After six days of travelling from the scene of the battle, the party returns to Hillcrest with a poisoned Warder Erik and the bodies of Fern, Donus Farrier, and Warder Xander. Upon arriving, they are met at the infirmary by Warder Thomas, who casts a spell to heal the worst of Erik’s infection, allowing him to recover under Cedric’s care. The party reports to Stein and learns that the Warders had been sent to hunt down Sergei Volkov’s unit, who have gone rogue. They are suspected of months of careful sabotage of the Northland war effort. Stein has reason to believe that Volkov has fled to the Ar’Avarial forest to hide for the winter. Faced with disbelief from Alton, who knew and respected Donus, Stein admits that it is possible that, prior to being assaulted by the two Warders, the lower-ranking members of Volkov’s unit may not have known of their Sergeant’s treachery. He seems disinterested in Donus’ warning about Futz, however, and advises the party not to give much heed to it.
So naturally, the party visits Futz, who is in the middle of an experiment to breed his New Elves(tm). When the party finally gets his attention long enough, he reveals that Donus was probably not referring to the manufacturer of his long rifle (a man named Michaelson in Westergarde) but instead the Bubblesneezer cannon. He further reveals that he knows Vernon Bubblesneezer personally, having once taught at the University of Invention in Penshin, and even though Vernon is a shrewd bureaucrat, he’s a lousy scientist and couldn’t possibly come up with the cannon on his own. When pressed, Futz remembers a halfling student by the name of Corky Bogbottom who was curiously bright and capable of inventing such things as the cannon. It’s conceivable that Bubblesneezer has kept Corky under wraps since The Extermination and has been taking credit for all of the halfling’s inventions since.
After seeing to the remains of Donus and Fern, as well as attending Xander’s funeral pyre, the party briefs Mengst on their thoughts, and Mengst asks them to develop a plan to investigate this new piece of intelligence.
The next day, the party visits Itchy, who is still reeling from an uncharacteristically bold and organized goblin and orc attack on Hillcrest the previous day that saw several dozen Northland troops killed, but more critically, two of the army’s fully-stocked grain silos burned to the ground on the very cusp of winter. They present him with new requisition orders from Stein, and he obliges in refreshing the party’s gear.
The session ends with the party leaving the warehouse to prepare for the 2nd Battalion Archery Competition.
Journal entry
What a strange series of days it has been. My fortunes seem to be as unpredictable as the weather. First, I strained my ankle – I wrote about that before – and had to stay with the horses and supplies whilst the others went off to battle. Then, a few days later, I found myself once again staying at our camp, guarding some smoked deer that Poppy had hunted for us. For a while I wondered wether the others were conspiring against me and wether they were talking and laughing about me behind their backs. The idea alone made me furious! But it wasn’t completely too far fetched, I decided. Back home it happened occasionally that lower class workers had their own in-jokes about their employers and nobility. Perhaps it gives them a sense of pride. Regardless, I am straying.
As I was ‘valiantly’ guarding our food and camp, I was suddenly startled by some rustling in the bushes. It wasn’t long before a small group of halflings ran out and walked up to the camp – specifically towards our smoked deer. I kept them at bay at first, being rather confused as to what was going on. It’s not every day you are confronted with a dozen or so halflings at the same time who seem intent on getting their hands on some of our food.
Their leader, a halfling named Annabelle, explained to me what had transpired before and all became clear. These halflings were being hunted, and my companions had set up an ambush further along down the trail. They sent the halflings to our camp for refuge. I decided to run as fast as I could to provide assistance to the ambush. The twelve halflings would surely be able to keep our camp safe just as well as I alone would be able to. I wasn’t going to be able to keep those prying hands away from our food anyhow…
It took me a while to get there, but the screams and sounds of swords clashing guided me into the right direction. Fortunately I arrived just in the nick of time; the trap had just sprung. Arrows and bolts flew through the air and Alton was taking on one of the enemy close to me, whilst Gronk seemed busy with two or three of them himself. I could make out Vlad, the Northlander, in the distance. He looked like he could be in trouble, surrounded by Kisharans. My training kicked in instantly. It took only a few steps to reach Alton and his foe, who I promptly stabbed in his right arm artery. Blood sprayed out gloriously into the sky as he fell to the ground, Alton had the honor of delivering the coup de grace. I ran on toward Vlad. The kisharans fighting Gronk seemed to be in enough trouble anyway, Gronk was bashing skulls left and right. The kisharan sergeant proved to be a little more dangerous, but a few stabs from me, an arrow from Poppy and some handiwork by Vlad took him down in no time. Then the whole ordeal was over – except for one fleeing kisharan, who was promptly shot in the back by Poppy. Rather dishonorable, but then again, there is no honor in fleeing either. It does make one wonder about the morals of the halfling, however.
With all the enemy dead, we found ourselves rummaging through their supplies. Fortunately for us, they had a pack horse we could take. Now we don’t need to save up for one anymore. I also took one of their leather jacks for some protection, what with all the fighting going on.
When we got back to camp I was delighted to see that the halflings hadn’t eaten all of our food yet, but rather prepared a rather magnificient meal for us as well. It has been quite some time since I ate this well.
During the night I sat and talked with Alton about his firearms. He’s teaching me how to use them. That’s a good thing, they’re more complex than I first thought. There’s a good chance I would have damaged the weapon, or hurt myself, had I tried to fire them without his help. I think I understand the basics pretty well now, though. Early in the morning, during our last watch, we heard gunfire in the distance. And then a Warder’s horn. We quickly woke the others and we all took off towards the sound of battle.
Once we arrived, it was quite a sight. It looked like a complete war had been fought out here. Bodies of orcs and goblins everywhere, with some humans thrown in here and there. But there was no time to waste, because what I saw made me stop in my tracks. I hadn’t seen an Avenger since Penshin, and I wondered what it was doing here and wether we should retreat and regroup. There was no time for any of that, however. Banager charged ahead rather foolishly, so I followed suit in order to provide assistance and prayed that we would not die. Banagher attacked, but the Avenger easily made a mockery of his attacks. In an effort to distract the thing I attacked as ferociously as possible and struck it twice, hurting it plenty, but not unfortunately not enough. It did catch it’s attention, which was the point. Unfortunately, I hadn’t thought my plan fully through beyond this moment. Dodging and parrying I managed to avoid most of it’s blows, but eventually he landed a hit and slammed it’s weapon against my chest. I was thrown backward and was disoriented, but thankful that I’d been wise enough to put that leather jack on the day before.
Blood poured all over my chest and I wondered wether this was the end. I crawled away in order to regain my composure. When I looked up, I saw the Avenger thrusting it’s devilish looking weapon straight through Banagher. It was then that a miracle occurred – or something like that – I thought perhaps I was imagining things because of my injury. When the blade went through, a bright light seemed to come from his wound, instead of blood. Banagher seemed rejuvenated afterwards, instead of hurt, and he brought his sword down upon the Avenger again and again, until the Avenger finally fell and shrivelled up into nothingness.
I think everybody shared my surprise at this occurance, but honestly, I was rather concerned and preoccupied with the large gashing wound on my chest at this point.
When I spoke to the others later on, it turns out we had come across a strange skirmish. It seemed that, somehow, some sort of threeway battle had taken place between two Warders, a couple of society members, and a small army compromised of orcs, goblins and the avenger. Not all of them died. We managed to save one Warder, named Erik, but he is heavily wounded. We took him back with us to Hillcrest. A lot would be cleared up there. Apparantly one of the companies, commanded by Sergei Volkov, had deserted and had been working for the kisharans for quite some time. During the fight with the orcs and goblins, the Warders had been attacked by the rogue company, resulting in the odd three-way battle.
The other Warder, Xander, was given a proper burial ritual fitting to his status.
Our newest mission, besides figuring out a way to stop the upgrades of those Bubblesneezer cannons, is to go south and find this Bubblesneezer, and see if he is using a halfling inventor named Corky to make his cannons. We’ll probably end up going to Penshin. It’s about time. I should be careful, i am still wanted there and people may remember my face, even after all these years.
Fortunately this time we’ll be more prepared. Stein arranged for us to receive padded armor from Itchy, which should help quite some. Alton loaned me his blunderbuss, as well, which should give me ample time to practice my firing abilities. It’s rather crude and large, but I haven’t been able to find something smaller. My injuries during the last fight reminded me again that it may be smart to carry some kind of ranged weapon with me, in case I get injured.
signed,
Diego Vasquez
Journal Entry #2
When I look back at the journal I wrote all those months ago, I feel bad for not writing more as Diego suggested. Truth be told I was too busy to stop and do it, since back then writing took me so long. I decided to write another entry because I need to organise my thoughts a little.
Sergei Volkov, my dead acquantance’s commander has gone rogue. This explains not only what Erik told me, but what Donus told me, I knew he was no traitor. He gave me a gorgeous rifle, and told me to see Futz about it, and a secret.
Futz is strange, he seems obsessed with watching elves fuck, and in their procreation, but he’s been very helpful, even took my gun apart and showed me how it went back together, although extremely quickly, I could barely follow.
I feel badly now for how I treated Annabelle, not just because she’s Mengst’s woman, but because she really was just trying to help poeple; I wish Erik had been more specific about his warning.
I’m pretty sure Banagher’s a wizard of some sort. He keeps talking religious, but I’ve never seen a priest bleed energy before. I really don’t care as long as he points the death from his hand at the other end of the field.
It looks like we’ll be heading south. I’m still not sure how the hell we’re going to keep Poppy from losing her hands, but I’m sure I’ll think of something. I should ask for ideas from the team.
A crossbow toting halfing tip-toes out of the infirmary into the wee hours of the night before sleeping soldiers stir.
She goes directly to Xander, and stares at the fading embers. Her toes skirt the perimeter of cooled ashes; she bends and scoops some into her hands, smears it all over her face and eats the remainder until her hands are once again clean. Tendrils of smoke waft up towards the heavens, meshing with the last of the nighttime moonbeams, the hazy yellow light seems to encompass the camp.
She breaths these words…
“All of you is a part of me. I shall carry you always.â€
The halfing stalks off towards the target range with an air of determination.
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The group returning to their camp was an odd one. Moriel was leading the two Warder horses, one carrying the body of Xander, the other carrying Erik. The others kept their distance, or she did; the horses were skittish enough as it was, and it took all of her skills to keep them from bolting or worse. Considering those were warhorses, there were far worse things they could do than bolting, she supposed. The others led the two other horses, both carrying a dead Society soldier.
The short trip back to the camp convinced Moriel that they had to get Erik out of his armour and find another way to transport him. Getting him out of the armour was not easy, but eventually she figured it out, and with the help of one of the humans, they got the armour off him.
Strangely enough, there were few wounds on him, and the ones they could find were shallow and not at all serious. Except one. It was a small one, looking like little more than a needle puncture, but it was black, with the black spreading from the wound. It was poisoned, and it was clearly the avenger’s dart that had caused the wound.
Not since she and Tamariel had ventured out to look for surviving halfings, several years ago, had she felt this helpless. She knew nothing of healing, nothing of poisons, and definitely nothing about Avengers and the wounds they caused.
One of the humans said something about sucking the poison out. Moriel thought it sounded strange, but the others did not seem to be joking, and she did not think that they would knowingly try to harm the Warder. In spite of all the talk, though, when Gronk tried, it clearly did not go as planned.
‘At least he did not puke all over Erik; one poisoned wound is enough,’ Moriel thought sourly, as she tried to clean the stinking mess off her trousers. Well, at least the dwarf had tried; she could not well blame him for not succeeding. But getting the etu’sari back to Hillcrest was important, and she suspected they did not have much time.
Poppy had started making a travois, and in not too long a time, they had a way of transporting Erik back to Hillcrest, one that would, Moriel hoped, work better than tying him to the saddle.
For the next six days, they did not rest much, they rationed their food strictly, and Moriel felt that they did nothing but walk and sleep. But though he was getting worse, the etu’sari was still alive when they reached Hillcrest.
At the infirmary, the surgeon examined Erik, but left the wound left by the Avenger alone. She made certain she was well out of his way. She was not really sure what to do, but since the others stayed, she did as well.
A man came in; a bearded giant of a man in a Warder armour. The surgeon looked up and greeted him, thanking him for coming. The Warder, Thomas, from what she could tell, walked over to Erik, asked Banagher to help him, and then suddenly it was as if he started to glow.
Moriel did not know for how long she had been watching what was happening; she was dimly aware of the thunder, she could not see much, really, but she still could not tear her eyes away from what was going on.
When it was all over, the man, Thomas, came over to her, asking for the sword. She hesitated, though instinct told her that this human, at least, understood what it meant. Reluctantly, she gave it to him, and watched as he walked over to Erik and laid the sword down beside him, under his arm.
She listened to the others report, but kept mostly quiet herself. It was not as if she had anything to add, after all. Instead, she worried. If they were right, and someone had indeed given information to the enemy, then someone might just as easily slip in here and slit someone’s throat. The others seemed confident enough, but Moriel did not feel reassured. She decided to keep an eye on Erik and his blade, just in case, when she could.
Before that, though, they had other things to do. She and Poppy headed off to get clean; days on the trail in a forced march would take more than one bath to get rid of, but she still felt a lot better after a quick bath.
They knew the others were going to talk to Itchy, and the two of them headed in that direction. As they reached their destination, they did not find Itchy, but the gnome, and the others, were in the workshop. As were a couple of those … things … the gnome had made. In fact, two of them were there, doing… Moriel stared.
The two golems were doing something that looked very much like an attempt of having sex. Moriel was not sure whether she should laugh or tear the workshop apart. She should just turn around and walk out of here, but for some reason, she was unable to turn her back on the two machines.
As the others were rounding off their business here, one of the golems made some strange sounds, then stopped. Moriel sighed and left, shaking her head, half amused, half outraged.