Over the past month, frightening tales began filling the inns and tap-houses of the Twin Rivers region. They tell of a ravaging Hill Giant whorecently descended from the highlands west of the East Gate pass. Rumors claim the titanic-sized man-thing decimated several nomadic sheep herds and tore apart a few small farms in order to feed his monstrous, never-ending hunger. Now, word has it, he's set his sights on the small village of Frickley.
Details are scarce, but few doubt the development spells doom for the town. It's common knowledge thatLord Aurel, who rules the Twin Rivers has little interest in any events that occur in the frontier. He will not risk soldiers or resources to protect settlers in those areas. If any help is to come, it will come from neighboring militia forces and the enterprising sell-swords who fill the tap houses where these rumors fly free.
Today, on the 11th Day of Lahair, the Month of the Singing Moon, four souls arrive in Frickley, drawn by the rumors of impending disaster....
The Meeting
Frickley is a small, sleepy village made up of around 30 houses that sit within the confines of a 10' wooden palisade.
As each of the heroes approach, it's hard for them not to notice the massive bare footprints pressed into the dirt near the gate. It seems the rumors are true. The inhabitants have a giant in their midsts.
The main gate appears hastily patched up. It's currently held together with hemp rope. Pushing the gate open enough to step though is a trivial affair. The defenses most likely have larger dangers in mind.
The small village appears deserted at first, but as each of the heroes draws closer to the inn – The Blue Duke – they hear raised voices coming from within. A crowd of common folk fill the building to capacity, spilling out into the thoroughfare.
The folks outside comfort one and other and struggle to hear the meeting within. The folks inside, meanwhile, are talking over one another and banging angrily on the tables.
The townsfolk take notice of your arrival and the weapons you carry. Seeing you as a potential ally, they are eager to make way so you can participate in the conversation within.
The Blue Duke is a comfortable, if rather rustic, inn where farmers and hunters typically share gossip over a flagon or two of ale and the odd bowl of mutton stew. Without a doubt, it's held its fare share of town meetings and been a useful shelter in a storm. However, it's hard to imagine this building has ever held as many people as it holds within its walls today.
Seeing the arrival of seasoned adventurers, the shouting cools to a low rumble. The townsfolk cede the floor to respected elder named Grigor Dunhold who explains the situation.
Grigor Dunhold
"Thank you, brave travelers for coming to our aid... Though I'm afraid to say, the foe we face is likely beyond any of your skills..."
Some members of the crowd begin to protest, but Girgor raises his hand asking their forbearance.
"The trouble we face is a Giant... an actual giant... like something out of legend. Only, I swear to you this creature is as real as you or I. Everyone in this town will attest to it. He came about a week ago - must have been a dozen feet tall! Fat and grotesque, like you've never seen."
The farmers mumble in agreement and encourage him to go on.
"He spoke in a sort of... broken mockery of the common tongue... Claimed his name was Yegor Bonecruncher. Demanded we bring food to sate his appetite. Said, if we didn’t satisfy his hunger, he’d find another way to fill his belly… and we knew what he meant by that."
More worried mutterings from the crowd.
"So, we did as the giant asked. We scrambled to gather every scrap of food we could spare. Raided our granary. Slaughtered the few livestock we could afford to lose. We even harvested several fields worth of fruit and vegetables... ripe or no. It made quite a pile outside the village... The giant saw it, scoffed at it's apparent "meagerness" then sat down like a hungry child to eat... and eat... and eat. The whole affair took six hours at least... but he ate the lot. Food that would have fed us for a month or more."
A few members of the crowd speak over each other, trying to call out everything they sacrificed, but Grigor presses on. No time for a full accounting of all the losses.
"When he finished he said he'd spare us for now... But he left with a warning to bring him twice as much food within the tenday..."
At that point, a random voice from the gathered townsfolk shouts, "We can't do it! It would ruin us!"
Another voice shouts,"And what's to stop him from askin' more..."
The meeting immediately erupts into a roar of dispute between two main factions. The farmers, led by Grigor, want to stay in the village and accede to the giant’s demands.
"We have time to replant." Grigor insists. "We've suffered through blight and foul weather before. This is no different. When the monster sees there's nothing more to gain here, he'll move on. If not, then at least we have time to build support from our neighbors, or renew our appeal to Lord Aurel..."
The opposition erupts in jeers at the mention of Lord Aurel. The hunters, led by a young, stout-hearted hunter named Tastra Fleetsong, want to abandon Frickley and establish a new community either further north along the Wayward Road or out west along the Winegord river.
Tastra Fleetsong
"Friends and neighbors! I love you all from the depths of my heart, but let's not be fools about this!"She shouts to the assembled crowd, brashly."Right now, the monster has need of our labor to slaughter cows and harvest crops and debase ourselves for his satisfaction.... But make now mistake, the moment we've served our purpose, the people of this town will be next course of his never-ending feast!"
Tastra's fellow hunters shout out their approval as she continues.
"Frickley is my home since birth. I know every stone. Every blade of grass. All the stables I hid in as a child. All the homes I've sat in to share a meal, or a drink, or tear... But villages are made of people, not houses.... and ours can find new life elsewhere! My fellow hunters - the women and men who risk their lives every winter to keep you warm and fed - will stand by your side to protect you every step of the way..."
The farmers erupt with dissent, asking where she expects them to go. "What land is available for us to cultivate?" Grigor asks. "What do our honored hunters know about the the differences in soil and sun?"
The more hot-blooded farmers begin to shout out in agreement, but Grigor motions for them to remain calm and respectful. He addresses Tastra and her supporters with a patient, paternal voice. "Rare it is to find fertile land without claim. And what opposition will we face on the path? Shall we flee a single giant only to be felled by a of legion of bandits...."
As the conflict begins to boil over again, some of the assembled crowd call for peace.
"Let the outlanders speak!" One voice calls.
Grigor, swallowing his own desire to keep pressing his case accedes to the request.
"Speak, travelers." He says. "What aid or wisdom can you provide?"
The room suddenly becomes uncannily quiet as all eyes turn toward you, wondering why you've come, how you can help and which course of action you will champion.
Please describe yourself and tell the congregation what you'd like to do...
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
DM - Origins - A Level Zero Adventure
DM - Giantslayer
Phandelver and Warlocks: The Shattered Obelisk - Muck (L1 Plasmoid Archfey Warlock)
Gregor enters and stands to one side listening to the discussion. He doesn’t seem a likely candidate for a hero carrying no weapons and lacking any swagger. He wears neat but simple robes and a satchel over his shoulder. His hair and beard are bushy. When Grigor speaks, he too turns to the travelers to see what they will say.
Tormund stands at nearly 7 feet tall but moves with an awkward grace even for his size. His face is broad with a goatee and heavy stubble from an overdue shave. In a sling across his back is a hunting bow (currently unstrung and much too thick for the average person to draw). Beside it, an old but well-loved longsword sits in a sheath. He moves through the crowd carefully, nodding curtly at those who look at him. He keeps to the edges of the room as if to avoid attention but listening intently.
At the request for his opinion, Tormund will look around briefly at the others before clearing his throat and in a low voice that, although quiet, carries through the room.
"There is wisdom in what each of you have said. This town has served many of you well your entire lives, and it is much too dangerous to hope for the goodwill of this Giant to keep you safe. Tenday is no time to grow more food, but to leave with no plan of where you'll land is nearly as dangerous as staying. Especially for the old and young. I think perhaps it's best to relocate the people for only a short time until the giant can be dealt with or perhaps even moves on of his own accord. Then, when it is again safe, you can return without having to start anew. I've no doubt your hunters are skilled enough to support you all for the time being, and your famers skilled enough to restore the crops when you return. Additionally, I would be more than happy to offer any help I can provide."
Gregor nods. He takes a step toward Tormund and sighs, looking sadly up at the tall man. “No beast eats for six hours. When the Giant King invited Qoneus to feast with him, the earth was lade almost bare before Qoneus served him his own heel and escaped. I have walked through the fields and they will not last.”
Gregor opens his satchel and pulls out a handful of wild berries, showing it to Grigor. “I picked these a day’s walk from here. I can pick more for you.” He looks at the handful of berries and shrugs.
“Perhaps I can show the giant the empty fields and ask him to find a land with more bounty, for when he has eaten us all, will he not starve? But if even the Giant King could be tricked, will this giant listen to sense and choose the righteous path? The legends say no.”
A tall woman leans a broad shoulder against one of the inn's columns. The stripe of ash spread across her blue eyes makes her fixated gaze intense. Her wheat-color hair is pulled back into messy braids, with the ends cut noticeably bad and blunt. A great axe hangs by a strap on her back-- well used and somewhat cared for.
When Grigor says his piece, she steps forward, but takes a beat too long to share anything until Tormund speaks. Flustered, she pushes through the crowd to stand next to him. "Aye, better safety consult could not be given myself." The woman says a little too quickly and loudly. "You'd be a fit for my business, Nightmare Corp. Consider joining, you have the potential for a partner track."
She then nods at Gregor. "Seems like the agreement here is to rid the problem directly. I'd be happy to lend my axe and my expertise-- a little more helpful than the berries that are offered here." She straightens her posture, standing tall, and poses to flex her arms and back. She does not even look at Gregor after the slight. "My name is Natalia the Nightmare. Let me serve you and this town-- I'd be happy to receive my reward in separate payments as your people recover from this terror. It'd be the least i can do."
A short halfling fellow enters the room and looks about. He finds a place by the wall and listens to all sides of the issue. "My name is Kas. I have guided many around these wilds and there is only one reason every carnivore moves, and that is more favorable hunting. Do any of you know what drove the giant here? He must have come from somewhere and had the need to move here."
Tormund listens intently to the others, looking between Gregor and Kas as they speak and adding,
to Grigor, "you say this giant spoke the common tongue?" To Gregor, "you say there's legend of giants offering invitations." To the crowd, "Perhaps this titan can be reasoned with afterall. It would be unwise to merely chase the giant off to find another town to extort. Whether through blade or through barter, we must guarantee the problem is solved here. Kas is wise to think of where the giant may have come from, perhaps that something we could learn."
Tormund will look at Natalie for a moment, unsure what to make of her. "I've no mind for business." He states, as she flexes proudly to the crowd.
Gregor smiles at Tormund. “The Giant King’s invitation to Qoneus was not a welcome one and Qoneus only tricked the King long enough to escape. But while my master told me many tales of the great deeds of Qoneus from when the world was new, he also told me some might hold hidden lessons more than exact truth. Perhaps you understand the tale better than I do, for I thought the point was that giants eat a lot and are not as clever as Qoneus. I have always been a slow pupil.”
Derisive whispers of "sellsword" pass through the crowd as Natalia makes her pitch, though Tastra keeps a respectful eye on the woman, seeming pleased to have her blade on their side.
Grigor regards the berries proffered by the strange robed man with curiosity and confusion. Some whispered voices in the crowd dismiss his story as, "Children's tales" while others insist it is as true as the suns in the sky.
In response to Kas's question, Tastra answers, "We do not know what drove the monster from the hills, or what drew him to our town beyond simple hunger. Only speculation. Loss of territory. A disrupted food source. That would be our guess. Regardless, he's here now and he won't be leaving until his new food source - namely us, is completely consumed."
Both the farmers and the hunters react with vocal incredulity at the thought of negotiating with the giant. Meanwhile, Tormund's suggestion of a temporary relocation sparks a fresh debate within the ranks of the hunters.
As the conversation once again devolves into shouting, Gregor notices something...
An agitated halfling tavern keeper keeps trying and repeatedly failing to catch the attention of the congregation. He's not just another firebrand. He clearly has some information he believes to be critically important.
Gregor bows his head sheepishly. “I did tell you a …children’s tale. Some men teach their children of Qoneus at a young age. Perhaps it is not so here. But grown men also tell their tales to each other. Are not some … worth hearing?”
Gregor looks over at the tavern keeper. He runs a hand through his hair and walks over to the halfling, speaking quietly to him.. “Loud voices are heard first … but take heart. The quiet voice heard last is still … heard.”
"Perhaps it's not which strategy we choose-- but the order we choose our actions then." Natalia offers. She turns to face the crowd, locking eyes with those who wear worry on their faces. "The town is in conflict-- a scouting mission to investigate and determine the threat may ease your minds on the best approach." Natalia pauses, considering the robed man's words once he walks away. "A story is a story-- but it tells the nature of these giants and what ours should be. Either way, mine will be unforgiving once the threat of harm approaches."
The halfling turns to regard you with momentary confusion, but relaxes a bit when he sees your face. Nodding in appreciation of being noticed.
Just then, Grigor Dunhold catches sight of the robed man speaking to the tavern's halfling owner. It's clear the small fellow has something urgent to contribute.
"Come then, Pello Stoutpipe, speak." Urges Grigor Dunhold. "We stand as guests in your tavern. Our ears are yours."
With the aid of some of the taller folk, the halfling steps onto the bar counter and looks out over the crowd.
Pello Stoutpipe
"I..."He starts, then freezes, seeing the sea of faces in staring back at him.
At Grigor's silent urging, he continues.
"I-um... I, for one... I'm not going nowhere."
The farmers erupt in cheers of support but Pello is quick to add, loudly, "But I'm also not about to clear my stores to feed some beast who's likely to swallow me whole for desert."
The hunters cautiously add their support to that.
"Then what do you propose, Pello Stoutpipe?" Asks Grigor.
"I say we fight."Says Pello. "I say we pull the bastard to the ground and cut his giant throat."
A mixed response of cheers and laughter answer Pello's vow. He remains deadly serious.
Tastra adds her perspective. "Our hunters are capable folk. We can protect you all from wolves and bandits... but a giant? Confronting such a creature would spell doom for all of us."
Tastra's words earn a variety of responses, but Pello is prepared with an answer of his own. "If you fought alone, I would agree." He motions to the outsiders. "But now we have trained warriors at our side." His eyes move to the robed man and he nods, regarding him as well with curious respect. He seems unsure if the stranger is, indeed, one of those warriors.
The halfling then turns back to the crowd, raising his voice. "All we need is someone to take command who knows these creatures and how they can be felled."Anticipating the crowd's next question he declares a name. "We need, Jahia Frostwood!"
The name causes a brief pause followed by renewed muttering.
"Tales of her deeds have filled this tavern on many occasion. Is this not the place of her birth? Would she not lay her life on the line in its defense?" More muttering debate, but Pello pushes through. "They say she felled entire bandit bands single-handed. Fought beside dwarven folk in the depths of the earth. Heard tell she even dwelt for a time in the high peaks where the frost giants dwell. Would she not be the perfect champion?"
Tastra responds decisively but her face registers interest at the suggestion. "Jahia must be an old woman by now. Besides, she left this place long ago in her search for adventure." She says. "Even if she has the knowledge and capability you speak of, we have no way of reaching her."
"Not true," Counters a thoughtful Grigor. All eyes turn to the senior farmer. "Jahia ended her travels many years ago. You were but a youngster at the time, but I remember her return. She chose not to settle back in Fickley, preferring, instead, a life of solitary isolation. Last I recall, she was known to be living in a cottage up near the Weeping Rock."
Tastra resists an urge to scoff at Grigor's words. "So, your council would be to risk our lives on the Weeping Rock trail? Exposing ourselves to beats and brigands and devil knows what else in hopes that we'll find her?"
The crowd starts to argue, but Pello speaks up, finally finding his loud, confident voice as he removes the pair of earrings that adorn his left ear. "Not us." He says, regarding the outsiders. "This would be a task for our would-be saviors."
He holds out the jewelry. Green gemstones glisten in the afternoon light that pours through the windows."I barter with these. Tourmaline, pulled straight from the dwarven mines of Ciär. A gift to my father from the stout folk, all that I have to remember him by. They are yours if you find Jahia and fight at her side against the giant."
The crowd once again devolves into argument. Enough for some folk to start dispersing. The two factions talk over each other. Tastra and the hunters start making plans to leave by end of day tomorrow. Meanwhile, Grigor and the farmers make plans to harvest the remaining crop.
Pello, however, keeps his eyes focused on the travelers, awaiting their reply to his offer.
Gregor approaches Pello and smiles. “Your voice may have mattered most.” He reaches out for the gems, closing Pello’s hand around them. “I am no fighter but I can walk a trail. Use your gems to comfort the sellsword. I am at peace to have found a good path. Can you point the way?”
Tormund works his way over to Pello through the arguing crowd, hunched over slightly to avoid the ceiling, and bends to regard the jewelry. "Your passion and strength are inspiring, Stoutpipe. I will gladly accept a modest payment if you feel it can be spared, but these are not times for such worries. I will ensure we reach this Jahia and return in time to prepare for the arrival of the giant."
Natalie strains to keep a face straight face amongst all the disagreements-- impatient for the town's final decision. Once the crowd begins to disperse, she approaches Pello and nods. "Both you and Grigor are the only ones to offer us a specific action to complete. You are also the only one to offer some sort of payment. I'll accept your job." She turns to Gregor and Tormund. "Is Pello right to assume youre sellswords? If we mean to work together, then what are your names?" She asks, sizing the two up.
Gregor bows to Natalie. “I am sorry to disappoint, but I do not own a sword. I have some skill as a healer and can defend myself at need. My name is Gregor.”
Tormund will stiffen a bit at the title "sell-sword", eyeing Natalie distrustfully, "I am not for sale and neither is my blade, but these people are under threat and I will gladly work to correct this. We all need money, such is the way of this world. But it does not decide my friend from foe as it does for some. I am Tormund and I would be glad to have you both at my side in this endeavor."
Pello's focus remains on the growing argument that surrounds him, but he turns to face Gregor to hear his encouraging words. The halfling smiles warmly, comforted.
"That's kind of you to say, and I can only hope you're right... I suppose we'll find out."
As the others approach, Pello continues. "I can outfit you all with any basic supplies you need, free of charge, of course.(AKA any Simple weapons. Also, any armor or adventuring equipment from the PHB under 20 GP) As for guides, there's two worth considering..."
He nods toward a tall, stout, grizzled man standing with the hunters.
Sholt
"That's Sholt. He’s a bit on the surly side and he's spent more time in the eastern wood than the Weeping Rock Trail... but he's an experienced hunter and tracker who can pull his weight in a fight. That's a skill you may need out there, because the trail has quite a reputation. Bandits. Beasts. And worse things if tales are true. At any rate, Sholt is loyal to Tastra but he owes and loves me dearly. He's a good man and if I ask him to guide you he'll do so without hesitation."
Pello thinks for a moment as his eyes sweep across the room, considering other options...
Gregor and Tormund notice where he's looking...
They track his gaze to a boy hiding outside, occasionally peaking through the window.
Pello's face goes suddenly bright with a thought, then dims slightly... "Actually... There's another I could recommend, but he may be..." He shakes his head, then bites his lip, reconsidering. "...well... I'll get your thought of it."
"There's a lad. Name of Bayle. Fourteen years of age. Always cheerful and optimistic, despite losing his mum and da to plague when he was a babe. Bayle's a child of the town now. Hopping from home to home. Spent his entire life wandering all over the countryside. Probably knows it better than any of us. He's the one soul I know for certain who's actually been to the Weeping Rock. I'd lay odds he still knows the way. Trouble is, I doubt he's ever been in a true fight. And losing him would be...."Pello halts, shakes his head. "If all of our lives weren't already on the line I'd not even suggest it. But here we are..."
His eyes move to the window. "The trail itself is around seven miles long. If you leave soon, you should make it by sunsdown and hope to return before the hunters lead their exodus. Or..." He says, looking at the slowly dispersing congregation, visibly divided and coalescing into factions. "...you can try to convince them to cooperate. You'll need the luck of the Atair to manage that."
He then looks to you all, awaiting your thoughts.
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
DM - Origins - A Level Zero Adventure
DM - Giantslayer
Phandelver and Warlocks: The Shattered Obelisk - Muck (L1 Plasmoid Archfey Warlock)
Tormund nods along as Pello speaks, looking up to spot the boy in the window, and his furrowed brow softens for a moment. "Sholt seems a worthy guide and I'd hate to put a young one in danger, but Bayle looks eager to be a part of these proceedings." With a nod in the direction of the window. "Perhaps we should hear his thoughts and allow him a chance to volunteer. I grew up in much the same circumstances and wanted nothing more than to prove myself and help those who helped me. I would of course be prepared to protect him with my life should we encounter anything."
Gregor furrows his brow. “We have been warned against beasts and bandits, but what of when we find this slayer of giants? What will Jahia say when we ask her if she wishes to fight after so many years of peace? Perhaps she might have a different answer for Bayle. I would like to meet him too.”
(Images include source links to originals)
Giantslayer
(Soundtrack)
Adventure by MT Black
Over the past month, frightening tales began filling the inns and tap-houses of the Twin Rivers region. They tell of a ravaging Hill Giant who recently descended from the highlands west of the East Gate pass. Rumors claim the titanic-sized man-thing decimated several nomadic sheep herds and tore apart a few small farms in order to feed his monstrous, never-ending hunger. Now, word has it, he's set his sights on the small village of Frickley.
Details are scarce, but few doubt the development spells doom for the town. It's common knowledge that Lord Aurel, who rules the Twin Rivers has little interest in any events that occur in the frontier. He will not risk soldiers or resources to protect settlers in those areas. If any help is to come, it will come from neighboring militia forces and the enterprising sell-swords who fill the tap houses where these rumors fly free.
Today, on the 11th Day of Lahair, the Month of the Singing Moon, four souls arrive in Frickley, drawn by the rumors of impending disaster....
The Meeting
Frickley is a small, sleepy village made up of around 30 houses that sit within the confines of a 10' wooden palisade.
As each of the heroes approach, it's hard for them not to notice the massive bare footprints pressed into the dirt near the gate. It seems the rumors are true. The inhabitants have a giant in their midsts.
The main gate appears hastily patched up. It's currently held together with hemp rope. Pushing the gate open enough to step though is a trivial affair. The defenses most likely have larger dangers in mind.
The small village appears deserted at first, but as each of the heroes draws closer to the inn – The Blue Duke – they hear raised voices coming from within. A crowd of common folk fill the building to capacity, spilling out into the thoroughfare.
The folks outside comfort one and other and struggle to hear the meeting within. The folks inside, meanwhile, are talking over one another and banging angrily on the tables.
The townsfolk take notice of your arrival and the weapons you carry. Seeing you as a potential ally, they are eager to make way so you can participate in the conversation within.
The Blue Duke is a comfortable, if rather rustic, inn where farmers and hunters typically share gossip over a flagon or two of ale and the odd bowl of mutton stew. Without a doubt, it's held its fare share of town meetings and been a useful shelter in a storm. However, it's hard to imagine this building has ever held as many people as it holds within its walls today.
Seeing the arrival of seasoned adventurers, the shouting cools to a low rumble. The townsfolk cede the floor to respected elder named Grigor Dunhold who explains the situation.
"Thank you, brave travelers for coming to our aid... Though I'm afraid to say, the foe we face is likely beyond any of your skills..."
Some members of the crowd begin to protest, but Girgor raises his hand asking their forbearance.
"The trouble we face is a Giant... an actual giant... like something out of legend. Only, I swear to you this creature is as real as you or I. Everyone in this town will attest to it. He came about a week ago - must have been a dozen feet tall! Fat and grotesque, like you've never seen."
The farmers mumble in agreement and encourage him to go on.
"He spoke in a sort of... broken mockery of the common tongue... Claimed his name was Yegor Bonecruncher. Demanded we bring food to sate his appetite. Said, if we didn’t satisfy his hunger, he’d find another way to fill his belly… and we knew what he meant by that."
More worried mutterings from the crowd.
"So, we did as the giant asked. We scrambled to gather every scrap of food we could spare. Raided our granary. Slaughtered the few livestock we could afford to lose. We even harvested several fields worth of fruit and vegetables... ripe or no. It made quite a pile outside the village... The giant saw it, scoffed at it's apparent "meagerness" then sat down like a hungry child to eat... and eat... and eat. The whole affair took six hours at least... but he ate the lot. Food that would have fed us for a month or more."
A few members of the crowd speak over each other, trying to call out everything they sacrificed, but Grigor presses on. No time for a full accounting of all the losses.
"When he finished he said he'd spare us for now... But he left with a warning to bring him twice as much food within the tenday..."
At that point, a random voice from the gathered townsfolk shouts, "We can't do it! It would ruin us!"
Another voice shouts, "And what's to stop him from askin' more..."
The meeting immediately erupts into a roar of dispute between two main factions. The farmers, led by Grigor, want to stay in the village and accede to the giant’s demands.
"We have time to replant." Grigor insists. "We've suffered through blight and foul weather before. This is no different. When the monster sees there's nothing more to gain here, he'll move on. If not, then at least we have time to build support from our neighbors, or renew our appeal to Lord Aurel..."
The opposition erupts in jeers at the mention of Lord Aurel. The hunters, led by a young, stout-hearted hunter named Tastra Fleetsong, want to abandon Frickley and establish a new community either further north along the Wayward Road or out west along the Winegord river.
Tastra Fleetsong
"Friends and neighbors! I love you all from the depths of my heart, but let's not be fools about this!" She shouts to the assembled crowd, brashly. "Right now, the monster has need of our labor to slaughter cows and harvest crops and debase ourselves for his satisfaction.... But make now mistake, the moment we've served our purpose, the people of this town will be next course of his never-ending feast!"
Tastra's fellow hunters shout out their approval as she continues.
"Frickley is my home since birth. I know every stone. Every blade of grass. All the stables I hid in as a child. All the homes I've sat in to share a meal, or a drink, or tear... But villages are made of people, not houses.... and ours can find new life elsewhere! My fellow hunters - the women and men who risk their lives every winter to keep you warm and fed - will stand by your side to protect you every step of the way..."
The farmers erupt with dissent, asking where she expects them to go. "What land is available for us to cultivate?" Grigor asks. "What do our honored hunters know about the the differences in soil and sun?"
The more hot-blooded farmers begin to shout out in agreement, but Grigor motions for them to remain calm and respectful. He addresses Tastra and her supporters with a patient, paternal voice. "Rare it is to find fertile land without claim. And what opposition will we face on the path? Shall we flee a single giant only to be felled by a of legion of bandits...."
As the conflict begins to boil over again, some of the assembled crowd call for peace.
"Let the outlanders speak!" One voice calls.
Grigor, swallowing his own desire to keep pressing his case accedes to the request.
"Speak, travelers." He says. "What aid or wisdom can you provide?"
The room suddenly becomes uncannily quiet as all eyes turn toward you, wondering why you've come, how you can help and which course of action you will champion.
Please describe yourself and tell the congregation what you'd like to do...
DM - Origins - A Level Zero Adventure
DM - Giantslayer
Phandelver and Warlocks: The Shattered Obelisk - Muck (L1 Plasmoid Archfey Warlock)
Gregor enters and stands to one side listening to the discussion. He doesn’t seem a likely candidate for a hero carrying no weapons and lacking any swagger. He wears neat but simple robes and a satchel over his shoulder. His hair and beard are bushy. When Grigor speaks, he too turns to the travelers to see what they will say.
Tormund stands at nearly 7 feet tall but moves with an awkward grace even for his size. His face is broad with a goatee and heavy stubble from an overdue shave. In a sling across his back is a hunting bow (currently unstrung and much too thick for the average person to draw). Beside it, an old but well-loved longsword sits in a sheath. He moves through the crowd carefully, nodding curtly at those who look at him. He keeps to the edges of the room as if to avoid attention but listening intently.
At the request for his opinion, Tormund will look around briefly at the others before clearing his throat and in a low voice that, although quiet, carries through the room.
"There is wisdom in what each of you have said. This town has served many of you well your entire lives, and it is much too dangerous to hope for the goodwill of this Giant to keep you safe. Tenday is no time to grow more food, but to leave with no plan of where you'll land is nearly as dangerous as staying. Especially for the old and young. I think perhaps it's best to relocate the people for only a short time until the giant can be dealt with or perhaps even moves on of his own accord. Then, when it is again safe, you can return without having to start anew. I've no doubt your hunters are skilled enough to support you all for the time being, and your famers skilled enough to restore the crops when you return. Additionally, I would be more than happy to offer any help I can provide."
Gregor nods. He takes a step toward Tormund and sighs, looking sadly up at the tall man. “No beast eats for six hours. When the Giant King invited Qoneus to feast with him, the earth was lade almost bare before Qoneus served him his own heel and escaped. I have walked through the fields and they will not last.”
Gregor opens his satchel and pulls out a handful of wild berries, showing it to Grigor. “I picked these a day’s walk from here. I can pick more for you.” He looks at the handful of berries and shrugs.
“Perhaps I can show the giant the empty fields and ask him to find a land with more bounty, for when he has eaten us all, will he not starve? But if even the Giant King could be tricked, will this giant listen to sense and choose the righteous path? The legends say no.”
A tall woman leans a broad shoulder against one of the inn's columns. The stripe of ash spread across her blue eyes makes her fixated gaze intense. Her wheat-color hair is pulled back into messy braids, with the ends cut noticeably bad and blunt. A great axe hangs by a strap on her back-- well used and somewhat cared for.
When Grigor says his piece, she steps forward, but takes a beat too long to share anything until Tormund speaks. Flustered, she pushes through the crowd to stand next to him. "Aye, better safety consult could not be given myself." The woman says a little too quickly and loudly. "You'd be a fit for my business, Nightmare Corp. Consider joining, you have the potential for a partner track."
She then nods at Gregor. "Seems like the agreement here is to rid the problem directly. I'd be happy to lend my axe and my expertise-- a little more helpful than the berries that are offered here." She straightens her posture, standing tall, and poses to flex her arms and back. She does not even look at Gregor after the slight. "My name is Natalia the Nightmare. Let me serve you and this town-- I'd be happy to receive my reward in separate payments as your people recover from this terror. It'd be the least i can do."
A short halfling fellow enters the room and looks about. He finds a place by the wall and listens to all sides of the issue. "My name is Kas. I have guided many around these wilds and there is only one reason every carnivore moves, and that is more favorable hunting. Do any of you know what drove the giant here? He must have come from somewhere and had the need to move here."
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Tormund listens intently to the others, looking between Gregor and Kas as they speak and adding,
to Grigor, "you say this giant spoke the common tongue?" To Gregor, "you say there's legend of giants offering invitations." To the crowd, "Perhaps this titan can be reasoned with afterall. It would be unwise to merely chase the giant off to find another town to extort. Whether through blade or through barter, we must guarantee the problem is solved here. Kas is wise to think of where the giant may have come from, perhaps that something we could learn."
Tormund will look at Natalie for a moment, unsure what to make of her. "I've no mind for business." He states, as she flexes proudly to the crowd.
Gregor smiles at Tormund. “The Giant King’s invitation to Qoneus was not a welcome one and Qoneus only tricked the King long enough to escape. But while my master told me many tales of the great deeds of Qoneus from when the world was new, he also told me some might hold hidden lessons more than exact truth. Perhaps you understand the tale better than I do, for I thought the point was that giants eat a lot and are not as clever as Qoneus. I have always been a slow pupil.”
Derisive whispers of "sellsword" pass through the crowd as Natalia makes her pitch, though Tastra keeps a respectful eye on the woman, seeming pleased to have her blade on their side.
Grigor regards the berries proffered by the strange robed man with curiosity and confusion. Some whispered voices in the crowd dismiss his story as, "Children's tales" while others insist it is as true as the suns in the sky.
In response to Kas's question, Tastra answers, "We do not know what drove the monster from the hills, or what drew him to our town beyond simple hunger. Only speculation. Loss of territory. A disrupted food source. That would be our guess. Regardless, he's here now and he won't be leaving until his new food source - namely us, is completely consumed."
Both the farmers and the hunters react with vocal incredulity at the thought of negotiating with the giant. Meanwhile, Tormund's suggestion of a temporary relocation sparks a fresh debate within the ranks of the hunters.
As the conversation once again devolves into shouting, Gregor notices something...
An agitated halfling tavern keeper keeps trying and repeatedly failing to catch the attention of the congregation. He's not just another firebrand. He clearly has some information he believes to be critically important.
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DM - Giantslayer
Phandelver and Warlocks: The Shattered Obelisk - Muck (L1 Plasmoid Archfey Warlock)
Gregor bows his head sheepishly. “I did tell you a …children’s tale. Some men teach their children of Qoneus at a young age. Perhaps it is not so here. But grown men also tell their tales to each other. Are not some … worth hearing?”
Gregor looks over at the tavern keeper. He runs a hand through his hair and walks over to the halfling, speaking quietly to him.. “Loud voices are heard first … but take heart. The quiet voice heard last is still … heard.”
"Perhaps it's not which strategy we choose-- but the order we choose our actions then." Natalia offers. She turns to face the crowd, locking eyes with those who wear worry on their faces. "The town is in conflict-- a scouting mission to investigate and determine the threat may ease your minds on the best approach." Natalia pauses, considering the robed man's words once he walks away. "A story is a story-- but it tells the nature of these giants and what ours should be. Either way, mine will be unforgiving once the threat of harm approaches."
Gregor:
The halfling turns to regard you with momentary confusion, but relaxes a bit when he sees your face. Nodding in appreciation of being noticed.
Just then, Grigor Dunhold catches sight of the robed man speaking to the tavern's halfling owner. It's clear the small fellow has something urgent to contribute.
"Come then, Pello Stoutpipe, speak." Urges Grigor Dunhold. "We stand as guests in your tavern. Our ears are yours."
With the aid of some of the taller folk, the halfling steps onto the bar counter and looks out over the crowd.
Pello Stoutpipe
"I..." He starts, then freezes, seeing the sea of faces in staring back at him.
At Grigor's silent urging, he continues.
"I-um... I, for one... I'm not going nowhere."
The farmers erupt in cheers of support but Pello is quick to add, loudly, "But I'm also not about to clear my stores to feed some beast who's likely to swallow me whole for desert."
The hunters cautiously add their support to that.
"Then what do you propose, Pello Stoutpipe?" Asks Grigor.
"I say we fight." Says Pello. "I say we pull the bastard to the ground and cut his giant throat."
A mixed response of cheers and laughter answer Pello's vow. He remains deadly serious.
Tastra adds her perspective. "Our hunters are capable folk. We can protect you all from wolves and bandits... but a giant? Confronting such a creature would spell doom for all of us."
Tastra's words earn a variety of responses, but Pello is prepared with an answer of his own. "If you fought alone, I would agree." He motions to the outsiders. "But now we have trained warriors at our side." His eyes move to the robed man and he nods, regarding him as well with curious respect. He seems unsure if the stranger is, indeed, one of those warriors.
The halfling then turns back to the crowd, raising his voice. "All we need is someone to take command who knows these creatures and how they can be felled." Anticipating the crowd's next question he declares a name. "We need, Jahia Frostwood!"
The name causes a brief pause followed by renewed muttering.
"Tales of her deeds have filled this tavern on many occasion. Is this not the place of her birth? Would she not lay her life on the line in its defense?" More muttering debate, but Pello pushes through. "They say she felled entire bandit bands single-handed. Fought beside dwarven folk in the depths of the earth. Heard tell she even dwelt for a time in the high peaks where the frost giants dwell. Would she not be the perfect champion?"
Tastra responds decisively but her face registers interest at the suggestion. "Jahia must be an old woman by now. Besides, she left this place long ago in her search for adventure." She says. "Even if she has the knowledge and capability you speak of, we have no way of reaching her."
"Not true," Counters a thoughtful Grigor. All eyes turn to the senior farmer. "Jahia ended her travels many years ago. You were but a youngster at the time, but I remember her return. She chose not to settle back in Fickley, preferring, instead, a life of solitary isolation. Last I recall, she was known to be living in a cottage up near the Weeping Rock."
Tastra resists an urge to scoff at Grigor's words. "So, your council would be to risk our lives on the Weeping Rock trail? Exposing ourselves to beats and brigands and devil knows what else in hopes that we'll find her?"
The crowd starts to argue, but Pello speaks up, finally finding his loud, confident voice as he removes the pair of earrings that adorn his left ear. "Not us." He says, regarding the outsiders. "This would be a task for our would-be saviors."
He holds out the jewelry. Green gemstones glisten in the afternoon light that pours through the windows. "I barter with these. Tourmaline, pulled straight from the dwarven mines of Ciär. A gift to my father from the stout folk, all that I have to remember him by. They are yours if you find Jahia and fight at her side against the giant."
The crowd once again devolves into argument. Enough for some folk to start dispersing. The two factions talk over each other. Tastra and the hunters start making plans to leave by end of day tomorrow. Meanwhile, Grigor and the farmers make plans to harvest the remaining crop.
Pello, however, keeps his eyes focused on the travelers, awaiting their reply to his offer.
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DM - Giantslayer
Phandelver and Warlocks: The Shattered Obelisk - Muck (L1 Plasmoid Archfey Warlock)
Gregor approaches Pello and smiles. “Your voice may have mattered most.” He reaches out for the gems, closing Pello’s hand around them. “I am no fighter but I can walk a trail. Use your gems to comfort the sellsword. I am at peace to have found a good path. Can you point the way?”
Tormund works his way over to Pello through the arguing crowd, hunched over slightly to avoid the ceiling, and bends to regard the jewelry. "Your passion and strength are inspiring, Stoutpipe. I will gladly accept a modest payment if you feel it can be spared, but these are not times for such worries. I will ensure we reach this Jahia and return in time to prepare for the arrival of the giant."
Natalie strains to keep a face straight face amongst all the disagreements-- impatient for the town's final decision. Once the crowd begins to disperse, she approaches Pello and nods. "Both you and Grigor are the only ones to offer us a specific action to complete. You are also the only one to offer some sort of payment. I'll accept your job." She turns to Gregor and Tormund. "Is Pello right to assume youre sellswords? If we mean to work together, then what are your names?" She asks, sizing the two up.
Gregor bows to Natalie. “I am sorry to disappoint, but I do not own a sword. I have some skill as a healer and can defend myself at need. My name is Gregor.”
Tormund will stiffen a bit at the title "sell-sword", eyeing Natalie distrustfully, "I am not for sale and neither is my blade, but these people are under threat and I will gladly work to correct this. We all need money, such is the way of this world. But it does not decide my friend from foe as it does for some. I am Tormund and I would be glad to have you both at my side in this endeavor."
Pello's focus remains on the growing argument that surrounds him, but he turns to face Gregor to hear his encouraging words. The halfling smiles warmly, comforted.
"That's kind of you to say, and I can only hope you're right... I suppose we'll find out."
As the others approach, Pello continues. "I can outfit you all with any basic supplies you need, free of charge, of course. (AKA any Simple weapons. Also, any armor or adventuring equipment from the PHB under 20 GP) As for guides, there's two worth considering..."
He nods toward a tall, stout, grizzled man standing with the hunters.
Sholt
"That's Sholt. He’s a bit on the surly side and he's spent more time in the eastern wood than the Weeping Rock Trail... but he's an experienced hunter and tracker who can pull his weight in a fight. That's a skill you may need out there, because the trail has quite a reputation. Bandits. Beasts. And worse things if tales are true. At any rate, Sholt is loyal to Tastra but he owes and loves me dearly. He's a good man and if I ask him to guide you he'll do so without hesitation."
Pello thinks for a moment as his eyes sweep across the room, considering other options...
Gregor and Tormund notice where he's looking...
They track his gaze to a boy hiding outside, occasionally peaking through the window.
Pello's face goes suddenly bright with a thought, then dims slightly... "Actually... There's another I could recommend, but he may be..." He shakes his head, then bites his lip, reconsidering. "...well... I'll get your thought of it."
"There's a lad. Name of Bayle. Fourteen years of age. Always cheerful and optimistic, despite losing his mum and da to plague when he was a babe. Bayle's a child of the town now. Hopping from home to home. Spent his entire life wandering all over the countryside. Probably knows it better than any of us. He's the one soul I know for certain who's actually been to the Weeping Rock. I'd lay odds he still knows the way. Trouble is, I doubt he's ever been in a true fight. And losing him would be...." Pello halts, shakes his head. "If all of our lives weren't already on the line I'd not even suggest it. But here we are..."
His eyes move to the window. "The trail itself is around seven miles long. If you leave soon, you should make it by sunsdown and hope to return before the hunters lead their exodus. Or..." He says, looking at the slowly dispersing congregation, visibly divided and coalescing into factions. "...you can try to convince them to cooperate. You'll need the luck of the Atair to manage that."
He then looks to you all, awaiting your thoughts.
DM - Origins - A Level Zero Adventure
DM - Giantslayer
Phandelver and Warlocks: The Shattered Obelisk - Muck (L1 Plasmoid Archfey Warlock)
Tormund nods along as Pello speaks, looking up to spot the boy in the window, and his furrowed brow softens for a moment. "Sholt seems a worthy guide and I'd hate to put a young one in danger, but Bayle looks eager to be a part of these proceedings." With a nod in the direction of the window. "Perhaps we should hear his thoughts and allow him a chance to volunteer. I grew up in much the same circumstances and wanted nothing more than to prove myself and help those who helped me. I would of course be prepared to protect him with my life should we encounter anything."
Gregor furrows his brow. “We have been warned against beasts and bandits, but what of when we find this slayer of giants? What will Jahia say when we ask her if she wishes to fight after so many years of peace? Perhaps she might have a different answer for Bayle. I would like to meet him too.”