"Nay, lads.  The way o' th' old caravan trails is but fecked, good an' proper."  The grizzled, one-armed mercenary making this statement helped himself to another flagon of wine, as the chaotic noise and movement in the Borderton customshouse continued all around.  The mercenary quaffed half of his wine, looked at his audience, and shook his head.

The audience in question consisted of Garryn, Totmacher, Gilrak, Asher, Aidrin, Perrato, and Caylin.  All stood, ready to depart the walls of the Borderton customshouse on their proposed journey to the east, through the Central Wilds and to the lands of Narvil, and beyond that to the fabled City of Rimsedge.  The companions were arrayed with weapons, supplies, and transport to attempt the trek.

Yet the customshouse, virtually silent for much of this caravan season and the last due to the wars in the East, veritably surged with activity now.  Two caravans had arrived, along with a string of refugees from the conflicts.  Apparently, whatever forces had been waylaying the caravans previously on their way through the Central Wilds into Borderton had been exorcised--for now.

Again the mercenary spoke.  "I count meself lucky, by Mithras, t' have made it back in one piece...well, mostly, at any rate.  I've an ol' friend in Troutdale who'll grow this thing back agin, fer a portion o' that demon-gold they paid us in Rimsedge," the mercenary waved his arm-stump wearily.  He sighed.

"Watch yerselves, lads.  The way's beset by troll bandits an' rogue demons east o' the Plains, an' the gnolls are more'n willin' t' run ya down before y' even get there.  The elves' are jest a feral bunch o' bastards along the whole feckin' route, an' Narvil's a mess," here the man gestures towards the refugees that the Borderton guards and handful of Mithran priests are attempting to sort out and provide aid for.

The tides of war and strife have already rolled onto the shores of Paldor from the dark lands to the east, and the companions are poised to move ever closer to those treacherous undertows as they chart a course eastward...
This message was last edited by the GM at 03:40, Tue 24 June 2008.

The barely controlled chaos within the Borderton customshouse continues unabated, as the tide of humanity ebbs and flows across the barn-like interior.  Forlorn refugees mingle with caravan handlers and guards, with the latter occasionally cuffing some of the former out of the way.  The grizzled, one-armed veteran takes his leave of the party, his remaining hand gripping the wineskin and waving a salute towards the companions as he departs."Luck t' ye, lads.  Th' way east is a bitch's tongue an' a demon's whelp these fine days, boyos."

The crowd surges back and forth, as the Mithran clerics and a handful of town constables attempt to provide some order to the scene.  An imposing figure detaches himself from the crush of people, adroitly making his way towards the party past the intervening press of people.  Reaching the group, he sketches a quick bow and spreads his hands in a gesture of obeisance.  "Fellow travelers.  My leige and lord, whom you know as Aeruginosis, has bade me to impress this trifle upon you, as a token of his gratitude.  Travel well, dragonfriends."  With that, the man hands a rolled vellum scroll secured with two slighly verdigrised brass rings to Perrato, and then turns and weaves his way back into and through the crowd, disappearing almost instantly.

OOC:  Link to the scroll/map is here, under 'Central Wilds map'
This message was last edited by the GM at 03:38, Tue 24 June 2008.

'Dragon Friends'? Just how the Fek did he know about that?"  Gilrak asks - more to himself than to anyone else around him.  Turning his gaze to the group's Cleric - Perrato - Gilrak raises an eyebrow sharply:  "So what have ye' there Cleric??" he asks nodding in the way of the vellum scroll.
This message was last edited by the player at 02:24, Mon 23 June 2008.

"Ye might wanna consider loosin' those braids, Dwarf, I think they may be cuttin' off the blood to yer brain. Course he knows were 'dragon friends' a fekking dragon asked him to deliver the map as a gift to his friends. It doesn't take a sage to put deduce where 'dragon friends' came from," Garryn says quietly with a smirk to the pugnacious dwarf beside him. "Well, lads, we have a bit of coin and a considerable trip ahead of us. I suggest we acquire a cart or wagon and a goodly amount of provisions and supplies for our journey. I was thinkin' of askin' around a bit to see if we might hire on as guards for departing caravan, unless anyone objects to the idea," Garryn says turning his attention to the companions surrounding the table.

The man of Vagrani grimaces slightly while looking askance at his dwarven companion and mutters in his native Palonish, "¿Por qué me parece que solamente yo presto atención...Si Mithras él mismo nos hubiera aparecido, nadie que yo no habría visto nada..." Perrato begins unfurling the map for all the party to examine as he says, "Amigo mío Gilrak, Aeruginosis Dominus was the dragon that kindly came to our aid not so very long ago, and it would not very much surprise me if the servant whom he dispatched to deliver this gift were much more than meets the eye as well..."

As the group considers the new cartographic information, the cleric expresses some concerns about the trip eastward. "It seems to me a practical addition to our equipment at this juncture would be a cart on which we could carry some of our more cumbersome trappings, and ample livestock to haul it. The latter comes in especially handy as we...," Perrato again glances at the dwarf, "...have a terrible habit of, shall we say, exhausting our horses' usefulness, ¿no?"

At the last comment from the cleric, Gilrak lets loose a laugh deep from his barrel shaped mid section.  "Well - they did serve as suitable rations for the trip home, now didn't they..  The rest of you may want to save enough room for a meat grinder in that cart you're talking about.  Not me - While the rest of ya have been lolly-gaggin' around town for the last few weeks, I've spent some time breakin' this one in appropriate like.."(1)  With this, Gilrak pats the front flanks of his recently acquired warhorse.



(1) - Gil trained up in 'ride' and acquired the 'mounted combat' feat this level (purely a utilitarian move on his part - given the party's track record..)
This message was last edited by the player at 16:46, Sat 28 June 2008.

Asher flashes an uncharateristic smirk at the jibing of his commrades. Feeling well rested and glad of the time they have had to train, his spirits are high.

"I must agree with Garryn, as long as we are traveling the roads of the caravans, we should add our skills and weapons to their benefit and safe passage. Unless you see something on that map, Perrato, that would take us off the caravan roads" With this Asher turns his attention to the map layed out before Perrato. "Garryn, didn't Aeruginosis say this map lead to..." Asher looks over each shoulder and lowers his voice, "a lost treasure?"
This message was last edited by the player at 15:00, Mon 23 June 2008.

Aidrin shifts on his feet and scans the room to see if anyone is taking undue interest in their conversation.

02:14, Today: Aidrin ap Gynwir rolled 20 using 1d20+1. Spot check.

"Nay, Friend, not this map, the Priest holds that map already," Garryn replies to the Monk, "This map appears to be an ordinary map of the trade routes and surrounding areas."

Gilrak makes a quick inventory check of his gear and adds: "Well, if we're planning on makin' the trip East tonight, I'm going to provision up a bit first."  Gilrak throws his rucksack over his shoulder and looks to Perrato with a grin - .."Course with these merchants being downright intimidated by anyone who doesn't suffer from their same scrawny, scrappy 'ppearance - nothin but a hassle getting in and out of their stalls with what ya need.."(1)


(1)  This would be Gilrak's attempt at getting someone w/some charisma to buy for him...
This message was last edited by the player at 16:53, Sat 28 June 2008.

"Oi!  Reg, itsa foreign guy.  Oi, foreign guy!  Off t' s'more 'ventures, then, eh?"

Asher shakes his head fractionally, as the semi-familiar voice penetrates the din of the customshouse.

"I see 'im too, Davy!  E's th' one wot rescooed th' caravans, too, then, eh?  First th' fires, an' then th' caravans!  An' 'is mates, then, right?"

"Come along and quit your lollygagging, you two. And for Danu's sake, Kel, get your shanks moving with those things!"

Asher tracks the sound of the voices, panning his gaze across the crowded room.  Striding towards the party are two human boys and a diminutive woman, trailed by a man with an absent expression and smoking a small cheroot.  The little woman marches up to the party, planting herself with arms akimbo in front of the companions.

"Oi, foreign guy, c'n I get..."

"Oi, foreign guy, where's th' girl driver wot..."

"Shut it, the both of you.  Danu knows why I put up with you half-witted twerps."

The little woman nods to the group, as she gestures to the cheroot-smoking man to lay down the bundle he has been carrying.  The two lads start to talk again, and she waves them silent with a curt, slashing hand gesture.  She then addresses the group.

"Boys.  I understand you're to take the caravan roads east.  That't just fine, it is.  Who's supposed to watch out for Borderton in the meanwhile, hmmmm?  So you're just off on another jaunt, while we're fending for ourselves, right?  I should know better than to..."

"Ummm...Asyla.  We're here t' jest, y' know, drop off some food for these, errmmm, people."  The cheroot-smoking man indicates the bluging burlap bag he has laid on the rough floorboards of the customshouse, and then vaguely gestures in the general direction of the party.  "Let's get back t' th' inn, eh?  I got three cauldrons o' stew t' make fer tonight, an' they ain't cookin' themselves."

The little halfling woman snaps her fingers, and the lean man sighs and hands his little cheroot to the woman.  She takes a drag, squints at the party, and is about to turn to leave when her eye chances to fall upon Caylin as he is stowing his gear.

The halfling woman addresses Caylin, her tongue still acerbic but with a bit more respect than previously.  "You should know better, Bellitor, than to be galavanting about with these big folk.  But at least they have someone with some sense to accompany them.  And,"  here she pauses to review the party once more.  "At least you got rid of the 'Fire Marshal'.  I'll give you points for that."

Caylin merely nods to the woman, his pipe tucked in the corner of his mouth, as he continues to check his archer's gear.

"Well, then.  Perysinos asked us to provision you, and now you're provisioned.  Though I doubt you'll live to eat the half of it.  You *should* be staying here, you know.  In Borderton.  But that's your suicide wish, I guess.  Savin also opened up the Caravanaseri for you, with instructions to send runners for goods you might need.  So, if you're going, make sure you've got what you need.  Bellitor," the halfling woman nods at Caylin, and takes her leave.

"Oi, foreign guy!  When y' get back, will y' teach me t' do that stoof wi' yer hands an' feet?  Y' know, where yer knockin' folks' heads t'gether an' all?"

"No foreign guy!  Teach me t' jump up an' run along th' roofs, like when y' was rescooin' Granny Hazel!"

"Will you for Danu's sake shut up and get going!" Asyla calls over her shoulder, and the two boys reluctantly follow her out of the crowded customshouse.

OOC:  Provision yourselves up to 400 gp worth of gear apiece.
This message was last edited by the GM at 05:11, Thu 24 July 2008.

Totmacher holds back a smirk while smoothing one of Vil's eyesockets with his index finger and thumb. Totmacher speaks, "Indeed Vil, it is quite humorous envisioning the Dwarf balancing himself atop a table trying to pleasure his steed."

Given the opportunity to impart a piece of his monkish wisdom, Asher leans conspiritorially towards the boys, raises an eyebrow, and says:

I cannot teach you what you must unlearn; There are no roofs, no granny, no feet."

Asher then nods as he eyes their blank faces, waiting for the sudden spark of their enlightenment. Then, Asyla calls and the boys depart, unenlightened.

Gilrak rolls for initiative vs. the vexxing spirit of Villhalas.

17:31, Today: Gilrak Kilring rolled 9 using 1d20+7. Gilrak Initiative Roll.

Fully provisioned and equipped, the party prepares to depart Borderton.  Their departure has been delayed due to a combination of the arrival of the refugees and the two lately-arrive caravans, as well as the last-minute purchases from the Caravanaserai upon hearing that Savin Perysinos had once again opened the town’s coffers to the companions.  It is late morning as the party moves through the shadow of the southern gate of Borderton, as the eleven bells that mark the hour ring out faintly from the Mithran rectory dedicated to Mairya-canha in town.

The day is hot and sultry for the month of Summersend, with weather that seems more attuned to a day in Sunreign or Dragonscoil.  Already the sun, high in the hazy blue sky, beats down with a brassy insistence.  The vetch, clover, and orchard grass that surrounds the heavily-grazed pastures just outside of Borderton are browning and gone to seed, while the tilled fields that alternate with the pasturage are rife with corn, squash, wheat, and rye.  Farmers are at work in their fields preparing for harvest, and the ubiquitous goatherds and shepherds that tend their flocks can be seen in the rolling hills that surround the town—seemingly unmoved from the positions they had occupied all summer.  But summer was fading into the South Paldorian autumn, and the way eastward lay along a trail strewn with those fallen this past year.

“So, I hear tell that ye done rescued that ponce Arkexis, eh?  After takin’ down that crazy fella…Barby-boy, or whatever he called hisself.”  Garryn, his eyes still appraising the party’s equipage and road-readiness, realizes that the teamster he has hired is speaking to him.  Although the man had come recommended as quite skilled in his ability to handle almost any recalcitrant team, Garryn had heard that he tended to while away the hours on the road with conversation—solicited or not.

The man, perched on the buckboard of the cart bearing the party’s provisions, whistles and snaps the slack in the mules’ traces to keep them from becoming too interested in grazing while they pull the cart. “So Arkexis, he tells he got hisself kidnapped by them arseholes what was raidin’ these here carvan routes, eh?”  Not pausing for an answer from Garryn, and clearly not expecting one, the man continues.  “So then he’s on about bein’ kept in some pit, somewhere, eh?  An’ then I hear tell that ye not only pulled him outta that, but ye went out an’ got the other arseholes what was the brains behind the raids, eh?”  The teamster hasn’t yet said anything that isn’t already common knowledge in Borderton, but he does seem to have a fair sense of the recent history of the party.
This message was last edited by the GM at 06:51, Thu 24 July 2008.

“So then I hear tell that them other arseholes got some hidey-hole up in the hills, eh?  One o’ them old stumpy-folk diggity places, right?  And that ye come back with a fair bit o’ scratch, eh?  And that’s what this to-do is all about?  I’d venture a guess that…what the fuck is that shit?!?”  The mules snort violently and start in their traces as two canids appear from nowhere on either side of the cart, and the teamster nearly falls from his seat on the buckboard as another, larger specimen appears behind him--neatly perched among the baggage on its hindquarters.
This message was last edited by the GM at 01:38, Sat 26 July 2008.

The three blink dogs, their presence established, blink away from the cart and assume positions along the far perimeter of the party formation.  They trot along, alternating their loping gait with darting between dimensions to end up hundreds of feet from their starting points.  It appears that they are serving as an auxilliary scouting unit for the party.

"Don't worry, Dondo, those are some friends we made along the way," Garryn assures his talkative teamster, happy to see the blink dogs have returned.

In reply to Garryn the Grey (msg #21):

Gilrak - taking a moment away from scanning the horizon for activity - looks to the sudden appearance of the blink dogs and settles deeper into his saddle with a grunt of satisfaction.  While not letting down his guard entirely, the thought of the blink dogs adding their finely tuned eyes and ears to the party offers some reassurance to the Ranger.

No fan of the idle chatter, Asher slows his gait to lag behind the cart. Despite his efforts to focus on his meditation, he can't help assessing the teamster, wondering (as he does about everyone he sees) what it would be like to fight the mule skinner?


Kev, can we get a brief description of this guy? Is he armored? does he carry a weapon? does he look like a brawler? does he look skilled? etc?

Totmacher strains his horse past Asher and slightly ahead and to the left of the cart keeping his lesser ear on the teamster.

What is our caravan marching order?
This message was last edited by the player at 02:56, Tue 29 July 2008.

Aidrin paces the cart closely from behind and sends his raven flying above the party.

20:37, Today: Gilrak Kilring rolled 15 using 1d20+7. Gilrak Initiative Roll.

OOC:  Any takers?

In reply to Gilrak Kilring (msg #26):

Asher notices a tweaky look in the dwarfs eye making the hair stand up on the back of his neck.

He knew there was something about this cave dweller that couldn't be trusted... Sure, Gilrak was fine with Caylin but... Suddenly, Asher sees a flicker of movement on the squat forearm of the dwarf--

"Was that the Extensor carpi radialis twitching? Shit! He's about to draw!"

Asher closes a fist and braces for the impending skirmish, "bring it on cave boy"

18:06, Today: Asher Willbourne rolled 13 using 1d20+4. initiative

ooc: now to decide, subdual or lethal damage-- I guess that'll depend on the weapon you draw.
This message was last edited by the player at 23:34, Wed 06 Aug 2008.

Gilrak - letting  his mind wander - recalls the days of his early training in Turgad.  Unlike his human counterparts from the West, the dwarven clans he grew up with had little patience for idle time.  Many an evening was spent going through a regimen of drills - attack, defend, counter-attack - repeated over and over again.. Without a doubt, his newfound companions could benefit from the disciplined ways of the dwarves...

Unleashing the practice urgrosh Gilrak picked up while in Borderton (made of ironwood vs. the standard steel of his masterwork weapon) - Gilrak looks to see who of his companions is paying attention.  Ofcourse - it was the Monk.  This human was dedicated to his craft - that Gilrak knew.  Now let's see how the monk's fine boned frame stands up to some basic dwarven military drills:

Seeing a flash of recognition in the eyes of the flat-footed monk - Gilrak smiles broadly and [fast]drops from his mount - wouldn't be fair to attack with his mount, the sparring match would be over to quickly - let's loose something between a laugh and a battlecry - and charges forward.  Gilrak swings the 'blade' end of his wooden urgrosh in a broad arc over his head - landing for a total of 19 points of non-lethal damage.

00:29, Today: Gilrak Kilring rolled 6 using 1d6. [Non-Lethal] Sneak Attack. (+2 Wpn Spcl +2 favored enemy)
00:29, Today: Gilrak Kilring rolled 13 using 1d8+7. [Non-Lethal] SW - Urgrosh. (+2 Wpn Spcl +2 favored enemy)
00:26, Today: Gilrak Kilring rolled 27 using 1d20+15. [Non-Lethal] Attack - Charging (corrected - for non-MW weapons).
This message was last edited by the player at 21:18, Sun 10 Aug 2008.

In reply to Gilrak Kilring (msg #28):

Asher reels under the wooden blows too shocked to defend himself-- but, not too shocked to return non-lethal blows of his own...

15:41, Today: Asher Willbourne rolled 11 using 1d8+4. Damage first attack.
15:38, Today: Asher Willbourne rolled 25 using 1d20+11. stunning fist.

ooc: Jason, please roll a fort save vs the stunning fist

Gilrak - blood dripping from the solid blow he received to his bulbous nose - braces for the second attack by the Monk:

16:01, Today: Gilrak Kilring rolled 19 using 1d20+9. Fort Save - Stunning Fist.



- Gilrak is down from 57hp to 46hp - also, note the adjustments to his first attack above

In reply to Gilrak Kilring (msg #30):

Asher grins and curses to himself as the dwarf shakes off his stunning ability, but his second swing cheers him slightly as his fist connects with the tether of Gilraks tusk-like beard.

16:10, Today: Asher Willbourne rolled 9 using 1d8+4. damage second attack.
16:10, Today: Asher Willbourne rolled 29 using 1d20+11. Ashers second attack.

ooc: Asher is at 34 hp currently (after the first attack)

Gilrak - too slow to recover from the first blow - takes another strike from the Monk.  Wiping the blood now running freely from his face, the dwarf offers his sparring partner a nod of appreciation and adds:  "Not bad Monk - now let's see you dance."  With that, the dwarf lets loose a flurry of strikes:

16:07, Today: Gilrak Kilring rolled 11 using 1d20+5. BAB bonus attack.
16:07, Today: Gilrak Kilring rolled 23 using 1d20+10. TWF #2.
16:07, Today: Gilrak Kilring rolled 16 using 1d20+10. TWF #1 - non-lethal attack.

With only one strike of his urgrosh hitting true, Gilrak does 13pts of non-lethal damage:

16:12, Today: Gilrak Kilring rolled 13 (modified) using 1d6+7. TWF #2 dmg (1d6 +5STR; +2 Wpn Spc; +2 Favored Enemy).

Gilrak is down to 37HP
This message was last edited by the player at 21:25, Sun 10 Aug 2008.

In reply to Gilrak Kilring (msg #32):

Asher swings a low cresent kick to the cave dwellers temple, hoping to see his eyes glaze over--

"Damn it! you are hard headed Gil; but you are also very slow.", with that, the monk tumbles backwards, away from the dwarf, in a series of handsprings and flips.

Asher is now 25' from where he started and bleeding from nasty pressure cuts above his left ear, and right eye.

ooc: Asher is down to 17hp


16:37, Today: Asher Willbourne rolled 24 using 1d20+16. Tumble vs DC 15.
16:29, Today: Gilrak Kilring rolled 20 using 1d20+9. stunning first fort check.
16:28, Today: Asher Willbourne rolled 11 using 1d8+4. round 2 stunning fist damage.
16:27, Today: Asher Willbourne rolled 29 using 1d20+11. round 2 stunning fist.
This message was last edited by the player at 22:01, Sun 10 Aug 2008.

Realizing the Monk is now simply toying with him, Gilrak knows he has little choice but to make one last charge at the Human.  "Alright Monk - you may be quick - true.  But you're still not quite out of range now are you?"  With a quick chuckle, the dwarf let's out a gutteral grunt and sprints for Asher, Urgrosh raised over his head:


16:53, Today: Gilrak Kilring rolled 19 using 1d8+11.
16:47, Today: Gilrak Kilring rolled 26 using 1d20+14. Round 3 Charge Attack.
This message was last edited by the player at 21:54, Sun 10 Aug 2008.

Seeing the Monk's eyes glaze over and his body go limp from the last blow of his urgrosh, Gilrak looks down at his sparring partner, wipes the blood from his brow and adds in appreciation "Good match there Monk.  Got the leg up on ya this time - but next time, I bet you won't let me have that head start now will ya.. With that, Gilrak picks up the unconscious Asher and lays him down in the back of the cart.  "Rest up Monk - perhaps we can have another go of it after dinner!

OOC:  Promise I won't try to catch you flat-footed next time.  That was probably the factor that made the match..  ;)

In reply to Gilrak Kilring (msg #35):

ooc: that's the way the cookie crumbles. Next time I'll remember to self heal before I get with in KO range.

Totmacher yawns loudly.

Aidrin pulls a book from his rucksack and begins reading, leaving his horse with the undoubtedly excruciatingly difficult task of following behind the cart. Such is his faith in his mount.

Gilrak - settling back in to the march eastward - notes something from the direction of the pack wagaon.  What was that?  Was their newly acquired packmaster going for a weapon??

12:47, Today: Gilrak Kilring rolled 20 using 1d20+7. Initiative Roll.

Watching the ersatz battle between the normally level-headed monk and the semi-psychotic dwarf, the halfling sighs and simultaneously exhales a stream of smoke from his clay pipe.  "Danu's tits, Gilrak.  All we need now's a buncha gnoll barbarians or some inbred clan o' hill giants ta set upon us wi' th' Narvilian knocked out in th' back o' th' wagon.  Can't ye find some'at else t' do...mebbe more constructive, fer starters?"

The long afternoon of the first day out from Borderton passes, wrapped in heat and molten sunlight.  The fields and pasturage that surrounds the town gives way to the rolling plains to the east, bordered on the northwest by the foothills and distant peaks of the Dwarven realm of Turgrad.  The ancient caravan trail climbs gradually out of the tall grasses of Jessander's prairie, eventually leading the party into the brushy country of the Dead Foal steppelands.  The vast, dim reaches of the Emnian forests can be seen as a distant, gray-green haze to the south and east.

The first two days and night spent on the trail are uneventful and warm--clear nights with little wind to stir the long stems of the tall prairie grasses, top-heavy with seed as the summer segues into autumn.  During the days, stragglers and refugees from the east pass westward, in various states of exhaustion, injury, despair, or combinations thereof.  At the beginning of the third day, as the trail begins its gentle climb from grassland to steppeland, the party meets a small caravan of a half dozen wagons.  Each wagon bears, impaled upon cottonwood branches sharpened and lashed to the buckboard, a brace of gnollish heads.  Asher recognizes the caravan's leader, a pessimistic but ruthlessly competent veteran hailing from the ghoul-haunted and half-ruined city of Lafal.  His story is short, but hardly simple:

Marauding gnollish bands have moved into the Jackalstooth Badlands, apparently to prey on the caravans and refugees that are attempting to make their way west.  The larger or better-armed caravans are capable of repelling the gnollish attacks, but the refugees are, in most cases, virtually defenseless.  Some of the caravans are serving as de facto escorts to the string of refugees, but many more of the folk fleeing westward are ending up in gnollish larders.  Additionally, the gnoll tribes seem to have mystics and shaman to supplement their attacks.  These gnolls, according to Asher's acquaintance, are the big spotted variety, from the high plains of the Lostland Wastes.  The biggest and strongest of the members are the females, and the loose tribal structure is completely matriarchically dominated.

Additionally, something or someone appears to have occupied the old and ruinous Fortress of the Spear.  Not gnolls, apparently, but something darker.  The Emnian elves have an ongoing Hunt in the region, which has resulted in carrion piles of orcs, ogres, and gnolls, but seemingly hasn't made the area any safer for anyone.  No safe refuge exists between the limits of Jessander's Prairie and Hunter's Bridge.

Thus apprised of the situation and potential implications, the party continues its journey up into the Dead Foal Steppes.

The hot weather continues, as the third day on the road draws near its close.  The carvan route has climbed gently but steadily from the lush, long-stemmed prarieland into a higher and drier community dominated by sagebrush, rabbitbrush, and small, twisted juniper trees.  The vistas are open and expansive, with clear views within and among the short, dryland plants that dot the landscape.  Pronghorn antelope can be seen occasionally in the distance, but none come very close to the dusty, packed-earth trail that constitutes the caravan route through this country.

As the sun begins to sink below the just-visible Turgrad mountain to the west, Garryn is engaged in a little game he has developed with one of the blink dogs.  The Paldorian rogue hefts a piece of femur from some long-dead antelope, spins, and hurls the bone as far as he can.  The blink dog sitting near calmly watches, disappears, and instantly reappears to catch the bone as it nears the end of its parabolic trajectory some 100 feet or so away.  The blink dog reappears again near Garryn, and--seemingly disinterestedly--drops the bone at the rogue's feet.

As the party begins to set camp for the approaching evening, the blink dog leader can be seen trotting back to the party from some apparent scouting to the east, following the caravan trail back to the party camp.  The big dog is accompanied by a small figure, whom he occasionally nudges with his nose to keep moving.  As the two draw nearer, it seems that his companion is a small human female.

The blink dog leader and his apparent charge come nearer.  The girl is small, painfully thin, and completely devoid of expression.  She is clad in ragged clothing that might, at one time, have been quite fetching.  As she reaches the group, the blink dog gently prods her to stop her leaden and robotic tread, moving in front of her to draw her to a halt.

The girl looks at the surrounding companions without any change of expression or hint of recognition.

"A bad woman ate my brother's eyes and made my daddy do bad things."  The little girl sinks to the ground, staring vacantly at nothing, as the blink dog leader looks quizzically at the rest of the group.

Knowing he is ill-suited to treat the young girl's malady - Gilrak looks to Perrato with a simple shrug of his shoulders..

In reply to Krianna (msg #43):

Totmacher directs his steed towards the dog and girl and responds, "Child - can you describe the witch to Totmacher?  In what direction did this occur?  Can you take Totmacher to this place?"

The girl continues to gaze at the ground, and shows no response to Totmacher's questions.

The blink dog leader barks and yaps at Totmacher's questions.  The blink dog that had been playing with Garryn picks up the antelope bone that the rogue had been throwing, and drops it on the ground.  She then picks it up again, and drops it once more.  She repeats this action again and again, dropping the bone a total of fifteen times.  Both she and the pack leader are looking eastward as she performs these actions, and the pack leader nudges the little girl with his nose as his mate is dropping and picking up the bone.

Gilrak looks to the blink dog and nods - "Sounds like about 1500 feet to me.."  Taking in their surroundings, the dwarf adds: "Not much in the way of concealment to hide our approach.."  Gilrak shrugs off the concern, preps his longbow and adds under his breath - "I hate witches."
This message was last edited by the player at 18:47, Sun 07 Sept 2008.

The caravan trail gently rises up over a small ridge, and disappears from view.  The approximate quarter-mile that Gilrak has surmised lies outside of the party's visual range.
This message was last edited by the GM at 18:11, Sun 07 Sept 2008.

Asher slips a thunderstone from the pouch he keeps concealed beneath his sash, unshoulders his crossbow and begins to load a bolt.

"If the dogs know the location, perhaps the girl should stay here with Dondo?"

Aidrin's raven descends from above, having likewise been scouting, albeit from an aerial vantage.  The bird begins speaking to Aidrin in the fluid, liquid language of Phanarian.


Caylin mutters, "An emptiness?"  The halfling has his bow ready and is sorting through his quiver for arrows.
This message was last edited by the GM at 18:27, Sun 07 Sept 2008.

Gilrak looks to the halfling archer - "Emptiness?  What does that mean?  - Has our witch cast a darkness down on her encampment??"  With that, Gilrak looks to the thief and cleric who seem lost in contemplation - "Well, someone rouse these two out of their meditation, and let's get moving.."

Caylin shrugs at the dwarf's question.  "Don't rightly know, Gilrak.  Th' bird told Aidrin that he couldna see or hear whatever's comin' up th' road yonder--called it an emptiness.  Sounds like there's a man at least, but whatever else is there is open ta question."

Gilrak, thinking this through as he tugs on his beard stops abruptly and adds "Did I hear ya right Caylin - did the bird say "comin' up the road"??  If so, I suggest we take up some positions - and quickly.  Aidrin, Perrato - anything you could offer up here??"

Gil


ooc:  spellcraft/knowledge arcana check?  anything in your list of spells that might counter this?
This message was last edited by the player at 18:25, Sun 07 Sept 2008.

"Emptiness...?" The monk rolls the word over in his mind.

"I do not believe I can shoot at nothing Archer." he then address the group at large, "Have any of you the skills to vanquish such trickery?"

The halfling allows himself a small smile as he picks out several arrows.  "Sure ye can, monk.  Th' beauty of shootin' at nothin' is that ye never miss."

Caylin straightens up, with his bow in one hand and a sheaf of arrows in the other.

' Dondo - move this cart off the trail.  it'll make for cover if nothin' else..'


ooc:  sent from my handheld while being herd like cattle at IKEA...

"The emptiness appears to be tied to this man, whoever he is. Either that or it is merely moving with him. Fiach could not penetrate it with eyes or ears." Aidrin calmly picks through one of the pouches in his robes. "If it is magical in nature then I believe we may be able to do somehing about it, or at least find out what it is."

He motions to the raven and it soars aloft, floating on a thermal.

OOC: Aidrin has dispel magic prepared, but I don't think we can attempt a spellcraft check until we're closer.

"Aye, the problem will be that you always hits something," Garryn says with a smile to Caylin as he pats the blink dog he'd been playing with and moves towards the girl. Garryn gently takes a hold of the girl and says, "Come with me child," as he guides her to the cart and helps her up. "Keep an eye on her," he says to Dondo, "keep moving, we'll catch up to you when it's safe or return here if you hear two short bursts and one long from my signal whistle or a blink dog or the raven visit you. Understand?" Once the girl is on the cart he begins checking his equipment and readying his bow.

"I don't know what a bird considers a 'nothingness' but a void cannot be a good thing. I don't want anyone to get near it unless Aidrin or Perrato can identify it...that means YOU," Garryn says looking Totmacher in the eyes as he returns from the cart. "Unless someone has another suggestion, I think we should fan out to foil any magics that will affect areas.  We should partner up to cover each other. Tot, could you stay near Aidrin? And Gil could you watch over Perrato?  I'll stick with Caylin. Asher, your so fast and you've got the best chance of surviving any magic attacks so you should stay near the center where you can quickly reach any pairing that gets in trouble. So, I'm thinking, Gil and Perrato  to the far left, then Tot and Aidrin to near left, with Asher on the near right and Caylin with me on the far right in a semi circle around the man and void. Does this sound reasonable? Any better ideas? Garryn says looking at his companions as he gives voice to his hastily laid out positioning for the upcoming encounter. I hope Aidrin can get some idea what were dealing with before its too late, he thinks as he waits for comments from the others.

Gilrak - spurring his horse with his heels - manuevers over to the position indicated by Garryn.

Aidrin begins moving in the direction Garryn had motioned. While walking he removes a piece of leather from a pouch and mutters under his breath.

OOC: Aidrin casts Mage Armor on himself.

In reply to Garryn the Grey (msg #59):

Totmacher breaks out his Composite Longbow and tracks with Aidrin.

OOC:  Kev - is there any cover nearby (a map perhaps) in the direction of Aidrin?

Asher smiles at Garryn's choice to leave him front and center, I do love to fight 'casters he muses to himself. Then he strides a few paces up the road and assumes a "cat stance", rolling the thunderstone in his palm.

Perrato shakes himself from his reverie and reaches for some savory rations and fresh water to offer the famished girl. As he looks her over for signs of more serious injury he attempts to interpret the gestures of the pack leader and glean his intent.

As Asher stands readied and staring up the caravan trail, his mind buzzes with pre-battle adrenaline that has become so familiar since joining this group of travelers. Nothing moves in front of him but the grasses at the edge of the cart paths, waving in the breeze. Suddenly, he is reminded of his Master Yoshu's words, "grass not waving. wind not waving. mind waving."

Unnerved and agitated, Asher stands and turns on his heel, striding towards the wagon and the girl. He stops five paces short of her and speaks, "How old are you?"
This message was last edited by the player at 15:54, Tue 09 Sept 2008.

Totmacher, sensing the troubled Monk's condition, holds up the skull of his brother and calls out:  "Don't fret Monk, Vil will protect you!"

In reply to Asher Willbourne (msg #65):

The little girl slowly raises her eyes to Asher, her gaze blank and her face a tabula rasa.  Asher's deep-rooted intuition and calm empathy sense, emanating from the girl, only a profound shock and the merest grasp of her surroundings.

The party and its various mounts are on the ancient east-west caravan route of Arret, approaching the Dead Foal Steppes.  The land slopes, gently and gradually, up to a small rise, and then dips down beyond that.  Further to the east, the open steppe country can be seen to continue, rising and falling in frozen, topographical waves dotted with sagebrush, twisted oak and mesquite, and rocky spurs.  Closer at hand, a small grove of white oak surrounds what might be a small spring.  In the middle ground, the caravan trail winds through a locally dense growth of bitterbrush and creosote bush.  A bit to the south and east, a series of rock outcroppings break the thin, arid skin of the steppeland soil.

Map is here

Looking to the terrain stretched out in front of them, Gilrak nods in the way of Dryland Oak Grove - "Looks to be a good spot to me.."  With that the Dwarven Ranger looks to the rest of the party for feedback.
This message was last edited by the player at 19:19, Thu 18 Sept 2008.

Asher blinks a few times slowly as his suspicion subsides. "I...", he starts as he tries to find the words to comfort the traumatized waif... Unable to find the words, he turns again to take his position on the road.

In reply to Gilrak Kilring (msg #69):

OOC:  If the witchman and/or emptiness is about 1500 feet away that would put it just beyond the "limits of visual range."  Totmacher opts to position himself in K6 just on the edge of the "Dryland oak grove."

Is anyone in the party interested in climbing one of the trees to get a better vantage?  Maybe Caylin or Garryn?  Can Fiach provide any info on the speed of movement of the human and emptiness?  Also how much cubic feet does the emptiness consume?

Totmacher and his mount begin moving towards K6.

Gilrak moves forward - taking cover behind the tree located in L5/6

This message was deleted by the player at 14:15, Wed 21 Jan 2009.

In reply to Gilrak Kilring (msg #73):

Are you sure you wouldn't rather take cover under the tree between L-M, 5-6?

I think Kevin might be waiting for your to make another adjustment.

This message was deleted by the player at 14:15, Wed 21 Jan 2009.

This message was deleted by the player at 00:43, Wed 21 Jan 2009.

Gilrak draws the humid early evening air deep into his lungs.  Upon exhale, the Ranger cranks his neck to one side and then another - his spinal column responding in compliance with a loud cracking sound that can be heard from the road.  With a satisfied smile, the dwarf readies his bow for what lies ahead...

Various members of the party melt into the surrounding landscape, or take a stand on the ancient, dusty caravan trail.  Sitting on his shoulder, Aidrin's raven nervously preens its feathers and grumbles to the mage, and the companions wait.

Soon enough, the small figures of a man and woman crest the rise to the east, walking along the road towards the party.  The woman seems graceful and sure of her movements, but the man marches along in an uncoordinated fashion, throwing his arms out occasionally in spasmodic gestures.  As the two draw nearer, a veritable rictus of a grin can be seen plastered across the man's features.  Some 200 feet away, he calls out.

"KRIANNA, MY POPPET.  COME TO YOUR FATHER!  HA HA HA HA!  I HAVE A TREAT FOR YOU, MY DEAR, YES I DO!"

The woman stops and looks hard at the man, who--oblivious--continues to move in his herky-jerky gait.  She catches up with him.

Seen more closely, the man appears to be in his late thirties, a brown beard covering the lower half of his face, but no mustache adorning his upper lip.  He is clad in a simple brown tunic and leggings, and seems muscular in a peasant-like way.  The woman is a petite, dark haired woman--pretty, but tired-looking.

The woman looks around, then calls out, "Krianna, dearest.  Heed your father and come to us." On the wagon, the girl Krianna cowers down, whimpering.  The woman, her eyes gone steely, notes this.  The man bellows out again, idiotically, the grin still distorting his features, "HA HA HA, DEAREST.  YOU SCAMP!  PLAYING A JOKE ON US BY MISBEHAVING!  WHEN I CATCH UP WITH Y0U, YOU LITTLE IMP, I'LL TEAR YOUR FUCKING HEAD--" The man, still spastically moving towards the group, is caught up abruptly by the woman as she seizes him by the nape of the neck with a hand and arm grown grotesquely large.  She peers about.

"Adventurers!" she hisses.  Her form wavers, and the pretty, petite woman is replaced by a looming, blue-skinned woman with long, tangled hair, black and pupil-less eyes, and massive, taloned hands.  She uses one of these hands to cradle the entirety of the man's head, halting his forward progress.  "Thrice-damned piece of meat!" she hisses to the man.

Raising her voice, the thing with its taloned hand engulfing the man's head, calls out.

"The boy is mine already, the man's soul is in my hand, the woman's blood has freed me, and the girl will die a long, slow death without my intercession.  I want my heart back, and these lives will ransom it for me.  Speak with me, mortal-kin!"

Krianna, huddled in the wagon, continues to moan in a low voice.  The blink dog leader materializes beside her, gently nudging her down with his nose and licking her face.

Aidrin searches his vast stores of magical knowledge for record of this... creature... standing before the group.

14:21, Today: Aidrin ap Gynwir rolled 12 using 1d20+8. Knowledge arcana check.

Unfortunately, Aidrin's vast stores of magical knowledge do not include any specific information about the creature confronting him.

Sound like they are significantly closer - where are they currently located on the map?

The raven cocks its head and grumbles to Aidrin.

In reply to Totmacher of the Wilds (msg #82):

The thing and its man are midway between the dryland oak grove and the thickets of scrub/shrub vegetation--ranging from 180 to about 250 feet away from the various party members.