DM Note: With Gordon, Derek and Jay unavailable, this was a very bijou game indeed... which is why the logs focus on Gorfang and Méabh.| DM Note: With Gordon, Derek and Jay unavailable, this was a very bijou game indeed... which is why the logs focus on Gorfang and Méabh. |
Bog handed around some bottles of Boom Boom, and Méabh experimented with the staff she'd taken from the Peloric cleric in Hightower. To her pleased surprise this also had some healing powers, and she used it freely. Restored to full health, the group remounted and pressed on into the marshes.
Six days later, the first signs of sentient habitation began to appear. Odd saurian footprints in the mud were visible, and more and more commonly woven fish-traps tethered to sticks driven into the mud. This was too good to pass up for Gorfang, who opened a couple and took some fresh fish to supplement his steady diet of salted rations. As he munched the raw flesh he was startled to note another fish hovering in mid-air near his face. He eyed it for a moment, but it seemed more distressed than hostile, thrashing and gasping for air. He made a grab for it, and it darted away, seeming to be actively trying to trick him into falling into the mud. A quiet giggle from Méabh gave him a clue what was going on, and he stopped worrying about it.
The aasimar sorceress, however, had found something to allieviate the boredom of the endless marshes, and the next few days were regularly punctuated by startled-looking airborne fish moving in various directions through the party.
A couple of days later, Uruk quietly pointed out to his comrades that he had spotted dim shapes at the edge of visibility through the rain, keeping pace with the party. Guessing these were scouts, Méabh used the Message spell to speak to them in their own language, asking why they were following.
"You are intruders in the lands of the Mengis," was the answer. "We seek the Mengis, in peace," she responded. There was a pause, then: "Continue as you're going, you will be met."
After another half-hour, more shapes emerged from the mist and rain; fifteen lizardman warriors waiting for them. Méabh had grown up in Dalaghendor, and was familar enough with lizardmen she thought. These, however, were subtly different. Heavier in build, with blockier, less dexterous hands and less domed heads, they wore little or no clothing. Primitive decorations of feathers and paint adorned their skin, and their weapons were simple and crude. The only metal weapon was a rather worn longsword in the hands of the lizard who now stepped forwards. Méabh cast a Detect Magic and discovered no enchantments among the warriors, although some small magics were perceptible out to the right where the scouts were.
"Iam Abarogan," said the spokesman, "What do you want in the lands of the Mengis?" His attitude was quite unfriendly, and behind him his warriors were tense, poised to fight. Méabh, however, spoke reassuringly in their own language, using her experience with the lizardfolk of Nasirolan to cue her body-language, and gradually they relaxed.
Gorfang had borrowed back the Translator's Ring from Lynien, and now spoke up in Krultac, asking if they had met a human called Churat. The name rang no bells, and it occurred to Gorfang and Méabh at this point that they had no description of him either... they'd never spoken to anyone who knew him. Thinking back for a moment, Gorfang dredged up some details from Churat's account, and asked if Abarogan could direct them to a good place for yellowbacks and red reapers.
At this point it became apparent that the Mengis had encountered frog-trappers before, because Aboragan immediately launched into an enthusastic description of how good the frogs were that he could direct the party to ... if the price were right. Readily enough, Méabh and Gorfang unpacked some gold - they were pretty well-off after all - and offered this in trade. Strangely, the lizards seemed unenthusiastic. A little more negotiation revealed that they much preferred 'weapon metal' or - oddly - glass, to gold, and were eyeing the party's metal weapons with open desire.
A quick whip-round raised an assortment of spare weapons, including a couple of the maces taken from the Fae Mhor for fighting undead spiders with, and this pile was offered in trade. At the last moment, Méabh added some fishhooks, and this really hit the jackpot; the Mengis became quite excited and co-operative. Aboragan was delighted, and proceeded to describe the route to the location he was dead certain would produce the frogs the party apparently wanted. He offered a guide, but the directions seemed easy enough and the offer was declined.
Méabh tried asking him if he'd ever seen a glowing glass pyramid. Abarogan's mouth fell open in a lizardman laugh; "You've already been tasting the frogs!" he chuckled. "Seen things like that after tasting frogs, right here, no need to travel." She gave that one up. Gorfang, however, quizzed the Mengis until he had accurate descriptions of several species of edible frogs to supplement their diet.
Méabh looked up from the Damarus' map, having worked out where the directions led. "It's across the river," she pointed out. "How do you cross the river?" Abarogan was puzzled for a moment. "We swim," he said, as if asked how to breathe. "Don't you have boats?" she asked. "Why?" was the simple answer.
Gorfang groaned. "Is there a bridge," he asked more in hope than confidence. "Up at stone-houses, yes, bridge, and down near big-river-never-ends," was the reply. Gorfang and Méabh looked at each other. "We could build rafts," suggested the orc. "Can the riding lizards swim?" Aboragan nodded, "Yes." he said.
Full-grown trees were fairly sparse in the Trakar, and building the raft was pretty difficult. The final construction wasn't anywhere near strong enough to support a person, but would hold some of their more persishable supplies. Everyone doffed their armour, and loaded it onto the riding lizards, retaining only a dagger or similar. Finally, gritting their teeth, they set out.
The river Aldgorm was a quarter of a mile wide at this point, but it felt like twenty. The crossing took over an hour and a half, and left everyone exhausted. Once the adventurers had tended to their weapons and armour they had no desire to press on and camped for the night. The next day, they set out for the lands of the Fionath.
Halfway through the fourth day from the river, without any warning, two arrows smacked into the ground a few feet in front of Eloy, who was leading at the time. Everyone braced themselves, as Gorfang bellowed “We wish to pass peacefully through your lands. If you do that again we'll kill all five of you!" Behind him, Méabh quietly cast Mage Armour, displaying a lack of confidence in Gorfang's negotiation that was to prove well-founded.
Gorfang - still mounted on Shamlakh - was now advancing steadily towards the lizards, having identified the leader. "Go away! You are not wanted here," was followed immediately by another flurry of arrows. Méabh cast True Strike and launched an arrow at him, and the orc kicked his warg into a gallop. Eloy and Uruk joined in the archery duel, wounding one lizardman and killing one of the two enemy archers. Lynien tried a shot with her short bow but shook her head as it skated off her target's tough scales.
Gorfang and Shamlakh cannoned into the group of lizard warriors, scattering them like ninepins as they crashed through. A single blow was enough to cut the leader of the lizardmen down. The other lizards broke and fled in different directions. Gorfang slid out of the saddle and sent Shamlakh after one lizard before pursuing and slaughtering another.
Méabh had been a bit disheartened by the results of her archery but kept it up. Her dilligence was rewarded; her next arrow went completely through a lizardman's head, killing him instantly. Encouraged, she went on to disable the remaining archer's arm, causing him to flee. As he stood to run, Uruk drove a fatal arrow into his groin. Méabh's eyes watered. I don't care if he hasn't got any, she thought, that had to hurt!
After hiding the bodies, the companions pressed on carefully, until they emerged from the trees and got their first sight of the ruins they were seeking.
The hill looked odd, even from quite some distance away; the shape was far too regular. Closer, it could be seen that the hill began quite gently, rising no more than 30' from the surface muck for nearly half a mile inland. At that point, though, it soared almost vertically to something approaching 100' high almost in one go. A relatively large feral lizardman settlement of twenty huts or so sprawled untidily on the plain. The outside face of the upper hill showed the remains of having been shaped, though in places landslips had covered it over. A gaping doorway yawned in one place, 30’ high by 30’ wide, and around 200’ to the left the ragged remains of three windows pierced the wall.
There 
was no way they could creep up to the settlement unobserved, so they elected to advance across the mud. As they did so, warriors of the Fionath clan gathered outside the village, weapons and javelins held ready. Among them, the adventurers were able to pick out two individuals worthy of note.
One was a powerful warrior, bigger than all the rest, and better equipped; from his dominant positioning within the group, almost certainly the chieftain. The other was thinner than the average, unarmoured, and adorned in skins, feathers, beads and other barbaric trappings - the tribe's shaman.
The shaman hung back as the group advanced, but the chieftain advanced, hefting his weapon, a steel warhammer doubtless looted from some luckless adventurer or soldier. He raised his voice, and called, "What do you lot want?"
"We bring greetings from your friends across the water-" started Méabh, but the chieftain cut her off. "We have no friends, only enemies!" he barked. Gorfang picked up the conversation. "We wish to travel through your lands," he continued, "and explore the ruins behind you."
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There are a load of ways this picture doesn't match events; so what, it's got drama, lizardmen, an orc, a babe, magic and all the mud you could wish for!! |
Instantly, he knew he'd said the wrong thing. A harsh hiss of anger rose from every lizardman present, and the shaman's head twitched. The chieftain snarled. "Only the Fionath go into the Temple of the Gods! You will die before you take another step forwards. I am Berratlan, chief of the Fionath, and I have spoken!"
Shrugging slightly, Gorfang moved forwards, Eloy at his shoulder, in a slow advance that left his intentions unclear long enough for his comrades to prepare themselves, at the risk of drawing the enemy fire to himself. Méabh, judging the spellcaster to be the greatest hazard, sent an arrow into his leg. Shocked, the shaman cast Jump and soared backwards over the warriors and out of combat. Disgusted by this poor accuracy, she quaffed a potion of Cat's Grace to improve her aim. Next to her Uruk drew his bow, loosed, and cursed as he completely missed his target. Behind the lizard he'd aimed at, a completely different one screamed and dropped, fatally injured, leaving the halforc unsure whether to laugh or cry. Lynien glanced around at the horde of lizard warriors about to attack, weighed the odds, slipped on her ring, and vanished from view.
Kicking Shamlakh into a headlong charge, Gorfang hurtled towards the thirty-odd lizard warriors. Just as a collision seemed inevitable, the wolf bunched himself and sprang, leaping clear over the front line of warriors to land near the chieftain. With a roar, Gorfang engaged Berretlan in a skirl of steel and shower of sparks, while Eloy hacked down another warrior from the front lines.
Meabh's took aim again, the potion coursing through her veins refining her accuracy, but only managed to replicate Uruk's deed, missing the shaman entirely and drilling a warrior next to him. Uruk himself, resigned to whittling down the numbers, took out another one. At the back of the fight, the shaman cast a Ray of Enfeeblement at Méabh, but the sorceress shrugged the effects off and ignored it. She cast True Strike, trying to launch a deadly accurate arrow, but again failed to produce a knockout blow - the spell failed, though she still hit him. It's this cheap bow, she cursed inwardly, I could draw further but it would bloody snap; I need a better one!
Gorfang found an opening, and struck a terrible blow, knocking Berretlan from his clawed feet. Snarling, he challenged the chieftain to yield and allow them to pass. "All we want to do is go past your huts, explore the ruins, and go away again. We'll have to kill your shaman, though," he added. Berretlan hissed. "Without Yassukhir I'm dead anyway," he replied, "our enemies will overwhelm us." Gorfang hefted the Veldrin. "All right!" shouted Berretlan hastily. He raised his voice. "Drop your weapons, men!" he cried. There was a choked cry as Uruk 'failed to hear him in time', and then the fighting ceased.
Yassukhir
the shaman had deduced what was happening, and turned to flee. Méabh was ready for this, and fired an arrow which tore across the side of his head, making him stagger and slow. Ordering the warg Shamlakh in pursuit, Gorfang swung his own bow off his shoulder and loosed, hitting the fugitive in the same leg Méabh had wounded, slowing him further. He stumbled on towards the opening into the ruins, but his wounds slowed him to the point that Shamlakh could catch up to him. The warg overbore the skinny lizardman like a ninepin; but, obedient to his master's instructions, seized him lightly instead of with his usual tearing bite, hefted him (mostly) off the ground, and dragged him back to where Gorfang and Berretlan panted at blades' point.
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