#21 (Part Two): Parting the Veil

Our business in Griffon’s Nest concluded and our escort arranged, we depart before our welcome is overstayed.  Our journey back to the plains is uncontested, the corpse of the hill giant slain days before mostly undisturbed—the second giant is nowhere to be seen.  We are escorted back to the skull, and we camp in the shadow of the hills beyond, our last night spent in silence with the warriors of the Anaithnid.

The following morning, Audric, Selben and I summon mounts to expedite our travel across the plains.  Keeping the hills to our side, we ride west into the cold wind, occasional gusts and the first snowfalls obscuring our vision and complicating our journey.  We knew winter to be an imminent threat, and the desolate tundra provides no cover and little in the way of deadfall to create a fire.  The first night is cold, uncomfortable and our rest fitful, but we are not disturbed, and the next day Audric calls upon Mystra to insulate us against the weather with a blessing.

The second day of travel provides a break in the weather, a welcome relief.  Thanks to the expertise of Wyardt, we manage to find the road without trouble.  We ride out our conjured mounts towards Longsaddle, glad to be back in known territory, and early in the next day we arrive there safely.

We decide to settle in and wait for Malchor’s return, who is not yet due until the new year.  Wyardt has expressed a desire to eventually return to Xantharl’s Keep, Bonie seems satisfied to remain in our company, so we purchase rooms for all for the week, and pass our time in various ways.  We spend a little time researching the reversal of petrification at the Ivy Mansion, and after a few days of rest, we receive a summons via Cartisan to meet at noon the next day, with the intriguing side note to “be ready, body and mind.” 

The next morning, Audric and I depart.  Longsaddle seems to be in preparation for the new year, which is to be called “The Year of the Harp.”  As such, the streets and rows are adorned with harps both mundane and magical.  Though we had meant to confront Malchor alone, Selben and Bonie (each in their own way) express their desire to accompany us.  With no reason to deny such faithful companions, we agree, and together we approach the Ivy Mansion to learn what awaits us.  Cartisan casts an inquiring look at Bonie, but upon being informed that to “have a problem with her is to have a problem with us,” we are escorted into the depths of the mansion.

This time, we are taken deeper than we had been allowed previously, eventually ascending a tower with windows that look out over the hamlet.  Malchor presents the ring, explaining that he has pored over tomes for nearly a month, utilizing resources mundane and arcane to divine its purpose.  “I have learned a great deal, but also very little at the same time…but what I do know troubles me.”

He believes that the ring was forged somewhere in the Spine of the World, home to tribes of orcs and the deep homes of dwarves.  He thinks it the creation of a venerable archmagi but refuses to share further speculations on the matter.  Instead, he explains that he is confident it was imbued with the power and possibly even the spirit of its creator—who sought to use it to permeate the Mystran “veil.”

The veil, he explains, is the “eye through which we experience and study the essence of Mystra, magic.”  To explain the meaning, he draws a sketch, illustrating a wizard with outstretched hands, standing before a portal.  “This is the veil—as warlocks, we leverage the Weave to communicate with Mystra.  If you were to remove the veil, you would be all-knowing, you would see all realities at once.”

“Could this destroy the Weave?” Audric asks.  Malchor shrugs, unsure how to answer.  “To part the veil is to see the world through Mystra’s eyes, to wield her power.  This ring may be the key to such power.”

“In Shadfeld, you experienced a distortion.”  He explains that the Kezia we met could not possibly have existed in that reality, which also explains in small part the temporal phenomena of the destruction of the village.  “It’s fitting that one of the Mystran faith be the one to exorcise this power, and I have a great deal to ask of you.”  Gravely, he asks if Audric is willing to help him.  The warrior replies solemnly, “My life’s work is making sure artifacts like this don’t fall into the wrong hands, I’m willing to give my life to pursue this task.”

Taking our hands, Malchor escorts us to a table on which sits a large mortar and pestle.  Inside is a fine red powder, and he explains he’s going to cast an incantation that may take a few minutes, one that exceeds by great measure my own ability to comprehend such magic.  He asks the four of us permission to “bestow Mystra’s protection upon us for safety.”  When confronted about any possible conflicts with my faith in Malar, he shrugs, believing it to be inconsequential.

Reaching into the pestle, he coats his fingers with the red paste, and begins to paint my face with it.  Malchor takes several minutes, marking Selben, Bonie and Audric in turn, though does not mark himself, claiming that he cannot participate for the ritual to function properly.  He gestures for us to spread out in the chamber, handing Audric the ring, asking him to don it.  The Mystran warrior consents.  At Malchor’s instruction, Audric withdraws his magical axe.  Malchor withdraws a longsword and wields it awkwardly, explaining that he and Audric must confront one another in battle, Audric wielding the power of the ring.  Malchor asks us not to intervene except to protect Audric, no matter what fate befalls Malchor himself, and we nod agreement.

Malchor launches an attack, clearly not holding back, but Audric sidesteps the strike and slaps it aside with his axe.  Audric’s return strike hits, but the force behind the blade itself pales when compared to the magical force released by the ring.  A swarm of bats appears above Malchor, attacking him.  Malchor steps out of the swarm and swings wildly, striking Audric and drawing blood, and Mystra’s chosen returns the favor.  This time, a stone wall emerges in the center of the chamber, separating Audric from Malchor, who races around the edge of the wall, attacking again.

Malchor seems to have a death wish, drawing another thin line of blood across Audric’s torso.  Blows are exchanged and parried, Audric eventually coming out ahead.  Magic bleeds from the axe but its effect this time isn’t obvious—Malchor swings again, crazed, missing Audric, who is forced to defend himself.  As the axe is pulled out of the wound, a ghostly hand materializes in front of Audric.   The hand obeys Audric’s command, bolstering the strike, then suddenly the room erupts in a gust of wind, forming a swirling cyclone.  Bonie is picked up and slammed against the wall, blood flowing from cuts on her head.  While Malchor and Audric continue their melee, I rush to Bonie’s side, but can’t get there before she is picked up by the tornado again and crushed against another wall, this time causing her to collapse in a heap.

Malchor mutters an incantation that seems to dispel the cyclone, and I administer healing to Bonie, forced to choose between protecting her against the foolishness of this display of reckless magic with my own, or intervening to put a stop to Malchor’s madness.  I stabilize her, bringing her back from unconsciousness.  Malchor’s warning, to be strong of mind and body, is the only thing preventing me from outright murdering the wizard. 

Malchor?!?

Fortunately, Audric is there to complete the task.  His blade bites deep into Malchor’s shoulder, a killing strike, and our world erupts in a storm of thoughts, a psionic assault of unknown origin.  Suddenly, we experience an overwhelming sense of weightlessness, followed by a crushing pain, as if we have fallen from a great distance.  Though we have not moved at all, the sensation and the accompanying pain seems very real.  When we finally come to, Bonie is barely conscious.  Selben seems shaken but coherent, and Malchor is absent, as is the conjured wall of stone.  There are no signs of blood, no sign of Malchor’s death, no other sign that the encounter took place at all, except for the ring, which still rests on Audric’s finger.

Audric halts our exit from the room, though I’m nearly furious.  Having been reminded that this was part of our agreement, I give him a moment to explain.  The ring, it seems, has lost its magic.  Looking out the windows, we recognize that it’s now darkening outside, and that fires are burning.  The harp decorations are absent, and the beating of drums overwhelms our senses.  At the end of his patience, I explain that we need to leave this chamber, leave the mansion, and once outside, we see people, and decide to investigate.  The decorations for the coming year, the harps, are again absent.

We traverse the road, disoriented, to the inn and find it different than before.  “The Red Rose” is inscribed upon the door, and entering we see inebriated patrons.   The layout of the interior is different, the former innkeeper and servants aren’t anyone that we recognize, and Audric steps forth to inquire of Alastra.  The man is clearly drunk, and answers that he has no idea what Audric is talking about, pointing out our red face paint.  “What is the occasion, why the celebration?” Audric asks.  “Hail the Year of the Raging Flame!” he shouts, to a chorus of cheers from all those gathered.

Audric decides to return to the Ivy Mansion before I start stabbing people, clearly feeling backed into a corner by the sudden change of environments.  Were it not for Bonie and the presence of Selben, it likely would have happened already.  Our way is barred, however, by armed guards, and at mention of Malchor, the guards take us for drunk revelers, informing us that “Master Brehan isn’t taking guests right now.”

Pressing the guards about the current year, feigning drunkenness, their answer is shocking.  “The Year of the Raging Flame will be upon us in only a few hours,” one guard explains.  When pressed about the numeric year, they sigh.  “Twelve-hundred and fifty-five,” they spit back, and my spirit crumbles.  That’s 100 years in the past!

Assaulted by the sudden and unforeseen distortion of time, we retreat to The Red Rose seeking rooms, a place to gather our wits and start to lay out a plan.  On the eve of a new year, however, the inn is unsurprisingly full, and we are forced to overpay for a place in the stable, as the innkeeper clearly thinks that we are drunk and desperate.  Unfortunately, only one such word describes our current plight, so we pay the coin and take sanctuary among the beasts of burden, our attitudes reflecting the miserable state of our accommodations.

#21 (Part One): Deliverance

With the Lurkwood behind us, unknown hills ahead, and open plains to either side, we make our preparations to seek out Griffon’s Nest.  Heeding Omgrath’s advice regarding the terrain and its inhabitants, we survey the serene landscape and decide which direction to attempt first.  Knowing that Griffon’s Nest lies somewhere to the south, but not sure whether it’s more to the east or west, we trek to the hills to see what we discover.

With the open plains ahead, Bonie and Elseba can cover a lot of ground and hopefully protect the group against any threats while we’re vulnerable.  We work out a few signs—caution, flee, come, and another for ready defense—and cautiously push ahead.  Several hours pass and the hills draw close.  Not wanting to risk the hills in the dark or potentially miss any signs, we decide to camp, creating a bonfire and setting watches.

In the middle of the night, we are awakened by sounds to the south, animal growls and cries, almost as if an animal is being slaughtered.  With no discernible threat, we sleep through the disturbance, and awaken in the morning.  After some deliberation, Bonie, Selben, Nazag and I head to the hills to find a vantage point—given the option of sacrificing time to get our bearings or leaving it to chance, we decide that any knowledge is worth the risk.  

We choose a hill and summit it easily, peering onto the horizon in both directions.  To the very extent of our vision to the east, we see signs of a river—to the west, nothing.  Though Nazag doesn’t have any knowledge to impart one way or another, we decide that the river is the correct decision, and return to the camp.

The river flows to the north, its origin somewhere in the hills.  The water is frigid, the river nearly 50 feet across.  Though it doesn’t flow rapidly, none of us relish the idea of crossing, so we stick to the river bank and begin our trek into the hills.  After some time, we come to an obvious crossing, and send Wyardt and Nazag to investigate the ford to look for prints or any other sign of creature passage.  They find humanoid footprints, as well as a disembodied stag’s head impaled on a pole at the far bank.  The tribesmen seem interested in investigating it to see if the origin is Anaithnid, and they attempt a crossing.

Nazag and Omgrath communicate across the river, apparently concluding that the far bank is the safer route—trusting in the tribe’s instinct, we make what preparations we can and assist the tribe’s crossing.  In the stag’s mouth, Nazag shows us a single white flower—what significance this has we’re not sure, but the tribe seems cautious but optimistic.  After a few minutes, and after the rest of the tribe has had a chance to investigate the signal, they begin a low chant, their spirits high—and we settle on the conclusion that we have made the right decision.

We press into the late afternoon, navigating the trail carefully.  There are a few dangerous ascents and ridges, but nothing to bar our passage, and as the sun sets we begin to search for a campsite.  We decide on a high ridge with good visibility to camp and begin our preparations.  Malar is with us this night as well, and we awaken well rested and ready for the journey ahead.

Our group travels into the late morning, and we reach a subtle but extended incline of a couple hundred yards.  In the distance, perhaps 100 yards, we see the rock wall begin to…move…and realize that there is a creature ahead.  More than twice the height of a man, it’s obvious that it has seen us, and it stoops to gather up large piles of rubble.

The tribesmen and Wyardt loose a volley of arrows, with one of them finding purchase.  It seems little more than a distraction, however, and it launches a boulder as Bonie fires an arrow of her own.  As Audric and I prepare spells, a boulder comes crashing into our midst and strikes Nurué.  No time can be spared for her as the tribe roars in opposition to the creature.  Some of the noncombatants rush to her aid against Selben’s cries to keep to cover—meanwhile, the archers loose more volleys.

As Audric begins to summon creatures to aid in our assault, I rush forward to draw its attention from the tribe.  I succeed in that much, at least, as a boulder crashes into me, nearly staggering me and disintegrating the magical defense provided by Audric.  Fortunately, my friend is not idle, as a gang of furious hobgoblins answer Mystra’s call and materialize around me.  Meanwhile, the archers are taking a deadly toll on the giant.

I take cover behind Audric’s conjurations as yet another volley of arrows flies overhead, and as I pass through the hobgoblins they begin to charge the giant.  One of the hobgoblins is brutalized by a boulder, and they meet the creature in a terrible melee.  The hobgoblins strike minor wounds against the giant while it works its way through the fearless creatures, annihilating one of them.  Audric tends to Nurué, saving her from death—as the battle rages more arrows fly, until the giant is finally felled by an arrow from Omgrath.

Before we have a chance to celebrate, however, Audric sends the hobgoblins ahead; almost immediately, they encounter something—or something encounters them—but we have little time to determine the nature of that encounter before we spot another giant, this one crossing the river towards us.  I pick up Nurué, and with Selben’s help, start to usher the noncombatants up the ascent and away from the second giant.

Ahead, we see three men brandishing arms, one of them with red hair that towers above the tallest among us…Kezia’s brother???  Before we have a chance to communicate, another boulder is launched at our group, this time striking Bonie in the shoulder.  In a testament to her strength it does not stagger her, and instead of taking cover she stands and looses an arrow at the giant, striking it in retaliation.  Another boulder strikes her before she can retreat, this one nearly driving her to her knees.

The red-haired warrior picks up Nurué as I gently place her upon the ground, Audric and I readying spells and arrows in Bonie’s defense.  She and Wyardt finally reach the top of the rise and we usher them ahead to safety, Selben and I bringing up the rear.  I owe a sacrifice to the Beastlord, for as we retreat a final boulder is hurled towards us, this one striking me—but only a glancing blow. 

After a few tense minutes of retreat, we eventually stop and take stock of the situation.  Eyadrin—the apparent leader, now confirmed to be Kezia’s brother, is informed that we left no one behind.  He seems shocked that our numbers are so low, and when informed of Kezia’s death by Omgrath and Nazag, he goes into a blind rage, striking at a wall of stone with his great two-handed sword.  He eventually calms, and after more explanation of the tribe’s situation, we even catch a glimmer of approval at mention of Crahdorn’s slaying.  Later, he stops to explain, “I am Eyadrin, brother of Kezia.  I know little of you yet, but from what little these men have told me, you are to be trusted and I owe you my gratitude.” 

We take an awkward moment to discuss transition of leadership of the tribe back to Eyadrin, and the warrior stops, unsheathing his sword.  “There is only one way.”  There’s a tense moment while I consider the ramifications of our decision to murder Crahdorn, but fortunately Eyadrin smiles, dissolving the tension.  “I will take over leadership of the tribe,” he says with an approving grin.

“Good,” I mutter, “because I was about to slit your throat.”  My humor is not ill spent, and it seems like Eyadrin is a man that I could soon call friend.  We are escorted into Griffon’s Nest, the tribe filtering seamlessly once again into their people, and for the first time in several hard days of travel, we are at peace.

Planning to spend a few days with the tribe recuperating and preparing for our departure, we spend a little time getting to know the residents of Griffon’s Nest.  Eventually we track down Eyadrin and discuss a few matters of business.  With no apparent need for them, I gift the salves from Yishma to Eyadrin and the tribe, in the case that the rotting disease rears its head again. 

Cautiously, I broach the subject of mortem disfidare with Eyadrin, asking if any other of the tribe share her gift.  The siblings share only one parent, their father, having grown up in Grunwald until adolescence—when their father died, superstitious barbarians tried to kill Kezia, as she had become associated with the idea of soul transference.  Kezia and Eyadrin aren’t native to the Anaithnid tribe; he ascended to its leadership by strength of arms and personality.

Eyadrin doesn’t share Kezia’s gift, and doesn’t know much about her extended family, which puts my search for more meaning behind the reading, the encounter with the original Kezia, or any of the Anaithnid Kezia’s curious comments to rest.  Our time with the Anaithnid, and our involvement with matters of the tribe, is now finished.

Death's door for NPCs and monsters

I posted a poll here on this topic after we discussed it following the last session, if anyone's interested in reading the responses.

For context, here's the official text of the [optional] 2e rule for “hovering on death's door” (DMG p. 75):

You may find that your campaign has become particularly deadly. Too many player characters are dying. If this happens, you may want to allow characters to survive for short periods of time even after their hit points reach or drop below 0.

When this rule is in use, a character can remain alive until his hit points reach -10. However, as soon as the character reaches 0 hit points, he falls to the ground unconscious.

Thereafter, he automatically loses one hit point each round. His survival from this point on depends on the quick thinking of his companions. If they reach the character before his hit points reach -10 and spend at least one round tending to his wounds (stanching the flow of blood, etc.), the character does not die immediately.

If the only action is to bind his wounds, the injured character no longer loses one hit point each round, but neither does he gain any. He remains unconscious and vulnerable to damage from further attacks.

If a cure spell of some type is cast upon him, the character is immediately restored to 1 hit point--no more. Further cures do the character no good until he has had at least one day of rest. Until such time, he is weak and feeble, unable to fight and barely able to move. He must stop and rest often, can't cast spells (the shock of near death has wiped them from his mind), and is generally confused and feverish. He is able to move and can hold somewhat disjointed conversations, and that's it.

If a heal spell is cast on the character, his hit points are restored as per the spell, and he has full vitality and wits. Any spells he may have known are still wiped from his memory, however. (Even this powerful spell does not negate the shock of the experience.)

Longevity

By all reasonable accounts, Zeb probably should be dead. It wasn't a miracle of the dice that stayed him, but weak judgment on my part. At the last minute (after a failed save had been rolled), I called into question whether a blinded dragon could reliably direct its breath weapon at unseen opponents, even with their last known location unchanged. In the moment, I decided this was too contentious to stake a character's life on, so I allowed Zeb to avoid the cloud, even though the full breath weapon damage would have killed him instantly. Erring on the side of the PCs isn't the worst thing in the world, but I probably leaned too far this time. Zeb can rightly acknowledge this as Malar having spared his meager life.

In light of the above, I've given much thought to the prospect of characters dying and what a tragic event like the loss of Zeb would mean for the campaign. If I felt like allowing a PC to die would spell the end of the game, that would severely burden my judgment when it comes to adjudicating deadly situations.

Fortunately, I think we're all on the same page that the campaign can continue, even under the most dire of circumstances. For the benefit of everyone, here are some points to live by going forward. This is effectively a charter as to my long-term vision for the game.

• If a PC dies based on dice rolls, I'm not going to intervene. It's hard, as DM, not to pull strings at times, but doing so deprives the players of a fairly run game and the experience of overcoming the death of a character.


• I don't expect (nor should anyone else expect) the campaign to end if a character gets killed. Obviously a TPK may result in a break in continuity at the very least, but either way, life in the game world goes on, just like in the real world. I see our campaign as being greater than any individual character; there's no critical plot artery that hinges on the survival of Zeb, Audric, or anyone else. We're full-on Game of Thrones, here.


• A player can either create a new character to replace a perished (or retired) one, or elect to take on a henchman as a full-fledged PC. New characters begin with the same starting XP as the original PCs and are expected to advance in level through play. This may mean that a new PC needs to be shielded from harm at times by the rest of the party in order to stay alive.


• Despite entering the game at a lower XP total, a new PC can normalize in level over time thanks to the AD&D experience tables. For example, a 1st-level, 0 XP Fighter and a 5th-level, 16,000 XP Fighter will both be 6th level, 40,000 XP later. (It's also reasonable to expect that a low-level PC will advance more quickly in a high-level party, since the party's XP awards will naturally be larger.)


• In the meantime, it's possible that other, established PCs will die/retire, or new players/henchmen cycle into the game. The original “new PC” may become a veteran before long.


• Under this system, the total power level of the party is likely to fluctuate over time. Many of us are used to games where the party only ascends in level and ability as the game progresses, up until the point that everyone retires and the campaign ends. In my model, we could look back six months from now and recognize this point in time as the peak power level of the campaign. This allows for organic continuity across years of gaming, with the ability to re-experience the early and mid levels again and again. A high-level character that sustains through it all is truly something to be valued.

I could probably write a book on this stuff, but these feel like the most important points, so I'll leave it here for now. Happy to discuss further in the comments.

#20: By the Skin of Their Teeth

With Wyardt due to meet us in Grunwald, we depart Longsaddle with the knowledge that we’ll arrive a day or two in advance of our guide, assuming safe travels.  Though the tribe has expressed no love for the folk of Grunwald, we’d rather arrive early than potentially miss our window to meet Wyardt should something happen.  Oreiron consents to accompany us to Grunwald, if no further—he has business in Mirabar.

Oreiron is hungover and costs us the better part of an hour in delays, but we eventually depart back north along the road heading towards Grunwald.  The skies are grey, the air cold—a herald of wintry weather to come.  After some time, we discover that we were followed out of Longsaddle by a horse-drawn wagon, which clops towards us from the south.  Its riders are three men, and the wagon appears laden with supplies.  We decide to make way for them, and besides a cordial greeting, they depart with no other words, and they eventually disappear in the hills to the north.  The rest of the day’s travel is uneventful.

Oreiron explains that Grunwald can be wary of outsiders, and with it being in the Lurkwood and somewhat difficult to find, we decide to camp for the night.  The watches are uneventful, serene and cold, and we awaken the next morning refreshed and ready to head into Grunwald.  In the daylight, Oreiron easily guides us on the right path, and before highsun, we arrive.

The village is completely surrounded by forest, its homes resembling mounds or barrows constructed of large stones, covered in mud, the larger part of each residence resting below ground.  Thin plumes of smoke rise from chimneys atop the mounds.  Open fires are visible in front of many of the residences, and we see villagers walking about.  We spot the wagon that passed us the previous day.  Based on the warnings of Oreiron, the tribe’s admitted distaste for the folk of Grunwald, and the looks our ragtag band gets from the villagers we’ve encountered thus far, we decide to have the Anaithnid camp outside the village with Selben while we investigate.

The folk of Grunwald are barbaric, for lack of a better word, their languages a mix of various local dialects interspersed with the common tongue.  We assume, and Oreiron confirms, that the leader of the village is usually a warrior chieftain, though he doesn’t know who the specific leader is at present.  Fortunately, we don’t have to investigate long before we find Wyardt, who greets us in good spirits, having arrived yesterday.  Oreiron chooses to part ways, and we head back to the tribe camp.

Wyardt intended on arriving early, having come to the realization that it wouldn’t be easy for our group to find much comfort in Grunwald.  He also came into possession of a trail map of the area, having purchased it off a down-and-out local trapper, and lays out the next couple legs of the journey.  He anticipates two days of travel through the Lurkwood, then another day in the rocky hills and wilderness leading to Griffon’s Nest.  The map only covers the Lurkwood paths, however, so Wyardt says we must rely upon signs of other travelers and perhaps the guidance of the tribe to find Griffon’s Nest itself.

Imaginations run wild...

There is, however, an issue.  The trapper that Wyardt encountered explained that the hunting around Grunwald is currently suffering from the predations of some other creature or band of creatures.  Deer, bugbears, and even large animals such as bears have been found mauled in the wood, which seems to indicate the presence of some manner of apex predator.  The locals have personified it as a demon and refer to the predator as “Niohoggr.”

Audric asks if the flayed men we found in the woods outside Xantharl’s Keep might be related to this demon, and Wyardt doesn’t think so.  He spoke with Helder after our departure, who seemed to think that a barbarian from Grunwald may have done the deed, placing the flayed men as a sign of some settled dispute.

Revelation of the violent nature of the folk of Grunwald leads us to the decision to leave immediately and seek to put some time between us and the village.  There is risk of whatever the mysterious predator may be, but we decide to take that possible risk against the seemingly probably risk faced by staying too close to Grunwald and its barbarians.

We depart in the afternoon, hoping to strike upon a trail and put a few hours distance between us and the village before breaking for camp.  Wyardt’s map proves to be extremely helpful, which is fortunate as darkness begins to set in rather early in the day.  We don’t encounter any signs of threat, so find the most defensible place to set up a camp.  We find a small hill topped with trees and set a bonfire with several large branches that can be used as torches or burning brands.  We set watches, but the night passes uneventfully.  Before breaking camp, I make a quick scout of the camp perimeter for signs of anything, but find nothing.

With a difficult day of travel through the Lurkwood ahead of us, we prepare hastily and depart.  Not long into the morning, we see signs of a large, furry and very dead creature in the woods ahead, and I veer off from the group to investigate.  It appears to have been a bear, perhaps even a feral breed of dire bear, but it’s difficult to judge as the creature has had its upper body removed.  There are signs of blood around the slaughter, but oddly no tracks or anything else that stands out.  It’s as if there was not a struggle at all, as if something deposited the carcass in the wood from the sky.  We leave in haste, not wanting to encounter whatever it was that killed the beast.

The terrain begins to become difficult the further out from Grunwald we travel, as the lands turn truly wild.  Fortunately, the fallen leaves provide good visibility, and combined with the map and Wyardt’s efforts, we seem to have a good hold on our bearings.  While scrambling down a ravine, we hear the sounds of crashing trees in the woods nearby.  We decide to continue into the lowlands as quickly and quietly as possible, hoping that we can avoid any encounter, when suddenly the sky darkens as if a cloud passed quickly over the sun.  My fears about a predator in the sky, while not yet confirmed, force us to the cover of trees.  There are several loud crashes from the wood behind us, and we quake in terror as an extremely large winged reptile, perhaps 50 to 60 feet in length, hammers through the trees.  Niohoggr is upon us!

With defense in mind, my first instinct is to summon a cloud of fog between us and the creature, in the hopes that it will pass us by.  Unfortunately, it is faster than I give it credit for, and while the fog does seem to help, it is in our midst before I’m able to ready any other defenses.  Its body, huge and covered in emerald green scales, lunges into the sky, where it turns and begins to dive towards us.

Before making perhaps one of the rashest decisions of my career, I command Selben to gather Wyardt and the Anaithnid, and run.  There is no time to discuss a plan, and I draw upon the powers of Malar to taunt the mighty Niohoggr, in the hopes that it will focus on me and allow the others to escape.  As I cast, I step into the fog, hoping to draw it in.  The dragon swoops towards me, clawing at Audric as it passes, but fortunately the warrior is able to dodge out of harm’s way.  Niohoggr dives into the fog and attacks, its maw wrapping around my shoulder, teeth tearing at muscle and rending flesh.  Whether I’m thrown or it drops me, I’m tossed several yards away into the fog.

Audric brings his own magic to bear, summoning forth a glimmering cloud to blind the creature, and it launches itself into the sky once again.  The dragon shakes its head back and forth as if trying to shake off the effects, turning towards us to spew forth a stream of toxic gas.  Effectively blinded, its breath weapon misses us both—the gods must have been looking upon us then, for to be caught in its path would surely have meant death.

I begin to layer on protective magics as Audric summons a band of goblins, intending to use the creatures as a distraction to provide a chance to escape.  Turning our backs to the great creature, we run after the others, leaving the goblins to leap and howl to distract Niohoggr’s attention.  In another turn of good luck, we catch up with the group, take a minute to catch our breath, then continue on as hastily and quietly as possible, hoping the distraction worked. 

We don’t get far, however, before we see the shadow overhead again, and it disappears into the clouds ahead of us.  I summon a ward to prevent the attack that I know is coming, hoping to protect us, but the dragon dives in again and ravages Omgrath, sweeping him aside.  Niohoggr mauls Audric, its great maw closing over his torso, nearly rending and crushing the life from Mystra’s warrior.  Somehow, both Omgrath and Audric survive.

With few other resources at our disposal to assault such a threat, Audric & I throw our magical beads at the creature, each of us with a prayer to our respective gods upon our lips.  Malar was listening this day, as was Mystra, and both of our beads strike the creature, exploding in flame and driving it off back into the sky.  Flight is our only hope, and we flee onto the path ahead, scanning the skies for any sign of Niohoggr’s shadow.

A few hours pass without incident, and we stumble upon a cave.  We decide that having cover, such that we can have a fire not visible from overhead, outweighs the time lost, so we decide to camp for the night and tend our various wounds.  The night passes in near silence, as if no one is quite willing to speak about the encounter with Niohoggr just yet, and while we find little rest, the night passes without any further encounter.

Pressing on in the morning, we emerge from the Lurkwood and into the plains beyond, knowing that we have another day or two of travel to Griffon’s Nest through open tundra, then rocky hills.  As Wyardt’s map no longer of any use, we scan the plains for landmarks, hoping that the Anaithnid can help guide us through this part of the journey.

Artistry

Behold an intentionally crude sketch drawn in preparation for our next session. It's futile to try to discern meaning from this now, but I expect that it likely will become relevant before long.

Find familiar ruling

The question arose last session of whether Audric could use find familiar without satisfying the [exorbitant] material component requirement (from the 2e PH, p. 134):

When the wizard decides to find a familiar, he must load a brass brazier with charcoal. When this is burning well, he adds 1,000 gp worth of incense and herbs.

I'm going to rule “yes.” Material components in 2e are treated as optional, and thus far I've made little effort to enforce them. In the case of find familiar specifically, there are already lots of strings attached to this spell (only cast once/year, chance of no familiar in area, consequences if the familiar dies), and there seems to be a solid base of 2e-ers who agree that the cost in this edition (as opposed to 100 gp in 1e) is too over-the-top.

Going forward, assume that material components for spells are not being used, though I reserve the right to “opt in” if it seems appropriate enough for a particular spell. I don't plan to make such decisions lightly, though.

#19: Longsaddle (Finally!)

The next morning, we decide to settle in and await the return of Helder’s group.  With the aid of Wyardt’s mother and father, we talk to the Anaithnid about helping around town with tasks in preparation for winter, the kinds of things that aren’t language dependent.  It is small price to pay in return for shelter while we recuperate.

As we wait, Selben and I turn to our training, each studying our respective spellbooks in preparation for the next leg of the journey.  Our wait is not long, however, and the next day the bells hail the return of Helder, though his group is much smaller than the one that originally departed, and one man is being carried.  There are calls that the fallen man is diseased, and I send Selben to fetch Klaighos, who comes slowly but tends to the man’s wounds.  When help is required, Audric and I step forward to carry the man to his home.  Helder acknowledges the gesture with a grunt.

Later, we learn that Helder’s group lost five men in skirmishes with the bugbears, as the creatures trailed them for a day and a night, but in the end his group slew eleven bugbears—a truly mighty number, though the price paid by the townsfolk of Xantharl’s Keep was steep.  Helder learns of our encounter as well, of the five bugbears slain by our group, and considers our debt settled.

Helder approaches our camp that night, offers condolences for the losses suffered by the Anaithnid, and extends his blessing on sheltering the tribe as long as we desire to stay.  The discussion is short, but the terms are mutually agreeable.

As the days pass and our training concludes, the unrest of the Anaithnid becomes clear.  Our ability to communicate with the tribe is greatly facilitated by Selben’s newfound ability to magically comprehend their language, but the inability to effectively communicate anything but the most rudimentary words back to them remains a frustration.  On the final evening before our departure, we share our plan to depart with Helder, who holds no ill will against us on the matter.

Oreiron knows the way to Grunwald, the next village between us and our ultimate destination, Longsaddle.  Grunwald is a long day’s travel from Xantharl’s Keep, and Longsaddle another day and half journey from Grunwald.  Wyardt will travel to Grunwald in seven days and wait three nights for us to return.  He has offered to escort us to Griffon’s Nest from Grunwald after our business in Longsaddle is done, and we give him a modest stipend to cover his expenses.

The morning of our departure, however, the Anaithnid have decided to press the issue of leadership of the tribe, specifically of our intention to travel to Longsaddle first.  Selben, having spoken with one of the Anaithnid youth, Hershon, explains.  “Hershon believes there will be a mutiny, if the group does not set its eyes for Griffon’s Nest.  He says, the tribe has endured too much to be led further astray, and that Nazag and Omgrath would challenge you openly for rulership of the clan.”  I reply that either of the warriors are welcome to the mantle of leadership of the tribe, but that if they want our help getting to Griffon’s Nest, it’s via Longsaddle or not at all.  That seems to satisfy them, at least for the moment—they will continue to travel with us—but the threat of mutiny will not be easily forgotten.

Travel is miserably cold, but our passage is uncontested, and after a long day we reach the road to Grunwald.  We intend to skip the village on our journey, as Grunwald lies far off the road to Longsaddle, and taking Audric’s advice we offer the tribe the option to camp in or around Grunwald and await our return.  I call upon Selben to use his magic to translate, and the tribe indicates that they are not particularly amicable with the people of Grunwald, so they are not interested in staying there.  That settled, we camp for the night.

Our rest is undisturbed, and the next morning we press on for Longsaddle.  After a discussion about the possibility of conjuring mounts for the group to cut the journey in half and potentially make Longsaddle in a day, we decide it’s too risky and continue south on foot.  The terrain begins to open, light forests giving way to more open plains.  Near midday, we hear the call of a single figure running towards us from off the road to the west.  It’s a boy in distress, and he explains that his father’s cart tipped and trapped him, and that he’s been waiting for a day for help to come.

The boy’s name is Flin Kromlor—he explains that he and his father were fishing a stream a half day from their house, and that the cart hit a rock.  The cart was laden with salt to cure the fish, the mule’s legs were broken, and the cart tipped.  His story seems legitimate from the boy’s frantic nature, and it looks as if he’s been out in the cold for a day, which lends credence to his tale.  Audric and I, as well as Selben, decide to break from the group to help the boy and his father, leaving Bonie and Oreiron to watch over the tribe as they break for a midday meal.

The boy runs fast but we keep up, eventually reaching a ridge which looks down upon a stream.  At the bottom, we see the cart from the boy’s tale, as well as the dead mule and blood.  The barrel of salt is burst open upon the ground nearby.  I take point, leaving Audric and Selben on top of the ridge.  When I reach the cart, the father is semiconscious, and it appears as if he’s severely wounded.  If this is an ambush, it is elaborately staged, and we’ve bought in.

I call upon Malar’s blessing to heal the man as best I can, though his injuries are indeed grave.  We decide to remove the mule first to see if we can move the cart.  We accomplish that and free the man from being trapped.  I tell Flin to gather whatever he needs from the wreckage, which he does, and together we carry his father to the top of the ridge.  By the time we get back to Bonie and the others, over an hour has passed.  The men of the Anaithnid rush to meet us and help bear the burden back to our camp.  We tell Flin of our intention to travel to Longsaddle, and he issues no argument, clearly traumatized from the ordeal.  I tell Selben to watch over the boy.

Our travel is slowed by our new companion, but eventually we start to see outlying farmsteads and begin to relax a bit.  We decide to eschew the farms and instead camp on our own, building a fire and tending to the wounded father.  Fortunately, another night of rest is undisturbed, and early the next day we approach a cluster of cottages that herald our destination—Longsaddle.  The cottages are dwarfed by a huge manor in the middle of the village, which we presume to be the Ivy Mansion, home of the Harpells, leaders of Longsaddle.

We are greeted by folk who know the Kromlors and we’re directed to bring the father to one of the buildings, a festhall called The Night Cloak.  Workers help us carry the man inside, and we get the indication that the boy and his father will receive the care that they need.  We are greeted by Alastra, a half-elf who seems to be the proprietress of the establishment.  We negotiate a rate for shelter and meals for the group, and tell her our story.  I also hand her a small handful of gold, so that a mule can be purchased for the Kromlor family—surely, they are not wealthy, and losing a beast of burden could be a terrible loss.  Plus, small gestures such as this could lend us a lot of credibility in such a small village as this.

You get a mule!  You get a mule!  Everybody gets a mule!

Oreiron seems to know Alastra, and the two share words.  As this is technically the end of his service to us, we plan to talk to him tonight to let him know that he’s free to pursue his own ends.  In the meantime, we decide to call upon Malchor Harpell at the Ivy Mansion.

The Ivy Mansion is an impressive building and seems altogether out of place for such a little town.  We are greeted by an older woman, and Audric takes the lead, announcing our names and intention to seek an audience with Malchor.  She apologizes, but explains that Malchor is away at the moment, and is not expected to return for a few weeks.  Audric recounts our meeting with Abbé Lira, his advice for us to consult Malchor on a magical matter, and she asks more directly what specific help Audric seeks.

Audric dodges the question, and the woman further explains that Malchor would need to authorize any access to the Ivy Mansion in his absence.  “Do visit The Fuzzy Quarterstaff on your way out.  It’s a very fine place for food and beverage.”  She seems to understand Audric’s urgency, even if she doesn’t seem particularly interested in immediate action.

The Fuzzy Quarterstaff is an odd establishment.  There are handful of patrons, but more notable is a cloaked man apparently conducting an invisible orchestra, its music filling the common room.  We decide to come back at a later time, instead heading back to The Night Cloak.  Audric pulls Oreiron aside, asking what is next for the dwarf.  He indicates that he might remain in Longsaddle for a while, unsure of where his path may lead.  Audric invites him to accompany us to Griffon’s Nest, but Oreiron explains that he has little desire for such a journey.  No harm in asking, and Oreiron has been a stalwart companion.

On our third day in Longsaddle, Audric receives notification that his presence has been requested at the Ivy Mansion, so we hastily complete our breakfast and head back.  We greet Cartisan, the maid servant, and she informs us that Master Malchor has returned early, and that he will see us.  She leaves to fetch him, and returns with a tall, cloaked man, perhaps nearing fifty, who introduces himself.  “Malchor Harpell, at your service.”

He leads us into a second sitting room deeper into the mansion, one with no windows yet many portraits on the wall.  Despite the lack of windows or discernible light source, the room is well lit, probably by magic.  A crystal ball sits upon a podium in one corner, and the room is adorned with extravagant couches and chairs.  He asks Audric to explain his purpose.

Audric tells the tale of the ring, and hands the simple pewter band to Malchor.  There is gravity to the gesture, as if a great burden is being passed from one hand to another, and the man examines the ring.  He begins casting a spell, focusing on the ring.  “Indeed, it seems a powerful artifact, and you were right to bring it here.  To fully understand and unravel the intricacies of a piece like this will take time.  Would you be willing to leave it with me?”  When asked how long, he replies “Return again before the new year.  Allow me the next three weeks, and by then, I will return it to you with full knowledge, or if I cannot, I will explain to you why.”

Audric also shares his crisis of faith over Arkhen’s petrification, revealing that Abbé Lira seemed to indicate that Malchor Harpell might be able to offer some advice on the matter.  Malchor offers a few solemn words.   “Trust that your craft may have effects and results that a man cannot fully comprehend at the time—but as long as he acts with responsibility and with goodness in his heart, Mystra will not abandon her faithful.  Sometimes, the life or death of an individual pales in comparison to the greater purpose.”

Audric asks that Selben and I be granted access to the Ivy Mansion’s library, and the mage assents, seeing as he has collateral in the form of the ring.  His business with us concluded, he excuses himself, walking a few steps before vanishing from our sight.

XP awards for sessions 12-18

It's been a very long time since XP was last awarded, and over the course of these sessions, Audric and Zeb have several noteworthy achievements, including helping Jent's family in West Tower, usurping Crahdorn's control over the Anaithnid, and saving Nurué from the Black Rot (at great personal risk to themselves).

Story awards for the above items comprise the majority of the total for this stretch, which is 7,500 XP per character and 2,500 XP for Selben. While henchmen normally receive a half-share, Selben has been withheld from some of the party's more dangerous endeavors, so I think it makes sense to limit him to a one-third share for now. That's still enough for him to attain 2nd level, and I'll begin tracking his XP in the sidebar going forward.

This also boosts Zeb to 5th level as an abjurer. Updated totals:

• Audric - 26,000
• Zeb - 3,000/22,575
• Selben (h) - 2,500

#18: The Hunt

A pair of armed guards approach from the gate of Xantharl’s Keep, bringing summons from Helder.  The hunt is nigh.  Besides myself, Audric, Oreiron, Bonie and a pair of Anaithnid men, Omgrath and Nazag, answer the summons and we make ready to depart.  Bonie still seems pale and sickly; I take it for nerves, as none of the symptoms match the Black Rot.  Audric offers to let her stay, but she shakes her head determinedly, indicating that she’s ready to continue.

We are escorted into the keep, passing the outer palisade.  Not much of a welcome awaits us; we are brought to Helder and a small group of townsfolk, among them are Yishma, her husband, and a young man of about 20 years.  Yishma hands us a parcel of salves to ward against acceleration of the Black Rot, should any of us come to harm, and the young man is revealed to be their son, Wyardt.  Two other groups of hunters are waiting, with Helder planning to lead one of them.  We are to divide and conquer, each of us taking a trail miles apart that will take us three to four days from town.  Wyardt tells us that he has grown up in the woods and feels confident that he can lead us safely.

We are led to the southernmost of the three trails, which Wyardt says he knows quite well.  The air is cold but there’s no snow or frost; the weather is clear and makes for easy travel.  Wyardt takes the lead, sharing a few words about his parents.  He explains that they have good hearts, and that they see beyond stigmas—a trait that Wyardt tends to live by, as well.

We travel in two smaller groups, with Wyardt, me and the two Anaithnid in the front, and Audric, Bonie and Oreiron in the rear, hoping to mitigate the noise of our more heavily armored companions.  The trail winds deeper into the Lurkwood, occasionally ascending a hillock or dipping into a ravine, but so far, our visibility is good, and the travel is easy and uneventful.  After a few hours, we come across a large bootprint in a patch of broken ground, leading north from the trail.  We also find a tuft of fur stuck in the bark of a nearby tree—signs that there is a bugbear presence, but we already knew that was the case.  What is surprising, however, is that the signs are discovered so close to Xantharl’s Keep.  With little to follow in the way of a clear path, we decide to continue along the trail, warier for our knowledge that the bugbear threat is close.

As the afternoon fades, Wyardt says we should push on a few hours more, and we take his guidance.  We descend into a grove and notice a disturbance with a few trees ahead.  Knowing that the bugbear are crafty enemies, we fear an ambush and decide to split the group.  Wyardt and I will take the Anaithnid and flank the group, approaching from multiple angles.  Audric, Bonie and Oreiron make a fair amount of noise, hopefully obscuring any sounds we are making in the wood, though it’s a safe bet that if there are indeed enemies, they already know we’re here.

A pair of large oaks lie ahead and pinned to each tree is what appears to be a skinned humanoid, stuck to the tree with spears and other sharp implements.  The sight is revolting, and the splay of limbs and the queer angles of the corpses' joints make it clear that the deed was torturous.  I split from Wyardt to investigate further, and it seems that they were human men.  The Anaithnid seem agitated, and after trying to communicate with them, we determine that the bodies probably aren’t Anaithnid but that they are perhaps Uthgardt—after further discussion through gestures, we discern that they weren’t a tribe friendly to the Anaithnid.

We light a torch to better investigate the scene, knowing that there’s little harm to come from the light.  We’ll have to light a fire for camp anyway.  Unfortunately, we find no other signs that provide any clues as to the identity of the men or motivation for their torture.  Backtracking a bit, we find a hill and make camp, setting a fire and discuss watches.  The night passes quietly and uneventfully, and our scout around the camp in the morning turns up no signs of any nocturnal visitors.  We pack up and continue, returning to the valley with the corpses.

We find them much as they were left the previous day, and the daylight investigation reveals no additional clues.  Wyardt does, however, find signs and prints from bugbears, but nothing that leads in any obvious direction, just more incidental traces.  We decide to continue along the trail, traveling throughout the morning.   Around mid-afternoon, we come to a significant descent that leads into a low valley that is flanked by rock walls.  We decide to push through as bypassing the valley isn’t pragmatic, so I go ahead of Wyardt so that if anything does happen, there’s a buffer between the groups.

At the base of the valley, I hear a rustle in a bush nearby.  Sensing an ambush, I decide to turn tail and run back towards Wyardt and the others.  Fortunately, my instincts were good—a pair of unidentified missiles whir by my head striking trees.  I retreat to the others, and we prepare to fight!

From seemingly out of nowhere, a half dozen kobolds appear in the valley, a result of one of Audric’s conjurations.  An axe is thrown from a nearby tree, striking Audric in the shoulder, heralding the advance of five bugbears, positioned in a star formation around our group.  I appeal to Malar for a blessing, while the others draw various ranged weapons.  Seizing the initiative, I throw my morning star towards one of the enemies and a ghostly manifestation of it appears several yards away, behind one of the creatures and striking it.  Bonie climbs a nearby tree and readies her bow, then a hail of weapons is thrown towards us.  One strikes me and one strikes one of the Anaithnid, and then Audric’s kobolds pile onto one of the bugbears, wounding it in several places.  Meanwhile, Audric summons forth a swarm of bats to assault another of the foes.

My spiritual weapon slams into the bugbear again, and it rushes me from the cover of the forest, fortunately missing its lunge.  One of the kobolds is devastated by a bugbear, and the bugbear struggling against the swarm of bats surges into melee with the group.  Bonie and the archers miss with their first round of arrows, as does Oreiron with his sling.  One of the bugbears charges Oreiron with a spear, and the dwarf falls to the grievous wound.  The wounded Anaithnid is wounded yet again and struggles to stand against the injuries.  The small army of kobolds manage to bring one of the bugbears to the ground, impaling it with their tiny spears.

A brutal melee ensues.  Audric unslings his axe but is unable to land a blow, though I manage to strike my foe in the head.  It is a brutal strike, but the creature stares back at me defiantly.  Bonie shoots the unwounded bugbear, and Wyardt draws forth a longsword and in a sweeping strike, beheads the creature that had been assaulted by Audric’s bats.  The bugbear retaliates against me but it’s a glancing blow, and one of the tribesmen lands a strike against a foe as well.  The melee is fierce, though the tide seems in our favor; the wounded Anaithnid slays a bugbear, and Audric cleaves another nearly in half with his mighty axe.  The ring’s magic, fortunately, is silent. 

The final bugbear engaged with me seeks to withdraw, and I charge it with a roar, striking it down with my morning star.  I growl a thanks to Malar as I ravage the creature, taking teeth from it as a trophy and five right ears as proof for Helder.  In the aftermath of the melee, Audric stabilizes Oreiron and we tend everyone’s wounds; all but Oreiron are fully healed, the dwarf being beyond our means to magically heal today.  We apply salves to the dwarf to prevent the onset, or at least delay the effects of the Black Rot.  We make a quick search of our foes, finding nothing of value beyond the crude weapons they carried.  We decide to press on a short way to put some distance between us and the valley, then to make a camp so that Oreiron can have a chance to recover.

We awaken in the morning, the only excitement of the night being a family of wild pigs heard in the woods during the middle watch.  Audric ministers to Oreiron, healing him with the blessings granted by Mystra, and it seems for now at least that the dwarf has not yet succumbed to the disease.  We press on throughout the day and encounter no signs of enemies, deciding to camp one final night, as pressing on through the darkness seems unnecessary and dangerous.

The next morning, the sky is clear and the day bright, and we arrive back at Xantharl’s Keep around midday.  No one in our group has manifested any signs of the Black Rot.  We learn that one of the other groups has already arrived, having encountered nothing along their three-day trek.  We also see a bonfire surrounded by the women and children of the Anaithnid—but upon closer inspection we realize that it is instead a funeral pyre.  Selben runs towards us, tears in his eyes, and he explains that the Anaithnid were attacked in the middle of the night by bugbears; the tribe rushed towards the gates of Xantharl’s Keep seeking safety.  The gates were opened, and guards emerged to help defend the tribe, but not soon enough to prevent a melee.  Kezia sacrificed herself so that the others could escape, throwing herself at the enemies.  Selben explains, through tears and shakiness, that she was struck down by the creatures, her blood everywhere.  Selben seems in shock, as if blaming himself for not having done more.

I tell Selben to rein in his emotions—the Anaithnid are sad and grieving, but not with open expression or crying.  There is nothing more he could have done.  I let Selben know that he needs to control his emotions and communicate as best he can with the tribe, promising to discuss it and grieve with him in private later.  I spend a long time before Kezia’s fire with the rest of the tribe, only turning away when necessity and responsibility dictates.  Through Selben and Nurué, I tell the tribe to make camp for the night within the walls of the keep.

#17: Defier of Death

After the defeat of Crahdorn, the subsequent hours are spent discussing plans for the pending journey, gathering what meager belongings the tribe possess, and carrying out the sacrifice of the diseased warrior.  Trading lives is not a fair thing, but we can’t afford to slow our travel without effectively signing the death warrants of both the man and Nurué.  Kezia translates, and the tribe decides to conduct its own sacrifice, sending him along the spiritual paths with prayers to Uthgar.

We make it clear that we will do our best to see the group to Griffon’s Nest, but that it will not necessarily be a quick or direct path, and that it will not interfere with our current plan to travel to Longsaddle.  Fortunately, there seems to be agreement that Longsaddle is our best chance at determining the cause and hopefully a cure for whatever this curse or sickness is that afflicts Nurué.  Selben is instructed to continue to pursue his relationship with the younger members of the tribe, in the hopes that his can pick up some of their language so that we don’t have to rely completely on Kezia’s translation.

Ahead on the trail, we see the shambling form of a large, crimson-furred creature, larger than a man.  It looks gaunt, weakened, and hunched over—a bugbear.  After a few moments of deliberation, considering that it may be an ambush, we decide the chance that it’s diseased is even more dire, and arrows are loosed upon it.  Several find purchase, but not enough to fell it, so I charge forward and finish it with my morning star.  We examine it for signs of disease and can’t find any, but we’re not sure if it’s for lack of symptoms or just that they’re obscured by its fur.

Unfortunately, we’re not able to make the safety of Xantharl’s Keep before sundown, and we decide to camp for the night.  Even if we finish the trip, we’re not convinced that we would be allowed entry, especially with the diseased woman.  Nurué seems to have worsened, her fingertips are blackened, and she seems very much diminished.  After some discussion, we decide that Audric or I will conjure forth mounts and send Audric, Oreiron & Nurué ahead.  Mystra or Malar, or perhaps even Uthgar are with us, and nothing ill befalls us in the night.

Well before the sun rises, Audric rouses Oreiron & Nurué with the intent to leave in the predawn.  If a cure is to be found within Xantharl’s Keep, this is our best chance to acquire it.  They arrive at the wooden, picketed walls of the keep at first light.

The remaining group travels along the road and eventually reaches Xantharl’s Keep, where we are flagged down by Audric and Oreiron, who have made a small campfire outside of town.  They were not allowed entrance and instructed that the town’s priest is away at Grunwald, a day away.  Some of the men of Xantharl’s Keep had encountered bugbears and returned yesterday, and several have been stricken with the same disease.  There is also apparently no love lost between the Anaithnid of the Lurkwood and the men of Xantharl’s Keep, but it is of no consequence as we’re all barred entry anyway.

As we contemplate options, the gates open and a middle-aged couple exit the keep approaching us carrying a small pot and a basket, and Audric greets them.  They claim to have heard that there is a sick woman among us, and it appears that they have brought food.  “My wife is an herbalist, and there is a salve that can help relieve the symptoms of the rash.”  The wife’s name is Yishma, and she started putting the salve together, having seen a similar disease twenty years ago.  Yishma takes a small tin from her basket, a mixture of lavender and chamomile as well as other herbs from the wood.  She explains that the disease is bloodborne and travels very quickly among open wounds.

Audric inquires what it may have taken in the past to cure the disease, and they claim that only strong clerical magic could produce a remedy—magic such that Klaighos, the village priest, possesses.  They ask for nothing in return, and we explain that we intend to travel immediately with the hope that we encounter the priest on the road.  They explain that the village leader wouldn’t look upon this kindly, forcing upon us a decision—stay and await the return of Klaighos in the hopes that he will tend to Nurué before she perishes, or risk the doors of Xantharl’s Keep being barred if we come between their diseased men and their priest. 

We decide to stay and await the return of the priest, and Kezia explains the situation to the tribe.  The husband explains that the disease is progressive, and that if it spreads from Nurué’s fingers to her arm, then there’s a chance it will corrupt her entire body—amputation would be our best option to delay progression of the disease, in that case.  We thank them again for their ministrations and their kindness, and they depart.

Later that day, another figure leaves the gates flanked by a pair of soldiers, this man armed with a pair of swords and leathers.  He carries a barrel under his arms, and Oreiron explains that this is Helder Mornstone, leader of Xantharl’s Keep.  We gather Bonie and Oreiron, and Helder greets us, inquiring after our afflicted and her condition.  Upon seeing Nurué, he explains that she may be the worse off, but that he must prioritize his own men before outsiders.  He asks how we came to travel with “barbarians,” which sets my blood boiling.

I spit on the ground in front of him.  “It’s a foolish man that claims to direct the will of the gods, to ‘prioritize’ who is to receive their blessings.”  From his collar he withdraws a token, the head of a unicorn, a symbol of Mielikki.  “A foolish man, indeed.”

Hackles rising, I ask if our tribe is unwelcome outside his walls.  “If you were, you would not be here, I assure you,” he replies grimly.  He deposits the barrel, explaining that it is full of dried meats and cheeses, enough so sustain our group for a few days.

I thank the man, dryly.  “I’ll be sure to spread word of the hospitality of Xantharl’s Keep.” Helder does not reply to the statement but produces an offer that may ameliorate the situation.  Accompany his men into the Lurkwood to deal with the bugbear threat, and he will take Nurué’s diminishing condition into consideration when Klaighos returns.

“Done.”  I hold out my hand, to seal the bargain.  Before Helder can respond, Kezia grabs me and pulls me aside.  “You will not force us to work for this man, for this village.” 

“Do you want to save Nurué, or not?  She’ll likely die waiting for this man to expand his generosity to include her when the priest eventually returns.”

Kezia storms off, speaking to the men of the tribe rapidly.  We’re not able to comprehend the words, ere she spits a reluctant compromise.  “Do as you will.”  It is a cold response, and hints at more conversation to follow later.

We send Helder away, letting him know that we’ll produce an answer in an hour’s time, giving us a chance to deliberate.  After discussing the decision with Kezia further, she explains vehemently that the tribe is to be consulted first on matters of such import, especially those that entail dealing with villages outside the Lurkwood.  Coming to a realization, I think I may have discovered the source of her anger.  “So you want the opportunity to be mad at me about it, but you want me to do it anyway?”

“Yes,” is her reply in a surprisingly sultry tone, leaning into me.  Her reply, and the response her physical proximity elicits, leaves me speechless.  I decide to leave the decision to Audric, since he is admittedly the most sensible of the group.  His answer is surprising, that he intends to accompany me on the hunt.  “So you wanted the opportunity to be mad at me about it, but you want me to do it anyway?”  It’s not clear that Audric wants to join the hunt, or that we should be involved with it at all, but he reluctantly agrees.

Both Bonie and Oreiron are on board with the hunt, each for their own reasons.  Loyalty, duty, guilt—whatever the motivations, they are not important, and we are glad to have their aid.  Bonie has proven herself a stalwart ally.  Selben is to be left with the Anaithnid, as he would be too much a liability on such a deadly venture.  Audric sends word of our acceptance to Xantharl’s Keep.

The next morning arrives a small contingent of men accompanied by a withered old man, eyes white from blindness, and we assume that he is Klaighos, the priest.  He is brought to Nurué’s side, Kezia seated nearby, and the man examines Nurué’s arm.  He begins chanting in preparation for a spell, utilizing a fetish, a pair of hands bound together with rope.  At first it appears as if they are wooden, but upon more careful inspection, they may be actual withered hands.  In either case, they are a symbol of Ilmater, the Suffering.

He stares at Kezia with a piercing gaze, as if seeing through the blindness.  He utters something in an unknown language directly at her, “Mortem disfidare,” before returning to the incantation and finishing the spell.  “It will take time for the ailment to subside,”  he explains, returning to his usual demeanor.  He lays a hand on her forehead.  “However, she is saved.  Ilmater has smiled upon you this day.”

Audric shares a blessing from Mystra as Klaighos departs, to which the priest nods in acceptance.  “And that of Malar, as well,” I shout, not to be outdone.  Klaighos snarls in response but makes no other gesture, instead turning his back on us as he returns to Xantharl’s Keep.

Audric asks Kezia what it was that the blind priest said.  She replies softly, “It means ‘Defier of Death.’”