On the day before our departure, Perhegan and Renwal return to Dagger’s Deep, along with their retinue of guards. Perhegan is quickly brought up to speed on our news: the death of his man, the discovery of the barbarians at the cave, and our plan to investigate the barbarian activity and take the fight to them. As Zargon states, the only way to answer violence such as this is with violence, and all our preparations are geared towards this goal. The night before our intended departure, we retreat to our tents with the scent of spring rain on the wind.
In the middle of the night, we are awakened by a loud
thunderclap, followed by an immediate feeling that something is wrong. Looking around, we find that we are lying on
open ground near a river where presumably Dagger’s Deep should be—all in our
group are accounted for, but the tents, our shrine and citizens of Dagger’s
Deep are nowhere to be found.
As we pull ourselves to our feet, disoriented, we realize
that the river keep is there, but rather than looking like it is still under
construction, it looks dilapidated, perhaps ravaged by age. We are cold and damp, and very much confused. Audric asks if we might have returned to our
time when Selben hushes him, and the young mage points to a single light bobbing around near the keep.
Audric sends Lume forth, and we’re able to see that the
light illuminates a pair of figures, almost as if one is holding a lantern, and
our group follows. As we get closer, we
aren’t able to discern much detail, but we do notice that the man in front
holds a bow at the ready, while the man a few steps back is wearing a hooded
cloak with the cowl pulled up to obscure his face, holding a staff illuminated
with a small arcane light.
We approach close enough that they should be able to
detect our presence, but they appear to be ignorant of our position, perhaps of our existence entirely. As I make to
call out, I feel Audric’s hand on my soldier, and the warrior speaks.
“Tussugar told us that he adventured with three others,”
Audric explains, “a warrior and a wizardess who commissioned the tower in
Carrock. They traveled with a deft
bowmaster.” Could it be possible that
this is a vision from that time, of Reginald and Ethelenda?
As the bowman steps forward to investigate, we hear the
low sounds of speech. “Audric, Zeb?” the
voice mutters. The man turns towards us
and we recognize him as Wyardt when suddenly he turns to Bonie and calls out “Bonie!”
as if recognizing her, as if he can see her, and she gasps in reply. Thunder bursts again with a flash, and we
awaken back in Dagger’s Deep, standing in a cluster where we were on the rocky beach
in our vision, damp from the rain.
Bonie seems more shaken than the rest of us, and
Audric starts talking about various potential identities for the hooded
man—could it be Malchor, or Abbé Lira?
If that was indeed the future, what could possibly draw Wyardt out to
look for us at the site of Dagger’s Deep?
What could cause him to even look for us in the first place? If we were transported—momentarily, or in
spirit only—why was Zargon with us? I do
my best to console Bonie as our minds race around the possibilities.
Zargon’s own theories also hold merit—what if our actions
now, in the past, incite a bardic song or story that potentially leads our
former allies to investigate the ruins of Dagger’s Deep? Further discussion steers towards Kezia—could
it be possible that keravela Kezia may have stepped back into the
future to alert our former allies? It is
all very fascinating, confusing, and I’m not sure what to make of it all.
Despite the turmoil of the restless night, we awaken to a
cool morning. There is dampness in the
air but no sign of the previous storm, cementing the hunch that it was supernatural, perhaps even in our minds or vision alone. Preparations made, we set aside misgivings
and thoughts of the past night, gather our men and gear to head towards the
cave, hoping to find a defensible site beyond the midpoint,
within the known range of the barbarian’s patrol.
We find a campsite and begin preparations, setting up dummy bedrolls and setting ropes into the branches of several trees, from which
Zargon, Bonie, Selben, Audric and two huntsmen will be lying in wait to provide
cover while I serve as bait. As darkness falls and we settle in, I whisper a prayer to Malar that all our preparations
have not been in vain. I rest a hand on
Jakke’s shoulder, and the hound lays down to warm himself by the fire. The night passes without incident.
The next morning, we set watches and rest, planning to
sleep into the early afternoon so that we can attempt to survey our surroundings
before deciding where to settle in again for the night, for another potential
ambush. We pack up our camp and the
woodsmen of Dagger’s Deep guide us through the territory in hopes of
discovering signs of our prey.
After some time, we find a few areas with small streams
or deer tracks that might serve as bountiful foraging or hunting spots and
decide to attempt our ambush again there.
This time, halfway through the night, I am alerted to movement further
upstream. Lume wanders to investigate
and returns after several tense minutes, clearly agitated.
I use my powers to set abjurations in place and settle in, lying in wait. Several
long minutes pass with no change, and I stand to make a short circuit around
the fire, hoping to draw out whatever threat might exist. I draw a torch from the bonfire and take one
of the mounts to the stream to water the horse, hoping to prove too enticing a
target to pass up, but again our stalker stays his hand.
Frustrated, I return to the campsite and stare out into
the dark, whispering a curse under my breath.
Throwing caution to the wind, I drop my torch and head into the woods, Jakke
at my side, relying upon the supernatural senses gifted to me by Malar.
As I walk forward into the dark woods, perhaps thirty
yards from the camp, a hulking form springs out from the brush and I’m provided a mere moment of warning by my magic. The
form is a large man wearing hides, a barbarian, and he jumps out and swings at
me with a club, which sails just over my head.
He takes another swing that misses as I turn back to run towards the
camp, hastening towards my allies. I
turn and wait for a charge to come, and the forest goes silent once again.
I roar out a guttural challenge into the darkness,
bolstering my taunts with arcane power.
A rock sails towards me that would strike me in the face, but I am
protected by my magic and it ricochets off.
I roar again, grabbing a burning brand and charge into the forest hoping
to draw out the attacker.
This time, the barbarian leaps forward and swings at me
again, nearly knocking me to the ground with a heavy arc of his club. I fight defensively back to the fire, hoping
to draw him into range of my allies. His
heavy club strikes me again, forcing the wind from my ribs, but I persevere
against the pain, trusting in the plan.
A flurry of arrows streak through the brush, and one of Bonie’s barbs strikes the barbarian in the chest. Audric summons a cloud of glittering motes
that blind both me and the barbarian, and Zargon fires a shot that causes a
geyser of blood to erupt from an arterial strike between the barbarian’s neck
and shoulder. I pause for a tense
minute, unable to see, but reach out and call upon Malar to seal the barbarian’s
wound while my allies scramble from their perches.
We tie the unconscious barbarian to a tree, gagging him,
and remain on high alert for the rest of the night, unsure if the man was
traveling alone or if there might be more foes lurking in the darkness. The remainder of the night passes without incident.
Come morning, we regard our Northman hostage. As he struggles against the gag and his
bonds, we search him for fetishes, religious tokens, anything that might identify
a tribal or religious affiliation. I
don’t see any obvious trinkets, but he does have a brand or scar that looks
like an animal head with tusks, perhaps a boar.
It’s nothing that I recognize, though I am not well versed in the
Uthgardt faiths.
I pull forth my holy symbol, a gnarled claw, and hold it
up to his face, asking if he recognizes it.
The barbarian starts uttering guttural noises, an unintelligible
language, and we’re unsure if he understands the common speech. “If you understand me, nod,” I warn, “otherwise
I’m going to spill your guts and let the scavengers have you.” He growls back at me feebly, appearing not to
understand or care. Unwilling to torture
our foe though also unwilling to let him live so that he might threaten the
town, I slit his throat unceremoniously.
The barbarian has nothing else of value.
Zargon cuts off one of the ears as a token, and I nod to him
in approval, as it was Zargon’s arrow that took the mighty warrior down.
Hoping to encounter more barbarians, we rest throughout the
day and wait out another uneventful night.
We discuss potentially returning to Dagger’s Deep the next morning, but
Audric advises that we stay one night more.
If the barbarian scout was due to return and his absence is noted, it’s
possible that another party will be sent to investigate, granting us another
opportunity to reduce their numbers.
The sky is overcast and rain threatens, but the weather holds. Zargon fortifies our camp with wooden stakes,
hoping to slow any charge should our camp be attacked, and we wait out the day. We set up for one final night, and this time Jakke
is alerted much earlier in the evening, only an hour into the dark.
With my allies in the trees I call forth my abjurations,
then return to the fire and wait. Our foe
is patient, however, never breaking cover to reveal himself, and this time—with
the threat of perhaps dozens of barbarians in the night—I stay close to the
fire, waiting. No attack comes, though,
and eventually dawn breaks. As it does,
the rain finally falls, so we hastily pack up our camp and return to
Dagger’s Deep. Having not rested well any
of these nights, the return trip is exhausting, but we arrive safely to report
our relative disappointment of the last couple evenings.
“What are your intentions now?” Perhegan asks, having
heard our tale. I tell him that I
believe, were they to attack in force, that the barbarians could potentially
overwhelm the town if we’re not here to defend.
We tell him that we intend to rest first, then convene to discuss plans
for the coming days, but we assure him that we plan on remaining near Dagger’s
Deep.
We are awoken in the night by a disturbance in the forested hills to the east. There is a crashing sound in the woods, as of
huge branches breaking. Audric calls out
to several of the Dagger’s Deep folk who have also heard the commotion,
commanding them to usher the women and children of the town into safety, sensing
the coming assault. We gather our gear
immediately and rush to confront the threat, and I thank Malar silently for not
making me wait too long for blood. As we
rush forward, a song issues from Zargon singing our praises, bolstering our
spirits.
Audric sends Lume out ahead and she returns quickly, indicating
a pair of threats that leave the familiar very agitated, and he sends her back
to the camp for safety. As we crest a
small hill, we see two hulking ogres crashing through the trees. They are over ten feet tall and they rush
forth to meet us in battle.
I call out a blessing from the Beastlord for me and my
allies, and next to me Selben’s eyes turn to opaque white then begin to glow
red as he uses his magic to strike fear into the ogres, sapping their will to fight. A pair of arrows from Zargon and Bonie strike
one of the creatures as Audric summons glittering motes to blind them both. Selben’s eyes pulse and the ogres drop their
weapons, overtaken by fits of trembling, as Audric pulls out his wicked axe and
clashes into melee.
Behind us, we see a brilliant flash of lightning
to the west, and hear a crashing sound
emanting from Dagger’s Deep.
I wave Selben off—we have the threat of the ogres handled, but he can
potentially save someone from attackers amid the town.
Bonie draws her sword and she and Audric each strike one
of the blinded ogres. They are unable to
raise an effective defense as Audric, Zargon and I rain blows down upon them,
dropping them both in bloody heaps. The
excitement of the bloodlust and total victory fades quickly, however, as we race
to back to the tents and witness a bloodbath.
There are men, barbarians, bodies strewn about
everywhere. One tent looks blown away, reduced
to nothing more than a small crater with scorch marks in a wide radius around where it once stood. We see the robed and bearded barbarian waving his maul about, wreathed in some kind of magic as if
in the midst of casting a spell. There are
nearly as many men fallen as there are alive.
It’s impossible to tell who is winning, as bodies litter the field.
Selben’s eyes flash again as he uses another spell to
cause a barbarian to flee in panic. There
is a surge from the warriors and folk of Dagger’s Deep, as they fight
desperately to protect their village, and they strike down several barbarians
with picks, hammers and improvised weapons, fighting truly heroically. We witness as Weald, seemingly paralyzed, is
decapitated by a barbarian warrior.
The barbarian shaman swings his maul at one of the
townsfolk and crushes his head with the weapon, killing him instantly—between his
mighty maul and the spells he has brought to bear against Dagger’s Deep, he is
the biggest threat and I roar out a challenge as we rush to join the fray. I call out my own spell to bind and paralyze
him as an arrow of arcane acid spurts past me from Zargon, striking the shaman
just as my spell takes effect, his form going rigid.
I race forward, ignoring the acid from Zargon’s spell,
and charge the shaman, knocking his paralyzed form to the ground and leaping upon
him. I can see his face under his
cowl—he looks middle-aged, muscular, his beard streaked with gray, and a
necklace with a pendant bearing a bolt of lightning around his neck. I can see the recognition of his pending doom
in his eyes as, howling like a wolf, I tear out his throat with my teeth.
Audric and Zargon charge into melee with the remaining
foes as the tide turns against the invaders.
The men of Dagger’s Deep rally around them, converging on
any barbarians that remain, dragging them to the ground and pummeling them
until they are dead.
As we survey the aftermath, surrounded by dead and
wounded, friend and foe alike, my mind turns to Perhegan and Pol
Rallinoth. Victory or no, without Perhegan’s
vision and leadership, Dagger’s Deep might not survive. Breathing a sigh of relief, we see Perhegan
helping some of the townsfolk to their feet, but the militia captain is nowhere to be
found. Not wanting to let anyone die
that is within our power to save, Audric and I administer what magical healing
we have to those most in need, reviving a few townsfolk who would otherwise have
died from their grievous wounds.
As for Pol Rallinoth, we learn that the barbarian shaman
commanded bolts of lightning from the storm, and used them to strike him down, incinerating the captain of the Dagger’s Deep guard. A smoking crater is all that remains of the
brave warrior. Taking toll of the fallen,
we count a dozen dead among the barbarians, as well as their shaman leader and
the two ogres. As for Dagger’s Deep, while
there are dozens wounded, only six men were lost, including Pol Rallinoth. We learn with sadness that Laerch, Odesia’s
husband, is among those killed in the struggle, leaving Odesia to bear a fatherless
child.
Though the battle for Dagger’s Deep is won, recovery will
be long and the town’s survival seems uncertain.
