| Game Master: System: Date: | Ken Dungeons & Dragons 5e Homebrew Campaign 18th August 2022 |
| Characters: | Fayd – Half Orc Barbarian Gunnar Orcsson – Half Orc Barbarian Jaraziah Grimm – Human Cleric Iivan – Drow Rogue Balasar Aurumingis – Dragonborn Sorcerer Luther – Half Elf Bard Navarro – Half Elf Paladin Tad Hemlock – Halfling Bard (Retired) Tianzi – Half Elf Sorlock (Retired) |
Having retrieved the Promise from it’s resting place the survivors were able to escape from the collapsing labyrinth and staggered out into the icey wilderness as a crashing roar announced the final destruction of the entrance way – crushed under a bludgeoning avalanche. Bareley able to see in the snow filled air they staggered toward the group of sleds awaiting them and leapt aboard, Keith and his brothers wasted no time in whipping their dogs into motion. Aboard the lead sled Gunnar was clinging on for dear life as Keith threw the sled over and through snow drifts, calling out to the dogs for more effort. Looking back Gunnar saw a wall of onrushing snow, the leading edge of a turbulent storm chasing them across the barren landscape. Confused he shouted back to Keith over the din.
“This isn’t the way we came Keith- where are you going?”
“We’ll never make it back in this storm, there’s an inn a few hours from here – we can shelter there til this passes” the sled driver bellowed back, attention focused on eeking yet more speed from his sled.
“Lads! Change of plan – new pub!” Gunnar tried to call back to the others, but between the dogs and the howling wind he doubted if anyone could hear him and so hunkered back into the bed of the sled and braced himself as they raced ahead of the onrushing storm for the safety of the inn. Back on their own sleds the others seemed too cold to notice the change in direction, all except Fayd who sat mouth open on the sled exhilarated by feel of the wind and sting of the ice.
Hours later they crested a rise and Gunnar thought he could just make out the dim light from the windows of their goal, The Old Wolfe’s Inn, by now even the hardy half orc was feeling the effects of the numbing cold and realised that without the brother’s skill with their sleds they would have surely all perished in this blizzard.
“Errr, Keith?” called Gunnar as they sped towards the rapidly approaching building, he braced himself for the invevitable crash but hauling on the dogs harness Keith managed to bring the sled to a skidding halt just outside the tavern door.
“Go, get inside now – we’ll see to the dogs” shouted Keith pushing the confused Orc towards the safety of the inn and waving away the coins a grateful Gunnar tried offering.
As Gunnar pushed his way through the wind towards the door the other sleds arrived in similarly reckless fashion, the Steves all following Keith’s lead and sending their passengers running for the doorway. Luther and Iivan were almost as blue as Gunnar, teeth chattering uncontrollably and visibly shaking with cold as they stumbled forward, Fayd seemed unphased by the weather and was helping them while Hamlet charged past Gunnar and dashed inside muttering about fireplaces.
Entering the common room in a blast of cold and flurry of snow they quickly heaved the door closed behind them, seeing the brothers driving the sleds into a large stable off to one side. Turning back to examine their sanctuary against the storm Gunnar found they were in a rustic but warm tavern, though the proponderance of stuffed animal heads and skins suggested the place mostly catered to hunters and trappers rather than those seeking shelter on the road to Mapan. A younng Dwarven lad named Jeff hurried over and bade them all sit by the fire, Fayd near dragging Luther from where he’d collapsed by the door. Together Jeff and his mother Inga saw to their immediate needs and promised to return with food and prepare piping hot baths for them all. Gunnar, still chilled to the bone leant on the rough hewn bar and wordlessly began to drink the mead proffered to him by Inga.
“Fucking cat!” cried Hamlet suddenly, grabbing a small black cat from the floor by his feet and holding it triumphantly aloft “See! I told you there was a cat!” he called out to the others.
“Yeah? it’s a cat?” replied Fayd, somewhat confused, his confusion shared by the scattering of others in the tavern who looked up from their own tables to watch this strange scene unfold.
“No, I mean yes – it’s THE cat I saw before!” called Hamlet moving to pin the small creature and grab it by the throat, Iivan edged away from him his finger circling by his head and nodding to the wider audience that this madman was nothing to do with him. It began to dawn on the others that Hamlet appeared to be holding two conversations, one with them and another with….the cat? Eyeing the creature carefully Fayd approached and gently placed the cat back on the ground, recieveing an entirely normal meow in thanks before he turned to the others.
“Ummmm, our companion has suffered greatly on the road, he’s not feeling himself I fear – please, don’t let us disturb you any further” slowly the others returned to their conversations, all but a Dwarf seated with an old man who appeared to have a crow perched on his shoulder. Hamlet stood up unsteadily and made his way upstairs to the attic room Inga and Jeff had prepared for them. The dwarf who’d been watching them got up and made his way across the bar to join them.
“Umm, if any of you need to warm up you can share my room,” he announced to the group, Fayd spluttered on his mead.
Slapping his back Gunnar muttered, “Balasar was right, these Dwarves are all filthy little buggers eh?”
“I’m sleeping with Fayd as usual,” sneered Luther, deliberately leaving things vague as usual.
“Uh, ummm I didn’t mean umm that came out wrong…ahhh could I buy you all a drink?” stammered the embarassed Dwarf.
This offer was greeted with far more enthusiasm by the group, particuarly Gunnar who was working his way through mugs of the local mead with no sign of slowing down.
“So, where are you heading then?” asked Fayd.
“Do you have family in Yucan?” asked Gunnar, visions of a pair of dwarven silbings and their strangely fragrant shop flashing through his increasingly fuzzy mind.
“Err yes actually, I’m travelling to Yucan to meet my Uncle” Gunnar nearly choked on his mead at that.
“I’m Rich, and what’s your name?” inquired Luther hurridly.
“Dorian, I’m one of the Hammerbeard clan – my uncle heads up the town guard there I think” replied Dorian, prompting another bout of coughing from Gunnar “I was wondering if I might accompany you all if you’re heading in that direction?” they continued. Quickly agreeing, they all returned to their drinks – the buzz of conversation gradually attracting one of the patrons to join them, a jovial travelling merchant named Hugo labouring under the impression that Gunnar was a sea orc and had recently humped a Giant and one of the three guards bearing the symbol of Otompan named John who seemed interesting in the groups recent adventures – keeping his own council but listening intently to the bragging and unguarded chat among the group. Eventually the party partook of the warm baths on offer, a small ocean’s worth of mead and plenty of food, as the crowd thinned out Gunnar and Luther staggered up to bed, finding Hamlet snoring away with the black cat perched on his legs, Gunnar gave it a friendly scratch before crashing onto his bed fully clothed and immediately snoring loudly enough to rival the roiling thunder of the storm still raging outside. Iivan rolled his eyes and retreated back down to the common room to escape the noise.
The common room was empty and Iivan took a chair by the fire, idly throwing a few more logs on the fire to keep it burning through the night he settled himself and allowed himself to enter the strange dreamlike trance state that passed for sleep among his kind. Time passed, though how much time was hard to say – Iivan jerked out of his slumber, the fire had died down to a dull orange glow. The darkness was no issue for Iivan, yet while he could see clearly he was still alone in the room he couldn’t shake the sense that someone was with him. Remaining motionless lest he attract attention, the drow strained his senses trying to work out what might have woken him, and began…not to see or hear but somehow feel a presence moving slowly across the room and up the stairs. Pausing to let whatever this invisible intruder get out of sight he slowly began creeping towards the stairs, his armour now cumbersome about him he struggled to remain as silent as usual, but most people would still have struggled to percieve his slow careful movements. Emerging onto the first floor he could see or hear nothing of the presence, silently he crept along the corridor and ascending to the attic room where he found the rest of his companions sleeping soundly, only Hamlet’s strange cat seemed to notice him, yawning and stretching before curling it’s tail round itself and settling back down, half lidded eyes tracking him as he moved between his friends checking on them. Sighing to himself Iivan realised that whatever he’d sensed was gone, and he slowly returned downstairs to feed the fire and resturn to his resting vigil.
Gunnar woke face down on his bed, mouth dry and head pounding – he groaned but decided that on balance that was about as much as his body was prepared to offer for the time being. He could hear the faint murmour of voices drifting up from the tavern below, suggesting that for other, less mortally wounded people life was continuing as normal. He tried another groan for size – maybe someone would provide aid, or at least put him out of his misery
“Keep it down for Helm’s sake,” moaned Luther in a voice that suggested the young bard was also dealing with his own mead induced problems, they lay in silence for a while longer, each mustering the strength to rejoin the ranks of the living.
“Food,” grunted Fayd, Gunnar heard the creaking of the bed as the young orc rolled off the mattress and onto his feet “We need food” he continued, looking around and finding the other beds empty ” and then we need to talk about that stone”. Luther groaned in protest again but the promise of food seemed to awaken some inner reserve of strength in Gunnar and he hauled himself upright, swaying slightly and blinking in the gloom.
“Bacon” he muttered decisively, stumbling his way to the stairwell as Fayd helped Luther to his feet and slowly followed him downstairs. As they entered the common room the other patrons were all gathered by the fire, seemingly deep in discussion as the three shuffled over to join them. John, one of the town guards was jabbing his finger at Hamlet “…you had the time to do it, I say again – where were you?”.
“I told you before, I was asleep upstairs with them” he pointed to the newly arrived trio.
“Ahhh yes, the others” John turned to face them “I’ll need to take statements from you all” he continued.
“Bacon?” grunted Gunnar, his mind still not quite willing to change track.
“What’s happened?” asked Fayd.
“There’s been a murder” answered Hugo before being hushed by John.
“Last night someone killed my commanding officer, and I intend to find out who it was and bring them to justice” interrupted John, sending a hard gaze at the three “We can start with you” he added pointing at Gunnar.
“You know where I was,” replied Gunnar, subtly flashing a hand signal to Iivan asking if the Drow had killed the guardsman, who replied in kind with a resounding no – much to Gunnar’s relief. “I was drinking down here with you, then we,” he pointed at Luther and Fayd, “went up to sleep”. As Gunnar spoke John’s eye’s widened, and recognition seemed to flick across his face as he watched the silent interplay between the orc and his Drow companion.
Nodding to himself John continued “Ok, well I think that’s all I need from you two,” he nodded at Gunnar and Iivan “what about you, Mr….?”
“Fayd, just Fayd…I was with you guys too,” replied Fayd, John held his gaze a moment before making a note in his notebook.
“And you?” he asked Luther
“Call me Rich,” Luther replied hurridly, shooting his companions a quick look to maintain the deception he’d started the previous evening “I was here, then I went to bed – Fayd was with me, he can vouch for me”.
“So….Rich….” began John, “am I to understand that you’re NOT Luther the Bard?”
“Ummm I don’t know what you’re talking about,” stammered Luther.
“I’ve seen you play Luther, you might have called yourself Sook at the time but I’m a guard, it’s my job to know people’s real names” explained John testily, “…and now I know you’ve lied to me. I wonder why that might be?”. He turned back to Hamlet. “Did you do it together?” he snapped at the confused spellcaster.
“Wait, if someone was killed – has anyone checked on the brothers yet?” asked Gunnar, worried that their only means of transport might be lost.
“They’re fine, we spoke to them earlier and ruled them out, along with the others – your two friends here, the strange cat man and this liar are looking suspect.”
Iivan caught Gunnar’s eye and signalled to him. “I’d advise against that Mr Noirsoeur,” said John moving back from the table and putting his hand to his sword’s hilt. The odd comment sowed confusion among the others but Gunnar and Iivan realised that this guard knew The Cant well enough to follow what they’d shared. Gunnar grinned sheepishly “Sorry about that, maybe we can help you find the killer?”
John relaxed visibly, “That would be good, we’ve already examined the body but if you would like to take another look I won’t stand in your way.”
Gunnar looked at his companions for anyone to accompany him, Iivan looked a little green and pale and shook his head. “The smell, it’s worse than you and Fayd,” Luther made a noise that sounded suspiciously like someone being sick and shook his head mutely. Fayd nodded and unexpectedly Hammerbeard’s relative Dorian said they’d be happy to take another look with them. They headed upstairs and Dorian led them to the room they’d found the body in. Someone, probably John, had covered the man with a sheet, pulling it back they were hit by the smell of stale vomit and a cloying sweetness. They quickly traced this to the empty healing potion clutched in the man’s cold hand, prising the fingers open Dorian examined the vial carefully.
“I think this might have been a poision called Widow’s Regret” Dorian speculated out loud.
“Poisoned then” grunted Gunnar.
“Poisoned by his own healing potion?” asked Fayd, “wait, why would he be drinking a healing potion safe in his room?” he added wonderingly.
“I think he was attacked by something,” replied Dorian, pulling aside the sheet fully to show the others the raking claw marks that slashed across the man’s chest. They looked at each other in confusion, deciding to share their findings with the others in the hope one of them might see the significance of these strange occurences they returned to the common room. Explaining their discoveries to those gathered by the fire they realised that Luther, John and Kyra the other guard were missing.
“Where’s Luther?” asked Fayd.
“He went with the guards to check the perimiter, trying to prove his innocence I suppose,” replied Iivan, cutting off abrubtly as a peircing scream carried over the howling of the storm. Fayd lept for the door, followed more slowly by the others – the grumbling Drow bringing up the rear and bemoaning having to leave his spot by the fireplace.
Staggering out into the raging blizzard Fayd peered into the swirling clouds of snow eyes and ears straining to try and locate his friend, another cry for help carried to him and he dashed forward, vanishing from Gunnar and Iivan’s sight in seconds. Loping across the snow Fayd began to make out a hulking shape looming out of the snow before him, laying at it’s feet in a pool of blood was the unmoving body of Luther, snarling Fayd leapt at the creature claws extending from his fingers and jaws elongating and snapping as he morphed into his lupine form. Fayd crashed into the beastial foe, slashing furiously at it’s skin in a fenzied assault before being hurled back by a massive blow. Skidding to a halt Fayd turned back growling.
“Come on pretty!” gloated the cylopean tiefling creature before him, he paused – recognising it’s demonic form as the same creature he’d seen while traversing the Nearith Transport Network in the past. Fayd leapt again, and again was met with a furious counter attack. Though the blood and pain Fayd could hear his companions calling out for him, trying to come to his aid but they were so slow! The cold was seeping into his bones and slowing his movements, the giant tiefling’s spear was finding it’s mark with grim reguarlity and he could feeling himself weakening as his blood began to mingle with Luther’s and stain the snow a livid carmine.
“Not this time Pretty,” crooned the Tiefling, stepping backwards into the snow and vanishing. Panting Fayd crawled slowly toward Luther but his wounds and the cold sapped his waning strength and he collapsed face down in the snow.
“Come on, we need to get out of here!” cried Gunnar crashing through the snow to Fayd’s side and hauling the feral orc to his feet.
Iivan and Hamlet pressed past him and together struggled to get Luther up and moving back to the inn. Tears freezing on his cheeks, John emerged from the storm hauling the body of Kyra and grimly making his way back to the promised safety of the inn. Disorientated by the fight and the snow they followed the sound of the others calling out to them fearfully, they burst through the door in a flurry of ice and snow, rattling the bottles on the bar with the chill wind they collapsed on the floor before Jeff was able to slam and bolt the doors behind them.