Tales of The Flying Bunyip (D&D 3.5)

Introduction: Knocking At Your Door
An introduction

It has been days… weeks… months…?

Maybe even years…

Your life has always been clear. That is, until a hood was put over your head and everything went black. As consciousness seized you once again, you were left with only rags and shackles as your new possessions. The wooden floor is made up of splintered logs, poorly sanded to be nothing more than a make shift jail cell. As your vision focuses on a few moving silhouettes, you find others in a similar state – some human, some not. By the look in their eyes, they were all taken without a choice. Eventually a screeching sound is heard and your attention is brought towards the large metal door behind you. A small opening at the base opens up and several trays of bread and bowls of water are shoved in. There isn’t enough for everyone though, and those who have the strength to stand/crawl make no hesitation to get what they can grab.

Time passes and the periodic sound of screaming and cheering is heard. It echoes through the hallways without any sense to it all. Occasionally the cell door would open and two large orcs step in, hooding one of the cellmates and dragging them out. An hour would pass, then another series of screaming and cheers are heard.

AdventureLog01.jpg

On other occasions, the orcs would enter and pull a hood over your head. By the time you came too, you were in a new wooden jail cell. Fortunately your cellmates were still there. Unfortunately, that jerk you’ve come to know as Bob, is still there. He does like taking more of his share of food.

Time passes and the same routine repeats over and over again. Bread and water is pushed into your cell. It looks like there’s enough for everyone. That’s good. At least no one will have to go through the night starving. Bob’s still a jerk though.

Like before a pair of orcs open the door and approach you. In moments a black hood is put over your head and then darkness.

You wake up to the sound of battle.

You are no longer in your cell, but instead in a wooden cage that was being pulled by horses. It’s night and there’s a mixture of curses and commands made by various individuals but it isn’t clear on who’s doing what. As silhouettes run back and forth, clashing by a campfire, tents suddenly burst aflame and people begin to scatter. You could swear you saw Bob run off from one of the cages and into the forest.

Suddenly, an old beaten up man in rags makes his way to your cell, bloodied and out of breath. He’s unable to speak clearly but one thing drew your attention. He has keys. It takes only a few moments for you to look over to your 4 cellmates and realize that freedom was at hand. As your cell door swings open, the man is shot by an arrow from behind. Without hesitation, you and your companions rush out of your cell and seek cover.

Everything else is a blur. The other prisoners have been set loose: some running for freedom, others fighting their captors. Did you hit someone? Did you do nothing but hide? You can’t remember. It was like your body was moving on instincts alone. The one thing for certain, lady luck was by your side. By the time you ran away from the camp with your companions, you had managed to take some items with you. (Yay gear and starting gold!) There was no time to rest however, and the 5 of you ran. Ran as fast as you could. Ran with the wind against your skin. You just ran.

The body can take only so much before it gives, and the 5 of you slow down… eventually collapsing. Tired, exhausted, but free.

Morning hits and the birds chirp overhead. You slowly lift your head and look around. There, you notice that your companions are waking up as well. It seems that in your haste you had managed to find a comfortable bush to serve as your temporary bed. Well, except for that one stick that’s just jabbing you in the side… But you and your companions were safe. Not more than 10 feet from where you are however is a road that looks frequently traveled. As you look one way, then the other, you find a horse with a wagon slowly approaching. Driving the horse is an elderly old man with a pipe puffing away. He looks like nothing more than a farmer with a pile of hay behind him. A completely innocent old man with a pipe. Huf-puf-puf. He’s old. (And so begins your adventure! BTW, the old man isn’t Bob.)

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Session 1-1: Strangers Lost
The Adventure Begins

The chirping of birds accompany the sound of an approaching horse. An old palomino pulls a wagon where an old man sits at the front. With his straw hat tilted forward, it seemed like he was trying to avoid attention and eye contact.

As Abbadon’s fingers dug into the ground, he slowly pushed himself up from the bush he had fallen asleep in. With a grunt he took a moment to check his equipment: Blade, his pack, any other equipment he was able to salvage from their escape. Things all seemed in place. As he glanced about, he then noticed Edgar, one of the halflings he was stuck with, eyeing the road suspiciously and quickly ducking into the bushes. Without hesitation, Abbadon was quick to follow suit.

As soon as Abbadon lept into the bushes, Bartleby the halfling bard adjusted his backpack as it hugged his shoulders tightly. The ground he fell unconscious on was nothing suitable to his taste, but when you’re tired, you can’t be picky. Glancing over to his other companions, it seems that everyone has woken and came to. The bard had to take note on his company, after all, a fun story is made of the characters he travels with.

A quite woman clad in red remained kneeling down, eyes narrowed as she scanned the area – Her name was Celean: Not much of a talker, but she had revealed she was one of the Sisters of Red. A mercenary group that helped protect the north, a strict order of monks with fists that were as deadly as blades.

Otar, a quiet and curious human. Not one to make himself known, was a skilled wizard. A skilled wizard who was on the run from the Golem making city, Glasscliff. Although the wizard’s skills were what you expected, it seemed that if he were given the right tools, the wizard could do wonders that’d leave others at Glasscliff in awe.

Then there was Edgar: a mischievous grin on his lips with teeth that’d make you wish he kept his lips sealed. The halfling’s fingers were always twitching as if by second nature, but eyes as observant as a hawk. The young halfling could move about without making a sound and was prone to blend in with the shadows like it was his second home. As Edgar watched the old man’s wagon and horse draw closer, he glanced over to Abbadon. “We could rob him.”

The imposing figure of muscle, Abbadon was a tall human man with a falchion close to his side. Long black hair and wearing a kilt, he seemed to give Edgar a slight nod. The gesture wasn’t agreement, nor was it denial, but it seemed like the man was still assessing the situation. “Maybe… we should let someone who’s good with words handle this.”

The old man sitting on the wagon squinted his eyes as his horse came to a sudden stop. Soon enough a halfling stepped out of the bushes. “Oh no…” The old man whispered.

Bartleby dusted his vest of any pine needles that stuck to the cloth and began walking up with a warm smile. “Greetings!” The old man pulled the pipe away from his lips, fear in his throat. “I-I don’t have the money, I’ve told Silas the payment will be late. Please. Just let me go.”

Bartleby tilted his head to the side in curiosity, his arms crossing before his chest. “That’s not what I…” Soon enough the bushes rustled as his companions began to reveal themselves. The old man bit his lower lip as he reeled back in his seat, but seemed to relax as soon as Abbadon began to speak of their situation.

“We’re not here to rob you old man. We’re just looking for information. Possibly a ride to the next town.”

“I… If it’s information you’re seeking, ask away. I can answer as much as I can. As for a ride, maybe I can ask a favor of you in turn.”

As the others stepped out onto the road, Abbadon seemed to nod in agreement. “A favor for a favor, fair enough. Where are we? Where is the closest town from here?” The old man brought his hand up to his chin where he stroked his beard in thought. “Well… as for where you are, I’m not sure what answer you’re looking for. But the closest town from here is up north, Sansport.” Bartleby’s eyes light up as he takes a step forward, a quick glance towards Otar’s direction. “That’s certainly good to know.”

Abbadon nodded to the halfling bard before bringing his attention back to the old man. “That’s good… then, the ride. What is your proposition?”

The old man was frank about his situation, he was off to celebrate his nephew’s wedding. Not only that, but he was now moving to stay with him and his new wife. Apparently the bandits in the area had kept a tight leash on the roads, a monthly pay of copper for “protection.” Unfortunately due to the wedding expenses, the old man had to skip on the payment.

“I… I just need protection sir… that is all. I ask that you protect me until we reach the wedding grounds. But… I’m willing to offer more if you are willing to do so.”

Extending his hand out to the old man, Abbadon nodded. “We’ll see. What is your name?”

Taking the human barbarian’s hand, the old man gave it a firm shake. “Ben. But my nephew calls me Uncle Ben. Peter, sweet boy. I’m sure you’ll like him.”

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Session 1-2: I've Got a Trick for You
The encounter with Silas and Wedding Preperations
“Spider. The horse’s name is Spider.”

Otar raised a brow. “Wait, what?”

“Peter was very young when he named the horse… little boy you know, not too clear on animals at the time. But the name stuck, and the horse’s name became Spider. Since his Aunt May’s death, always thought it’d be good for little Peter Parker to surround himself with animals and the like. Certainly worked out!”

Otar sat beside Ben with a confused look on his face, trying to grasp the idea of naming a horse… Well, Spider. Bartleby and Edgar sat in the wagon, the two halflings relaxing and enjoying their new found freedom by watching the birds fly overhead as they launched from the forest trees. Abbadon and Celean walked along side the wagon, rather relaxed for the travel, but minutes turned to hours, and soon enough the barbarian and the monk were too tired to stay on foot.

As dusk krept closer, everyone eventually found themselves sitting in the wagon and enjoying the moment of respite. That moment of peace was short lived however as three men stood at the center of the road ahead. All clad in studded leather, two with daggers and the one in lead with a short sword. With heads turned forward, the party lowered their hands on their weapons just in case.

The man in lead seemed to give a wicked smile, long oily black hair resting on his shoulders, clad in earthen tones and brandishing his short sword like a flashy piece of jewelry. Ben had met the man before, and he muttered under his breath “Viorian…”

“What is this Parker? Why the rush? Silas’ been trying to reach ya fer awhile now. Wondering where’s his pay.” The man seemed to laugh lightly as he glanced back at his companions who were now unsheathing their daggers. In the typical, none threatening manner. “Ya told us you didn’t have money, and yet ya got a traveling circus with ya.”

Abbadon’s fingers wrapped around the handle of his blade as he unsheathed it in a none threatening manner, Varion raising a brow and making his way to the large man. “Ya a sword dancer? What’s yer trick? Big ole man inna dress like that? Fancy ya do a little jig?”

“Yeah I’ve got a trick. It’s usually ends with my sword going through a guy’s neck though.” There wasn’t a threatening tone in Abbadon’s voice, but the description seemed to linger in the air… and Varion was left taking steps back, trying to retort but at a lost for words. The other two bandits seemed to take a moment to look at each other then take a step forward… There, Varion raised his hand and sheathed his blade. Soon enough the three left the road and disappeared into the forest.

Ben’s eyes were wide with amazement, the old man practically speechless. “That… was amazing! I’ve never seen Varion so scared- I thought he’d be pissing his fucking pants! Please, you must stay with us for the wedding. We’ll provide room, board. I’m just asking that you all act as a guard until the ceremony is over. I will even give you this wagon… Spider even. Please, this is important.” “We don’t need the horse or the wagon… Just need to know where to go. That’s more than enough.” Abbadon nodded as he sheathed his blade. Bartleby seemed to raise a brow at the offer, as well as the others, but did not step in.

“No I insist. You are all amazing… we can discuss later, but come. We must reach the grounds! We’re not too far now.” With a renewed vigor, Ben whistled at Spider and the horse picked up the pace.

The land was open and not too impressive, but for farmers, this was quite a treat. A small mansion stood at the end of the wedding grounds, the open grass set with chairs and tables. Just across from the mansion stood a barn that was newly painted, several patrons were moving about trying to prepare for the festivities that were to come tomorrow. Cooks had set up a tent near the mansion itself, a minstrel setting the mood as everyone worked hard to make the special day just right.

“Uncle Ben!”

“Peter!”

A young man in his early 20s, short brown hair, and dressed in commoner’s clothing came rushing towards the wagon… a moment of hesitation at first as he saw the company his uncle had brought along, but Peter was quick to relax as soon as Ben smiled.

Words are exchanged between Ben and Peter as the party unpacked the wagon, Otar taking a moment to check on Spider and making sure the horse was well fed. Edgar had already began mingling with everyone, or at least getting a grasp of who had what precious gems. Soon enough Peter approached Bartleby with a relieved look on his face. “Thank you so much for your help, I do not know what we’d had done without the lot of you.” the halfling seemed to smile as he glanced at the patrons attending the wedding, it was composed of human farmers mostly, even the far back had a minstrel. But his attention was jerked back to Peter’s words as the young man clapped his hands. “Uncle Ben explained to me that you’ll be helping us a little in exchange for some goods… and that is just fantastic! As it turned out, our decorators had left and we need setting them up… I heard you are a bard to boot! I… well… my cousin will be playing for the wedding, and to be honest she’s only… “so” good. But ya know… family member… have to give them a part to make them special. I was wondering if… you could maybe show her the ropes.”

Bartleby smiled nervously as he took a step away from the human as he leaned forward as if expecting an immediate answer. “We… can do what we can.” The halfling replied with a tone of uncertainty. Looking towards Abbadon for some help, the human seemed to smirk a little. “Celean and I can patrol the grounds… in fact, the cooks look like they could use some guarding. Come on Red, lets check out the food ‘n’ make sure it’s well guarded!” There, Abbadon made his way towards the food tent, Celean, trying to hide a smile, soon followed.

“Listen… Myself and… my friend there will help us with the decorations, yes? Yes! Good!” And there, Bartleby rushed over to Edgar’s side and proceeded to help with the wedding preparations.

Otar patted Spider on the head, his eyes scanning the crowd for a moment. As soon as it seemed like no one was looking, he cracked his knuckles and began to mutter under his breath the words of the arcane. The air around him rushed briefly and his eyes closed, the wizard reaching out to the realm of the arcane, but there was nothing. There was not a hint of magic in the air, and finally he began to relax… as he slowly opened his eyes, he was surprised to find a young girl staring at him with a look of awe. “Do you…. do magic mister?” The young girl was Silvy, the wedding’s little flower girl it seemed. Otar seemed to blink for a few moments, unsure on how to react to the little girl before nervously replying with a simple “Yes.”

“Show me! I want to see magic!” Silvy stepped forward, taking ahold of Otar’s sleeves and giving it a hard tug. There is a moment of hesitation before Otar took a step back and sighed. There, the wizard muttered a few words and his hands gestured in a fluid motion. As the young girl stood with her jaw dropped, her body began to glow… and then – the glow vanished. There, Silvy, who was once a little girl of 3 feet, was now a 6 foot little girl. With excitement running through her veins, she squealed in excitement of her sudden growth and ran towards her mother. “Mommy look! Mommy look!”

A scream of terror was heard. A little girl got to know what it’s like to be as tall as an adult. A mother got to know the fears of having a giant grown child run after you.

Edgar looked up briefly as he groaned and set the next set of flowers on a pole. There he watched a giant young girl chase after a woman… snickered, then slid down the pole. “That should do it.” The halfling thief seemed satisfied with himself as Bartleby nodded in agreement. The moment of satisfaction was quickly washed away as Ben and Peter were talking out loud to a white haired man brandishing a short sword.

“I wasn’t invited… I’m hurt. Check m’eh name with the boy at d’eh front. Wasn’t on d’eh guest list! ‘n’ ‘ere I wanted t’eh see Pete git married to day pointy eared freak.” The white haired man suddenly cuts at the air at Peter, but Ben pushed him out of the way just in time. “Yer times up, but if ya want t’eh live. Pony up 50 gold. Now. Or me ‘n’ d’eh boys kin pay our respects to d’eh bitch. Don need a freak like that run’n around ‘n’ “poisoning the waters” as it were.”


Abbadon smiled at one of the midget cooks, arms crossed as he glanced past them. Apparently the wedding was composed of nothing but humans, and he had mistaken the two cooks for halflings at first… but what mattered at the moment was a good snack. Celean remained quiet, her eyes scanning the grounds and noticing the two halflings delving into the decorations. It was quite an interesting sight for the woman. The monstary tended to be boring, so acts of art was a practice that was quite fascinating.

“Come on, back when I worked on a ship, the cooks always kept a bit of the good stuff in the back. Maybe you can do me a favor?”

“Just… don’t tell anyone alright? My brother and I could get into trouble!” The cook, Buck, gestured to his brother Chuck, to reach into the store they were planning on keeping to themselves. There, a giant turkey leg was presented to Abbadon’s eager eyes. As the barbarian began to dig into the treat, his brow raised as some unusual sounds rustled in the bushes by the cook’s tent. “Uhm… Red?” Celean, whose attention had then been drawn to her companion’s words had just missed the white haired man’s approach to the Parkers.


Ben’s voice echoed on the wedding grounds as he helped his nephew up to his feet… “Damn you Silas! You go rot in the sun you worship!”

As Abbadon and Celean began to glance towards the commotion, Viorian and two bandits burst out of the bushes and charged them with blades drawn.

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Session 1-3: Wedding Crashers
The adventurer's are forced into a melee after their moment of freedom

“Been looking forward to running into you again, Viorian.” A vicious smile crossed Abaddon’s lips as he quickly unsheathed his trusted falchion. His muscles tensed and his blood began to pump, dark eyes fading as he slowly marched towards the three bandits who had thought they had caught him and Celean off guard. The barbarian grit his teeth as he took one step after another, his mind becoming more lost: Thoughts… Natural body functions… Society. It all became as passing thought to the man as the two bandits charged him. There was a twinge of pain as he took the first and second swing at the bandits who dodged his blows with ease. The long time in captivity didn’t help him at all, but it did not matter. He wanted Viorian.

Celean’s movements were graceful, her footsteps following after Abbadon as he made his approach towards the man they met before. As she watched the two men move past him and towards her – The woman’s shoulders relaxed and her eyes focused from one bandit and then the other. A dagger thrusted towards her chest, her left heel planting in place as she swiveled and let it past her. While the bandit’s momentum continued to carry him forward with arm outstretched – Celean’s right knee came up into the man’s arm, her left elbow coming down from above. The sound of bone snapping is heard, but before the man could let out a scream, Celean’s body flowed underneath him and he was then thrown into the air and hit the ground.

The other bandit saw the opening from Celean as she remained kneeled down in a low stance, arms outstretched but her attention at the man she incapacitated. Within moments he came after her with dagger aimed at her throat…


The cook brothers Buck and Chuck knelt down in the tent where they hoped no one would notice them as the fight sparked. “You think it’s all clear brother?” Chuck asked with a nervous tone. “Aye, I do.” Buck replied as he slowly stood up.

Something had torn a hole through the tent’s side as it landed at the cook’s table. It didn’t take much for Buck to start screaming as the object that landed in front him was the head of one of the bandits.

“Calm down! What’s going on?” Chuck implored to his brother from under the table. He wasn’t sure as to what Buck had seen, but he was watching the blonde woman move past the hole, her cheeks spattered with blood – a calm expression as always.


Silas knocked Ben aside, a look of determination aimed at the small manor that housed the bride. His right hand shook as he held firmly to the short sword at the ready.

“You stay away from her!” Peter cried out as he mustered some courage and leapt at the bandit. It did not take much, but Silas dodged the young man’s advances then made a clean cut at the youth’s left arm and watched him fall into the grass. The bandit smirked as he continued to walk forward, eyes shooting from one individual to another, causing the wedding patrons to turn and run away. “You two. Finish off the kid, I’m going after the bitch.” With a gesture with his left hand, the two bandits that had arrived with him nodded and pulled out their daggers… making their way towards Peter and the old man Ben as they laid in the grass weakened.


“It’s nothing personal.” Said one of the bandits as he brushed his thumb along the edge of the knife, pressed his foot down on Peter’s chest.

“It’s just business.” The other bandit said as he pressed his knife up against the throat of the downed Ben.

A flash of light struck the bandit threatening Ben, knocking him into the air and collapsing to the ground dead. Standing in the open, with some hay for Spider, was Otar, right hand out stretched and his eyes glowing. He simply shook his head at the bandit who was looking up at Peter. “You’re free to run.” The wizard said with a sigh, but the bandit thought otherwise. As the villain began to charge Otar in hopes to catch him before he could cast another spell, the wizard slipped his hand into his cloak and pulled out a crossbow and pulled the trigger.


Silas marched towards the manor as he heard cries behind him, knowing his partners were getting the job done. He quickly jerked his head back as a crossbow bolt flew past his eyes. He scanned the area for the attacker, the only one ahead of him was a halfling. The halfling didn’t seem too much of a threat, and for some reason he was pulling out an instrument in the middle of battle. Silas disregarded the odd actions of the little man and continued to scan the area to eye a wagon where another halfling with a crossbow ducked down for cover and began to reload. The cries of panic and battle continued to fill the open wedding grounds, but it was then interrupted by an enchanting voice. Silas didn’t care however, he eyed the halfling and began to charge him, short sword at the ready.

“There once was a maiden from Stonebury Hollow~....” Echoed in the background.


Viorian was humiliated at the road earlier in the day, and he took great pleasure at Abbadon’s approach. “Come on you son of a bitch…” He muttered under his breath, the bandit griping his short sword firmly.

There was a odd song in the air however, and Viorian’s attention then jerked towards his companions. They had avoided the barbarian with ease and made their way towards the blonde woman in red however – One of his companions was no longer in sight now, and the other… the other was without a head, body collapsing on its knees and then toppling forward into the ground.

Viorian’s eyes shot from his companion to Celean who was slowly making her way towards him. But, where was the barbarian? Viorian’s eyes shot to where the man was previously but he was in front of him instead – falchion coming down at his head.


Edgar watched Silas run towards him as he reloaded his crossbow. There wasn’t enough time for another shot as the rogue quickly ducked his head down and the bandit’s short sword missed him by just an inch.

The halfling’s weight carried him backwards and Edgar rolled away from Silas with a smile – dagger drawn out from the confines of his cloak, the halfling gave the man a disturbing grin. “You’ve gotta be faster than that.”

Silas’ attention was now spread out… the two he was with were on the ground dead. The wedding patrons who were once running away screaming in panic were now running towards him and his companions at the tent with a look of feral anger. Things were not going according to plan… but if he was going to die. He will take out as many people as he could.

Edgar’s feet were light as Silas charged him, slashing at the air and parrying each thrust by the human. It was a magnificent display of parrying and dodge, the halfling dancing on his tip-toes like he were dancing with the human. Silas’ frustration grew, the bandit’s steps becoming less predictable and a single swing came down towards Edgar’s chest… but then a THUNK was heard.

Silas’ head reared back as a crossbow bolt had hit him in the right eye. His mouth was left open as if trying to scream out in pain, but his left eye was still focused on Edgar. With what strength he could muster, the human’s shoulder rolled back and his blade came down with a… THUNK.


Slowly rising to his feat, the bandit looked at his right arm… it had been snapped in two, but the woman who had ruined it was walking towards Viorian with her companion. His eyes shot across the wedding grounds as he started to notice many of the patrons rushing up to him. Scrambling to his feet, the bandit began to slap away at the fists that were now pounding on him. The wedding patrons were not happy of his and his companion’s arrival and he needed to get away. As he turned and began to run, his movements were hampered by hands groping at his tunic… but as it tore away, he began to run towards the cover of the forest. As he looked over his shoulder to see how far away the mob was, the last thing he saw was Abbadon leaping into the air with his blade drawn and pointed towards him.


Silas fell to his knees, a crossbow bolt in each eye.

Edgar let out a sigh of relief as he tucked his crossbow back into the confines of his cloak and waved at Bartleby who stowed away his own crossbow.

“Sorry I was late on the shot. I really love that song.” The bard smiled mischievously as he tucked away his own crossbow.


The bodies were gathered away from the wedding grounds and Peter, his armed bandaged up, was standing by the door to the manor.

“It’s alright MJ. Everyone’s alright… the weddings still on and it looks amazing… Despite the fight, the halflings did an even better job than what the decorators we hired did!” “That sounds amazing… And I heard you fought bravely tiger. I’ll see you tomorrow… love you.”

Ben walked up to Abbadon who rubbed his stomach with a guilty look on his face. Apparently the turkey leg he had coaxed from the cooks had not sat well with him, and during the battle he had paid the price. Regardless, Ben smiled widely. “T-that was amazing… not only id you protect us, but you assured that no one else would be harassed by villains such as them!”

The party smiled with a bit of pride in their hearts. Ben offered the barn to them as promised, but made sure the cooks had delivered a great feast for them as well. Abbadon was given a bar of soap and some clean cloths and was instructed that there was a river not too far from the grounds. The decorations had been set, and all the wedding patrons had settled into their tends for the night.

As the moon stood in the sky in a magnificent crescent, the night echoed with the sounds of crickets and the snoring of the attendees. The barn door opened with barely a creek as a shadowy figure slipped out from it and made it’s way towards the manor.

Edgar knelt down by the manor’s lock and produced his tools and began to work… but without success. The lock did not budge, and whoever owned the manor before made sure to keep the place secure before renting it out for such occasions. Fortunately for the halfling, he spotted a potted plant not too far from the manor’s door. “Leave it to humans to be predictable…” Edgar mused to himself as he pulled a key from underneath the flower pot, inserted it to the door’s lock… unlocked it.

Then slipped inside.

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Session 1-4: You May Kiss the Bride
In which the party finds themselves as the guests of honor

Edgar’s feet moved swiftly into the confines of the small manor. With the moonlight providing a welcoming glow to rooms ahead of him, Edgar took a moment to stare into the darkness until his eyes adjusted. A few paintings of individuals lined the walls, no one of notable interest to the small man as he made his way into the living room.

The living room was not as impressive, a large couch, a grand piano, fireplace, and a painting of a nobleman hanging and overseeing the room. “Well aren’t you something…” Edgar muttered under his breath as he stared at the painting. It was one of those eerie paintings where it felt like the gaze of the man was following the halfling wherever he went… but it didn’t bother him. What bothered Edgar were the two obsidian pieces that made the blacks of the painting’s eyes.

Who would go as far as to place two solid pieces into such a work of art? Surely the painter thought it was a statement to make his piece unique: To Edgar, it didn’t seem to do the painting justice. The halfling wasn’t raised to appreciate art, but he knew when a art piece was pushing its luck. It was up to him to make right, this artistic folly. As his hand grasped the fireplace’s shelf and hoisted himself up, he removed his dagger and got to work.

“Hello…?” A woman’s voice was muffled from upstairs, the floorboards now creaking as one of the guests of the manor began to stir. The woman put on her robe and opened her bedroom door. Glancing from left to right, she saw nothing and made her way downstairs. No one was present it seemed, and she made her way to the front door. Checked it, and found that it was still locked. With a slight shrug, the woman retired back to bed.

Edgar smiled toothily as he tossed the two obsidian pieces into the air and skillfully caught them in his cloak’s pocket. The halfling making his way back to the barn to rest for the night.


The crack of dawn was already busy as the wedding party had set up. Bartleby stirred for a brief moment as he remained comfortable in the hay and cot. It was nice to have a place to sleep that wasn’t a bush or a wooden floor. Regretfully the chirping birds were not the ones to wake him up, but the loud scream of a man from outside the barn.

The halfling sat up quickly, his eyes wide and darting across the room. His companions sitting up in a shocked state. “The hell was that…?” Bartleby threw the covers off his body and ran up to the barn door where he tilted his head to try to see through the crack. Abbadon came up from behind and took a peek as well but seemed to mutter a curse.

The wedding party had been busy, well rested and with celebrations underway. Lying tied down to a table in front of the barn was a man, mouth open and eyes rolled back. His life gave away as he drowned in his own blood, and standing over him was Silvy with a dagger in her hand. The little girl continued to thrust the dagger into the body, sticking the man like a pincushion as the crowd murmured something and cheered as the girl let out a cry of delight.

“Praise the Goddess Lolth… for she watches over us and grants us all a new beginning.” Uncle Ben stood at the upper balcony of the manor. Standing beside him was Peter and a drow woman as they held hands. The two wore wedding garments, and it seemed their vows had been exchanged, the look of joy in their eyes as they embraced each other once more and exchanged a passionate kiss.

There was a silence from Ben, until he raised his hands to those who were watching. “Let these sacrifices commemorate this beautiful union.” His words changed however, and he began to speak undercommon as if he had known the words all his life.

Silvy smiled as she looked down at the dead body in front of her and tucked the knife away. Her mother then walked up to the little girl and lit a torch, handing it carefully to her daughter while whispering something with a reassuring smile. With a small hop, the little girl eyed the barn and began to make her way to set the building aflame.

Abbadon’s head jerked back from the crack and placed his hands on the barn door and gave it a push. The doors jerked briefly but something had stopped it from opening. The large man looked back and forth at his companions, Bartleby already backing away from the door.

“I think we helped the bad guys.” Otar sighed as he looked over to Edgar who was already looking around for a way out.

“Fuck this.” Abbadon unsheathed his falchion and brought the blade down against the barn door with a hard crack.

From outside, Silvy stopped for a moment as she watched the door jerk forward. Soon enough another strike was made against the barn door and the front splintered open. The doors were too strong however, and the tools used to barricade it held firmly. The hole was not all that big, however it was enough for Celean. The woman’s hand reached out and she maneuvered her head through the opening. Her shoulder relaxed as she dislocated her shoulder and then slipped all the way through.

“Don’t let them escape!” Peter cried out as he held onto his wife’s hand.

Silvy and the other wedding attendants began to rush the barn as Celean popped her arm back into its socket. Without a moment’s notice, the woman in red quickly turned around and pulled away the tools that held the door in place. As Silvy threw the torch at the base of the barn, the base immediately burst into flames. It was too late however, and the barn doors burst open.

An enlarged Silvy was one thing to fear, however an enlarged Abaddon was another.

The minstrel who tended to the wedding party charged at Celean, brandishing an axe. With a few slashes directed towards the woman, she hit nothing but air. Celean’s body jerked back to a wagon posted by the barn as she lept atop it. the minstrel continued her attack, hacking at her target but is parried with each swing she attempted. Soon enough the woman grew tired from her rage and looked up. The last thing she saw was Celean’s fist as it seemed insistent on making her acquaintance.

It seemed like a neat trick, really. Edgar had watched Celean pop her shoulder and slid into the hole with a great deal of grace. It couldn’t have been that hard, could it?

As the barn door burst open, Edgar’s arm popped back into place as he grit his teeth and kept his tears held back. “Ow.. just… Ah!” Several men and woman rushed towards the barn as the halfling pulled out his dagger and rushed out to join the fray. As hands groped for him, he felt a few blows aimed towards his direction but he reacted just in time.

Bartleby’s fingers strummed his lute as he finished the final chord, the halfling’s hand quickly stowing away his instrument and pulling out his crossbow. Firing into the crowd as it rushed him and his companions, a single figure seemed to come running towards him.

A dagger pierced the air as the bard took a step back, dodging Silvy’s thrust. There was little hesitation in the halfling’s movements as he pulled out his own dagger and slashed at the girl’s throat. The little girl dropped her weapon as she brought her hands up to her neck, fell to her knees, then collapsed.

Otar took a moment to catch his breath as he scanned the area. As he eyed Ben and Peter duck into the manor, he watched the drow woman’s hands and eyes glow. “Shit- Get down!”

A piercing bolt of energy broke into the sky from the drow’s fingertips as it came crashing into Abbadon’s chest. With a loud grunt, the barbarian began to press forward but was immediately attacked by the other wedding patrons.

The blows they delivered were anything but deadly, but as they continued to pound into him, he could feel his knees buckling. Despite his size, Abbadon was just a bigger target. As he cut down one individual and then another, the drow’s attacks continued and he felt magic beat into him repeatedly. For a moment, the large man’s attention shot to Celean, and another missile of magic struck him. His vision began to fade, and he was thrown back… “Celean… there’s a potion on my belt, you can use it on me…” And there, the towering juggernaut fell unconscious.

“That has got to be one of the most impressive way I’ve seen anyone fall.” Otar mused to himself with a sagely nod. There wasn’t enough time for additional observations however, and he chanted a few words before throwing a spell at the drow woman. She was far off, but he struck true as she reeled back in pain. Celean however, gave the now fallen Abaddon a puzzled looked and sighed as she jumped down from the wagon and rushed up to him. There was a vial that contained a blue fluid she was familiar with. A potion of cure light wounds.

It didn’t take much for her to quickly snatch the potion from her companion’s belt and begin pouring it into his mouth, but a pair of footsteps could be heard coming at her from behind. As soon as Celean finished administering the potion, she brought herself up to her feet and watched the cooks Buck and Chuck, brandishing butcher knives and sadistic smiles charge her.

The two cooks stopped in their tracks as a crossbow bolt shot across them. Chuck looked up to see Bartleby’s arm outstretched with crossbow in hand. The halfling stowed it away before unsheathing his blade once more. Edgar smiled as he tossed his dagger up and down skillfully as he eyed Buck in turn.

“As it should be, little people against little people.” Otar commented as he rushed past the four and towards the manor, Celean following suit.

Abaddon came to, his fingers digging into the grass as he pushed himself up. The drow woman was now directing her fire at Otar and Celean as they rushed the manor. The two halflings, Edgar and Bartleby had made short work of the two cooks, and pushed past them and made their own run for the manor. As the barbarian narrowed his eyes, he watched the drow woman with a surge of anger… and started running forward in turn.

Ben reappeared at the balcony with crossbow in hand. There, he and the drow woman began to fire from afar at the advancing party. Otar and Bartleby ducked behind a few tables and chairs, moving forward as slowly as possible. Edgar having fallen behind and taking cover behind a table. Celean however had dodged a few crossbow bolts and reached the door to the manor. As soon as she reached the door, she burst through it and into the building.

Abaddon pressed forward as the drow’s attention shot back and forth at those attacking and the large man on the approach. She was running out of spells however, and she had switched to throwing balls of acid at her attackers.

Bartleby patted Otar on the back as he readied his crossbow once again. “I’m going to get Spider and get things ready!” The wizard called out before ducking and running back towards the barn. Holding his breath for a moment, the bard turned onto his feet once more and began running forward. He brought up his crossbow and brought the drow woman into his sites and pulled the trigger and… nothing happened. “What the-” The halfling dove into the cover of several chairs as acid splashed behind him. Looking down at his weapon, the halfling started to his the crossbow as it seemed to stop functioning then… fired off into the air.

Edgar pulled out some rope and began tying it to his grappling hook as he took a peek at the action. It was an odd show however. He watched Bartleby attempt to fire at the pair on the balcony… then dive for cover. He watched the halfling hit his crossbow, then missfire into the air. He then went “Huh” as the crossbow bolt sailed into the sky… and came directly down into Ben’s head from above. The old man’s arms went limp, and then fell over dead. In shock, the drow woman quickly screamed out “You’re ruining everything!” At the top of her lungs and ran into the manor. Abaddon however had finally reached the building and ducked in.


Celean’s burst into the manor just in time for Peter’s fist to come down across her face. As she toppled back and rolled onto her feet, she looked up as the groom’s fist clenched. As the two leapt at each other, Celean and Peter exchanged blows and blocks, both equally matched. A good strike comes across Celean’s face once more causing her to topple back. As she spat out some blood, she noticed something at the corner of her eye. With a smug smirk directed towards Peter, he was then taken off guard as he heard his wife scream out “You’re ruining everything!”

Abaddon squeezed through the front door suddenly and brought his falchion down into Peter’s midsection, cutting through his gut and throwing the groom into the wall. The second floor’s boards creaked as the bride made her way to the stairwell where she saw Celean and Abaddon. The drow woman’s attention then jerked towards the balcony as she saw a grappling hook latch onto the edge.

“Dammit… dammit all…” The drow muttered to herself. With what spells she had left, her hands glowed and she began to throw balls of acid at the two below. Abaddon ducked for cover as Celean hid behind a dressed. She then watched Bartleby run into the foyer, firing a crossbow bolt at her direction. Ducking down and avoiding the shots by pulling away, the woman clenched her teeth. “I will kill you!” With hands glowing green, the bride whipped her body up to attack those below… but it was too late. Celean was already in range.

It took less than a second. Celean’s fists punched through the banister’s posts and through the drow’s kneecaps. As the woman collapsed to the floor, her body shook for a moment before her eyes rolled back and the drow’s body toppled over.


Edgar finished climbing to the top of the manor and whistled as he watched the others begin to calm themselves. Regretting he had missed the killing blow on the bride, the halfing made his way back to the balcony where he saw Otar riding a wagon pulled by Spider. There, the wizard seemed to think out loud.

“Did you guys notice that ever since we got our freedom, we’ve killed everyone we’ve run into?”

As the others exited the manor and looked up at Otar, they seemed to grow silent and look about awkwardly.

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Session 2-0: Where Are We?
With map in hand, where to go?

The fight against the Parkers has ended and the party has gathered at the mansion. Bodies litter the wedding grounds and the mansion with the scent of flowers and blood. Spider and Otar stood in front of the building where the others had finished their business. The old horse looks about the bloody wedding grounds un-phased by the chaos that had just occurred. He’s a horse. The fuck does he care?

Picking a map off Ben’s body, it only appears to be focused on this region of the land. None of you are familiar with the lands beyond the White Sea, only that it was South of where you are familiar with. Not many cross it simply due to the inconvenience. To return home, you would need to reach Sansport, take a ship to Glasscliff, and continue from there. It is nearing noon, if you gather some food and leave now, you can reach Kaldest Keep by nightfall. Alternatively you may head towards the Parker’s homestead to the east.

southwhitesea.jpg

Abaddon rolled his shoulders as he stared at the map for a moment before turning it over to Otar. The black haired man nodded to the wizard for a moment. “Well we have a couple of places we can head out to. Don’t know where to start.”

Otar bit his lower lip as his eyes scanned towards the others, he knew what their answers would be, but he wasn’t going to like it.

Celean continued to load up gear onto the wagon hitched to Spider before speaking up “We should continue north.” Her tone was set in its usual matter of fact tone.

Otar finally let out a sigh as he continued to scan the map for more details. Heading north would mean crossing the White Sea, and the only connection between the south to the northern lands would be that of Glasscliff. If there was any place he would like to avoid, it would be Glasscliff. For a moment however, he eyed the map and noticed the “Ruins of Terval.”

“What’s going on with Terval? We could head over ther-”

Bartleby’s lips sealed to a single line as he shook his head. “No… we want to avoid that area. It’s gods know what country. No matter where you’re from, there’s words in the air that talk about Terval. Big kingdom, gone in the blink of an eye. The undead attacked it, and now, all that’s left? The Black Marshes. You want to avoid it.”

Otar let out a sigh from his lips as Edgar hopped into the wagon with a bottle of whiskey. The halfling smiled a bright disturbing smile of jagged teeth as he soon followed up with a swig from the bottle. “It’ll be alright. Lets go north, what could go wrong?”


The party took north, towards Kaldest Keep in hopes to make their way to Sansport then Glasscliff. Each person took turns to keep a watchful eye, but Edgar drank his bottle heavily with a mischievous grin on his lips. It didn’t take long however, until he passed out and snored loudly at the back of the wagon.

The sun lowered and the birds took to the skies for their homes. Before everyone’s eyes, they saw rolling hills, and from there, a sprawling town. A keep at the very top.

And so, the party arrived at Kaldest Keep.

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Session 2-???: A Sleeper's delight
Edgar drifts to sleep...

Edgar closed his eyes and drifted to sleep as he settled into the wagon pulled by Spider. The bottle of whiskey he had taken from the small mansion helped warm his belly and eased his muscles, and that’s what mattered. As the birds chirped overhead and the wagon shook back and forth, lulling him to sleep, the halfling…

Woke to find himself face down on a cobblestone floor.

Slowly, Edgar pressed his hands onto the floor and pushed himself up. Eyes scanned the room for a moment, a single torch lighting the area. It was a simple room, nothing within it, except for the door. A single wall of darkness. With a soft chuckle, Edgar ran his fingers through his oily black hair and stepped towards the wall of black and stuck his hand into it. There was nothing: No bite, nothing solid, just a hand out stretched. With a mischievous smirk, the halfling took a step forward and into the darkness.

A narrow hallway stood before Edgar, ending with another black portal of shadows before him. The the walls to his side, both lit with two torches. In the middle of the hallway was a single coil of rope. For a moment he glanced behind his shoulder to find the black wall behind his where he expected it to be… but as he looked forward, he found another similar portal across his passage way. His mind must be having fun with him as he stretched out a hand towards one of the torches and brushed his hand over the open flame.

Nothing. No warmth. Just flames passing around his fingers. An amusing moment. With a slight shrug, Edgar turned towards the passage way and made his way to the other end, snatching up the coil of rope.

It was puzzling: the rope had weight, texture, everything. Before Edgar could say anything, he had already crossed the other side of the passageway to find himself… in a familiar situation.

The passageway was as he left it, save for the rope he was now packing away. With an annoyed sigh, Edgar snatched a torch off the wall and examine the area… But as soon as he took the torch, he could feel the heat pour out from the flames. Staring at the object in his hands, he tilted his head back and listened to the air.

The path that binds us…

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Session 2-???: The Harlequin's stage
Where Edgar finds himself to be the star of the show

Minutes felt like hours as Edgar stood in the middle of the passageway. He gathered all four torches and wrapped the rope he had found around them. With an annoyed look in his eyes, the halfling ran forward and into the black portal… to find himself where he started.

He was back in the passageway. The torches that were lining the walls were now in his hands and bound by rope.

With a roll of his eyes, Edgar replaced the torches onto the wall and walked through the shadowy portal.

Again and again the halfling stepped through one side of the portal and would appear at the other end until… Edgar’s head jerked up and he tied one end of the rope around the torch at the far end torch… gripped the rope tightly and jumped through.

It was an interesting sight: The rope dangled from its bindings and into the darkness suspended, but from his end: He held the rope in his hands and feeding into the darkness behind him.

It didn’t take much to get his thoughts going, but Edgar tied the other end of the rope onto the torch in front of him, and as a sigh echoed through the hallway, the walls of shadows vanished. And there, were two wooden double doors in front of him.

There was hesitation from Edgar’s footsteps as he moved forward. The halfling eventually brought himself up against the doors and pressed his ear against it. There was silence… then clapping. The clapping Edgar heard was that of an audience. It didn’t make sense: What in his mind could be doing this to him? Soon enough he reached up to the doorknob and gripped it.

There was a weird viscus fluid coating the door in which the halfling wiped off on his pants, and with caution he opened the door to a crack… A blinding light greeted him as he peeked through. He was only able to catch a glimpse: He looked out onto a stage and apparently a spotlight was fixed on him.


There was little time for hesitation as Edgar slipped out from the door and made his way to the side of the stage. Where he expected paths off state, there were only alcoves. No time to think, and the rogue stepped into the cover of shadows and avoided the audiences view. The spotlight had not budged from the door, and as he peeked out to the crowd, he noticed an odd sight.

Every audience member, although murmuring and clapping, were nothing more than skeleton’s sitting in their seats.

Sweat rolled down his brow as he quickly pushed forward and out of his cover, jumping off stage and to the side aisle to the left. Suddenly the spotlight shot back and focused on him as he ducked for cover.

“Ladies and Gentlemen!!! Welcome to the performance of today!!! Our first player upon the stage it seems, is the ever quiet and ever sly, Edgar!!!”

The halfling’s ear’s twitched as the voice echoed behind him, and he quickly looked to the stage. There stood a man, clad in makeup and a wide smile. The jester’s hat rang with each small gesture he madeThe harlequin continued to stare out to the waiting audience who soon broke out into cheers of excitement.

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Session 2-???: And in this Corner
Edgar finds himself fighting someone he did not expect

The halfling’s hand drew up to shade his eyes from the spot light, his attention focused on the man dressed up as a jester. “Who are you? Where am I?”

The plastic smile remain frozen on the harlequin’s face as he turned to Edgar. “Why I’m here because you’ve summoned me! Tis your invitation is all I needed, and thus, I am here! What a silly question to come from you!” The audience burst into laughter, the sound echoing throughout the auditorium.

With a furrowed brow, Edgar drew his hand to his side to make sure he still possessed his weapons, and to his approval, he could feel the weight of the crossbow.

“And now we shall see who walks away from this mess, shall we? I introduce to you, our second player to enter the stage! Let us see who walks away with the body eh?!” The Harlequin continued to stare at Edgar with unblinking eyes as the audience’s cheer grew in excitement.


Click


Edgar’s head jerked towards the aisle as a bolt came piercing out of the darkness. With quick reflexes, the halfling’s arm raised and he deflected the projectile with his buckler. Without hesitation he raised the crossbow from his side and fired in the general direction of where his attacker could be.

There was no confirmation of hit, just the sound of his bolt hitting something in the far back. Soon enough another spotlight switched on and focused on another individual in front of him.

A halfling, smoothed well kept hair, wearing his clothing, and featuring a perfect smile. He looked like Edgar, but a more “gentlemanly” and perfect version of him. The other Edgar had finished reloading his crossbow and brought it up to fire once again.

“A doppleganger?” Edgar’s eyes went wide before he dived into a row of seats. As he kept his head down low and pushed past the skeleton’s legs, he looked up and noticed the spotlight was still following him. Cursing under his breath, he loaded another crossbow bolt and looked up to notice that the other spotlight was slowly making its way towards his position. With finger resting on the trigger, the halfling relaxed on his back and waited… then fired as soon as his assailant came to view.

A solid thunk noise was heard as the other Edgar stood with mouth open in shock. There was no time to waste as Edgar dropped his crossbow and unsheathed his dagger. Tackling his twin and pinning him to the ground, the halfling pressed the blade to his attacker’s neck. “Who are you!?”

Through strained breath, the twin muttered “I’m… you!”

“That’s stupid. Why are you here?”

As the other Edgar’s face contorted in pain, he seemed to have a confused look in his eyes. “You summoned me… YOU summoned ME.”

Through clenched teeth, Edgar slit the throat of his attacker and stood up. The audience cheered as victory seemed to be had, and the spotlight redirected itself back to the Harlequin who now clapped his hands excitedly.

“Bravo, bravoooo! It’s good to see you’ve still got possession of your body! I do look forward to us meeting again in the future, but please. Do not bother me like you did this time. It can be quite annoying.” Although the jester’s face was frozen in its amused state, the tone of the man’s voice had dropped from a cheerful demeanor to that of irritation. Before Edgar could say anything, the Harlequin made a grand gesture towards the audience and the spotlight switched out on him. Then switched out on Edgar.


As the halfling stood in darkness for a moment, he eventually took a step forward and a light above him seemed to turn on. He was no longer in a large auditorium, but in a sealed room similar to the one he started in. There was a steal door instead of a shdowy portal, air vents carved into the wall, a lever besides the door, and two numbers above the lever. A 1 and a 0.

The halfling’s shoulders tensed as he took another step forward and the 10 began to count down. 9… 8… 7… Rushing up to the lever, Edgar grasped it and gave it a sharp tug down. The count down had stopped and reset itself back to 10.

Over the course of time, the rogue attempted to pry the door open. Climb up to the vent and yell into it… but only was yelled back by his own voice, words, etc. With every pull of the lever, Edgar would pace then try to listen beyond the steel door, only to hear his own mumbled words from the other side.

Finally, Edgar turned around… stood in the middle of the room and watched the count down.

3…

2…

1…

CLICK


The steel door slid up and the other room revealed itself… it was a passage way like he expected, but with dagger in hand, he proceeded forward. The new room was like the one he was in, light source from above, vent of the door, a lever, the counter at 0. No other exits. Nothing of notice save for…

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Session 2-1: North to Kaldest Keep
The Adventurer's head north and settle into the small city

“It’s a weird city. That’s all I was really able to gather.” Bartleby brought his pipe to his lips and gave it a few puffs as he settled into the back of the wagon. The halfling made his rounds amongst travelers they occasionally passed, getting what information he could of the Southern lands they had little knowledge of. “The farmer I spoke too mentioned that he normally heads there to deliver shipments of grain… It’s sort of a independent city from the rest of the south. It’s SORT of neutral like Glasscliff, but it used to run by the kingdom of Terval before its fall. If we want to head to Sansport, Kaldest Keep is where we’ve gotta go through first.”

As Edgar snored loudly in the small pile of hay, Celean looked up at the clear blue skies, past the canopy of tree branches that shade their travel. “The sooner we’re north, the better.”

“The longer it takes us to head north, the better.” Otar muttered under his lips as he flipped through his spellbook. There’s too many blank pages for him to feel comfortable, and he did miss the days where he could spend hours going through dusty old tomes to satiate his desire for magic.

As hours passed, the wagon continued to rock back and forth and the forest eventually gave out to the sight of rolling hills.. Abbadon squinted his eyes as he looked atop the largest hill to find a large military stronghold. “That must be it.” With a flick of the wrist, the reigns snapped and Spider picked up his pace faithfully.

It didn’t take much time until the open lands turned into fields crafted for farming. Wheat swayed back and forth as the wind pressed against them to the rhythm of nature. It was hard to believe that this area was once considered a defensive ground against the north: The faces of the farmers looked busy and happy, children were playing, and the city that developed around the keep seemed teeming with life.

“I’ll… be right back! Just going to have myself a bit of a look around.” Before anyone could say anything, Bartleby gripped the edge of the wagon and hopped off. The bard eventually ran ahead and towards the first signs of the town. With a welcoming grin and a few puffs of his pipe, he casually greeted some of the guards that stood watch. Some words were exchanged, and soon enough the halfling went further ahead.

Abbadon’s eyes were focused on the keep itself, the high raised walls stood looming over what appeared to be the market district, and it was no wonder that the local farmers seemed quite happy, they were safe and secure here. It was bewildering though, never in his life had he seen a town with guards mostly composed of-

“Orcs. There’s a small population of orcs here that seem to serve as the majority of the security.” Like magic, Bartleby was settling into the back of the wagon once again. Abbadon gave a slight nod to a pair of guards the wagon passed, a dwarf and a orc who seemed to be walking their beat. “I can see that…” The large man cocked his head back to the hearty halfling who was already refilling his pipe full of some herbs. “What else did you find?”

With a clever smirk, the bard nodded his head knowingly, happy to see that his information gathering was appreciated. “The place is mostly populated by humans… Dwarves, half-elves, a small population of halflings, half-orcs, and as you already know: Orcs. There’s a place called the Outreach Center, sponsored by Kaldest itself which provides small work for adventurers who are looking to make an honest bit of coin. But…” He let the word linger in the air. “That’s just another way of saying bounty hunting. Beyond that, it looks like the place is run by a retired adventurer named Drekker Minedigger. Not a position he seemed happy about getting, but he seems to run a tight ship filled with opportunities for even the not very fair races. THAT’D explain why we do not see many of our pointy eared friends here.” Bartleby took another puff from his pipe before pulling out a small scrap of parchment that had a few additional notes written down. “If we’re looking for money, we can head over to the Outreach Center. Our friend Silas had a bounty on him that we can cash in on for some extra gold. We can retire for the night at the Tipsy Gnoll, the Lumbering Giant, and if we’re feeling like sleeping on a nice feathered bed… the Sleepy Time Inn.” The halfling let out a low chuckle as he placed the small bit of parchment away. “Everyone seemed to advise against staying at the Tipsy Gnoll though. Sounds like the place isn’t very hygienic, but for a place that costs a handful of coppers, I guess that sort of explains it.”

A wicked smile crossed Abbadon’s lips as he heard the description of the unsavory spot. He was the type of man who would rather stay in a place of little luxury, especially considering what little gold he carried on himself at the time. “Well I know where I’m staying for the night.” And with that said, the rest of the party seemed to chime in “Same.”

The cover of night blanketed Kaldest Keep in a cool breeze: The party settled on getting a good night’s rest before heading over to the Outreach Center in the morning. Spider’s hooves echoed upon the cobblestones as it approached the Tipsy Gnoll; already they could hear the sounds of grumbling of those who frequented the inn. The sign looked like it was about to fall apart, and the air was not a welcoming smell. As the party hopped off the back of the wagon, Otar gave Abbadon a slight nod. “I’m going to head over to the lumbering giant. It doesn’t look like this place has a stable for Spider, and I’m guessing I need to put Edgar SOMEWHERE.” The large warrior slapped the wizard’s shoulder with a slight smile before heading into the inn. “Be well friend, get a good night’s rest.” And that said, Abbadon and the others slipped through the doors of The Tipsy Gnoll.

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