Ad Infinitum

It was at this point that the Vanguard diverged, separating into many groups. Gorn, Gruk, Hoff, Caballero and Drissa investigated a rumor that slave trade in the east had sharply risen, and that their dear friend, Teldor Goldcap was among those taken away. Spah, Citric and Rayne decided to pursue Vencat Kalton, the noble that had skipped town in light of the recent troubles in Fallcrest and who owed them a sum of money. Eldrith, returning to the city during the time lapse spent by the rest of the party in the temporal bowels of Moonstone Keep, busied himself during the lost time routing slave trade operations along the southeastern road from Fallcrest. Eventually, Eldrith would unite with the three in their pursuit of Kalton, while at the same time the other group struck into the depths of Thunderspire, tallest peak in the vale not connected to a mountain range, all in hopes of finding their missing friend.

Losing One Friend, Gaining Another: Tales from the Thunderspire pt. I

Having routed a local slaving ring, the trail to finding Teldor Goldcap pointed towards the gloomy catacombs of Thunderspire, an area underground controlled by the elusive Mages of Sechen. Caballero knew the area well, for it was the place of his birth and the ancestral home of his people. During the peak of their civilization, the Minotaur race controlled much of the land below the Nentir Vale just as the long-dead Hill Giants claimed above. Several hundred years ago, their civilization suddenly disappeared, leaving only the tangled web of catacombs and strange shrines to Baphomet  behind. Three hundred years ago, the Mages of Sechen moved in and set up shop, refitting a cavernous community center for public use. Saruun Khel, also known as the Seven-Pillared Hall for its distinctive support pillars, has become a bustling trade center between denizens of the underdark and those that live above-ground. It is a place where slaves are commonly sold and therefore a likely destination for the citizens captured from Fallcrest.

The group, consisting of Gorn, Hoff, Gruk, Drissa and Caballero in the lead, had just passed the grand entry path into the underground territory, which consisted of a half-mile cobble-stone road cleft in between two massive blocks of stone that had been carved out to resemble the mightiest of the Minotaur heroes. As they neared Caballero’s familiar hometown, they heard a commotion from one of the many side-chambers that branched off from the main underground causeway like distributaries in a river. Peeking his head around the corner of the doorway, Gorn spotted a dozen red-skinned goblinoids harassing a small man, his smile as wide as could be. His manner was joking, though he was clearly bargaining for his life against the irate hobgoblins. Never one to shirk away from the defense of a wee-one, Gorn and crew burst into the chamber and put down the opposing force with not so much as a thanks from the halfling; throughout the battle, he spent his time pickpocketing the crew and looking about the room for things to pilfer. When the hostilities died down, Gruk eyed the small man with suspicion and asked him what was going on. The halfling introduced himself as Ryan-Rider Mayorblood the Ryantown Lord, currently traveling the world in search of a relic his ancestor hid away, a great golden pigeon that contained within it a key that could open any lock. He felt indebted to the group for helping him out, as the hobgoblins had cornered him while he looked for his misplaced magical dagger, a powerful family heirloom that had a knack for disappearing.

Ryan soon after led them into town but quickly disappeared, mentioning an important date with a mug of ale. Hoff decided it was best if he did some investigating into this mysterious, potentially dangerous ale and quietly followed to the local pub. Gorn, who  had been pulling the party’s wagon, was approached by an immense ogre who the locals knew as Brugg. An awkward conversation ensued, wherein Brugg notified Gorn that all newcomers must have their wagons inspected by the Mages of Sechen, and then taxed accordingly. Gorn nodded and kept going, which angered the Ogre because he was going the opposite direction and without intention to visit. Eventually Gorn, Drissa, and Gruk assembled at the guild hall where the contents of their wagon were inspected: a single bear-skin rug. The MoS contact, a slight man by the name of Farantir, wasn’t sure what money the group was going to make and soon realized that they were not merchants, nor a traveling circuis, but instead adventures. While he had heard little of their reputation as the Vanguard, Farantir still knew a good opportunity when he saw it; he asked that, should they come across any information in their travels about one of his guild brothers by the name of Patrus, to return with such information in exchange for a hefty reward.

Meanwhile, Caballero begun asking around town about slave activity. He found it easy to communicate with the locals, some of which recognized him from his youth. There were many outlets for such dealings, he discovered, and that recently a large number of people had been auctioned off in town by the infamous Bloodreavers, whose activities were felt to some degree or another throughout the kingdom; Caballero recalled a note found in the lower levels of the Keep on the Shadowfell wherein the Bloodreavers had tried to buy slaves from Kalarel, but were met with violence instead. Based in Thunderspire, the group of mostly-goblinoid slavers were a good enough lead as any to look into, thought the Minotaur and he sought to find the others. The local pub, a quaint building jutting out from the cavern, was run by a middle-aged woman named Belinda and kept a somewhat clean clientele. Hoff was busy drinking, trying to ignore the loud escapades of Ryan, who busied himself with the pestering of a local bard that had come into town lately. Caballero sat down next to Hoff and ordered a drink, while the bard sang a tune about how annoying halflings could be and how someone should probably tell them all to sit down. Belinda remarked on how bad the slave trade had become, and how apathetic the Mages of Sechen were in regard to such trafficking; as long as they received a 10% cut of the profits, the mages did not interfere with any business transactions done within the limits of their territory. She went on to say that most disputes in town were either solved with brute force via Brugg’s massive spiked-club, or occasionally one of the mages would appear in a frightening garb in order to settle disputes with destructive magic. The group understood, then, there were no jails in town.

After checking in with Farantir, Gorn took a look around town after a comment about the quality of his wagon was made. Gorn was a simple man, and he had love for simple things. But when his imagination began to manifest, he had no choice but to act upon his thoughts. So while Drissa and Gruk shopped around town for general goods and eventually meeting up with Hoff and Caballero, their warforged ally stepped into the local wainwright’s shop and found himself a kindred soul. Bersk, a filthy man whose calloused hands told of his hard work, ran a profitable business supplying and repairing the many traveling wagons that fed Saruun Khel its economy. He had always been known to do a good job, and offered stabling services for animals which Gorn purchased for Gruk’s pack horse. But the true reason for Gorn’s visit was much more lofty, and he explained his mind’s vision: a mobile forge, whose insides were roomy enough for a rider or two but fit for metal-working during the sleeping hours when his friends rested. The two soon began to bounce ideas off one another, the wainwright becoming increasingly excited. It would be made of enforced wood and brick, and take several days to complete, but Gorn could not think of anything better to spend his gold on. Counting out the coin it would take to fund this venture, Gorn thanked Bersk for his commitment, and the loaner wagon,  and joined the others at the Halfmoon Inn. When everyone had heard of Caballero’s news regarding the Bloodreavers, they agreed to set out within the hour to pay the slavers a visit.

The Coming Storm: War Crimes pt. I

Spah crouched low. Just behind the large wooden barricade that served as the camp’s wall, and his obscurity, he could hear the voices of several men. His recent travels had brought him to a slaver camp, where his companions, a vampiric half-elf named Rayne and a psychotic drow named Citric, were searching for a nobleman named Vencat Kalton. While tracking their bounty, the group had run into Eldrith, another member of their adventuring group that had been routing slaving camps and resting at a local shrine of Melora in between. They sat now, huddled together and lying in wait, for another slaving camp had been discovered and it was here that Kalton had come for shelter. Rayne spotted his quarry entering the largest of the tents, perhaps trying to plead for sanctuary in return for a reward he’d never pay. The plan was to wait for nightfall, when half of the guards retired to their respective tents. Eldrith motioned from across the way, but Spah wasn’t sure what he meant; the doppelganger found himself beset by increasingly painful migraines ever since leaving Fallcrest. His dreams, when he actually found time to sleep, were nothing short of nightmares. So, for the third day in a row, he rubbed his eyes and staved off the need for rest as the bodies around him began to move. Eldrith had seen a group of creatures approach from the south, a raiding party of some sort, and they were anything but human. Soon the camp was a flurry of sound and color, as the spider-like creatures swiftly took to burning and killing the inhabitants. Seizing the opportunity, his group would move into the camp from the north and try to capture Kalton while the guards kept busy with the intruders.

His mind suddenly clearing, Spah leapt up and moved to the opposite side of the tent formation. Cutting away at the thick fabric of one of the tents, he poked his head in to find a sleeping family of what he assumed to be slaves. Taking on the guise of the head male, he ducked out of the makeshift abode and entered the main clearing where others had awoken and took to arms. Hoping to conceal himself amongst them, the warlock began to aid in the guards while his companions investigated the other tents. It soon became apparent that the guards were in fact slaves, and that the tents were common living quarters where they spent time when not logging. Citric and Rayne joined the fray and put down the spider-like marauders, which Spah later identified as Ettercaps. Eldrith had discovered a man tied and bound in one of the tents adjacent to the largest, and would later introduce himself as Supheter Iulion, a court wizard of the barony of Harkenwold. He had been captured by the slavers during a return-trip, but knew little of his captors. Spah stayed among the slaves, listening to their random chatter as his allies infiltrated the main tent, captured the slave-leader and tracked down Kalton who had sprinted away when he heard the sound of fighting. In a show of pure intimidation, his friends cut the right hand from the elderly slave-leader, much to the celebration of the loggers. They had been forced to live as indentured servants, earning no pay and having no rights to leave. Spah overheard Rayne and Citric arguing about whether or not to kill Kalton then and there, but the noble pleaded that he would pay them in exchange for his life if they escorted him to Harkenwold. Eldrith produced a map from within his cloak  and marked off the location of the camp, pointing out that there was only one more slaving operation in these parts and that it was from within the very same city. When they posed an offer to tag along to the slaves, Spah spoke in favor for it, still pretending to be one amongst them, going by the name “Bohn Eberyman.”

Packing up their tents and stealing the wagons from the former slave-owner, the loggers agreed to head to Harkenwold, as most had family there and the Vanguard promised justice to the slave-master. Spah resumed his typical appearance, taking time to sleep on one of the wagons while the train of people slowly carted along the snowy winter highway. He did not dream, or at least did not recall dreaming, as he awoke with another splitting headache. The caravan had stopped, as Eldrith spotted an immense flying creature speeding past. He scouted after it, eventually returning to the awaiting group with news of a dragon and its inevitable horde. Supheter confirmed that a dragon had been harassing these parts lately, and Eldrith pushed for further investigation. The group of four left the caravan on orders to stop and rest for the night, keeping wary of any further Ettercap attacks. As they tread through the icy fields, snow began to fall hard and Spah broke out into a heavy swet, trying to concentrate on the person in front of him while they traveled, not wanting to be lost in the blinding storm.

The dragon’s lair was set atop a small foothill, and within one of the many manors that dotted the kingdom following the end of the war. And, like the other manors the party had encountered, this one had been seen better days before its current occupant moved in; a snow-blasted outer wall barely sheltered the rest of the structure from the winter cold, and it took the elvish ranger hours before he found a suitable approach. They would attempt to climb up from the back, where the building had fallen away and into the cliffside below. This way, Eldrith posited, they would remain hidden and avoid any primary defenses. Spah found the climb especially torturous, falling several times after failing to find a good foothold. Eventually, he grew tired of trying and conjured up his floating disc to lend aid, making it to the top of the way before the others. At the back of the stronghold, a single figure stood in what used to be a study room, but was now little more than a shell against the open-face of the cliff. It was a skeletal guard, one which the group quickly dispatched, but not before alerting nearby others. Moving through the freezing hall of the first floor, the five maneuvered past elemental traps and strange sentries made of snow and whose magic was equally cold. A frozen waterfall stretched from the upper floors to the lower, and there were a handful of patches in the ceiling betraying the contents of the levels of above; three in all, with the group standing on the lowest, they found a spiral staircase ascending upward and slowly began to advance. There hadn’t been any sight of the dragon, and Spah wasn’t sure if the churning in his gut was of excitement or fear.