The kobolds, cruel and cunning in equal measure, have become a festering blight upon the borderlands. Once content to skulk in their stinking warrens and raid livestock, they have grown bold of late—brazen enough to enslave goblins, hobfolk, and worse. Whispers now tell of iron brands and bone pens, of screams echoing through the pine-thick hills where no honest man dares tread.
Elvyn, gods preserve him, was no longer young—his sword hand slower, his eyes clouded—but the fire of justice still burned in his breast. Once, he had ridden with kings and broken brigand lords across the rivers. In his twilight years, he sought peace in these troubled lands, and when he saw the kobolds' evil, he took up arms once more. He vanished soon after. Most thought him dead—or worse.
But now a goblin, half-mad and bleeding from a dozen lash-marks, has stumbled into the town of Dunwarren. Between coughs and cries, he told of a pit where Elvyn is held—starved, bound, but still alive. The council, cowards in robes and rings, dare not send their own. So they have turned to you, four sellswords with little more than steel and desperation to your names.
Bring Elvyn back alive, and they promise you a hundred golden stags—enough coin to fill a purse or slit a dozen throats. But mind this: the kobolds are not what they were. There is a hunger in them now, an anger deeper than goblin chains or old grudges. If you can learn the root of their fury… well, that might earn you more than coin. Or get you all killed.
Choose wisely. Ride soon. The sun sets early in the hills, and darker things than kobolds stir when it does.
The wind at the southern boundary of Dunwarren carries the scent of rain and distant fire. There, beneath a sky the colour of hammered iron, your company has gathered—five riders cloaked in wool and resolve, your faces shadowed beneath hoods, your mounts restless on the muddy track.
The council, stingy though it was with truth and gold alike, has furnished the essentials—grain, waterskins, hard bread, and iron enough to hang on a belt. Even a mount apiece, though thin and wary-eyed, as if they knew where they were bound.
By the goblin's ragged map and half-choked words, the kobold den lies three days to the southeast, beyond the jagged hills and into the black fir woods where the sun seldom reaches. A cursed place, if the tales are true. And in that lair—Elvyn, if he still draws breath.
There will be no feasts nor fanfare. The track is narrow, the danger close, and time—like all good things in the Southern Borders—is slipping through your fingers.
OOC: While everyone signs up feel free to introduce your characters and RP together while you prepare to set out. Please label all OOC discussion as I have done here. Note it is assumed that you have all accepted the quest, though your motivations may differ :)
OOC: Hi All. My first pbp. Am presuming OOC = Out of Character.
Quick introduction of Skritch Nubbins:
Skritch Nubbins
Skritch is a young Ratatosk Ekore (FYI, a sentient speaking squirrels basically, from Kobold Press' Book of Ebon Tides) druid.
He's chatty, if skittish, but he overcomes it by being super keen to trust folks as long as they don't hurt him or those he cares for.
As we set out on this quest, he's astride a Mastiff with a small saddle. He has chosen to name his new mount, "Sunhill" just because that's a bit cheery and things could be getting a wee bit grim in the days to come...
“How the hell did I pick you lot to ride with. My big mouth, getting me in trouble again.” Vakas snorts, wheeling his horse Vincent around, circling the group and then taking place in the front as they ride forward. Talking to himself, he continues. “Shoulda cozied up to that group of pilgrims that just pulled into town. Looked curious. Itchin for knowledge. And they had full purses and coin pouches…” he grumbles, fixated on it, then looks back, forgetting that he was talking out loud. “Name’s Vakas. Vakas Vonelo. At your service, traveler and guide extraordinaire.” He slips into familiar banter as he guides his mount forward. “Wonder if that tortured goblin remembered it right. Probably had his head pounded in a little. Hopefully this is not all for naught.” He casts a side eye at the strange squirrel creature, riding atop the mastiff. “Ho…. Don’t see that every day. Do ya?” He turns around looking at the others, as if for verification.
He is reserved and tends to observe before speaking. A habit he picked up from countless hours of performing in taverns and ale houses before audiences that barely notice him. Now with bladework he can handle himself in a scrap, but he knows his limits or as his friend the bouncer says "Stab, twist then get the hell out of there as ye would last as long as glob of butter in a skillet"
Now Rachus is truly proud of his skill in music and how that skill lifted his understanding to a few of the mysteries in magic.
At present he is riding a pony that suits his small size better. He too nods in affirmation and looks to the squirrel on the mastiff wide eyed "Indeed this is a rare sight to behold. Well met all my name is Rachus and for this task I actually volunteered. I truly hope that was not a mistake"
On his belt is cylindrical leather case for his flute and his drum is tied to his pack
In the minds of Rachus and Vakas a small, scratchy voice says, "Yes, er, well met indeed. Indeed, yes."
Getting the hang of Sunhill is proving a little tricky for Skritch. As often as not Sunhill is scampering off to sniff at something. And when he's not, most of Skritch's attention is dedicated to not getting a hoof in the face.
" I, er, I'm terribly glad to meet you b - whoa - both..."
He pulls Sunhill out to the side of the trail, just for a few safer seconds. Hmm, he thinks. A few minutes of ritual Speak with Animals and the regular re-application of some Animal Friendship along with bits of dry jerky might do the trick. May be...
"Looks like we'll be about saving the world, then. Or well, at least, our small corner of it!"he says. Then, to emphasise the point, Skritch pulls at Sunhill's reins, rearing his mount up heroically - but then has to dive off as Sunhill decides that's his cue to to wriggle like a maniac on his back on the grass...
Skritch tells himself he must be more strategic with his heroic poses going forward.
He looks at the mountains ahead and works a bit of Druidcraft. A small ball of light forms in the air in front of Skritch, spinning slowly as it predicts the next 24 hour's weather...
Skritch the orb flickers to life above your palm, casting a pale, unsteady glow as it rotates. Within, leaden clouds coil and churn like a storm brooding over a battlefield. The air feels colder just watching it. No thunder, no fire, just the dull, bone-deep chill of a sky that forgets the sun. Your journey begins not with fury, but with grey silence and the promise of long, bitter miles. (roll perception for me please)
OOC: While we wait for the final two companions to join we will say they are riding quietly a few paces behind, hoods down. The three of you can feel free to interact as you travel.
Vakas on his horse slows down, looking at Skritch, doing a double take. “What do you see, are you feeling.. itchy? Something ahead? Why so jumpy? It does feel a little cooler, seems odd, we are perhaps headed for bad weather.” Vakas pulls the hood of his cloak up, readying himself for any rain to come. He looks over to Rachus and spies the flute case, asking “Do you know any good traveling songs? Anything to put our minds at ease? It appears we still have a good bit of travel ahead of us..”
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
A wizard is never late, nor is he early, he arrives precisely when he means to.
When hearing Scritch's voice in his mind he smiles with a bemused grin. How rare and wonderful that he is here to meet such a unique being. Rachus flourishes his hand in a fanciful gesture as they continue down the trail "I am at your service and music is something I can definitely bring to the fore"
He takes out his flute which is an Irish flute.
He then licks his lips in preparation and begins playing music called Good Times.
"Oh, hi there! That is a beautiful song that you played on the instrument thingy. And you, you little squirrel, are just so cute! I'm glad to know you are on our side otherwise I'd have shot you from a tree and cooked you up. And that just wouldn't be good for the mission. I'm Dealuri, a soldier who is relieved to be away from that city."Well, that is Dealuri for you, not the brightest of the bunch nor diplomatic, and bragging about her hunting skills. Her cloak is over her chain mail but under her quiver and the aforementioned longbow. She has a war pick on one side and a shield on the other. All of the weapons have streaks of maize and blue, apparently to match the color of her hair and robe, and confusingly, she calls her horse, Wolfie.
OOC: @Skritch rolling on the sheet or in the post is fine. Either way state the result in the post by reply :) @Thannadol, no worries. I am working on a 24 hour tick rate for posts, will post more often when life allows but will try to not let the game run ahead of people :)
Skritch, you see a flicker of sickly green in the orb, like corpse-fire beneath glass. The magic writhes, uneasy, as if tasting rot on the wind. This is no mere reading of the weather. Something darker stirs in the sky, and the spell knows it.
Rachus, make a performance roll as you pit your melody against the heavy weight of doom that hangs in the dank afternoon air.
Dealuri roll d20 for your first day of travel (Wilderness Encounter)
Skritch scampers from Vakas' saddle down onto Sunhill then, with a squeaky, "Yah!" urges Sunhill ahead of the party, just enough to wheel around and get their attention.
In their minds, at least in the minds of all those within 10 feet, they hear Skritch say, "Doom! Doom! Doom is in the very air! ... So, er, that's less good. Eyes open, people!"
(With a 20) Though Skritch’s warning hangs heavy in the air, the bard plays on. Rachus your melody winds through the party like mist, soft and strange, planting seeds of joy in wary hearts. For a moment, the road ahead seems less cruel, and hope stirs anew. (Make a note: The whole party gain advantage on their next saving throw)
(With a 1) The afternoon wanes, dragging its shadowed heels across the land as you press southward, the crude map in your hand more guesswork than guide. The light dims, bruising the sky with the colour of old blood. Ahead, flanking the rutted track like silent sentries, stand scarecrows — scores of them, perhaps hundreds. No fields stretch around them, no stalks of wheat or barley, no crows to frighten. Just scarecrows, motionless in the dusk, their empty eyes fixed on the road, as if waiting. You can make out their shapes in the dimming light but you are still some distance away, how do you approach?
OOC: @Thannadol for future reference we will say you have possession of the goblins map.
Vakas slows up his horse and signals a stop. He looks around to see if there is any path around this army of scarecrows. He tries to gauge distance to them. He turns back to his companions, saying in a low voice, “Do we ride around? Anyone want to light up one of these scarecrows, see if they burn? Something isn’t right here…”
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
A wizard is never late, nor is he early, he arrives precisely when he means to.
"Well, that is funny. Who would leave all these scarecrows out here. I remember using one of these as a practice target when I was first learning to shoot my bow. The guidance for beginners was to aim for the big part of the body. I am going to aim for the head of one of them." She takes her time to ready her bow and notch an arrow.
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
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Caves of the Kobold Slave Masters
The kobolds, cruel and cunning in equal measure, have become a festering blight upon the borderlands. Once content to skulk in their stinking warrens and raid livestock, they have grown bold of late—brazen enough to enslave goblins, hobfolk, and worse. Whispers now tell of iron brands and bone pens, of screams echoing through the pine-thick hills where no honest man dares tread.
Elvyn, gods preserve him, was no longer young—his sword hand slower, his eyes clouded—but the fire of justice still burned in his breast. Once, he had ridden with kings and broken brigand lords across the rivers. In his twilight years, he sought peace in these troubled lands, and when he saw the kobolds' evil, he took up arms once more. He vanished soon after. Most thought him dead—or worse.
But now a goblin, half-mad and bleeding from a dozen lash-marks, has stumbled into the town of Dunwarren. Between coughs and cries, he told of a pit where Elvyn is held—starved, bound, but still alive. The council, cowards in robes and rings, dare not send their own. So they have turned to you, four sellswords with little more than steel and desperation to your names.
Bring Elvyn back alive, and they promise you a hundred golden stags—enough coin to fill a purse or slit a dozen throats. But mind this: the kobolds are not what they were. There is a hunger in them now, an anger deeper than goblin chains or old grudges. If you can learn the root of their fury… well, that might earn you more than coin. Or get you all killed.
Choose wisely. Ride soon. The sun sets early in the hills, and darker things than kobolds stir when it does.
DM - Warlock of Firetop Mountain
Your Journey Begins
The wind at the southern boundary of Dunwarren carries the scent of rain and distant fire. There, beneath a sky the colour of hammered iron, your company has gathered—five riders cloaked in wool and resolve, your faces shadowed beneath hoods, your mounts restless on the muddy track.
The council, stingy though it was with truth and gold alike, has furnished the essentials—grain, waterskins, hard bread, and iron enough to hang on a belt. Even a mount apiece, though thin and wary-eyed, as if they knew where they were bound.
By the goblin's ragged map and half-choked words, the kobold den lies three days to the southeast, beyond the jagged hills and into the black fir woods where the sun seldom reaches. A cursed place, if the tales are true. And in that lair—Elvyn, if he still draws breath.
There will be no feasts nor fanfare. The track is narrow, the danger close, and time—like all good things in the Southern Borders—is slipping through your fingers.
OOC: While everyone signs up feel free to introduce your characters and RP together while you prepare to set out. Please label all OOC discussion as I have done here. Note it is assumed that you have all accepted the quest, though your motivations may differ :)
DM - Warlock of Firetop Mountain
OOC: Hi All. My first pbp. Am presuming OOC = Out of Character.
Quick introduction of Skritch Nubbins:
Skritch Nubbins
Skritch is a young Ratatosk Ekore (FYI, a sentient speaking squirrels basically, from Kobold Press' Book of Ebon Tides) druid.
He's chatty, if skittish, but he overcomes it by being super keen to trust folks as long as they don't hurt him or those he cares for.
As we set out on this quest, he's astride a Mastiff with a small saddle. He has chosen to name his new mount, "Sunhill" just because that's a bit cheery and things could be getting a wee bit grim in the days to come...
V looking forward to this!
“How the hell did I pick you lot to ride with. My big mouth, getting me in trouble again.” Vakas snorts, wheeling his horse Vincent around, circling the group and then taking place in the front as they ride forward. Talking to himself, he continues. “Shoulda cozied up to that group of pilgrims that just pulled into town. Looked curious. Itchin for knowledge. And they had full purses and coin pouches…” he grumbles, fixated on it, then looks back, forgetting that he was talking out loud. “Name’s Vakas. Vakas Vonelo. At your service, traveler and guide extraordinaire.” He slips into familiar banter as he guides his mount forward. “Wonder if that tortured goblin remembered it right. Probably had his head pounded in a little. Hopefully this is not all for naught.” He casts a side eye at the strange squirrel creature, riding atop the mastiff. “Ho…. Don’t see that every day. Do ya?” He turns around looking at the others, as if for verification.
A wizard is never late, nor is he early, he arrives precisely when he means to.
OOC: Nice to meet you
Rachus is a young adult goblin bard.
He is reserved and tends to observe before speaking. A habit he picked up from countless hours of performing in taverns and ale houses before audiences that barely notice him. Now with bladework he can handle himself in a scrap, but he knows his limits or as his friend the bouncer says "Stab, twist then get the hell out of there as ye would last as long as glob of butter in a skillet"
Now Rachus is truly proud of his skill in music and how that skill lifted his understanding to a few of the mysteries in magic.
At present he is riding a pony that suits his small size better. He too nods in affirmation and looks to the squirrel on the mastiff wide eyed "Indeed this is a rare sight to behold. Well met all my name is Rachus and for this task I actually volunteered. I truly hope that was not a mistake"
On his belt is cylindrical leather case for his flute and his drum is tied to his pack
In the minds of Rachus and Vakas a small, scratchy voice says, "Yes, er, well met indeed. Indeed, yes."
Getting the hang of Sunhill is proving a little tricky for Skritch. As often as not Sunhill is scampering off to sniff at something. And when he's not, most of Skritch's attention is dedicated to not getting a hoof in the face.
" I, er, I'm terribly glad to meet you b - whoa - both..."
He pulls Sunhill out to the side of the trail, just for a few safer seconds. Hmm, he thinks. A few minutes of ritual Speak with Animals and the regular re-application of some Animal Friendship along with bits of dry jerky might do the trick. May be...
"Looks like we'll be about saving the world, then. Or well, at least, our small corner of it!" he says. Then, to emphasise the point, Skritch pulls at Sunhill's reins, rearing his mount up heroically - but then has to dive off as Sunhill decides that's his cue to to wriggle like a maniac on his back on the grass...
Skritch tells himself he must be more strategic with his heroic poses going forward.
He looks at the mountains ahead and works a bit of Druidcraft. A small ball of light forms in the air in front of Skritch, spinning slowly as it predicts the next 24 hour's weather...
Skritch the orb flickers to life above your palm, casting a pale, unsteady glow as it rotates. Within, leaden clouds coil and churn like a storm brooding over a battlefield. The air feels colder just watching it. No thunder, no fire, just the dull, bone-deep chill of a sky that forgets the sun. Your journey begins not with fury, but with grey silence and the promise of long, bitter miles. (roll perception for me please)
OOC: While we wait for the final two companions to join we will say they are riding quietly a few paces behind, hoods down. The three of you can feel free to interact as you travel.
DM - Warlock of Firetop Mountain
Ooc: I rolled on my character sheet. Did it come through to you?
Perception = 19 + 3 = 22
Or would u prefer I use the roll functionality in the thread?
Vakas on his horse slows down, looking at Skritch, doing a double take. “What do you see, are you feeling.. itchy? Something ahead? Why so jumpy? It does feel a little cooler, seems odd, we are perhaps headed for bad weather.” Vakas pulls the hood of his cloak up, readying himself for any rain to come. He looks over to Rachus and spies the flute case, asking “Do you know any good traveling songs? Anything to put our minds at ease? It appears we still have a good bit of travel ahead of us..”
A wizard is never late, nor is he early, he arrives precisely when he means to.
Skritch jumps from his saddle, via Vakas' stirrups, up to sit in front of Vakas, looking at him from a perch on the pommel.
Sunhill trots alongside. He's definitely getting the knack of not getting a kicking.
Skritch raises his hand and summons his swirling weather orb. For a second it looks like an ethereal acorn before taking on its forecasting form.
"Vakas - it is Vakas, right?" Skritch's voice chittered cheerfully in Vakas' mind. "Vakas, ahead of us I see..."
When hearing Scritch's voice in his mind he smiles with a bemused grin. How rare and wonderful that he is here to meet such a unique being. Rachus flourishes his hand in a fanciful gesture as they continue down the trail "I am at your service and music is something I can definitely bring to the fore"
He takes out his flute which is an Irish flute.
He then licks his lips in preparation and begins playing music called Good Times.
"Oh, hi there! That is a beautiful song that you played on the instrument thingy. And you, you little squirrel, are just so cute! I'm glad to know you are on our side otherwise I'd have shot you from a tree and cooked you up. And that just wouldn't be good for the mission. I'm Dealuri, a soldier who is relieved to be away from that city." Well, that is Dealuri for you, not the brightest of the bunch nor diplomatic, and bragging about her hunting skills. Her cloak is over her chain mail but under her quiver and the aforementioned longbow. She has a war pick on one side and a shield on the other. All of the weapons have streaks of maize and blue, apparently to match the color of her hair and robe, and confusingly, she calls her horse, Wolfie.
OOC: @Skritch rolling on the sheet or in the post is fine. Either way state the result in the post by reply :) @Thannadol, no worries. I am working on a 24 hour tick rate for posts, will post more often when life allows but will try to not let the game run ahead of people :)
Skritch, you see a flicker of sickly green in the orb, like corpse-fire beneath glass. The magic writhes, uneasy, as if tasting rot on the wind. This is no mere reading of the weather. Something darker stirs in the sky, and the spell knows it.
Rachus, make a performance roll as you pit your melody against the heavy weight of doom that hangs in the dank afternoon air.
Dealuri roll d20 for your first day of travel (Wilderness Encounter)
DM - Warlock of Firetop Mountain
Rachus Performance Check
18
Skritch scampers from Vakas' saddle down onto Sunhill then, with a squeaky, "Yah!" urges Sunhill ahead of the party, just enough to wheel around and get their attention.
In their minds, at least in the minds of all those within 10 feet, they hear Skritch say, "Doom! Doom! Doom is in the very air! ... So, er, that's less good. Eyes open, people!"
Wilderness Encounter 3
"Yuh yoh..."
And methinks me shall cast me Shillelagh cantrip on me club just as a a precaution...
(With a 20) Though Skritch’s warning hangs heavy in the air, the bard plays on. Rachus your melody winds through the party like mist, soft and strange, planting seeds of joy in wary hearts. For a moment, the road ahead seems less cruel, and hope stirs anew. (Make a note: The whole party gain advantage on their next saving throw)
(With a 1) The afternoon wanes, dragging its shadowed heels across the land as you press southward, the crude map in your hand more guesswork than guide. The light dims, bruising the sky with the colour of old blood. Ahead, flanking the rutted track like silent sentries, stand scarecrows — scores of them, perhaps hundreds. No fields stretch around them, no stalks of wheat or barley, no crows to frighten. Just scarecrows, motionless in the dusk, their empty eyes fixed on the road, as if waiting. You can make out their shapes in the dimming light but you are still some distance away, how do you approach?
OOC: @Thannadol for future reference we will say you have possession of the goblins map.
DM - Warlock of Firetop Mountain
Vakas slows up his horse and signals a stop. He looks around to see if there is any path around this army of scarecrows. He tries to gauge distance to them. He turns back to his companions, saying in a low voice, “Do we ride around? Anyone want to light up one of these scarecrows, see if they burn? Something isn’t right here…”
A wizard is never late, nor is he early, he arrives precisely when he means to.
"Well, that is funny. Who would leave all these scarecrows out here. I remember using one of these as a practice target when I was first learning to shoot my bow. The guidance for beginners was to aim for the big part of the body. I am going to aim for the head of one of them." She takes her time to ready her bow and notch an arrow.