Session Five: Oakhurst

Leaving behind the fallen ape, the travellers continued on their way down the Northride as the sun fell in the sky. They were nearing their goal now, and soon they began to pass by outlying farms that signaled the proximity of the village. A path veered south off the main road, leading away from the forest and down toward the hills. Yonnis recognized it as the way to Oakhurst. As they marched, they noticed a group of villagers digging a well. They seemed rather rushed, as though they feared the wrath of some feared lord were the well not finished soon. Continuing down the path, the party passed more farms and eventually reached the central crossroads of Oakhurst. Four sentries stook watch, two to either side. Their faces were grim. They asked the travellers who they were, and what brought them to Oakhurst. Yonnis said, “We come to investigate your troubles, and resolve them if we can.” The watchmen looked at them skeptically but hopefully, and one pair led them to see the mayor of the village. On their way there, they noticed a column of smoke rising into the sky somewhere to the south beyond the buildings lining the main road through town.

The mayor was a human with bright blue hair, sitting in an office much more sumptuously appointed than one would expect in such a small place. He was clearly worried to the point of desperation, and welcomed the travellers like a man willing to grasp at any straw in the chance that it will prove his salvation. Upon hearing that Lanatil was a druid come to investigate the plague, he showed great relief.

“Ah, praised be Silvanus! The Circle did hear my plea for help! I had begun to think you would arrive too late. These are evil times indeed. My name is Vernor Leng, and you will have my undying gratitude if you can help us.”

Lanatil asked the mayor to tell him what he could about the plague.

“It first broke out among the miners. There were about forty of them, once. They and their families live—lived—in the southern section of the village, along the path leading to the mine. They used to work in three staggered shifts, each spending two weeks at the mine and then a week at home with their families. About a month ago, shortly after one of the shifts had returned, one of the miners became feverish. By the time their rest week was over, several of the miners in that shift were sick, and many of their family members as well. The second shift arrived back from the mine, but only a few of those who been resting were well and able to take their place. Soon many of the newly returned miners were stricken as well, and before long it had spread to many of their families. The third shift never returned from the mine at all, and neither did the few from the first shift who went back there. We don’t know what happened to them. As for those still here, we had to quarantine the miners’ quarter. We don’t let them come near the rest of the village, but we bring food and leave it where they can reach it. The dead are burned to prevent their bodies from becoming source of further infection. Only a few are left alive by now. There’s a priest over there, Ikthus. A devotee of Ilmater. Saintly man. He was only passing through, but when he saw what was going on he stayed to tend to the suffering. He hasn’t been able to stop the disease, though. Yesterday he told me something terrible. I feel that I must tell you so that you will know everything you may need to help us, but I implore you not to tell anyone, for I am afraid of a panic. Ikthus says that he believes the well in the miners’ quarter is impure, contaminated with some curse. Apparently one of the miners who first had the plague mentioned that the well near the mine itself had seemed foul when last he was there. I am afraid that something at the mine is infecting the ground water, and that soon it will spread to the central well of the village. If you want to learn the source of this plague, it is to the mine you must go. I am afraid we have only a matter of days.”

Yonnis asked whether there had been any other strange happenings of late. Leng sighed.

“These are evil times, friends. Evil times. Strange creatures roam the woods at night, and they sometimes enter our fields. Many farmers no longer allow their livestock to graze freely, as several have been found dead. Pierced with dozens of needlelike wounds. Yet the creatures who do this leave no discernible tracks.”

Ogy piped up. “I heard something about magical healing fruit being sold here. Why don’t you use that to get rid of the plague?”

Leng looked down at the halfling. “If the goblins dare to come back this summer I do not think it will go well with them. Anyway their fruit would save only a few, unless they brought far more than they ever did in the past. But Madame Hucrele can inform you of that matter tomorrow morning. It was she who had dealings with them. But you look tired. Why don’t you take your rest at the Ol’Boar.”

The travellers made their way down the main road, passing a watch barracks and a small jail. As they walked, Ogy and Lanatil debated whether the dead animals they had heard about were the work of vampires. Soon they reached an inn with a sign depicting a much jollier version of the hairy swine they had slain just the day before. Upon entering, they found themselves in a tavern, with stairs leading up to what presumably were the sleeping quarters. At the bar sat a sullen, stocky farmer with two of his friends. They turned around to look at the Ethrils, then the farmer sneered and said something to his friends under his breath that made them laugh.

Lanatil wanted to know what the joke was. The farmer obliged. “Oh, I was just wondering how the two of you can love nature so much when it did that to you!” This led to another round of slightly tipsy guffawing. The lad stood up. He was human, well-built and strong. “You wanna do something about it, you pointy-eared tree hugger?”

The innkeeper interposed himself. “Now Lance, just you have a seat. That’s no way to treat guests in town. Don’t you all mind him, now. Please take a table for yourselves. Name’s Garron. I run this place.”

The others prevailed on Lanatil to have a seat, still bristling. Lance didn’t let up. He sat down, but continued talking in a loud voice to his companions. “You see, that’s the truth about these wandering adventurer types. They like to dress up in fancy gear and act all powerful, but they’re really gutless cowards who would never meet a real man one on one and fist to fist.”

Lanatil stood up. “I’ll meet you.” His companions urged him to sit down. They were here trying gain the confidence of these villagers and help them, not to pick fights, and there was nothing to be gained from allowing this one to picked with them. But for some inexplicable reason, Lanatil’s wisdom failed him. He accepted Lance’s challenge, and removed his armor and weapons to accompany the burly man outside. The two of them started swinging. Though slightly tipsy, Lance was obviously well-practiced at this type of contest, and knew many maneuvers and techniques that the elf did not. And while Lanatil was extremely strong—particularly for an elf—Lance’s labor-hardened muscles matched him. The result was that Lanatil never laid a hand on the lad, and was instead laid flat on his back in a few rounds of blows. Lance and his friends went off laughing in triumph, while Lanatil’s companions dragged him up to a bed in the inn. Garron followed, helping them. “I told you it was better to ignore him. He’s not a bad man, really. He just has it in for adventuring types ever since Myela ran off with that ranger Trannor. He was sweet on her, you see.”

Yonnis asked whether such antipathy for Trannor was widespread. “No, most people are right grateful for the way he helped us get organized to fight off them orcs all those years ago. What, do you know Trannor?” Garron looked at Yonnis closely, as though trying to remember something. Yonnis nodded. “I was his pupil, and I was here with him ten years ago when we destroyed the Tornclaw.” A light dawned in Garron’s face. Ah yes, now I remember ye! A fine welcome back we’ve given you, I’m afraid.” Yonnis told him not to worry about it, and apologized for his brother’s behavior.

The next morning the group—except Lanatil, who was still recovering from his beating of the night before—went to visit Madame Hucrele, whose store was across the road from the Ol’Boar. She was an alert middle-aged woman with well-groomed silver hair. “I imagine you’ve come about the reward,” she said upon seeing the strangers enter her establishment.

Ogy’s ears pricked up, but Yonnis spoke first. “My name is Yonnis Ethril. I was here with Trannor ten years ago when we fought the Tornclaw. I am here now to investigate the goblins to see whether they pose a gathering threat. I’ve been told that you have had some dealings with them.”

The woman looked at Yonnis appraisingly. “Yes, I remember you. You were Trannor’s apprentice or something, weren’t you? Ah, Trannor. That Myela was a lucky girl... Let’s see now. The goblins. Well, it started three summers ago, the day after the solstice. A group of goblins came to town, waving a merchant banner. They wanted to trade. The leader opened this bag and pulled out a beautiful red fruit. Kind of like an apple, but a bit larger. He tells me that the fruit has magical properties, and can heal anything. He wants to sell it to me for several hundred gold pieces. Now naturally, I’m not about to believe a goblin without any proof, so I called my dog Draco. He’d been awfully sick of late, shedding hair all over the place, and I thought he was about to die on me. I said alright, let’s try some of this fruit on Draco here and see if it does what you say. They peeled the fruit open, and it fell naturally into quarter wedges, each wedge with four or five seeds. We fed one of the wedges to Draco, and before you knew it he was back to his old self. Instead of whimpering and dragging himself around, he was back up and running as good as new. So I was pretty impressed. But I still didn’t want to give much money to a goblin, and I drove a hard bargain, paying only a fraction of what they wanted. I sold two of the remaining pieces to people who needed healing. They worked fine. The last one I kept for myself, but by the time I got around to using it the magic had worn off. It only lasts for a while, apparently. I kept the seeds, and planted them out in one of my fields, figuring I’d grow myself a healing tree of my own. The stuff that grew sure didn’t look like a healing tree, though. They were like gnarly little black bushes. Pretty ugly. Then one night, after they were about waist high, they disappered. I figured the goblins must have stolen them to keep their corner on the market.

Just after the next summer solstice, the goblins came back with another fruit, which I again bought, though I still refused to pay a very high price for it. I figured if they were too lazy to take it to the market in Tilverton or Shadowdale, they would just have to take whatever I was willing to pay. And they did, though they weren’t happy about it. That time I sold all the pieces within a few days, and they all worked. I kept all the seeds for myself though, and planted them again. This time, once they started to get tall I hired a couple sentries to keep watch at night just to make sure no goblins came to tear them up again. And wouldn’t you know it! Just a few nights ago they disappeared again! The sentries swear that no one went in or out of the area that night, and there were no tracks anywhere—I looked myself. If those goblins come back this year, they’ll have some explaining to do. That is, if they don’t get lynched immediately by locals who think they’re behind this plague as a way to drive up the demand for their fruit. As a matter of fact, it’ll be the solstice in another couple days.”

The travellers looked at each other. They had all had the same thought as to what was really happening to the black gnarled bushes Madame Hucrele was growing in her fields. “We have reason to believe that those bushes of yours are not being stolen at all. They are getting up and leaving under their own power, and are probably what has been killing your local livestock.” The woman was incredulous, until Yonnis described their battle of two nights ago. “I had no idea,” she said. “Well now those goblins will really have some explaining to do.”

“Enough about goblins,” said Ogy. “I want to hear something about rewards.” Madame Hucrele laughed ruefully. “Why, little man? Do you think you can stand up to whatever it is that has kept four strong travellers from returning home?”

“Who were they, and when did they leave?” asked Yonnis.

“They left about a month ago. They were going to go see if they could find the source of the goblins’ fruit. They went south down the trail toward the Moonsea Ride, the one that passes through Ashardelon’s Waste. That seemed to be the direction the goblins had come from, and they intended to check out the gulch.” She grew somber. “Two of them were my son and daughter, Talgen and Sharwyn. Both had—have—long blond hair, and he has a beard as well. He wears banded mail and carries a shield with a gold dragon emblem. She’s a wizard, wears green leggings and a red half-robe. They have two companions. One’s a paladin of Lathander named Sir Bradford. Tall, dark hair, wears scale mail with the device of the rising sun. Then there was Karakas. A ranger. Brown hair and beard, wears studded leather and a green cloak with an eagle embroidered on the back. I haven’t heard anything since they left, and this has been plenty of time for them to get where they were going and come back.”

She turned back to Ogy. “So to answer your question, Master Halfling, I will gladly give each member of your band here 250 gold pieces for each one of my children you bring back to me alive.”

“What’s this about signet rings?” the hobbit asked. “Seems like they’re almost as valuable as your children.”

Madame Hucrele’s eyes flashed. “Don’t say such things. The two rings are family heirlooms, and I offer money for them to make it worthwhile for unscrupulous characters like you to turn them in rather than running off with them.”

After this, they went to speak with Ikthus. Lanatil had rejoined the ranks of the ambulatory, and gingerly went along with them. There were sentries guarding the opening of the trail to the south from the main road. This was the same trail leading south to the Moonride, and a branch of it also led to the mine. The miners’ quarter straddled the trail just south of where the sentries stood. The sentries told the party they could not enter this area without becoming subject to the quarantine, but that they could call Ikthus if they wished to speak to him.

One of the sentries rang a large bell, and a man who was kneeling in front of a large pyre stood up and began to approach them. He was dressed in white, with a cloth wrapped around his head and covering his nose and mouth. As he drew closer, they could make out a large amulet around his neck depicting two white hands bound at the wrists with a red cord. He stopped about thirty feet away, and they had to converse by shouting. He told them that most of the miners and their family members were dead. Some had contracted the plague and recovered, but this did not render them immune so that several of them caught it again. Most who caught it died, consumed in days or weeks by fever. The time it took varied by individual. Of those who had actually worked in the mine, only three were left alive, all sick. “One of them,” Ikthus told the group, “keeps moaning something about a demon. He may know something of use to you if you intend to venture there. If you want to prevent the rest of the village from meeting the same fate, you need to act soon. The contamination of the water is emanating from the area of the mine. Whatever is causing it must be there.”

Session 4 (part 2): Blights by night.

On the morning following their lengthy conversation regarding ends and means, the elves and their halfling companion took up their ration-laden packs and left behind the comfort of Anathar’s Dell, to complete the final leg of their journey toward the village of Oakhurst. Throughout their travels from Dagger Falls to this point, the Desertsmouth Mountains had always been visible towering above them to the right. Now their view of those forbidding peaks was becoming obscured as the trail wound around to skirt the Spiderhaunt Woods, passing between that dark forest and the westernmost edge of Cormanthor, so that the travellers found themselves in a narrow plain only a few miles wide, with deep green walls to either side in the distance—a sight that increased Lanatil’s level of comfort as much as it decreased Ogy’s.

Just as the sun reached its zenith, a savage sound came from off the trail beside them, a sort of snort combined with a growl. It was a wild boar. The slavering swine was slightly taller than Ogy and several times as heavy, its powerful stout body covered in coarse, grayish-black fur. Enraged at having been disturbed by the elves’ passage, the creature leveled its tusks and began to charge. Ogy hurled a dagger at it, and ran around to hide behind the monk without even waiting to see that he had missed his mark. Cameron uttered a spell intended to put the animal to sleep so they could pass by without a fight, but the boar’s intense rage was such that the magic did not subdue it. Seeing that they would have no choice but to kill the creature, Yonnis strode forward and sank his longsword deep into the angry pig’s flank. Now even angrier, it lunged at the ranger but failed to touch him. Yonnis kept the beast’s attention, continuing to strike with his sword while Elvis pierced its shoulder with a crossbow bolt. The boar was so badly wounded that any creature of less tenacious will would have been unconscious, but it continued to thrash at Yonnis, who deflected or dodged its dangerous tusks. Finally Nameless, who had not yet succeeded in laying a hand on the boar, struck home with a bone-shattering kick that caused it finally to lie still.

That night the group pitched their newly acquired tents for the first time. This immediately triggered one of those bizarrely vociferous arguments in which the two Ethril brothers were wont to engage, this time over whether they would or would not sleep in the same tent. The party ultimately decided to pitch the two tents side by side, with the two openings facing in the same direction. One tent was occupied by Yonnis, Elvis, and Nameless, the other by Lanatil, Ogy, and Cameron. Following the usual schedule of watches, the group settled down for their night’s rest.

It was a breezy night, and the wind could be heard rustling through the surrounding brush and the nearby forests. The wee hours of the morning found Elvis and Ogy on watch together, striving to tune out this background noise to hear whatever sounds might betray the approach of some predator. Suddenly they became aware of four figures whose approach had been indistinguishable from the rustling of leaves. At first they looked like nothing more than masses of gnarled, blackened twigs, such as might have been blown their way like tumbleweeds in the wind. But the twigs had a vaguely humanoid shape. They were each about four feet tall, with long arms ending in needle-like claws, and legs that actually walked with a sort of shuffling gait like light branches dragged through the grass. Two of these blighted creatures were facing each of the two sentries, who had become aware of their presence only in the instant before finding themselves under attack by what seemed like sharpened sticks flailing back and forth. Ogy felt a searing pain as the blight on his left side pierced his arm with one of its claws, leaving behind a vitriolic sap that continued to burn for seconds after the wound had been inflicted. Elvis had suffered a similar blow from one of the two twig creatures facing him. The two badly wounded sentries turned and dove back into their respective tents, shouting to awaken their companions and take refuge behind them.

One of the blights pushed the tent flap aside with one of its arms, and with the other reached through to slash Cameron just as he was awakening on the floor inside. The sorceror responded by sending a magic missile from his fingertips into the creature’s midsection. The impact sounded like a twig breaking underfoot, but the blight was not destroyed. Seeing this creature seemingly formed from the stuff of the Wood, Lanatil stood up and tried to address it in Sylvan, asking whether it could understand him. All he got in response was a wooden claw swung at his head, after which the druid decided to continue the conversation with his scimitar. Cameron had already grabbed his mace, and now landed a blow that smashed the creature into twigs of the ordinary lifeless variety. Its fellow, however, was already reaching into the tent, swinging its claws at the two elves while the wounded halfling hid in the corner.

Meanwhile, at the other tent, Yonnis had woken up just in time to see sharpened twig arms thrusting at him from the other side of the tent flap. He drew his longsword and slashed back, immediately chopping one of the brittle creatures into two lifeless gnarled masses. Nameless too leapt to his feet and smashed through one of the blights with his fist just as though it had been one of the practice boards back at the monestary. Emerging from the tent, Yonnis now cut down the last remaining blight at the entrance to Lanatil’s tent. Leaving the now motionless twigs where they had fallen on the ground, those who had been sleeping returned to their rest.

Soon after setting out the next morning, the party reached the Northride, a relatively well-defined road that starts north of Cormanthor in Yulash (just south of Zhentil Keep), passes down through Voonlar and Shadowdale in the the westernmost arms of the forest, and continues southwest between the Spiderhaunt Woods and the Thunder Peaks until it traverses the Shadow Gap and thence to the town of Tilverton. Yonnis told his companions that Oakhurst lay along the Northride only about 15 miles further down, and that they would reach it before nightfall. They were now skirting the southern edge of the Spiderhaunt, a tiny wood compared to vast Cormanthor (of which it had long ago been part), but one whose name the travellers had little desire to test.

Someone in the wood, however, desired to test them. It was an ape. Like most apes, he was huge, heavy, and hirsute. Having recently been deposed from the leadership of his tribe by a larger rival, he was in the mood to assuage his wounded pride by picking on someone of smaller size. This group of scrawny elves (he didn’t even notice the halfling) looked like just the right proving ground for his once-and-future masculine dominance. They at least would bow to him or die, preferably both. Beating his chest and giving his fiercest war cry, the ape ran at them.

Since the ape’s chosen tactic was intimidation rather than stealth, the party had plenty of warning time in which to fire at him as he approached. By the time he had the elves within arm’s length, he had been hit by one of Elvis’s crossbow bolts, a sling bullet of Lanatil’s and an arrow from Yonnis’s shortbow. Not happy about any of this, the ape dealt a vicious blow to Yonnis, who felt as though he had been struck by . . . well, by an ape. Feeling that another such blow would likely split him like a banana, Yonnis withdrew. Elvis, meanwhile, had taken a step back and uttered an incantation that caused flames to shoot forth from his fingertips to singe the ape’s flank. Lanatil drew blood with his scimitar, as did Nameless with a well-placed throw of his javelin. Ogy too came out of hiding long enough to hurl a dagger that embedded itself in the ape’s thigh. The ape decided that Nameless should be the next candidate for banana status, and leapt toward him. In doing so, however, he ignored the druid already beside him, who now dealt him a fatal scimitar blow as he passed by in pursuit of the monk.

Session 4 (part 1): Talk of tents...and Zhents

The sun rose at Anathar’s Dell on the third day before the summer solstice. Lanatil looked with satisfaction at the sorceror he had nursed all the day before. The elongated elven frame before him was at last free of the undeathly inflammation that had threatened to consume it. Cameron was still weak, but another day of rest under Lanatil’s care would do much to restore his strength. When Bon appeared that morning, Elvis asked whether they would be allowed to stay at the Dell another day or two. “Certainly,” Bon answered. “Though you may not want to tarry too long. Your friend the druid said he had been charged with investigating the plague at Oakhurst, and from what I’ve heard it’s a bad one. If you stay here too long, it may be too late to do anything for the village. Oh yes, I have something for you.” Bon handed Elvis a pouch. When he opened it, a pile of green and black gems spilled out onto the wizard’s palm—the remains of the amulet of the Church of Bane. I think you’ll find that whatever magic they bore is gone now,” said Bon. “The dwarves demolished the amulet. The metal they kept as compensation for their labor, but they gave me back these for you.” To be certain, Elvis cast his own spell over the gems, and it was as Bon had said—they had no magic aura. Nor had any minions of the Church sought to gain entry to the Dell the night before.

The group of travellers decided to spend another day at the Dell, to heal and let Cameron regain most of his strength. They sold the Zhentarim breastplate Cameron had been carrying to the head blacksmith of the Dell, a dwarf who offered them a hundred pieces of gold for it. Yonnis suspected that such armor might have fetched a higher price in other places, but none of them had any use for it, and they had no wish to carry it any further. They discussed what provisions they should pack for the final leg of their journey to Oakhurst. The village was only two days journey away, but they were concerned that the plague might mean there would be no wholesome food to eat even once they arrived. So each of them packed as many rations as he could carry, particularly Nameless, whose lack of armor allowed him to devote most of his prodigious strength to the task of carrying food. Nameless and Ogy also discussed the possibility of encountering vampires. At Ogy’s urging, the group decided to equip themselves with two tents that they could sleep in at night. Up to now they had slept under the stars, and the warm Kythorn nights would certainly have allowed them to continue. Ogy knew, however, that vampires are unable to enter a dwelling without being invited, and hoped that tents would qualify under this rule. He also insisted that they stock up on garlic before setting out again.

Ogy also playfully suggested that as long as they were staying an extra day at the Dell, he might try his hand at some sleight, and see whether another performance might not create enough misdirection to allow him to “acquire” an interesting object or two. Yonnis told him not to think about it. “The Dell is under the protection of the Harpers. In fact, I’d be willing to bet that Bon is one of them. If you go trying to pilfer here, they’ll have your head.” Ogy replied, “Don’t lecture me about Harpers. I know who they are. In fact, I happen to know that Kessla back in Dagger Falls is one of them. Anyway, Bon doesn’t seem all that scary to me.” But the rogue nevertheless acquiesced, and kept his fingers to himself.

Elvis asked the others, “So what is it we’re going to do when we get to Oakhurst? Who is it that has business there?” Yonnis suggested that it was time for each member of the party to explain to the others what he was seeking to accomplish. “This will let us plan better, and pooling information will enable us to help each other. Otherwise any one of us might well miss the significance of things that would be of importance to someone else’s goal.” They all agreed, though the halfling seemed unenthusiastic.

Nameless began. “I am sent to investigate the site where a very powerful vampire was killed. All I know is that this took place in some sort of ancient fortress, now buried at the bottom of a ravine a few days’ march south of Oakhurst. There is reason to fear this vampire may have arisen again, and I am to find out whether this is the case.”

“And what if it is arisen?” asked one of the others. “Are you supposed to fight it?”

“No. I’ve been warned that it is too powerful to for me to fight, and that if I find it arisen, I must get away and report this.”

“Too powerful for you, but what about all of us together?”

“I don’t know, but very possibly.”

Now it was Yonnis’s turn. He told the others that he had been to Oakhurst before, and had completed part of his own training there several years earlier. With his mentor, he had helped the villagers organize a militia and led it to exterminate a tribe of orcs that had been menacing the area. Now his guild had asked him to come back to the area and see whether things had remained peaceful. The villagers had recently discovered silver in the hills near where the orcs once had their stronghold, and this was thought likely to attract trouble. Specifically, there was concern about a group of goblins known to have a base somewhere in the foothills southeast of Oakhurst.

Lanatil reiterated that he had been asked by Zinn, the speaker of the Quercus Circle, to come to Oakhurst to investigate the plague. “We followers of Silvanus are oath-bound to banish disease. Most people think of plagues as natural occurrences. But Zinn taught me that this is false, that they occur always as the result of some artificial or arcane tampering with nature. So I am to find out what aberration has led to the plague at Oakhurst, and stop it if I can, or report it to my Circle.”

Elvis said that he had been sent by a wizard’s college in Silverymoon to investigate a legend pieced together from various historical sources, about an ancient cult of dragon-worshippers who apparently once had a temple in the foothills south of Oakhurst. At this point Ogy interrupted, “Oh tell the truth now! You’re not some designated emissary from the school, you’re just an ex-janitor trying to pay off a student loan by finding a rare book you can give to the school library!” Elvis looked at the halfling with annoyance. “Well, I see you’ve been living up to your lack of scruples by rummaging through my private papers. Yes, it’s true that my ultimate goal is to find some unique artifact that I can present to the Lady’s College in order to complete my standing in the institution.”

Cameron’s ears had perked up at the mention of dragons. He told the others, “I have dragon blood, you know. All sorcerors do. My teacher Mikhee told me so. That’s why we have this special gift of drawing Mystra’s power from the Weave naturally, as opposed to wizards who have to memorize spells again every day. He said that I should seek to learn as much about dragons as I can, and treat dragon-related artifacts as treasures of greatest value. Other than that, I’m not trying to accomplish anything specific. I just want to develop my powers, and get home with enough treasure to afford a familiar.”

At this point everyone turned to the halfling. “So you all want to know what my quest is, do you? Well...here it is.” And he pulled from his sleeve a folded piece of parchment. “A few days before you lot arrived, I saw some dolt trying to nail this onto the outside of the Red Rock. Right on top of Kessla’s new paint job. I knew she’d be furious, so I beaned him in the back of the head with a nice rock. He ran off, and I grabbed this.” He unfolded it and showed it to them:


Let it be known that the Hucrele family of Oakhurst offers

A REWARD

To any who can locate two lost family members,

Talgen and Sharwyn Hucrele.

250 gp each for returning them to Oakhurst in good mind and body;

or 125 gp each for finding and returning the gold signet rings worn by them.

See Kerowyn Hucrele in Oakhurst for further information.


“I might have guessed your interest would be entirely mercenary,” remarked Elvis. “I think it’s about time we all learned a bit more about your background.”

“Oh do you now, Mr. Silveryjanitor. Well you see, I grew up my whole life in Dagger Falls while it was occupied by the Zhentarim. My family and I were part of the resistance, which is why I learned to be such a good sneak. I helped people like Yonnis’s Harpers get the goods they needed on the Zhents and their henchmen. In fact, my proudest exploit is the time I smuggled a scorpion into the bedchamber of Guthbert Golthammer, the last of the Zhent-appointed constables.”

Session 3: Should we stay or should we go?

Ogy was keen to hold onto the amulet, looking forward to selling it for a handsome sum to some dwarf jeweller. It was rather heavy however, and as the scrawny halfling was already overburdened with equipment, it was Lanatil who packed the amulet in his backpack. The group also split the gold the orcs had been carrying, though not without comment from Ogy and Yonnis that the three who had been against the action ought to be thanking them now. Nameless replied, “It was still foolish. You were lucky Lanatil came up with that spell, or things would have gone badly.”

While waiting for their prisoner to regain his senses, the group moved the bodies of the other three orcs away from the trail and hid them in the undergrowth, lest they be easily seen by others sent out to find them. Eventually the captured orc stirred. Yonnis first addressed it in common tongue: “Who are you and where were you going?” The orc gave no response. Yonnis shifted into orc language, posing the same question. No response. Nameless said, “Let me try. I don’t speak orc, but I know something about persuasion.” Nameless tried, using common, to reason with the orc, telling him that cooperation would be in his best interest. The orc still refused to respond. At this point Yonnis levelled his longsword and threatened to sever a limb if the orc failed to answer questions. The orc looked at him balefully and spat in orcish: “Go to hell, elf!” Yonnis carried out his threat. Roaring, the orc repeated its curse, adding that “Bane will do worse to you” before the elf finished him.

It was late afternoon. Elvis said, “We still have a few more hours of daylight. We should put as much distance as we can between ourselves and this place before setting up camp.” They agreed. That night during Nameless’s watch, he noticed Cameron sleeping fitfully and moaning. Then Lanatil suddenly awakened with a loud gasp, shivering in the warm night air. “What is it?” Nameless asked. “We have to get rid of the amulet!” Lanatil was frantically rummaging through his pack.

“Why?”

“I had a dream. It was Bane. He said I had something that belonged to him. He said he was going to send someone to fetch it. And me. He looked at me like I was some sort of insect.”

“How do you know it was Bane?”

“His hand. It was like the one on the amulet. There was green light coming out of it.”

By now the others were awake as well. Lanatil had retrieved the amulet, and said, “I’m going to throw it away.” Elvis tried to stop him. “Wait! If Bane wants it that badly, it must be important. Shouldn’t we try to keep him from getting it?”

“You can mess with Bane if you want to. He’s a god. I don’t want to fight a god.”

Nameless tried to calm the druid. “Bane’s not coming himself. You said yourself he was going to send someone.”

“Yeah, a dragon for all I know.”

Elvis said, “Look, I’ll carry it if you’re afraid to.”

“Not if you’re going to remain sleeping anywhere near me! No, listen, forget it. I’m getting rid of this now.” And with that the druid hurled the amulet into the darkness. Elvis went after it, and after a few minutes of searching in the moonlight he found it among the bushes. The wizard took the amulet and put it in his own pack. By now, attention had shifted to Cameron. The elf was feverish. The arm where the ghoul had bitten him was swollen and suppurated. Yonnis and Lanatil examined him, then looked at each other grimly. “Ghoul fever.”

“Wha..what’s that?,” asked Cameron.

“We need to stay put tomorrow and tend to this,” said Yonnis. With rest and Lanatil’s care, you have a much better chance of fighting off the disease. If you don’t, you will get weaker each day, until you die. And become one of them.”

“Aren’t we close to Anathar’s Dell?,” Elvis asked. “The longer we stay out here trying to nurse him, the more likely we are to suffer further attacks. Won’t he be better off if we get him to a safe place?”

“The Dell is about three days’ journey from here,” Yonnis said. “He might be beyond help by then. We’re not moving. I simply refuse.”

Nameless agreed with Elvis. “I think we need to continue. He won’t necessarily get worse even if we travel. In any case it’s unlikely he’ll die before we get to the Dell. And staying out here leaves us vulnerable.” Cameron agreed, and so the next morning they set out again.

The only danger encountered that day was a dire badger, a 300-pound beast that suddenly stuck its snout up out of a burrow to one side of the trail. It looked at them, snarling. The druid and the ranger each tried his hand at calming the beast down, but it continued to glower. This time it was Elvis who urged attack. “It may be an agent of Bane. We don’t want to leave it behind to report where we’ve been.” The others demurred, noting that a creature capable of creating a burrow five feet in diameter was not something they wished to tangle with unnecessarily. They backed away carefully, and as the creature did not attack, continued on their way.

That night Cameron’s fever continued to worsen, and he grew visibly weaker. But he was far from the end of his strength, and despite Yonnis’s concern said he wished to continue toward the Dell.

Their luck continued to hold the next day, and they were able to make good progress without mishap. Early in the afternoon they crossed Dagger River, causing Yonnis to remark that they should be able to reach Anathar's Dell by the end of the next day. That night the first watch was the Ethrils’. After a short time, Lanatil heard two wolves approaching the camp. Again he tried to use the wild empathy he had struggled to cultivate as part of his druid training. But not only was he unable to calm the wolves, his attempts to communicate backfired and actually provoked them. Snarling, the two beasts launched themselves at Lanatil. One got behind him and sank a vicious bite into the back of the druid’s leg. Drawing his longsword, Yonnis rushed to his brother’s defense just as two more wolves who had circled around the camp emerged from the other side. Soon Yonnis too was flanked, and taking heavy damage. Cameron spoke a few arcane words, and a luminous missile flew from his outstretched fingers into one of the wolves. He then roused the rest of the party. Jumping up, Nameless smote the wolf nearest him with open hand, so powerfully that the wolf fell dead. Ogy threw a dagger at one of the wolves on Lanatil, but—rarely for him—missed wildly. By this time Yonnis was staggered, barely able to keep fighting. Seeing this, Lanatil moved close to him and laid his left hand on his brother’s brow while speaking the words of a healing prayer. Doing so, however, distracted him from the wolf on his flank, who promptly sank its teeth into him again. Lanatil was now obliged to use another less powerful healing spell on himself so as not to lose consciousness. But luckily Nameless had approached, and with another expert blow, felled the wolf still threatening the druid. Only two were left. One had been wounded by several of Cameron’s magic projectiles, as well as a crossbow bolt fired by Elvis. Now it was under attack by Raptor, Lanatil’s hawk, who clawed at its eyes with his talons until the beast fell still. The last wolf was slain by Yonnis, who emerged from his defensive posture to slash it with his longsword.

With the danger over, the group resumed their rest. Cameron’s fever continued to worsen, and he grew steadily weaker. Again Yonnis urged that they stay put for a day to minister to the fading sorceror, but again Cameron elected to keep moving. So the next day they continued walking. Again their luck seemed to hold, and they proceeded unhindered until the sun was low in the sky. Suddenly they became aware of a large tiger-like cat following them attentively from a distance. Yonnis said, “Don’t worry. That is one of the fangs of the Dell. This means we are close to our destination.” And so they were.

Anathar’s Dell is the site of a dwarven mine, above which are a few farms tended by human and half-elf families. There is an inn called Anathar’s Hall, which is known as one of the few safe resting places in the area. As the party entered the Hall, they were greeted by Kharva, a plump dwarf wife with copper-colored hair and a comely copper beard. There were a few tables in the main room, at one of which there sat a redheaded half-elf strumming a lute for the pleasure of a handful of companions. Kharva asked the newcomers to introduce themselves, which they did. Indeed, under her polite questioning some members of the group seemed to open up and volunteer far more information than they had thus far entrusted to their own travelling companions. Lanatil in particular let forth with a torrent of words. At first, Kharva had asked where he was going, and when he named Oakhurst, she had said, “Oh, there’s a terrible plague going on there now. I’d be careful if I were you.” Lanatil looked momentarily peeved, as though he had not wished to broach this subject, but then went on at length, explaining that he was a member of the Quercus circle in Cormanthor, and had been asked by Zinn, the speaker of the circle, to investigate the disease that had taken hold in Oakhurst. Lanatil believed that it might have something to do with the actions of an outcast druid named Belak, who had been expelled from the circle years before. To the extent that the others could follow Lanatil’s excited speech, it appeared that this Belak had been attempting to create animate trees and other abominations, though it was not clear to any of the druid’s listeners what any of this had to do with the plague in Oakhurst. When Lanatil asked whether Kharva had any knowledge of these matters, she said all she knew was that apparently a group of miners from Oakhurst had suddenly come down with a terrible infectious disease, that many had died, and that the mayor had quarantined the rest.

At the mention of the miners, Yonnis chimed in. He said he had heard the mines were potentially in danger from a group of goblins, and was in the area to investigate and get rid of them if necessary. Kharva hadn't heard about any particular goblin threats of late, though she had heard strange stories about a group of goblins supposedly selling magic fruit that could heal anything. At this point however, the dwarf wife fixed her gaze on Cameron. “Who is this handsome elf, and why is he so feverish? He needs to lie down and rest at once.” When they explained his plight, she looked grave. “We have no-one here who can remove such an evil malady, but you can stay here and tend to him as long as you like. It costs two gold pieces per day for full room and board.” She clapped her hands and directed the serving maid who answered to take Cameron to a bed immediately. She then continued questioning the other members of the group, who politely introduced themselves. When Nameless mentioned that he was a novice from the Abbey of the Vigilant Eye, Kharva thought for a moment and said, "Vigilant Eye, eh? Devotees of Helm, are you?" The monk nodded. Kharva also got the names of Elvis and Ogy, but they, like Nameless, never explained the nature of their business in the area. Indeed, they would have been hard pressed to get a word in, for Lanatil had now launched into an account of their encounter with the orcs and acquisition of the amulet. At this point the half-elf bard, who had long since stopped playing his instrument so as to listen in on the conversation, began to take particular interest. Kharva introduced him as someone who might be able to read the document they had taken from the dead orc leader. His name was Bon.

Bon asked them to repeat every detail of their encounter with the orcs. Lanatil was quick to oblige, but Elvis interrupted. “First I’d like to know something about you and why exactly you’re so interested.” Bon smiled. “Ah, a man of caution. I like that. I can tell you that I am an enemy of the Zhentarim. My friends here are Freedom Riders, which as your halfling friend from Dagger Falls can tell you, are the comrades in arms of Randal Morn. How are things in Dagger Falls these days, Mr. Hairsplitter?” Ogy too was somewhat wary. “Do you know someone named Kessla?,” he asked without explanation.

“I know of a Kessla,” responded Bon. “But I can’t say I’ve had the pleasure of meeting her. My comrades and I are here both to help to defend the Dell and to keep watch on this area. We know the Zhentarim are planning a counter stroke against Morn, and are trying to gather what intelligence we can. It’s rather too bad you killed those orcs, as it would have been desirable to follow them and see where they were going.”

“They were going in the direction of Dagger Falls,” said Ogy.

“They couldn’t have been planning to go far in that direction,” responded the bard. “Dagger Falls is in Morn’s hands, and such a small group was far too vulnerable to challenge his stronghold. Usually Zhentarim travel in stronger groups, which means that these must have been on a mission calling for stealth. They must have been going to a place meant to be kept secret. That’s why this letter you confiscated may be of great value. May I see it?”

Elvis said they would share the letter on the condition that its meaning be shared with them, but even while he spoke Lanatil had already handed it over. Bon looked at it intently. “Hmmm. This is based on Damaran, but it’s in code. I can’t read it, but I know people who should be able to. Can I keep it? I think it may be valuable intelligence, and in return for letting me take it I will arrange for the lot of you to stay here at the inn free of any cost to you. And yes, my friend from Silverymoon, if we meet again after I have learned the contents of the message, I will share them with you.”

The party agreed. Then Bon asked, “Now, may I have a look at this amulet that our good druid seems to be so excited about?”

Elvis passed the precious object across the table. Bon inhaled with a slow hissing noise. “The Black Hand. Bane’s symbol.” He asked Lanatil to recount his dream again. When the druid had finished, the bard nodded, frowning. “It is true then. Bane has arisen.”

Now Nameless interjected. “You already knew this? How do you know it? What happened?”

“I have no knowledge of what happened in the planes where the gods dwell,” said Bon. “But I do know that over recent months there has been a sudden purge among the followers of Cyric, many of whom had been followers of Bane before the godswar. Apparently the Church of Bane has been reconstituting itself, and many of his prior minions are returning to his fold. We weren’t sure what to make of this, but your story leaves little doubt.” He moved his fingers quickly over the amulet, speaking the words of a spell. The amulet began to glow faintly. “It gives off a magic aura, but a modest one. It appears to be simply a holy symbol, the kind any cleric uses as a focus for meditation. But given Lanatil’s dream, I am uneasy about letting it remain here. The Dell is not without defenses, but one of its most important ones is its relative lack of importance. We could not withstand an army, if one were to consider us worth its while to conquer. I will have to consider this. But come now, you should relax from your journey and rest. Have some ale with us.”

They accepted the bard’s invitation. As they drank, Ogy, who had been itching throughout the long conversation to find some way of drawing attention to himself, suddenly offered Bon a bet. “Here Lanatil, let me borrow that rope of yours, “ the halfling said. Taking the hemp coil, still stained with the dried blood of their erstwhile prisoner, Ogy handed it to Bon and urged that he use it to tie him up. “Go ahead. Tie the best knots you can. I’ll bet you a gold piece that I can escape.” Intruigued, Bon agreed. He wrapped the rope around the tiny rogue’s body, binding arms and feet together as tightly as he knew how. Immediately Ogy began to wriggle and squirm, and within a few minutes had wormed his way free of the ropes. Joining in the laughter and applause, Bon handed Ogy a gold piece. “Nice job, Mr. Hairsplitter.”

That night, Cameron’s condition improved. He was still feverish, but he did not lose any more vitality. Lanatil tended him all the next day, and by the following evening his fever had broken. His tall body was still very weak and sluggish, but safely out of danger.

The morning after their arrival at the Dell, Bon had come to speak to Elvis and the others. “I’m afraid that amulet cannot stay here,” he said. “Last night a Baneguard tried to gain entrance to the Dell. The fangs destroyed it, but a few were badly wounded in the process.” In response to their queries, the bard explained that a Baneguard is a particular type of undead creature, a skeletal warrior armed with various magical weapons and defenses. As the name implies, the secret of creating these deadly servants was first developed by the Church of Bane. “As I said yesterday, I don’t believe the amulet to be of any great intrinsic power. I think it is just a clerical holy symbol. But Bane is the kind of god who does not like others to take his property." Elvis, who by now had conducted his own magical examination of the amulet, agreed. “Still,” the wizard said, “instead of just leaving it somewhere for Bane’s retrieval, I’d prefer to destroy it.” Bon thought for a moment. “I’ll tell you what. If you’ll give the amulet to me, I’ll take it to the dwarves’ smithy. If anyone will know how to unmake this thing, they will.” Elvis agreed.

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?

First session: Our tale begins

Our story is set in the Forgotten Realms, a fantasy world about which you can find as much or more information on the web as you can about many real countries in this world. Of course, the more I flesh it out for purposes of my own campaign, the more it will diverge from its multifarious other incarnations. In planning my storyline, I drew from the huge array of published resources available, combined a couple of pre-written adventures, and added my own twists and details as needed. I can only plan the storyline up to a point however, because it largely depends on what the players do. Which of course is what makes it fun.

The region that concerns us for now is known as the Dalelands, and our tale begins in Dagger Falls, on a warm summer evening during the month of Kythorn in the Year of Wild Magic. Dagger Falls is a rough frontier town where people openly wear weapons in the street and one senses that social order might be rent by open warfare in the blink of an eye. Until recently it had been occupied by the Zhentarim and their Black Network, but for the moment the traditional ruler of Daggerdale, Randal Morn, has succeeded in retaking the town and is imposing a welcome but precarious benevolent order.

There is an inn in Dagger Falls known as the Red Rock. Contained in a stone and wood structure two stories tall, it has a down-to-earth atmosphere assiduously cultivated by its owner Kessla, a strikingly beautiful half-elf woman with long dark hair and a wry alertness in her eyes. Kessla runs a sort of informal referral service for adventurers. The way it works is that you go there and talk to her about the nature of your intended journey—as much as you are willing to divulge—and pay a small fee. Many people do this, so Kessla talks to a lot of people and has a lot of contacts. Dagger Falls is a well-travelled hub for people looking for opportunity, and Kessla is a well-known figure, a close friend of Randal Morn. If you are lucky, there’s a good chance that within a couple days she’ll send a note up to your room telling you to come into the tavern at such and such a time because there are some people she thinks you might want to meet. She makes no guarantee that these people will be suitable to your purposes, or you to theirs, but she’s known to have a good knack for putting people together who share enough common interests that they can work together fruitfully.

Over the course of the tenday before our story begins, a number of people had come into the Red Rock looking for companions to travel south from Dagger Falls, down to the vicinity where the Tethyamar trail meets the Northride. Six of them, to be precise. The first two came in together, a pair of elves, brothers from Tangled Trees in the forest of Cormanthor. Both were uncommonly strong and rather ungainly for elves, and had clearly spent more time alone in the woods than in polite company. The slightly older of the two, Yonnis Ethril, was a ranger from a guildhall in Cormanthor. He had green eyes and silver-white hair, and wore a small symbol around his neck—the green-fletched silver arrow associated with followers of Solonor Thelandira. His brother Lanatil shared the same eyes, but had black hair. Lanatil’s scruffy looks and hide armor pegged him instantly as a druid, and any remaining doubt was dispelled by the large hawk perched on his shoulder. The brothers told Kessla that they had business in the village of Oakhurst, located along the Northride a few days’ walk south of the Tethyamar intersection. They were both headstrong and stubborn, given to brotherly bickering.

Next to arrive was a fledgling monk from the Abbey of the Vigilant Eye, located somewhere within the dark wilderness of Cormanthor. He gave no name. He too was an elf, and he too had an exceptionally powerful frame. He bore his, though, with considerably more grace than the Ethril brothers, despite the fact that he was a good eight inches taller than they. Like most monks, he wore simple robes and had few possessions beyond his serious demeanor. He also told Kessla that he wished to find travelling companions with whom to go south down the Tethyamar trail in the direction of Oakhurst.

Fourth to arrive was a wizard who had made the long journey across Anauroch from Silverymoon in the company of a trading caravan. Yet another elf, short and definitely not strong of sinew, he gave his name as Elvis the Conjurer. He too sought comrades for a journey south. Before long a fifth elf came in, and this one was tallest of all. He stood an astonishing six feet and a half, and had a magnetic presence that compelled the attention of all who beheld him. His came was Cameron, and he was a young sorceror who, like the Ethrils, also hailed from Tangled Trees. Unlike the Ethrils, Cameron tended to listen to those around him and speak only when necessary.

The last of the six to speak to Kessla was far from being tall. He was a halfling, by the name Ogy Hairsplitter. The only native of Dagger Falls, as well as the only non-elf in the group, Ogy was a rogue whose family had played a role in the resistance against the Zhent occupation. Ogy was restless and unruly, seemingly unable to stay still for long. He knew Kessla, and when he told her that he wanted to go south she told him she had just the party for him, provided he wasn’t averse to being stepped on by elves.

The next night they all met in the tavern at Kessla’s invitation. All were wary of revealing anything specific about their aims, stating merely that they “had business” in the vicinity of Oakhurst. At one point during the conversation, Ogy made a reference to the plague of vampires that had afflicted Daggerdale in recent memory, and the nameless monk was interested in knowing when the last sighting had been. About ten years earlier, Ogy replied. They shared little other information, agreeing simply to meet the next morning to buy any needed supplies and set out down the Tethyamar trail.

Once a geek…

[Note: this post originally appeared on my main blog, here. I have revised it somewhat.]

Lucas had been lobbying me for a while to teach him how to play pen & paper Dungeons & Dragons. He had played Baldur's Gate and Icewind Dale on the computer, and seen some of my artifacts in the basement from the ancient days when we did such things by hand. Stuff I had not touched since the early 80's. I knew that the rules had gone through several editions since the old AD&D tomes I used to know by heart, and decided that I should investigate to see what the state of the art in fantasy geekdom was. I have to say that said state (I'm talking Version 3.5) struck me as quite a bit improved. I particularly liked the skill system and the way it makes all the basic character abilities have repercussions, even the ones that are not key to your class. For example, back when I played as a kid, if you were a fighter, you could care less what your intelligence and wisdom scores were. They were almost never relevant. Now if you have low wisdom you'll be bad at spotting bad guys or hearing them sneak up on you. If you have low intelligence you’ll be bad at finding what you’re searching for. And so on. I also liked the new melee rules, which incorporate miniatures to make battles a lot more tactically complex and interesting, and enable you to figure out with some consistency questions like "what happens if I stop to drink a potion while a hobgoblin is trying to skewer me on its halberd?" Reading of all these improvements, I started to get resentful that they hadn't existed back when my friends and I were playing. Why is there an inverse proportion between the quality of available pastimes and the amount of free time you have to enjoy them in?

You can probably guess where this is going. Someplace very scary. Because, you see, now I'm grownup and gainfully employed. Which means I actually have disposable income to spend on rulebooks, plastic miniatures, and battlemats. I'm now DMing my first campaign in over 20 years. (It stands for Dungeon Master, which I know sounds very S&M, but try to work with me here.) The players are Lucas, three of his friends, and two of his friends' fathers. I'm trying to make this a real role-playing campaign, one with an over-arching story line and characters that mean something beyond roll-miss-roll-hit-get-treasure. (I rationalize my efforts as providing a potentially useful educational experience, as the three of us adults interact with the kids in solving various tactical and moral dilemmas. Yeah. That's why I'm doing it.) So after they all rolled up characters I spent several weeks creating detailed backgrounds for them. I gave each of them a fancy printed copy of his deity's creed. I gave each of them an independent back story containing his unique motive for embarking on a quest, as well as important information that would be unavailable to the other characters unless voluntarily shared. I printed spellbooks in calligraphic fonts. Each person's backstory ended with his entrance into a particular tavern to meet with other potential travelling companions. And so on our first session I sat them all down at the table and let them negotiate what they wanted to do. It's been a very interesting dynamic. It seems that my telling them they had personal information not accessible to the others has made them regard that information as a resource to be jealously guarded. They're being very cagy with each other, even as they travel together and depend upon each other's abilities to survive. Which, I suppose, is just the psychological realism I was looking for. It will be interesting to see how long it takes them to learn to trust each other and work as a team. Right now there's almost no consensus building, no sharing of information that would benefit everyone. That will need to change if they're going to make it …

So since I'm putting a fair amount of time into this, I feel I may as well start documenting the storyline as it develops. Some day it will be a nice souvenir for Lucas. I have neither time nor aspiration to turn this into anything of literary value--while I'll try to make it engaging enough to read, my main goal is to just tell the story so we'll have a record of what we spent all those Friday evenings doing. Because some of the players might read this, I will not reveal anything about the characters' detailed backgrounds or motivations that hasn't yet been revealed during game play. I will probably revise earlier posts from time to time, if I think of additional details worth adding.