Session 2: A halfhearted ambush.
Daggerdale is all rolling wooded hills and small, labyrinthine valleys, broken by rocky crags and tors. Here and there are meadows left in the wake of wildfires caused by storm lightning. The first day of travel south from Dagger Falls was uneventful, punctuated only by summer showers and quarrels about marching formation. Yonnis was sure he knew the best arrangement, but to his great frustration the others refused to follow his instructions. They camped a few hundred feet from the trail, taking turns at keeping watch. Since Nameless’s monastic disclipline allowed him to achieve full rest while sleeping for short interrupted periods, he took a solitary watch shift for the three hours following midnight. On this first night there was no disturbance.
The next day was not so peaceful. During the afternoon, the group was set upon first by a pack of wild dogs, and a few hours later by a pair of marauding krenshar--strange catlike carnivores combining the worst features of a wolf and a hyena. The group dispatched both sets of attackers without much trouble, apart from embarrassment to Yonnis when he was overcome by the unnatural screech of one of the krenshar (uttered while pulling back the flexible skin from its head to reveal the musculature and bone of its skull) and fled for all he was worth, only to return sheepishly after his companions had killed the beast.
That night during Nameless’s watch, he heard two creatures approaching in the shadows. They were humanoid, with mottled, decaying flesh drawn tight across clearly visible bones. Ghouls. He shouted to rouse his companions while fending them off in a flurry of arms and feet. The two ghouls flanked the monk, and the one behind him tore a hideous gash in his back with one of its claws, a blow that would have caused instant paralysis in any creature other than an elf. Awakening, Cameron muttered an incantation. A ray of positive energy erupted from his fingertips, burning the undead creature who had just wounded Nameless. The rest of the group too was stirring, grabbing weapons. They destroyed the ghouls, but not before one of them succeeded in sinking its feral teeth into Cameron’s arm.
As both Nameless and Cameron had sustained serious injuries, the group elected to spend the next day camped a little way off the trail in order to recover as best they could. Yonnis went off foraging for food while Lanatil tended to the wounded. After Yonnis had returned to camp, he spied a group of dark humanoid figures approaching in the distance. The party hid in the underbrush to observe. The figures were coming from the southeast, in the general direction of Castle Daggerdale--which, as Ogy whispered, was in the hands of the Zhentarim. There were four of them, and Yonnis could tell from their movements that they were orcs. As they closed, more details became discernible. The three in front were footsoldiers, and they were followed by a commanding figure wearing some sort of amulet atop his breastplate that sparkled in the afternoon sun. When they reached the trail, they turned north and started marching up in the direction of Dagger Falls.
Yonnis whispered to his companions, “We should attack. I hate orcs, and am quite good at killing them.” Ogy agreed, not liking the fact that this group was moving in the direction of his hometown. Nameless and Elvis were dubious. “It's foolhardy to attack now, while we are wounded. And to what purpose? Just let them go by.” Yonnis insisted. He, Lanatil, and Ogy started to move toward the trail, while trying to remain under cover. Nameless hissed, “If you do this, you do it on your own.”
Suddenly, the leader of the marching group barked an order, and the three footsoldiers halted. The leader was looking in the direction of the elves. He had seen something. The footsoldiers shifted formation to put themselves between the leader and the elves, then continued to march warily up the trail. Again Elvis and Nameless told the Ethrils to come back, to let the orcs pass. Heedless, Yonnis and Ogy advanced again. Lanatil hesitated. The orc leader barked another order, and the two orcs nearest the elves each hurled javelins, hitting and seriously wounding both Yonnis and Ogy--the latter to his great surprise, as the halfling had been sure he could advance unseen. Thinking quickly, Lanatil did two things. He whispered a command to his hawk, and cast one of the spells granted him by Silvanus. Suddenly the underbrush surrounding the orcs began to writhe and stretch, forming long tendrils that entwined themselves around legs and torsos, immobilizing the four of them. Yonnis began to rain down arrows on them with his shortbow, concentrating on the leader. Elvis and Cameron too emerged from hiding and began firing crossbow bolts, which were soon joined in the air by Nameless’s javelin. One of the orcs managed to break free from its living bonds and was able to escape the area of the spell’s effect before being shot down. Lanatil’s hawk swooped down and snatched the amulet from the leader’s neck as he too fell. Soon only one orc was left alive, still pinioned by the animate vegetation. They now aimed merely to subdue rather than kill, seeking to knock the orc unconscious. They succeeded, and once Lanatil’s spell had worn off they approached the sprawling bodies.
To the group’s delight, each of the orcs was carrying a small purse of gold. The leader wore a breastplate clearly marked with Zhent devices, and had been carrying a document of some sort, written in a language none of the party could read. Ogy believed he recognized it, however, as being in Damaran, the language of the region of Zhentil Keep. They bound the unconscious orc with a hemp rope from Lanatil’s backpack, and examined the amulet the leader--who they now saw to be only half-orc--had been wearing. It was made of gems and precious metals, and depicted a hand clenched in a fist, with green beams of light escaping from the between the fingers. Ogy’s appraising eye reckoned that the precious materials alone were worth at least 200 gold pieces. Yonnis and Nameless, however, recognized the symbol as the mark sacred to Bane. They were disturbed. And puzzled. Everyone knew Bane had been destroyed over a decade ago, during the Time of Troubles. So what was a half-orc Zhent priest doing wearing his symbol?
The next day was not so peaceful. During the afternoon, the group was set upon first by a pack of wild dogs, and a few hours later by a pair of marauding krenshar--strange catlike carnivores combining the worst features of a wolf and a hyena. The group dispatched both sets of attackers without much trouble, apart from embarrassment to Yonnis when he was overcome by the unnatural screech of one of the krenshar (uttered while pulling back the flexible skin from its head to reveal the musculature and bone of its skull) and fled for all he was worth, only to return sheepishly after his companions had killed the beast.
That night during Nameless’s watch, he heard two creatures approaching in the shadows. They were humanoid, with mottled, decaying flesh drawn tight across clearly visible bones. Ghouls. He shouted to rouse his companions while fending them off in a flurry of arms and feet. The two ghouls flanked the monk, and the one behind him tore a hideous gash in his back with one of its claws, a blow that would have caused instant paralysis in any creature other than an elf. Awakening, Cameron muttered an incantation. A ray of positive energy erupted from his fingertips, burning the undead creature who had just wounded Nameless. The rest of the group too was stirring, grabbing weapons. They destroyed the ghouls, but not before one of them succeeded in sinking its feral teeth into Cameron’s arm.
As both Nameless and Cameron had sustained serious injuries, the group elected to spend the next day camped a little way off the trail in order to recover as best they could. Yonnis went off foraging for food while Lanatil tended to the wounded. After Yonnis had returned to camp, he spied a group of dark humanoid figures approaching in the distance. The party hid in the underbrush to observe. The figures were coming from the southeast, in the general direction of Castle Daggerdale--which, as Ogy whispered, was in the hands of the Zhentarim. There were four of them, and Yonnis could tell from their movements that they were orcs. As they closed, more details became discernible. The three in front were footsoldiers, and they were followed by a commanding figure wearing some sort of amulet atop his breastplate that sparkled in the afternoon sun. When they reached the trail, they turned north and started marching up in the direction of Dagger Falls.
Yonnis whispered to his companions, “We should attack. I hate orcs, and am quite good at killing them.” Ogy agreed, not liking the fact that this group was moving in the direction of his hometown. Nameless and Elvis were dubious. “It's foolhardy to attack now, while we are wounded. And to what purpose? Just let them go by.” Yonnis insisted. He, Lanatil, and Ogy started to move toward the trail, while trying to remain under cover. Nameless hissed, “If you do this, you do it on your own.”
Suddenly, the leader of the marching group barked an order, and the three footsoldiers halted. The leader was looking in the direction of the elves. He had seen something. The footsoldiers shifted formation to put themselves between the leader and the elves, then continued to march warily up the trail. Again Elvis and Nameless told the Ethrils to come back, to let the orcs pass. Heedless, Yonnis and Ogy advanced again. Lanatil hesitated. The orc leader barked another order, and the two orcs nearest the elves each hurled javelins, hitting and seriously wounding both Yonnis and Ogy--the latter to his great surprise, as the halfling had been sure he could advance unseen. Thinking quickly, Lanatil did two things. He whispered a command to his hawk, and cast one of the spells granted him by Silvanus. Suddenly the underbrush surrounding the orcs began to writhe and stretch, forming long tendrils that entwined themselves around legs and torsos, immobilizing the four of them. Yonnis began to rain down arrows on them with his shortbow, concentrating on the leader. Elvis and Cameron too emerged from hiding and began firing crossbow bolts, which were soon joined in the air by Nameless’s javelin. One of the orcs managed to break free from its living bonds and was able to escape the area of the spell’s effect before being shot down. Lanatil’s hawk swooped down and snatched the amulet from the leader’s neck as he too fell. Soon only one orc was left alive, still pinioned by the animate vegetation. They now aimed merely to subdue rather than kill, seeking to knock the orc unconscious. They succeeded, and once Lanatil’s spell had worn off they approached the sprawling bodies.
To the group’s delight, each of the orcs was carrying a small purse of gold. The leader wore a breastplate clearly marked with Zhent devices, and had been carrying a document of some sort, written in a language none of the party could read. Ogy believed he recognized it, however, as being in Damaran, the language of the region of Zhentil Keep. They bound the unconscious orc with a hemp rope from Lanatil’s backpack, and examined the amulet the leader--who they now saw to be only half-orc--had been wearing. It was made of gems and precious metals, and depicted a hand clenched in a fist, with green beams of light escaping from the between the fingers. Ogy’s appraising eye reckoned that the precious materials alone were worth at least 200 gold pieces. Yonnis and Nameless, however, recognized the symbol as the mark sacred to Bane. They were disturbed. And puzzled. Everyone knew Bane had been destroyed over a decade ago, during the Time of Troubles. So what was a half-orc Zhent priest doing wearing his symbol?
posted by CMN at 10:30 AM
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