across the Tasman Sea, within the Land of Sand. Travel to the Land of Sand is expensive, though, and the land itself is dangerous. None present could afford such a journey. Baldric tells of the abandoned manor of a noble and the riches within:
"The thirteenth, fourteenth, fifteenth, and sixteenth Barons Hareth have come and gone, and now all that remains are the rubble-filled ruins of what were once noble dwellings. Even though Hareth village is nearby, the folk of the region are unlikely to have investigated the ruins, and Baron Hareth is unlikely to care, having moved on. With some effort and luck, the riches of a noble family might be ours," Baldric proclaims.
"That's nothing," Holmar says, "I know about a temple or monastery to ancient evil, long abandoned!"
"Yeah?" asks Draegos, intrigued. "Where is this monastery?"
"Nestled against the Shrill River, opposite Fort Guy. I have rough directions to the monastery, but it would take a group of like-minded folk to travel safely and thoroughly search it."
"That's weeks away!" the priest of Kord exclaims. "We can't afford to provision an expedition like that."
"And I suppose you have a better idea?" the fighter retorts.
"My friend Crommard, a sage of some repute, is organizing an expedition to the ruined elven fortress Jawarl Avignon." Twix, the elf, winces at Draegos' awful pronounciation. "It's a week's travel down the coastal road to the fishing village of Awad. The scholars are in need of an escort, but I believe I can sway them into allowing us to provide protection at the site against any that may disturb their archaeological dig. Plus, if they find something interesting, the more hands they have the better. We might even get to share in the profits of the expedition."
The others seem unconvinced.
"It's legitimate work. We'll be paid a daily wage and they'll provide food for the journey. Otherwise we're off in search of our own ruin, with no guarantee of reward. We'd be out of pocket on expenses and there's a chance we'd turn up with nothing."
Though Adair looks slightly aggrieved at the prospect of legitimate work, everyone else is amenable to the prospect.
Draegos leads his new-found friends to the home of Crommard the Sage, in the City State of the Invincible Overlord. Introductions are made and interest is expressed in providing security for the expedition. Crommard, visibly excited, begins talking about the wonders of the site and the wealth of orcish history that could be discovered therein. Baldric, something of a student of history and lore himself, immediately takes to Crommard’s tales. Pulling forth a large leather-bound tome, Crommard rambles at length about the history of Jawarl Avignon, a mighty elven fortress that fell some 300 years ago to an orcish army under the leadership of the great orc general Mondru. While Crommard leafs through the pages of the book, Baldric and Twix note that the text is orcish in nature.
"I didn't think orcs had books," remarks Draegos.
Crommard scoffs at the notion and begins to lecture him on the depth and richness of orcish culture. After a couple minutes, when it is clear that Crommard is not about to stop; Baldric interrupts, asking a question about the current state of the fortress, Jawarl Avignon. Draegos looks appropriately grateful. Crommard not noticing the exchange, continues on about the elven citadel. Soon after Jawarl Avignon was conquered, a horrible curse was laid down by the elves and it is said that all the orcs died horribly from a great plague. The site has been abandoned and avoided ever since. When asked about this curse and, more importantly, the plague, Crommard dismisses them as superstition.
"Are we ready to leave?" Crommard asks abruptly.
Holmar, ever-practical, looks startled. "This is an archaeological expedition. Won't we need supplies? A wagon? Labourers?"
Adair, having discovered nothing of obvious value in the sage's cluttered home, looks up and asks more pointedly, "How much are we being paid?"
"Sethus Maximi will handle those details," Crommard shrugs.
Almost on cue, a purple-robed man enters the room.
"Crommard, the wagon is packed, the mule is hitched and the scholar-labourers are ready to go- are these the guards you promised?" the man asks.
Nodding his assent, Crommard introduces Sethus Maximi and hurries away to finish his preparations for the journey.
"The blessings of Mushurg the Ring upon you," Sethus intones. Draegos, a priest of Kord, recognizes this as one of the many false and minor gods of the city states. Wisely he keeps this opinion to himself.
Haggling commences and it is agreed that each member of the expedition guard will be paid a gold piece per day for services rendered. Food will be provided to all for the seven day journey.
Without further discussion the party leaves the city proper and starts west along the trade road to Awad. The weather is fair and the road is smooth, the wagon rolls along without incident for the rest of the day. Camp is made, watches are set and in the morning the journey begins anew. The scholars, unused to long travel, set a slow pace. The countryside is calm and peaceful.
Several days of travel pass uneventfully. There is some grumbling when it is learned that pay will not be issued until the party reaches the fishing village of Awad, but this passes with the realization that there's nothing to buy in the wilderness.
"Easy work," Adair comments to Holmar Voss on the fifth day, from his perch atop the wagon.
"Boring, you mean," the scale-clad fighter huffs, keeping pace.
Suddenly, from the overgrowth along the side of the road, a voice barks, "surrender the wagon and your valuables and we'll spare your lives!"
"Ambush!" yells Holmar, unsheathing his longsword. Panicking, Crommard urges the mule to greater speed, while Sethus and the rest flee as quickly as possible down the road. Adair leaps from the wagon, his bow drawn, while Draegos and Baldrick struggle to keep up, exhorting the scholars to stand their ground and not become separated. From the bushes emerge five small dog-like humanoids, reptilian of mien, bearing wickedly-pointed javelins. Behind them comes a larger, armored humanoid wielding a broadsword.
"Kobolds!" Twix shouts, tracing an arcane sigil in the air. A shimmering field of magical energy forms in front of him. Aiming quickly, Adair dispatches a kobold from range with his short bow and Holmar advances slowly. Drawing his sword, Twix charges forward. Then, realizing that he'll close with the enemy much faster than the armor-clad Holmar, stops in mid-stride, pivots, and runs back toward his companions, shouting curses in orcish as he goes. A hail of javelins follows him and only his natural elven agility prevents him from being spitted. Further up the road, ahead of the wagon, another group of kobolds led by a similarly armored humanoid step out onto the path. Without hesitation they strike down the defenseless mule, arresting the flight of Crommard and his scholars. Adair attempts to shoot the kobolds, but they find cover behind the bulk of the now-stationary wagon. Draegos and Baldrick move to defend Crommard and his fellows. With a cry to his warrior-patron, Draegos skewers a kobold on his broadsword and smites another with the iron gauntlet of Kord, his symbol of worship. Hewing about with a great bastard sword, Baldrick is equally successful and makes short work of his diminuitive foes, coming face-to-face with the armored orc. They trade mighty blows but Baldrick is a hardy warrior, seemingly of barbarian stock, and proves the better swordsman. As he batters the orc to the ground, Holmar and Twix race up to the wagon.
"A couple of the kobolds escaped into the woods," Holmar says with annoyance, "but they paid a heavy price for attacking us."
The bodies of the fallen are stripped of all valuables; the javelins, the now-bloodied scale hauberks and their broadswords - all of which are piled on the wagon, to Crommard's dismay. The search yields some coin which is evenly distributed amongst the victors. Draegos offers a prayer to Kord and lays hands upon the injured, healing Baldrick and Holmar of their minor wounds. Sethus Maximi turned his attentions to the poor mule, saving its life by the grace of his strange god.
"Mushurg be praised."
"There's still daylight. Let us be away from here, lest they return in number," Holmar suggests prudently.
Hours later, far from the site of the battle, camp is struck and watches are assigned. The night passes uneventfully and in the early hours before sunrise Draegos and Sethus begin their prayers.
The guards are vigilant, wary of further attack, but none comes. As evening approaches on the sixth day, Twix's keen elven senses register the smell of salt and sea in the air, and Sethus concludes that they must be close to the coastal village of Awad.
"We'll camp here for the night and be at the village by midday tomorrow. We will resupply there," Sethus orders.
Crommard eagerly explains that once they reach the village, it's only a half a day to the citadel of Jawarl Avignon.
Around midnight, while Draegos and Baldrick stand watch, a great rustling is heard in the surrounding trees. All is dark outside the camp, but clearly something large approaches. Baldrick raises a hue and cry, drawing his bastard sword, while Draegos, broadsword in hand, pulls a flaming brand from the campfire. The others awaken, confused, as crashing through the brush comes a creature of nightmare, standing nine feet tall and wielding an immense club, carved with the face of a screaming woman. An ogre! Baldrick and Draegos ready themselves for its charge and then the monster is upon them. Draegos sticks it solidly with his broadsword, but the ogre seems not to notice and swipes at Baldrick with its massive club. A glancing blow sends Baldrick reeling, but he too lands a solid hit, evoking a bellow of rage from the behemoth. Before anyone else can react, a rain of javelins falls amongst the camp, skewering two of the unarmored scholars and one squarely striking Adair. With a yelp, Adair takes cover behind the wagon, looking for something to shoot. Twix runs off into the darkness, his elven sight rendered useless by the light. As Draegos and Baldrick battle the ogre, Holmar charges to attack. With two awesome strokes of his longsword, he cleaves the ogre nearly in half. The creature falls dead, dropping its large club, a look of shock in its eyes.
"By Kord, that was great!" Draegos yells, clapping Holmar on the back and dashing into the woods, toward the source of the javelins.
Nodding to himself, Holmar cannot help but agree.
Illuminating the scene with his flaming brand, Draegos finds Twix bravely engaging several kobolds. The rest of his companions quickly join him and together they make short work of the dog-faced humanoids.
A search of the fallen ogre turns up a large sack, filled with gold and silver coins and a big iron key.
"Now this is more like it," Adair grins.
Draegos offers the benedictions of Kord to the wounded and there is much rejoicing.
"We should take its head back to the village," Holmar suggests, hefting his longsword. "Maybe there's a reward."
Gory work, but Holmar is well-equipped for the task and after the sack is emptied of coin, the ogre's severed head is placed inside. Everyone rests well that night and in the morning, after prayers, camp is broken and the wagon sets off for the village of Awad.
A tiny scattering of crudely thatched huts, Awad is a welcome sight after a week's travel. As the wagon rolls into town, a crowd gathers. Clearly they don't receive many visitors in this sleepy village. Provisions are purchased and Sethus doles out the companions' long-awaited pay, seven gold apiece, as agreed. Holmar makes the acquaintance of the town's leader and blacksmith, Speaker Wiggins(?). After some negotiating, the Speaker agrees to purchase the arms and armor of the fallen orcs, but has no need for the crude javelins wielded by the kobolds. When asked about any ogre trouble, the Speaker tells tale of a horrible ogre named TROGDOR THE BURNINATOR who terrorizes the countryside. Eyeing Holmar, he suggests that a seasoned band of warriors might be successful in rooting out the ogre in it's lair and any who did so would be well-rewarded for their trouble.
"Well you're in luck, Mr. Speaker, because we are that seasoned band of warriors."
Fetching the bloodied sack from the rear of the wagon, Holmar dumps its contents on the ground.
Word spreads quickly throughout the village and soon everyone is gathered to witness as the Speaker presents Holmar with a much cleaner sack, this one filled with gold coins. The villagers cheer and the Speaker beams at Holmar and his companions.
"With the vile ogre Hegrash slain, our lands will know peace again. Take this gold and our heartfelt thanks," the Speaker proclaims. The crowd cheers.
With a smile to his new friend, Holmar mentions that the group is bound for the ruined fortress of Jawarl Avignon and how he would be grateful for any information the locals might have. Speaker Wiggins looks aghast and immediately the mood of the crowd shifts, those within earshot muttering to one another.
"Those ruins are cursed and I would advise you not to go. You'll bring a horrible plague down on us all." Speaker Wiggins states solemnly, turning to leave, the discussion at an end. The crowd begins to disperse, many of the villagers shaking their heads.
Holmar blinks, surprised.
"That didn't go so well," laughs Twix.
Crommard snorts, "There is no curse. Superstitious nonsense I tell you."
Draegos and Adair look at one another with uncertainty.
"There's always that ogre's key to investigate..."
