Picaresque

Our heroes departed Keldstead on the 9th of Summerrise. They packed up their dogsled and set out south towards the site of the fallen star. The weather was relatively calm: no snow or wind, and a biting cold. During their morning trek, they came across a couple of dead orcs and a dead human sprawled in the snow, who had apparently killed each other in a fight. They looted a great sword, a short sword, a nice pair of boots, a handful of silver pieces, and some bone dice. Jorn, the Frailer sorcerer, took a rime-encrusted arcane grimoire from one of the fallen orcs.

Continuing on, they sled across the tundra, led by Klovin the horned dwarf on his noble steed Suncrest. Keeping watch, Jorn noticed something on a hill a ways off: two Elven figures standing still, dressed in red, watching the PCs. They were quickly identified as Redrunners—a mysterious faction of summer Elves that roam the lands searching for Elven rubies and defending the causes of their kin with blades and arrows. Soon the two Redrunners turned and disappeared behind the hill, heading south. 

Behind the screen: the corpses and the Redrunners encounters were rolled randomly during my prep. (36: Battlefield, and 12: Redrunners, respectively.) As an aside, I absolutely love how this whole arc was a result of a random encounter (the Fallen Star). 

In the afternoon, our heroes finally arrived at the fallen star. The Redrunners were waiting for them. The two parties met and introduced themselves. On one side: Klovin the hunter, Jorn the sorcerer, Celedor the minstrel, Cédric the hunter, Blanken the fighter, and Buck the rogue. On the other, Jaravald the archer and Kelanda the swordfighter. In a tense discussion, the Redrunners questioned our heroes on their quest; our heroes deflected and obfuscated, playing dumb when the Redrunners brought up the Seals. Soon, both parties came to the realization that they were both here to investigate the fallen star. 

Suddenly, a roar echoed from the steaming crater, and a Frost Dragon emerged! Our heroes briefly considered fleeing, but once the Redrunners agreed to form a temporary alliance, the group stayed to face off against the dragon. It was a fierce battle. Klovin, atop Suncrest, harried the beast with arrows, distracting it. Our heroes spotted a weak point in the dragon’s armor, and several of them successfully struck it there. Jorn was the MVP of the fight; he cast Immolate on the dragon twice, inflicting a total of 14 damage (since frost dragons take double damage from fire). The dragon put up a fight, though, as it did a sweeping attack with its tail that hit several people and chomped down on a prone Celedor the Halfling minstrel. Celedor was broken and suffered a critical injury!

After the fight, our heroes harvested some units of pre-immolated meat from the dragon, as well as its antlers. They feasted with the Redrunners and explored the crater. The meteorite was huge, but otherwise had no magical properties. They found a crevasse opening onto an ice cave that must have been broken open by the meteorite’s impact. Klovin used daggers to climb down the steep ice wall, but pushed himself a little too hard and was broken by exhaustion, collapsing to the ground as soon as he finished the descent. He was healed by his companions who rappelled down with a rope. Inside the cave, they found a pile of gold coins and a gold statuette of a Winter Elf woman. This had been the prison of the Ice Dragon for thousands of years. 

Behind the screen: this was where my prep ended and procedurally-generated play began. I had anticipated the fight with the dragon because when I originally rolled up the Shooting Star encounter, on the “What do the PCs find in the crater?” table, I got “A Frost Dragon has been freed from its imprisonment deep beneath the ice.” Pretty cool. So what they encountered on their journey after this was all random encounters from the book, and was a surprise to us all. 

The PCs made camp in the crater, and the Redrunners departed, warning them to stay away from the Winter Elves and their ruins, and to never break the seals that bind them, lest the Winter King return and conquer the land once more.  

The PCs slept, and in the morning headed off northwest towards Dragon’s Grave, where the Tower of the Farseers stood. They came across a wandering merchant who sold them some common goods. Klovin bought a drum, and Celedor bought a flute (he is a minstrel after all). They departed and soon came to a circle of standing stones, and recalled that they were built by the Summer Elves to serve as magically heated campsites. On they went, northwest, along the Keld, until they ran into a band of five treasure hunters who were looking for a fight. Klovin talked them down, though. He convinced them that messing with a group that had just slain a dragon would be a bad idea. The treasure hunters took his point and left. 

Suddenly, a needle ice storm approached and began cutting the skin of our heroes. They were able to quickly make an adequate shelter until the storm blew over, which took all afternoon, so they weren’t able to make progress that quarter day. 

Nearing the Morma Glacier, our heroes pressed on, determined to reach their destination by nightfall. They ascended a gentle incline by the river. Klovin pushed his Lead the Way roll and was Broken in wits. He was disheartened, but Celedor came to his aid. Celedor performed a rousing tune on his new flute, and Klovin was brought out of his malaise! They also found a peculiar scene: finely crafted ice sculptures of a dragon slaying an army of elves, sculpted by someone with clearly immense talent and care.

Finally, our heroes came to the Dragon’s Grave atop the glacier, a colossal skeleton of an ancient Frost Dragon. Beyond, the Tower of the Farseers rose into the clouds ominously.

To be continued…

It was the morning of the 8th of Summerrise. With the aim of arriving at the site of a fallen star they’d seen the day before, they pondered their course of action. The morning brought relatively mild weather, and they set out south through the tundra, but got lost. Cédric, the Elf hunter, used his survival skills to find the path again. While he was doing that, a couple other PCs hunted, and one of them successfully hunted a fox. Cédric was able to find the path again, and he took the role of the pathfinder for the next quarter day, leading them south. Blanken, the PCs’ scout, spotted a lone sled dog barking and whining. Blanken tossed the dog a piece of meat, which it happily gobbled up. The dog led them to its dead owner, a lone hunter and his crashed sled. The PCs looted a few coins from the corpse and took the lone dog as one of their own, adding it to their crew of 9 other sled dogs!

Behind the screen: The dog was a random encounter I rolled in the moment. I also rolled on the “simple carried finds” table for the dead man’s loot.

Our heroes crossed the Keld river, arriving in an outpost called Keldstead.

Behind the screen: There is a settlement on the map in a bend of the river Keld. It was right in the path of where the PCs were headed, so I randomly generated it before the session and rolled up a settlement with 14 inhabitants, an inn, and a tannery.

It was evening, so the PCs debated whether to stay the night in Keldstead or keep on towards the fallen star. They decided to stay the night at the inn.

Our heroes went straight to the tannery, and met the tanner Lars. The PCs traded a few pelts and goods with him, acquiring some vials of hide glue and leather. He then advised them to visit the fortune teller, which they did.

The fortune teller lived in a tent right outside the outpost. They entered and found that she already had a client in session, a cloaked halfling.

Behind the screen: This is where the rest of the party were finally introduced to Buck the halfling, a PC whose player had to miss the first two sessions. This player was also a player in my Raven’s Purge campaign a few years ago, and Buck was his PC back then, too. So, originally all the PCs were going to know each other already, but given the circumstances I thought it would make more sense for them to be introduced to Buck at this fortune teller. I also talked this through with Buck’s player, and we settled on this. It also ties into why he is in the Bitter Reach. I had the PCs roll for reputation to see if they’d heard of Buck, and one of them actually had!

The fortune teller, who was known as “Mother”, told them of the Winter King Ferenblaud, his downfall, and his executioner Namtarel. She urged them to break the seals and release the Bitter Reach from its wintry curse. Our heroes were really interested in this quest, questioned the fortune teller whether she’s told anyone else the same legend. She said yes, she’s given others similar legends and quests in the service of the greater good. The PCs decided to follow this plot hook and took on Buck as a formal member of their team.

They spent the evening resting, and some PCs spent XP to gain ranks in talents. Cédric successfully hunted a boar.

Night fell. Eery silence, broken by a sudden alarm. A watcher had spotted two Nanuiks—huge aggressive polar bears—barreling towards Keldstead! Our heroes immediately mustered and readied for a fight. Cédric loosed an arrow, Celedor and Jorn got up close and personal with their swords. Blanken rained a volley of crossbow bolts onto the beasts. Buck impaled one with a thrown dagger. Even Lars, the tanner, dealt a dramatic blow with a spear (the spear was shattered due to a pushed roll). The bears almost shredded Jorn, but his armor saved him. Buck was almost crushed, but dodged just in time.

Our heroes triumphed over the Nanuiks, but not without a couple of close calls. And the bears destroyed one of the three huts in Keldstead.

Behind the Screen: unlike the sled dog, the fight with the Nanuiks was not a random encounter, it was GM fiat. About halfway through the session, I noticed a bit of a lull in the action. There had been a lot of hiking, hunting, role playing, mishaps, etc. You know, the procedural stuff. So the sudden bear attack was a way to end on a high note.

Our heroes helped tend to the wounded, and the village went back to sleep. In the morning they set out south, intent on finding the fallen star.

To be continued…

Our heroes awoke on the 6th of Summerrise in the town of Northfall. They ate breakfast at Cuss and Dang’s, and heard the legend about Northfall from a crazy old drunk sailor. They met up with two of their party, Blanken the Goblin and Jorn the Frailer Half-Elf. In order to prepare for a journey out into the wilds, the PCs visited the markets to buy supplies. They sold some of their valuables and bought survival gear—fur coats, winter boots, peat, etc.

With the morning spent shopping, our heroes decided to stay one more day in Northfall so that they could set out early in the morning. They spent the rest of the 6th foraging for fuel, hunting, etc. They learned of a group of sellswords that had departed several weeks ago to explore the Tower of the Farseers, and had never returned.

The next morning, our heroes set out to find this Tower of the Farseers, which is supposedly located by a colossal ancient fossil known as Dragon’s Grave. Only a couple hours outside of Northfall, the PCs crossed paths with three colorfully-dressed humans laden with skis and sledges. These travelers claimed to be hunters, but were obviously unaccustomed to the snowy climate, and they were acting suspiciously. They were well-armed as well. Tensions rising, the PCs asked to see what goods these three humans were transporting. They refused to show our heroes what they were carrying, and tried to leave. That’s when Klovin’s wolf attacked them. A melee ensued, in which blood was drawn on both sides. All three human travelers were defeated. Our heroes looted their gear and treasure (and quite the treasure it was—several gold coins’ worth!) and left them to die in the cold.

As they traveled west, the group’s scout, Jorn, spotted a falling star that landed miles to the south. Not wanting to pass up the opportunity, group changed course and set off south towards the site of the fallen star.

A fierce chill snowstorm arose and impeded travel for hours. The PCs hiked south a few miles before the snow and wind became too much and they made camp. In the morning, they investigated a nearby cabin Jorn had noticed during his watch. It was abandoned, and had the same carved symbol of Rust that the building in Wolfhill had. The cabin was ransacked and empty, except this time a dead Rust Brother soldier lay inside. The corpse was human, but with one peculiarity. It had two large membranous wings jutting from its shoulders.

To be continued…

The Party:

• Cédric the Elf Hunter, path of the arrow
• Klovin the Horned-Dwarf (Caprid) Hunter, path of the beast
• Blanken the Goblin Fighter, path of the blade
• Celedor the Halfling Minstrel, path of the song
• Buck the Halfling Rogue, path of the face
• Jorn the Half-Elf (Frailer) Sorcerer, path of blood

Our heroes had been traveling north on the ship Wyrm’s Tongue for six days. They were hired by Ingmarg to deliver a crate of valuable Alderland goods to his stronghold in the town of Northfall. It was summer, but an ancient curse held the north, known as the Bitter Reach, in an eternal freeze. On Summerrise 5th, while sailing through the Raven Strait, a windstorm arose and slowed progress. Soon Cédric noticed a dark shape in the water, which rapidly approached and collided with the ship. It was a sea monster! The ship started sinking and chaos ensued. The PCs had to endure a number of challenges, including falling masts, avoiding being thrown overboard, calming a horse, freeing a trapped passenger, and saving Ingmarg’s crate from falling overboard. In the end, the cargo was lost, and the ship sank.

Our heroes washed up on a black sand beach near a hamlet called Wolfhill. Drenched and freezing, they approached the hamlet, only to find a grisly scene: seven dead bodies in the road, all seemingly executed by throat-slitting. The whole hamlet was devoid of any life. Our heroes started a fire and warmed up by the tavern’s hearth, then searched the other buildings. They found more dead villagers. On one of the doors, the icon of the god Rust was carved with a blade. In books and scrawled notes, they learned the legends of Ingmarg the Plump, Assare’s Harpoon (which led them to suspect that the sea monster that sank their ship could be the very same Logrim of legend), and the Treasures of the Bitter Reach. One of the hamlet’s buildings was a kennel, where they found nine living sled dogs and a sled. The PCs gathered!

Our heroes loaded up the sled and Klovin’s horse Suncrest and his wolf companion Thrundar, and headed north over the tundra towards Northfall. On their journey, they noticed a shimmering figure of a regal elf, and it whispered a message on the wind: “Break the seals, and return the kingdom to its former glory…”

That evening the party arrived in the town of Northfall. They headed to Cuss & Dang’s Inn and ate dinner. During a bar brawl and while Klovin was talking with Cuss, two natural phenomena happened at once: northern lights in the sky and a bright meteor shower, with stars falling onto the Morma Glacier to the west.

The next morning, our heroes met with Ingmarg in his stronghold to deliver the bad news that his cargo had been lost. Ingmarg was disappointed, but understood the risks involved with such a journey. Igmarg ordered a search party to find any survivors from the shipwreck, since the PCs saw some of the passengers escape on a lifeboat. He could not pay our heroes for their failed job, but suggested that they go out and collect treasures to sell to him.

The session ended as a new goal was formed: explore the Bitter Reach for ancient relics and treasures to grow wealth and renown. And who knows, maybe even become some of Ingmarg’s most trusted agents.

To be continued…

“What if I talked to them?” Garold mused, stroking his chin.

“You want to talk to the goblins?” Naggeneen scoffed. “They aren’t exactly the reasonable sort.”

Garold shook his head. “I’m good at talking. I can be a merchant, or a salesman of some fine wines or something. If I parley with them, would the rest of you be able to sneak around back and dig up the treasure?” He sneered at Naggeneen. “Nag, where is your ‘pot-o-gold’?

The clurichaun’s face grew as red as his jacket. He muttered a curse through gritted teeth. These fools were making a mockery of him, but he had no choice but to put up with it. At least, not until he completed his job and they finally released him. “There. Under the clovers.” He pointed to a rear corner of the ruined building. Next to a crumbling gap in the wall, there was a patch of green slightly greener than the surrounding grass of the clearing. “There’s a, ah, problem, though.”

---

The building in the center of the clearing was large and, at one point, probably magnificent. It was a masonry structure, built of redstone with grey lime trim. It was a chapel, or some place of worship from a time long past. The steeply pitched roof was now nothing more than a few slate shingles hanging on for dear life. The chapel’s wooden skeleton could be seen poking out in several places. Large holes marred the walls. Ivy snaked up the walls and twisted through every crack.

Bergle the gnome and Garold the elf walked across the clearing towards the chapel entrance. They couldn’t make out much in the moonlight, but little dark shapes could be seen darting in and around the dilapidated chapel. A horn blast, issuing forth from a cracked tower, echoed across the clearing as the two adventurers continued to approach. Bergle and Garold had their hands up in surrender as a squad of twisted, spear-wielding goblins rushed out to meet them, forming a half circle of deadly pointed steel.

---

Naggeneen was crouched in the grass, nearing the rear corner of the building. The three-foot-wide crack in the masonry ran floor to ceiling, giving Hammy, Calmin, and the clurichaun a clear view into the throne room: a muscled red goblin sat atop a carved stone throne mere feet away from the opening. Sounds of merriment had turned to tense silence after the alarm horn had been sounded, and goblin guards with spears had taken up position in front of the throne-goblin.

Carefully, Naggeneen turned to face Calmin and Hammy. He gestured for them to be silent, then pointed to the patch of clovers by the hole in the wall. It was the only patch of clovers in the meadow, and it was quite green, even in the moonlight. They nodded and readied their spades, awaiting the distraction.

---

The half-circle of spears quickly formed a full circle as more goblins filed in, surrounding Garold and Bergle. A pair of goblins with a twine net came forward and threw it over the two adventurers unceremoniously (and rather ineptly—it hung around them like a sheet but did little to hamper their movement). One of the goblins who brought the net started speaking in a language Bergle didn’t understand.

Garold grinned. “Goblin. Studied it in grade school, though I’m not familiar with this particular dialect. Let’s see…”

Garold and the net-goblin proceeded to engage in an erratic and lively debate that involved many wild hand gestures and the use of props. Bergle wasn’t sure if Garold’s “parley” was alleviating the goblin’s concerns or exacerbating them. The negotiations ended a few moments later, and the goblin harrumphed and gestured at the others in his squad. The two were led, by net, towards the chapel. They had to take care not to trip on the net as they trudged forward at spear-point, dragging the net behind them like a dress train.

They were roughly shoved through a portal of hanging vines into the chapel’s antechamber. The room was unlit, save for a finger of blue moonlight illuminating a swath of stone-tiled floor, on which a babbling statue fountain stood. The statue was an archaic depiction of a robed man with his hands raised to the sky. Bergle and Garold were brought to a halt ten feet before the fountain, and the net was yanked away. The goblin they’d talked to disappeared deeper into the chapel. A minute later, in the darkness beyond the moonlight, they saw a figure approaching. It came slowly around the fountain and entered the moonlight a few feet in front of them.

The thing was man-sized—taller than Bergle, shorter than Garold—but a man it was not. It looked strong, with knotted muscles and a slight forward hunch. Its face was like a boar’s, its skin the color of red clay, and sported a snub-nosed snout with two sharp, curling tusks jutting at odd angles. Its ears were large and pierced. Contrasting its bestial appearance, it was well-dressed: leather shoes, ochre-colored wool breeks, a blue cotton tunic with gold-embroidered fringes, and a gleaming steel breastplate. On its clawed left index finger was a silver ring that resembled interwoven vines, and at its hip was a rapier in an elegant scabbard. This was the Goblin King.

He stood there a moment, hand resting on his rapier, sizing up Garold and Bergle. Then he spoke in a gravelly baritone.

“Hogsboon, at thy service.” He gave an exaggerated bow. “Whom do I have the honor of meeting here, in my demesne, under such adventitious circumstances?”

Bergle could understand him. The goblin king was speaking an old dialect of the human tongue. He didn’t appear pleased. Garold took a step forward, which cause some of the spear-wielding goblins to ruffle and tighten their grips.

“I am Garold Greenleaf, Greenleaf LLC. This is my business partner, Bergle. We come in peace.”

Hogsboon smiled mirthlessly. “Ye art merchants who come to conduct commerce. Hmmm… Pray, where is ye stock? Ye inventory?” His face twisted into a scowl. “I see nothing on thy person, unless thou intendeth to sell me the threads off thy back, pedlar elf.”

Garold Greenleaf, Greenleaf LLC. was only slightly unnerved by this goblin king’s condescension, and plowed on. “We’re here to offer you help, great Hogsboon. We know there’s trouble brewing in this forest. We’ve heard rumors of the giant, and the witch. And we’ve seen the dragon.”

The king tried to conceal his shock, but Bergle was watching him intently. The goblin king was interested.

Hogsboon glared at them. “So ye’ve laid eyes upon the wyrm. My own eyes have seen the wyrm, it is not that impressive. How dost thou intend to help us, other than merely gazing upon sundry creatures?”

Bergle could tell that Hogsboon was trying not to tip his hand. He spoke up. “You’re in trouble, Hogsboon. The giant is a threat to your fort here, isn’t it? The dragon too. We could slay it. We—“

“Nay! Do not slay the wyrm. Not that ye could croak such a beast…” Hogsboon thought for a moment. “Merchants, pray, ye hail from Brandonsford?” Bergle and Garold told him they did. Why was he asking that?

Hogsboon cursed. “Gods, but if I were not so desperate, I’d be having my cooks plate ye up for the young. Oh, wipe that expression from thy face. Ye are in luck. I be the one presently at a disadvantage.” He motioned for one of his servants, who brought him a wooden box. He bent down, undid the latch and produced a coiled hempen rope. Holding it reverently, he turned to face Bergle and Garold again.

“It’s a… rope?” Garold asked.

“This is an artifact of great power,” whispered Hogsboon. “We found it in a refuse pile behind a house of ill repute, among various other knicker-knackers. Here lay the rub: anything tied to the end of this cord becomes weightless; like a feather.”

He stepped forward and placed the rope in Garold’s arms, then looked them both in the eye. “And YE are going to bring the Black Wyrm of Brandonsford to me, alive.”

---

Hammy, Calmin, and Nag finished stuffing the gold into their bags and quickly refilled the hole with dirt. They ran towards the treeline, hundreds of gold pieces richer.

---

The night air was cool. The party was outside the Golden Egg Tavern, where they were trying to decide what to do with the unconscious thief. Calmin was holding the beer-covered being around the torso. As soon as it had fallen asleep under Bergle’s spell, it had turned visible. The creature was a clurichaun, which, as Hammy pointed out, was no different than a leprechaun on a drinking spree. It was only two feet tall. The clurichaun hung limp in the gnome’s arms. He wore a red square-cut coat with rich gold embroidery, a black wool bicorne hat on his head, and red breeches. Tucked into his belt was leather sheathe containing a razor-sharp dagger, which Calmin had confiscated. The clurichaun had a jagged orange beard, but was otherwise bald.

Calmin gave him a shake. The little thief started awake and immediately began swinging his fists and cursing at his captors.

“Put me down for pot’s sake! Ack! Unhand me!”

Hammy stepped closer to the struggling clurichaun. “My name is Hammy, what’s your name?”

The clurichaun squirmed in Calmin's grip and managed to get a hand on his leather dagger sheathe. In one swift motion, he unfastened the strap, grabbed where his dagger should have been, and swung his empty fist towards Hammy’s neck. He saw that his dagger wasn’t there and groaned. A dark expression of anger and resignation came over him. “I’m Naggeneen. You can put me down now, tarnished gold!” Naggeneen growled. He looked supremely annoyed.

“I don’t think so, faerie,” Hammy said. “We don’t want you turning invisible and running off again.”

Bergle piped up. “Actually, I don’t think he can. We caught him fair and square, and he can’t use his powers any more. Not until we formally let him go free again. Isn’t that right, little guy?” Bergle smirked at the clurichaun, who sighed.

“I’d hardly call that fair,” Naggeneen s