No One Becomes a Hero Because Their Life is Awesome

by Floyd Fiftynames,
Licensed Bard

A time after Lothar's first combat, his uncle Elfred returned to town and invited him along on a trip with him to the Keep, where Sir Bardin, the local lord, lived. Accompanying Lothar would be his friends Riordan, Salem, Ajanni, and Neris, and the group would be keeping watch over the collected tax.

Outside of Lothar's trip to the Stein and Shield, he had been outside of Oakshadow exactly once, to attend the wedding of his father Valdemar to his second wife, Ingrid. Lothar liked traveling, and he enjoyed the trip to the Keep. He was impressed by it's size, and in particular by the scale of the tannery there. While at the Keep, he was introduced to Sir Bardin, and given the opportunity to audition for his military. The head officer of the Keep, a dwarf named Akor, knocked him down a few times, teaching Lothar to channel his frustration into a useful well of strength, and the boy soon put the experienced soldier on the ground.

That evening, at dinner, the party was introduced to a variety of important people from the area, not the least of whom was Bartok, the priest of the Keep. Bartok, unfortunately, shot down Riordan's request to the minstrel providing the entertainment that he play a song about the dark powers, but other than that, nothing else important happened that night.


What's that, you say? You recognized the sarcasm? Okay, well, Sir Bardin gets called away on an overnight ride to one of the neighboring villages on account of a suspicion of a spreading plague (always a good sign), and then the Keep went on high alert (which was very comforting, really) for the night and much of the next day, until Bardin returned to dispel the notion that the person who was sick suffered from the plague, but instead, had some sniffles.

The party then returned to Oakshadow to help prepare for the Becoming, a large, annual fall festival and feast that lasted for three days. Lothar had a very nice, and in hindsight, exceptionally meaningful conversation with his father, who expressed his blessings to his younger son that he strike out on his own very soon.

So, tragedy. It's part of every hero's journey, you know? Lothar's no different. And the Becoming of Lothar's 17th year is where it all happened for him. Sir Bardin, who was set to join the citizens of Oakshadow for their festival, suddenly cancelled as he was feeling under the weather. And even though our heroes collectively failed to say "Uh-oh," the universe heard it anyway, and sent a legion of beak-masked, robed figures to set Oakshadow on fire and kill its citizens on suspicion of carrying... you guessed it... the plague.

Lothar and his friends put up as much of a fight as they possibly could, but they were no match for their skill, and they had no choice but to flee (at Father Fhaerris' urging) from the town as it went up in flames. Despite their best efforts, most, if not all of the other Oakshadow-ians were killed in the fray, including Lothar and Ajanni's families. All that remained of their hometown were our four heroes, Ajanni's dog, Gahiji, and the two dire wolf pups.

Lothar's grief was deep. His family had been his life, and now they were gone, and he blamed himself. He felt so helpless, having to run while his town and practically everyone he knew or loved burned. In the bottom of his soul, a thirst for vengeance began to form. It always starts this way, and there are two endings - hero, or villain. The middle part? Well, that's where I have the potential to surprise you.

FF

In Which Lothar Doesn't Fight, But Then He Totally Does

by Floyd Fiftynames,
Licensed Bard

The hand, as it turned out, belonged to Corwin Janus, an old friend of Lothar's uncle Elfred and a knight protector of the land. It was fortunate for Lothar, because as a warrior, our young hero was greener than my hat band. Though he was anxious to prove his mettle, it would not be this night at the Stein and Shield.

He would, however, show off his legendary iron stomach. Few could eat or drink like Lothar, who often supplemented his meals at home with fresh game. Lothar and his step-mother Ingrid had plenty of reasons not to like each other, and one of Ingrid's reasons for being cool towards Valdemar's second son was due to her inability to feed him. This night at the inn, however, Lothar could eat, drink, and be cautiously merry to the delight of Elena the innkeeper's pocketbook.

This night, Lothar and his friends would learn from Elfred's friend Corwin Janus more about the world and its ways than most of them had ever suspected from their quiet life in Oakshadow. The world is a place of uneasy alliances and simmering tensions, and both came to the fore at the southeastern border of the country, where men like Janus kept watch and tried to prevent goblins from reigniting a war that few alive could remember today. Stories were told of the past with lengthy explanation, but Lothar did not possess the acuity to process it all, other than that it involved the church and a host of heroes buried at the inn itself. Men take on many permutations in their lives - child, provider, husband, warrior, sage - but leader was not in the teenage Lothar's vocabulary at present. He did not yet feel he had the confidence to be a leader, or the knowledge; in his upbringing he had only learned to be respectful and polite, but his true compass for right and wrong, his mother, had died long before she could instill those values in him, and he was far too young to have command of his feelings. For guidance, Lothar often looked to Riordan, his good friend from Oakshadow, the bar and inn keeper. Riordan was a good eight years Lothar's senior, but had always treated Lothar with a respect he did not find from many others in his village. Riordan had the bearing and attitude of a leader, and Lothar looked to him as the type of man he could follow.

The only time Lothar felt he had any notion of what he could teach another person was when it came to Neris, another young person in the search party. Neris was two years younger than Lothar, but those winters felt like an enormous chasm between the two of them. Neris was impetuous, and he lacked discipline and respect. Lothar, for his part, learned from his father how to be a part of a team, and how to accept a lower rank in a group setting. You don't have to like it, Lothar thought, but you do have to accept it.


Oh! - and Lothar met a centaur this night as well. Now, this storyteller has known a few centaurs in his day, and they have ranged from assholes to bastards, and Curu fit that description as well as any of them. And moon-eyed Lothar, he thought it would be amazing to be a half-horse, half-man - it was about the only way someone could run faster than the kid - so he made a comment to the magical beast which came from a place of awe and (near) reverence, but of course it came out sounding like Lothar wanted to ride the pretty pony-person, and that set Curu the Centaur off into a bout of centaur haughtiness (read: butt-hurt). Needless to say, after that little interchange, Lothar learned to be more careful about what he said to people he just met.

The group's night at the Stein and Shield eventually gave way to a discovery that roaming bands of goblins might have something to do with the livestock-eating beast, and they set out the next day in pursuit, moving as fast as they possibly could through the forest. The next night, Lothar would taste his first combat.

It was goblins, my friends. Goblins are nasty motherfuckers, and these were no exception. They came upon Lothar and his friends in the dead of the night, with wolves bred to fight, and gave the group a spirited row. Lothar learned that night that he did not know as much as he thought he did about fighting something that was, well, not just trying to escape becoming food. These goblins and wolves were fighting back, and it took all of Lothar's youth and strength not to fall in his first combat. Fortunately, the efforts of the acolyte Salem kept him afloat, as did the combat prowess of Ajanni and Gahiji, his uncle Elfred, and a mysterious archer who ended the goblins' assault somewhat prematurely. This last combatant was of concern to Lothar, but given that he was weakened by the fight, he found himself unable to pursue or investigate. The event remained present in his mind, however, and as such elements often do in stories like these, the significance of the event would rear its head again later.

After recovering from the fight, the party continued on, and found the goblin village where the raiding party had come from. The women, children, and elders of this village were a wretched lot - Lothar had not yet seen, nor had he dreamed of an existence as miserable as this - and through the village elder, the party learned that the beast was the creation of a goblin breeder who had created a killing machine from the wolves. This beast turned on its creator before escaping on its own, and Lothar felt contempt for the breeder, and he told him so as he lay in agony on his death bed. Afterwards, he contemplated whether his words to the wretch were necessary; as with the rest of this journey, he was learning new things about himself every day, and some of the things he was learning, he didn't quite like. His capacity for frustration, and it's tendency to show itself in anger - even cruelty - was not something Belinda would have encouraged from him.

Lothar and his compatriots learned that the beast was moving back in the direction of Oakshadow, and they returned to their home as quickly as they could to deal with it. Fortunately for them, by the time they arrived, the only casualty was a mule at Ajanni's farm. The group traced the animal back to it's current den, drew it out, and engaged it in combat, and this time, Lothar's blows found their mark. The creature - a wolf of impressive size - was slain, and Lothar took the hide as a prize. The unexpected fallout from this event was that the creature had two newborn pups, which Lothar and Ajanni took an instant liking to. The boy of the pair found an affinity for Lothar, and Lothar learned that fighting can lead to unexpected consequences.

Of course, this is the very beginning of a story about a legendary warrior, so we know there are more fights to come.

FF

Darkowl

Darkowl ducked into the Stein and Shield and paused, waiting for an uproar as Phaedra flapped on his shoulder. When there was none, he cautiously looked around the tap room. There was a good sized crowd of the normal mercenary and adventurer types that gravitated towards this particular Inn. It took him a minute for his searching gaze to find Elena behind the bar. She looked up and met his eyes with the studied indifference of the veteran barkeep, sized him up for a second, and then went back to her work. Darkowl exhaled, letting the tension out of his body along with his breath.  So she had either forgotten him and the brawl he caused a year ago, or had chosen not to hold it against him. That will make thing much easier he mused.

Aramus was not due for another week, and Darkowl hated to be idle. Deciding there was nothing for it, he pulled up a chair at a table along the wall and sat down. Phaedra was restless so he let the hawk perch on the back of another chair. Darkowl decided it was best to keep his cowl up. It had been a while, but he didn’t necessarily want to be recognized in this part of the world. That still didn’t stop the ranger from loosening his trademarked kukris in their sheaths as he reexamined the crowd.

Before he could size up more than a couple patrons, the doors flew open and a group of villagers walked in. They were outfitted in dated leathers and old weapons, and gazed around like… well like yokels. Only one of them looked like he knew what he was doing, carrying himself with the grace of a tested swordsman. His clothing and bearing gave lie to his profession. “Messenger for some lord.” Darkowl whispered to himself. One of the other patrons, a man with a scar across his cheek, heard him. Scar-cheek looked at Darkowl with a faint smile. It was a confident look of icy amusement that suggested a familiarity with Darkowl that he did not share. Still holding his eye, the man slowly pulled back into the crowd.  A mental alarm went off in the ranger’s head. Nobody had a look like that and dressed as plainly as Scar-cheek did.

He began to rise from his chair to follow, but a commotion from the group of villagers drew his attention. The lord’s messenger was being greeted by a big and heavily armored man. Darkowl saw the sign of the Order of the Sword on the large warrior’s shield, and decided it was better to be inconspicuous than investigative all things considered. He sat back down in his chair and tried to blend in with the wall of the inn. The bar returned to normal as the novelty of the villagers wore off. The Knight led them to a nearby table, and Darkowl saw that he had definitely made the right choice for the Knight was none other than Captain Corwin himself.  He took another look at the villagers.

Their obvious inexperience with the world of the Stein and Shield had made them seem smaller, but half of the villagers were huge. Three of them cleared a full six feet and all were thickly muscled. It was a hard thing to see when the stood together as the tall tribesman (for one of them was darkskinned) was almost seven feet, and another was much broader in the chest than his friends. It was only when they moved individually that you saw that any one of them could be the tallest man in his region, and the tribesman was giant like in height. Likewise several of them could shame a blacksmith with their mass; the big one was just built like an ox and skewed the perspective. Darkowl could see why the Order of the Sword would be interested in them; they would be hard pressed to find a better batch of recruits.

After a brief exchange, Sir Corwin led the villagers out the side door that led to the Heroes’ Garden. Darkowl waited a few moments to make sure that they were gone, got up, and headed to the bar. As he did, he side-stepped to avoid stepping on a cloak and accidently ran into a massive chest. Darkowl lifted his gaze up to see the face of a familiar centaur.

“Um, hey there Curu.” Darkowl said, mentally cursing his luck. This was a conversation that was not going to go well.

“Darkowl? I didn’t think you came into this neck of the woods anymore! How are you?” Curu was characteristically jovial, being one of the more friendly specimens of centaur- a race known for being surly and temperamental. “Have you heard any word from my niece? Is she enjoying being a weaver?”

And there it is thought Darkowl. “Curu… I don’t think she enjoyed weaving.”

“Nonsense. I paid a heavy fee to apprentice her to one of the best weavers in the region. Why would you think she didn’t enjoy it?”

“Because she left.”

“She… left?” Curu said with a dangerously quiet tone. Darkowl prayed that the massive centaur would let the conversation end there, but as usual his prayers went unanswered. “Where did she go?”

“She… ah, well… Corelle… um, felt a different calling.” Darkowl paused, steeling himself for what was coming next. “She became an acolyte in the Regian Church.”

For a moment Darkowl refused to look at the big centaur. After a few heartbeats he could no longer resist and looked up. Curu stood there, covered in the trinkets and charms of his pagan faith, a faith that his family and his tribe had faithfully adhered to since time immemorial. His face was so hard that it could have served as an anvil in a dwarven forge, the veins and cords  in his neck straining to burst free of his skin, his eyes like someone had compacted all the rage in the world down into two darkly violent crystals. Darkowl was completely still, not wanting to be the one who triggered what was sure to be a legendary bloodbath. Suddenly Curu inhaled, and Darkowl tensed to dodge whatever was coming. Instead of rearing and lopping off the heads of the nearest customers while screaming pagan obscenities, Curu slowly and with enormous effort moved over to an empty table and sat down. He stared at the table for a moment, and then idly began playing with his animal charms.

Darkowl didn’t waste any time. He spun on his heel when straight to the bar, ordered a meal and a beer, and retreated back to his table, determined to not move for the rest of the night. As he settled in next to where Phaedra perched, he stole a glance at Curu. The centaur had stopped staring off into space and was now having an angry conversation with his little wooden animal carvings. I would hate to be the next person to try to talk to him Darkowl thought. He then dived into his meal, feeding little scraps to his hawk, and taking the occasional swig of beer.

By the time he was finishing eating, the strange group of villagers had returned, without the Knight of the Sword. He watched half fearful and half amused as Lord’s-Messenger led the troop straight over to Curu. They had an expectedly (at least to Darkowl) tense conversation in which the villagers seemed confused about Curu’s hostility and Curu seemed hostile, after which they left the centaur alone and claimed an empty table.

After talking amongst themselves, they began looking around the room. The crowd had thinned a little by this point, with pretty much only the overnight guests still around. One of the villagers, Tall-Tribesman, had spotted Darkowl, and was coming over with Big-Chest. They smiled as they approached and immediately sat down at Darkowl’s table.

“Mind if we join you?” Tall-Tribesman asked after he and Big-Chest had already sat down, much to Darkowl’s bemusement.

“Not at all.” Darkowl replied.

“What’s your name?” Big-Chest asked politely. Up close like this Darkowl realized neither of them could be as old as twenty.

“Darkowl” the ranger replied. Big-Chest look at Phaedra who was obviously not an owl nor darkly covered and then looked back to Darkowl.

“Ok” he said cheerfully. The three of them immediately launched into a pleasant conversation about woods lore and the surrounding area. As they chatted Darkowl glanced over at the rest of the villagers and caught the gaze of a chestnut bearded member of their group. His eyes were calculating and confident with a commanding directness and Darkowl felt that he was being sized up to a degree that he had not experienced yet that night.  Command-Eyes held his look for a moment, and then rising strode over to bar. Tall-Tribesman and Big-Chest wound their conversation down and rejoined their buddies. Darkowl took that as an opportunity to excuse himself and turned in for the night.

Neris 2

Neris’ Epic Adventure Journal of Awesomeness Entry 3

So I caught up with everybody, and they act like they SAVED me.  They treat me like I’m a child when they’re pretty much the same age I am. I mean, sure Riordan is older, and Farkus and Josiah and Elfred, but the others are like 2 years older, 3 tops. I’m a grown man! And I’m smarter and better than they are. I’ll go along with them for now, but I don’t know how much longer I can put up with this.

Neris’ Epic Adventure Journal of Awesomeness Entry 4

Dude the Stein and Shield is AWESOME.  And everybody in it was hardcore, with real armor and weapons and things. Our group from Oakshadow looks like stupid farmers in here. It’s pretty obvious to me that I’m of the same type as the guys in here, not the sad little band of villagers I came in with. I bet that’s why they give me such a hard time, because they’re jealous. We met this Corwin guy who was checking me out, probably to try and recruit me into his knight order. He spent most of the time talking to Riordan and the others all the while thinking “that strong quiet guy in the back looks dangerous in a cool superhero sort of way. Why is he hanging out with them? He must feel sorry for them.” Then we went back to the Inn and I totally stared down a centaur. He wouldn’t even look at me. Now I think we’re gonna head up to our rooms and drink. Gonna show these stupid villagers how a hero drinks.

Neris’ Epic Adventure of Awesomeness Entry 5

I got stabbed with a spear. I missed the whole fight. I didn’t even get a chance to show them how awesome I am all because some stupid goblins had their hill giant buddy throw a spear at me when I wasn’t looking. They didn’t shout or nothing. It’s so not fair. When I came to most of our group was banged up pretty bad. It never would have happened if I had gotten a chance. So. Not. Fair.

Riordan 2

Riordan

We all tensed for a moment. Everyone in this bar seemed far more dangerous than any in our small group, and the hand on Elfred's shoulder was attached to one of the biggest and most imposing gentlemen there. I sensed more than saw Lothar's hand tighten on that huge knotty club of his, and Farkus seemed frozen in fearful indecision. For my part, after years of running a bar myself I knew it's not a bar fight until an actual attack has been made. Elfred gave a slight smile and turned to face the armored warrior. Sure enough a quick exchange of friendly insults, the kind of which only men with a comfortable history engage in, dispelled our concerns.

The big man, clad in a worn but magnificent suit of plate mail, was introduced as Sir Corwin Janus, a Captain of the Order of the Sword. He immediately led us to a large table in the back and bought us all a round of drinks. The beer was darker than what Kettlewell brews, with a faint earthy aftertaste that was quite pleasant.  We drew less attention from the other patrons, seated as we were at a removed table instead of standing in the entry way, and our small group relaxed once the eyes of strangers were no longer on us.

Corwin’s joviality dimmed when we explained what our mission was, and he instructed us to stand and come with him. We rose, drinks untouched in our hands, and followed him to the bar. A still beautiful elven woman, the slight weathering of age showing in the sharpness of her features and a few modest lines in her face, greeted Corwin with the casual familiarity reserved for a regular customer. Corwin quickly introduced her as Elena Moondagger and asked her in a hushed tone if we could use “the room”. She lifted a sardonic eyebrow and tossed him a key, pointedly busying herself elsewhere.

Corwin led us through the taproom, through the tables and fire pits with their soot blacked chimney hoods, and then out a door in the back. We stood outside, the inn behind us, and gazed from an elevated vantage point out over a sloping field. A vast section of the area was laid out before us, and unbidden from my lips sprang, “Does this place serve as a watch post?”

Sir Corwin paused and giving me a look replied, “When need be.”

As I locked eyes with the big knight I became aware of a gentle mournful music playing in the background. Investigating we rounded the corner and saw a massive cemetery nestled at the base of the inn. A man stood at the gate of this sprawling graveyard, playing a curious instrument that seemed a cross between a set of bagpipes (or at least as they have been described to me) and a stringed instrument. The melody was high pitched and haunting. Corwin began leading us down to the gate, and through it into graves and memorials. He gave a gentle nod to the musician, identifying him as a warden of the cemetery, and talked to us as he walked.

“The inn is hundreds of years old,” said the knight, “and was built to serve the visitors of this: the Heroes’ Garden. There are at least 700 graves here- heroes, mercenaries, and adventurers all. The Emperor Balerian is buried here. No one has cataloged them all and many of the stones and memorials are no longer legible.”

We were well into the cemetery at this point as Sir Corwin continued, “Here in the center, this worn obelisk. Yehorem wrote a book and claimed it was the oldest marker here. According to him it is the resting place of Marwin the Gold.” As Corwin talked I passed within a few feet of the weathered black pillar, and an un-natural chill swept over me and raised the hairs on my arms over newly risen gooseflesh. Glancing around I seemed to be the only one so afflicted, and the feeling passed as we passed the obelisk.

The knight, oblivious, kept weaving his tale, “The savage wars were around 716 – 730. Leading up to that the church has been going through a period of de-militarization. The various tribes of orcs and goblins took advantage of that and attacked the area kingdoms. They had the whole of the east reeling until the Order of the Sword was re-established and the knights of the Church pushed them back.” At this he gestured to his massive shield where a sword backed by a blazing sun was painted.  We also discovered that he knew Father Faerris, and held him in somewhat of a respectful derision.  When Salem mentioned that he might be interested in joining the Order of the Sword at some point, and that he was currently under the tutelage of Faerris, Corwin smiled and said, “We’ll get all of Faerris’ nonsense out of your head and get you on the right path.”

This was an aspect of the Church I had never been exposed to before. I had read about various knights and orders, but it was never suggested that they were religious in nature. Was the Church a political player? Why did it need a fighting force? Just how large was this force? Could the church overthrow a kingdom? This new revelation would need some thought.

We had come almost completely through the Heroes’ Garden, and Corwin stopped at what appeared to be a pair of cellar doors set in the ground. Using the key he obtained from Elena, he opened the doors revealing a flight of steps and a torch lit tunnel. With barely a pause he headed down. Having come this far, we followed him through the tunnel, torches flickering in the light breeze from the open door, and into an underground chamber dominated by a massive table;  a table so large it could easily seat sixty.

Corwin gruffly said, “This is a safer place to talk,” tossed his shield onto the table, and sat down. As I took my seat with the others I was hit with the certainty that this room was old, ancient even.  I couldn’t explore the though further though as my attention was pulled to the matter at hand.

“I don’t think it is a wild beast you are looking for,” Corwin started. “I need you to keep this information to yourselves – we don’t want to create a panic – but we have had reports of goblin war bands in the area, traveling with attack animals. I think it is likely that this is what you are looking for.” Further conversation revealed however that Sir Corwin adamantly refused to believe that there were other possibilities, and had an almost zealous suspicion of all goblinoids. When he learned that we had a converted goblin in our village he darkly hinted that our fellow villager was most likely a spy and waiting for the opportune time to slit our throats in our sleep. In spite of his obvious prejudice, we could not overlook the goblin war band theory and promised to investigate. Corwin cautioned us against engaging any goblins we were to find, “A goblin war party will rip farmer conscripts like you apart. Better to let me know where they are and let the Order deal with them.”

After our council with Sir Corwin, we headed back to the inn. Elfred seemed uncomfortable with the goblin information supplied by Corwin. He reluctantly agreed that it was our best lead, and mentioned that there was someone in the inn who could help. Re-entering the taproom Elfred led us over to a table occupied by what could only be a centaur.

Elfred named him as Curu. I have heard tales and read stories where centaurs are present, but my imagination failed to prepare me for the actual thing. He was seated on the floor, a table in front of him and his back to the wall, and managed to dominate the table’s area completely. From the waist down he was equine, but it was the thick solidness of a plow horse instead of the lithe riding horse I had pictured. From the waist up he was a man, but more so. Impossibly muscled it seemed his skin could barely contain the wild savage power of his massiveness. His clothing and gear was constructed out of skins and hide, and little wooden charms dangled from the straps and tassels.  Around his neck was a carefully carved necklace of wooden pendants representing animals. His weapons were worn like a farmer’s tool that had been passed down, fixed when needed, and used often.

Immediately our friendly greetings were rebuffed. Curu seemed to be very surly by nature, and we obviously were making social faux pas in our conversation as he took offense at our breaking of cultural rules that we were not aware of. Finally Elfred, who clearly had dealings with him before, was able to coax a location out of Curu as he indicated a clearing on Ajani’s map.

“What’s there?” asked Salem. Curu’s only answer was a fierce stare and flared nostrils. Elfred quickly interjected, “I think we’ve gotten enough out of our friend. Thank you Curu.” The party left the prickly centaur and found a different table.

The decision was made to stay the night in the inn, and then head out to investigate Curu’s lead in the morning. Elfred, Ajani, and Salem had a conversation about religion, talking about the differences in Faerris’ beliefs and Corwin’s, and Curu’s pagan religion. I didn’t pay attention, as I found the topic uninteresting, and instead examined my party members.

The chances of us being in a fight were high. I had enough experience with Ajani, Gahiji, and Lothar to know that I could depend on them, and Elfred was obviously the most experienced and best equipped member of our little group. Josiah had a steady determination about him. I didn’t think he would break and flee although he would probably be reluctant to engage. Salem’s personality was solid, along with a belief in the divine that bordered on crazy, but physically I didn’t know how well he could handle things. Best to keep him in the back I thought, and away from melee if possible. Farkus and Neris were the problem.

Farkus flat out didn’t want to be there. He was scared and felt wildly out of his element. Thus far he had frequently bemoaned his choice to come along, and was the first – and only – one to suggest we give up at every opportunity. He’s a good guy and was still with us, but clearly wasn’t cut out for this sort of thing. Given a chance, I think the best thing would be to keep him in between some combination of me, Lothar, Elfred, or Ajani. It would make it harder for him to break and run and might give him a morale boost as well.

If Farkus’ problem was he didn’t want to be there, Neris’ problem was he wanted to be there too badly. He’s desperate to prove himself as some sort of hero from a story, wildly over estimates his own abilities, and believes that he can treat with the rest of us as equals. In short he’s a royal pain and a clear liability. The problem is, I don’t want his death on my hands if I can avoid it and he has already shown us that if dismissed he will clumsily follow behind.

Unable to come to a conclusion about how to handle Neris, I pulled my attention back to the group. The religion conversation was still going on, but some of the group had wandered off and were now sitting with a woodsman at another table. Speaking of tables, ours was covered with empty mugs – only one of which was mine. Even Elfred was slurring slightly, although Salem still seemed to have his wits about him. Sighing I stood and wandered over to the bar.

Elena Moondagger was cleaning a section of the stout oak bar top. She looked up with a guarded but friendly expression. “Can I help you with something?” She asked politely.

“Actually, I was hoping I could help you. Toss me another rag.” I replied. Startled, she reached under the bar and did what I asked. I helped her wipe down the bar, wash the mugs, and do the general work that keeps a bar tidy and efficient. As we cleaned I told her that I owned an inn myself, and we chatted about work. We kept the conversation superficial, but by the time I headed upstairs to the room I shared with my travel mates her guarded nature had fallen away as we came to an understanding and became acquainted.

As expected most of the group came up drunk, and continued drinking in the rooms until the small hours of the morning. Elfred was one of the worst off, so I was surprised when he knocked on our door at dawn, all bright-eyed, bushy tailed, and ready to start the day. Elfred tried to innocently play it off as if he was a champion drinker, but I wasn’t born yesterday. “You got any more of that special wine from the other night Elfred? You know, the stuff that made us feel healthier?” I asked pointedly. He had the grace to look sheepish as he passed around his wineskin. As before the liquid went down with a warm tingling. I looked around the room at my compatriots. There wasn’t a hangover to be seen; everyone looked like they had a good night’s rest. “Thanks” I said, handing him back the skin. He chose not to comment, and instead quickly suggested we pack up and get a move on.

That is how, after a long night of heavy drinking, our group found themselves alert and rested as we walked through the early morning dew of the Stein & Shield’s lawn and into the forest.  The forest grew wilder and thicker as we traveled, and by evening we had some difficulty finding a clearing to camp in. Before we could go about the process of setting up camp, one of my companions called for quiet. I turned and found everyone peering into the dark shadows of the tree canopy. Twilight had given way to dusk, and the last fading greyness made the blackness seem impossibly deep. Salem lit a torch and Neris strode forward a bit, gazing into the stillness of the woods.

The spear that flew out of the dark was graceful and silent, embedding itself deep into Neris’ torso with only the faintest thunk. Neris didn’t even get to cry out. He just fell backward onto the mossy floor of the forest, limp and lifeless. I immediate began shouting orders. To my relief the whole group, including Elfred, responded to my commands and I was able to pull us into a defensive formation. We held there, shields and weapons at the ready, nervously waiting. Two more spears flew at us and then, with a snarl, 4 wolves stalked into the clearing – hackles raised and teeth bared. Behind them came 6 beings wielding clubs and spears.

They were short, of a size with Kettlewell back home, and had a pale colored skin that was ridged and warty in odd places. Their eyes were deep sunk and yellow, two pits over a bulbous nose. Their teeth were jagged and broken and their smiles mimicked the predatorial grins of their pets. These could only be goblins, but much like the centaur in the Stein and Shield, no tale or story could prepare me for this deadly arboreal meeting.

They rushed us with the wolves, and in the blink of an eye I found myself engaged in a life or death struggle. I tried to maintain some semblance of control but all was confusion – shouts, screams, a flash of teeth, the sudden impact shooting up my arm as my spear struck home.  Clarity came instantly as a goblin spear pierced my side with an intense flash of pain.

Kicking the goblin off me I realized at some point a wolf had torn my arm open and I was bleeding profusely. Looking around I saw that many of my comrades were grievously injured. I locked eyes with Lothar who was obviously on his last legs, streaming blood from numerous wounds. I saw him look around as well, counting our enemies. One wolf and two goblins still stood. The rest lay about the clearing like discarded toys, dolls decorating the floor of a child’s room. How long had we been fighting? It seemed an eternity, a heartbeat, a blink in the eye of god. His gaze returned to mine, and we both mustered our strength, rallying for one last push. Salem had managed to escape injury, and was doing his best to tend to the wounds of our fallen. Ajani and Gahiji were also still on their feet, menacing the remaining wolf. Perhaps our friends might survive, even if Lothar and I did not. As we each advanced on our respective foes, death, like night, descended on the remaining goblins as a black arrow for each flew out of the tree canopy above us, neatly planting in their foreheads.

The goblin attack defeated, we collapsed to the earth in exhaustion.

Session 4

Session 4
Date: 6/17/12
Attending: Chris, Jake, Dave, Joey, Ben
Summary: Had an incident where Riordan caused a magic light to shoot out of a traveler's weapon. Party + Neris & Elfred escorted taxes to the Keep where we were introduced to Sir Bardin and his men/guests, notably: Harion the Master of Arms from Axewich, Akor Sir Bardin's Master of Arms, Gallderond Sir Bardin's Scoutmaster, and Father Bardock Sir Bardin's spiritual advisor. The PCs and Neris were each tested in mock combat. A bard played for the group but kept to propaganda songs, refusing to sign about the Dark Riders.
Foes Defeated: None.
XP: 150

Session 3

Session 3
Date: 6/10/12
Attending: Chris, Jake, Dave, Joey, Ben
Summary: Investigated goblin camp and discovered that a rogue dire wolf was behind the attacks. Bought food for goblins and headed back to Oakshadow. Tracked and slew the dire wolf; Ajani adopts the puppies found in the den. Found mysterious wooden "coin" for each member of party attached to an arrow.  Elfred reports back to keep, returns to deliver invitation to meet Sir Bardin.
Foes Defeated: 1 Lesser Dire Wolf
XP: 200

And we begin...

This Godsday  began like any other Godsday that I can remember. My family and I got up and went to morning services as is our custom. Upon arriving at the square I saw Fr. Fharris accompanied by his server Salem in preparation for the morning's events. The whole town was there and we all gathered to hear Fr. Fharris' sermon, when something quite unusual happened: the sky began to turn black. Fr. Fharris reassured his congregation by saying Regius has graced us with his presence. But the break in his voice and his hasty conclusion to the services belied something more than coincidence or heavenly manifestations.  Many townsfolk rest at Riordan's inn after services and today was no different. The common room was a buzz with conversation- mostly about the darkening of the sky just a few moments earlier. Gahiji and I found a table on the porch and sat down with Lothar and Salem. Riordan joined us shortly and we too could not resist indulging in the topic of the moment. Elfred, Lothar's uncle came in with some most disturbing news. There have been reports of wild animal attacks south of Oakshadow, and it was his charge to rally an exploratory party to find any truth to these reports. He asked if I would help serve as the party's guide as where he intends to take them can be dangerous to inexperienced adventurers. I naturally accepted. Whatever is going on out there must be more exciting that harvesting another yam.  We agreed to set out the following morning.  Salem, Riordan and Lothar all volunteered as well as the Farmer Farkus and the carpenter Josiah.  After a quick breakfast Riordan was generous enough to provide we set out to gear up on the few weapons and armor the watchtower could provide, then off to Fharris' for a quick prayer.   The road to the river was easy enough to travel.  We soon crossed the river and continued our way south.  Shortly after Gahiji grew restless and began to growl. He sensed something.  Neris. Foolhardy kid followed us. After a short scolding from Salem we turned him around and back on his way to Oakshadow. We continued are trek and before settling in for the evening, I thought I'd double back and check in on an abandoned farm we passed. Lothar, Salem and Riordan joined me.  I am now very grateful they did.  In that farmhouse I saw a most disturbing sight. A thick sticky pool of dried blood.  It could only be done by a large canine animal.  Probably rabid and extremely large in size. What was left of the body we found about 100yrds away. Poor man probably never heard it coming. That night Gahiji became restless and ran out into the night. Completely out of the ordinary for him.  Upon entering a clearing we saw a mysterious glowing sphere of light. Is this the forrest light?  We followed it as long as we could but it vanished before we could catch it. What we did catch was Neris. Damn kid almost got himself killed this time.  I fear his carelessness could bring harm to those around him. He's headstrong and mistakes stupidity for bravery. Couple that with his complete disregard for authority and the mixture is potentially very dangerous. I'll have to keep an eye on him. The next day we make it to the Shield and Stein inn.  This monstrous building was once used as a lookout point during the Savage Wars and is a sight to behold. Inside we see a unique cadre of individuals. Then again looking at our motley crew I guess we blended in just fine. Not long after our arrival a very large man walks behind Elfred and clasps a meaty hand on his shoulder and says: "I've been looking for you.". Let's hope this doesn't end bad.