Gnome One Shot Post Report - Meet 2

This was the 2nd half of the One Shot (a problem I have, making my one shots too long!) where the group tried to get a number of gnomes to escape the Theocrat and the former gnomish homeland, the Nightwoods. We had interviewed and met with a new 6th player who did not make the game the prior week due to being sick. This resulted in a brief ret-con of the last 10 minutes of the game…Enjoy!)

The Original Ending:

Dame Fireball was at one point a member of the Arcane Academy but as the Theocrat was rising to power, she could see the way things were going and “retired”, moving to her ancestral estate and staying here and out of the public eye. She is part of the Underground Railroad and uses her estate as a way point for gnomes looking to flee. She has a hollow space set up under the grain silo and they will stay there. At midnight, her long time friend, Undark, will meet them and it is three days from here to the next stage of their escape – a Thorpe named “Hopeless” and a contact named Sintankerin “Skank” Skunkherder.

She wished them well, helped them get set up in the hollow under the silo, showed them where the water skins and food stuffs were, and instructed them to rest up for now, it’s three days hard travel overland to the next locale. Once inside, some healing was given to Scrambles by Peppy’s healing kit and a natural touch or magic by Sprink. We loaded up about 4 days of food and water – it was going to weigh more, but as Seagull suggested, it was better to have more than not enough.

Let’s assume that MOST of that happened, with some adjustments as seen to follow, shall we?

And now…on with the show!

Follows:

A good month or so earlier, Spatula, a gnomish scullion barely out of her 50’s (19 to you and I), and a penchant for violence and unnecessary altercations, had gotten into another of her spats and fights with a young gnomish woman in the kitchens of the cookhouse she was working in and unfortunately, the 2 of them attracted the attention of a local Theocrat Defender. The matter was resolved at that time, but the head chef had taken a shine on young Spatula, and informed her that she needed to get out of Nightwoods and soon, as her repeated offences regarding inner-fighting and assault on other gnomes was now a matter of public record…and the Defenders were looking to possibly bring her in for re-education.

She was given instructions to gather her belongings and make her way via rail from Foxmanor to Deepwoods, bringing a set of work papers with her (not in her name) to the Festival Manorhouse where she should make contact with a member of the underground railroad named Ruffles – her first point of contact in getting out of Nightwoods. After that, she found herself in a group of 5 other gnomes who were also being smuggled out. Their adventure and trip away followed a similar bent and path that the party would a month later. They made their way into the Manor House, found their way to Konami and used his code to make it through the tunnels. They met the half ogre clan known as the Baggers and stayed in their sacks until weather had turned and they could meet the Westward Gale and Captain Notchers.

It was here that the journey differed. Spatula had drunk the cups of pond water the half ogres had supplied and had gotten ill from it. So during the height of the lightning storm, she had gone to the head (bathroom on a ship) where she stayed for a few hours, cramping up, voiding, drinking a bit more, and then doing it all again and again. So when Squirrel had gotten the gnomes to take the “Dropship” down to the floor, assuming that it was the next stage of their journey, they were nowhere to be seen when the Westward Gale landed at the Helburn Estate.

And then Spatula staggered out of the head, made her way to the deck, and wondered where everyone else was. The ship was searched again, no other gnomes were on board, and this had gotten Captain Notchers bothered – it was about every 3rd time for the last 10 or so trips that some of the escapees just disappeared. Dame Hellburn suggested they might have been magiced off the ship by another vessel. However it was, Spatula was left here and the Westward Gale took off on its way to Clearmeadow.

As for the scullion, Dame Fireball was not going to send her along at this time. A lone gnome would be snatched up by the Monastics and it was prohibitively expensive to just send her. Instead she would work on the Dame’s estate in the same capacity she had been in other homes, except she was to be covered up at all time, have her own secretive quarters, and SAY NOTHING AND DO NOTHING THAT WOULD ATTRACT ANYONE’S ATTENTION!!.

Spatula got it.

Almost 4 weeks passed before it was announced “Ship coming in!” and the entire staff came to the clearing to see the Westward Gale settling down. Spatula was enticed to gather her belongings and material and was escorted to the grain silo where she was given instructions to introduce herself to the other group and this would be her travelling companions on the next leg of their journey out of the Nightwoods.

When they entered the silo, Dame Fireball started the introductions and informed them that they would all be leaving at midnight. Her familiar, Undark, a large mole, would be guiding them on the next leg of their journey. 3 days to a small town named Undark where they will make contact with Sintankerin Skunk Skunkherder. The silo was sealed up and the group loaded up on foods and water, opting to get as much sleep as they could before midnight.

The mole burrowed into the area through the western wall, scooping out the hard packed dirt and then coming in. It was big, some 3’ tall, 4 and a half feet long, and had to weigh in the vicinity of 100 plus pounds. Sprinkle, as an Adept, found he could communicate with the Dame’s familiar without the need of using his ability to speak with burrowing animals, so he acted as the translator for the party, fielding questions of the big guy as need be.

We left the silo where Undark refilled the hole, and then he had us follow him through some tunnels until we came upon the surface. From there, he kept up a tight pace and exacting schedule, escorting the group through the primeval forest and leading them on. We had a good pace in the beginning before we came upon the presence of an ogre. It was wandering about, beating the bushes with a length of tree, and sniffing about.

As the rest of the group hid in the bushes, Spatula went the other way, clambering up the nearest tree and hiding in the foliage. We waited and watched, nervous as it got closer and closer. Spatula contemplated leaping out of the tree and stabbing the brute with her stiletto, but was getting waved off by the party below that that was a TERRIBLE idea.

We needed to get it away from us, so Peppy made the sound of foxes scattering through the underbrush and ran off to the north. As the ogre gave chase, we moved off at a good clip to the west again, Spatula scaling down the tree face first in a spooky and freaky fashion. After a bit of a jog, we slowed down and continued our trek, eyes wide. Peppy was gathering the odd berry, moss, tuber, and fungus along the way, just in case we were to starve needlessly!

Sprinkle tried to let us know some of the thoughts and feelings that Undark had, but the group felt that he was unduly embellishing the mole’s comments to give them a skeptical and sarcastic tone. We continued on through the night but it was in the early hours of the morn that Undark let the group know that the ogre was on our trail and hunting the party. Not for anything to do with the Theocrat, but merely to catch and cook us. We sped up, running through the woods fast. Scrambles had the easiest time of it all, taking deep breaths as we charged on.

The ewerer was getting into a fight with Undark, telling him to just dig us a hole and we can all hide in it and the mole was snapping back that in the time we had, it would be big enough for HIM only, and none of the gnomes. He was looking for a rabbit warren that he could swiftly widen up and get us all in in time. The party, only hearing Sprinkle’s side of it, admonished the gnome to leave Undark alone.

Sprink became winded and then some of the others followed, Garrick and Peppy. We started stumbling along, looking behind us, worried as the ogre grunted out as it ran after us. It still hadn’t spotted us, relying on its sense of smell for now, but we were losing ground. We came upon a small creek (barely 3’ wide, maybe 8” deep) and ran Upstream, hard and fast, boots and shoes muddying as we high stepped it through the gravel and wet dirt. We continued on until we were mostly exhausted. Finally we came upon a tree at the creek’s edge that had fallen over. Undark crawled under it and dug us out a wider hollow and the party all filed in and with no energy left, passed out and rested.

We awoke the next evening tired, muscles hurting. Most of the group had never run like that before and were unused to such periods of exercise. Our packs and skins were a bit lighter and we felt we were going to make better time, and followed Undark as he led us out of the hollow and we moved off through the evening westward some more. It was a long walk through the woods and we noticed something. The average age of the trees was getting younger, testament to our approach of the edge of Nightwoods. The trees were still old, one or two centuries, but not the 4, 5, or even older growths that had been part of our world for the longest time. It made the party sad in some way, but they were also excited to note they were getting closer to their goal.

Outside of the stray owl, field mouse, or other night animal, out trip this night was without issue and we came in due time to an abandoned woodcutters cottage. It had to have been abandoned a decade or more. Ceiling sagged, and other signs of the place being weary, but we were able to get inside and once there, dropped our bags and packs and ate. We talked for a while about our journey and once more there was some concern about how Sprinkle was displaying Undark’s attitude. Either way, we rested and slept real well.

The next night had us tighten our straps even more as our packs were lighter again. We left the cottage and moved on, following Undark again into the woods. We had a good run for a while until the mole sighed and commented that “they” were here. Who? That was to be seen as a brownie appeared on the path before us, 8 inches of tremendous ego, and demanded tribute as “King of the Brownies!” Someone mentioned leprechauns which only insulted him, making him land on the ground and stride up imperiously. A number of others were in the trees and it was telling we needed to give him 2 commons or he’d “gut us where we stand” with his very small sword – practically a needle.

So Spatula snapped him up and stuffed him into her small sack.

He cussed and screamed and she shook the sack around, holding the top tight, slapping it into the trees and from within, the brownie tried to stab at her through the bag but couldn’t get a good shot. Eventually he was reduced to tears and begged to be let free. So she dumped it out and he rolled to his feet, crying and miserable. As for the rest of us, they wanted tribute and Garrick and Seagull worked up a system where they gave 10 bits and a sewing needle, which the brownies were fascinated with as it was so sharp. We left them and moved on, continuing our journey until at long last, we could smell the Thorpe of Hopeless.

And it smelled like it sounded.

4 ramshackle buildings and part of a stone building that was at one point a tower or keep were here. A number of wagons and tired looking ponies along with maybe 20 or so gnomes that we could see. And skunks. Lots of skunks. A damned ugly gnome with pocks, a reek, and some old scars met the group. He was Skunk and he thanked Undark for getting them here. The mole left and wished us well, and the group once more, was unsure if Sprink was translating properly for us. Skank got us off the street (mud path?) and into the stone house. He let us know that we would be able to rest (we were exhausted) and we would be leaving tomorrow morning. There would be 3 wagons set up, we had to sneak in the bottom of one of them (trap door on the bottom), under the bark chips and skunk gland extract, and would take us out of Nightwoods where we would meet up with a tribe of centaurs headed by a Stallion named Ravage. Ravage would then take us to Tradeford and our last leg of the journey. As for which wagon? Leave it up to chance. There was a cup with 3 marbles in it, 2 brown and one black. We choose a marble and then get in the wagon of that color – all 3 wagons were going out, and no one would know which one we were in.

We talked about what was waiting for us. There were a number of gnomes in and out of Nightwoods who were making this possible, but it was expensive to maintain as well as suss out good roads and avenues to use to escape. This particular journey was being funded by a pair of gnome brothers, the only ones of their family to escape re-education, who had a confectionary factory in a far town named Stivil. Malik “Malted” Dingrel Falser and Yultar “Uke” Dingrel Falser were helping to make sure the group made it out ok, and they were eventually waiting for the party in Stivil – some 12 days from Tradeford.

We rested the day, woke up, happy and disturbed to note that we were no longer bothered by or noticed the skunk smell, ate and drank, laughed with Skank a bit, the trader reminding us about the marble and just “pick the right one, you’ll know!” and then got a great night sleep. Scrambles was much better after her tumble with Squirrel and even though she still sported a wound, it didn’t seem to affect her much anymore.  We checked out the cup and there were 2 brown and a black one. We randomly drew one (brown) and went outside to look. 3 wagons, each loaded, each with a pony in the front. All brown, one had a black backboard. Going back inside the talk was then, how would we be on the RIGHT wagon to take us to Ravage? Where would the other 2 go? The wagons looked the same except for the paint backboard. Peppy snapped one of them black and we all snuck out, climbed into the hollow spot under the wagon, and dragged the floordoor up in place, pegging it closed.

Some time passed and we heard the wagons load up and then Skunk stomped on the baseboard and said, “Yeah, hope we’re ready to go?” When no one replied, he did it again and we knocked back quietly in response, hearing him chuckle. And then they all left Hopeless and moved on.

As we rocked along in the wagon, we could see the light filtering in through the cracks was getting brighter and brighter as the hours passed until some time after lunch, Skunk stopped the wagon and we could hear other voices talking to him. He climbed off and the party was coaxed to come out through the hollow door again. We were out…in a grassy area…with NO trees at all over head or nearby. Looking east, we could see the wall of Nightwoods running to the horizon north and south, a mile or two from where we were (6 checks had us all negative for agoraphobia – thank gods!)., We laughed and smiled and thanked Skank for getting us this far.

He introduced us to Ravage, a huge centaur with a bit of an attitude but was happy to meet us. His herd had 5 other centaurs, all females, and all his mates. There was the discussion of centaur clothes that invariably followed as well as from our vantage point…just HOW blessed Ravage was…down there and that Garl damn it, how could we NOT look at it! It’s fucking eye level with us!

Since Sprink was the only one with riding skill, he was invited to ride in a fanny pack on Ravage’s back, the rest of the group was enticed to climb into various backpacks and get ready. We all got prepared, thanked the centaur for this, it was well known that centaurs do not like people to ride them, Ravage assured the group that because of this, they should be able to make their way through any Theocratic interference. And then we were off.

It was a few hours later that we could hear an airship descending not too far away and a contingent of gnomish Defenders stopped Ravage. It was Monastic Vulpurus. He was following a group of escaped gnomes and wanted to know what the Centaur was doing out here. Words were exchanged as well as threats. Centaurs reminded Vulpurus that they were NOT citizens of Nightwoods, and are not bound by their laws. And they can come and go as they see fit. Carry anyone? Ride them> Are you kidding? Tensions rose and the Defenders reminded Ravage that their special status could be revoked at any time in the future if the Council wishes.

Ravage reminded them that they had been here as far back as history says, and know the woods better than most any gnomes. Want to see hunts dry up? Riders harassed? Internal trade disputes? Just try and flex your muscles. Until then, turn and get the fuck back on your ship, as you are very much out of your jurisdiction. Vulpurus agreed, letting Ravage know that he’ll see them later to discuss this matter. The gnomes went back to the ship and eventually it took off, heading back to Nightwoods.

The centaurs reassured the group and we moved on for a another few hours, stopping at a small stand of trees. A fire was lit and the centaur herd and our group took to talking and laughing, sharing food and stories. Then one of the women gave a shout and then Ravage as well, and fell over. Then another, and another! We looked around and in the space a couple dozen seconds, all the centaurs had been knocked out, crossbow bolts in their flanks and rumps.

Striding up to the party was Vulpurus and two of his Defenders. “I’ve been tracking you for a while now. It’s time to take you back and get you reeducated as soon as possible.” They were loading up their crossbows for another round of fire when the group tried to hide behind the fallen centaurs.

Garrick took out his canister of lightning and took aim at Vulpurus, letting the bolt fly! It struck the Defender in the chest, blowing his back and knocking him down. “Get them!” he cried out, and they readied to fire. Spatula ran up to try and attack them, jo stick sliding free. Peppy and Seagull were hoping to wake the centaurs up, the apothecist letting the party know that they were down for the count for now. Spatula jumped and hit, cracking one of the other crossbowers. Scrambles drew her sword and ran to help.

Bolts flew, knives were thrown. Garrick drew his hand crossbow and fired off. Vulpurus got up with a snarl and strode forward. Spatula took a wicked shot in the side but remained standing. Seagull was trying to get Ravage up, water and slapping wasn’t working. He then had the idea of sticking his finger…in the centaur’s ass. Although it did creep out the party, Ravage remained unconscious.

Peppy used his pewter mug and got a cup full of embers, going to run to the party. Garrick fired again. The gnomes were having a rough time. Scrambles caught a deep stab, but she and Spatula took down one of the gnomes. And then Sprink took out his own canister of lightning, took aim at Vulpurus, and fired.

The Monastic had no idea the bolt was coming and it tore through him, blowing a hole in his chest and shredding his side so hard, that his arm flew off and it cauterized the wounds instantly – but the gnome fell to the ground dead before he even hit. And Sprink was once more horrified by how effective he seemed to be at killing other gnomes with such brutal mortal effectiveness.

Seagull then had the idea of jamming his finger into Ravage’s open crossbow wound….and this time it was effective. Very effective. The spinster was hit in the upper chest and shoulder, busting his collar bone and sending him flying a good 7 feet from the centaur’s spasmodic hoof kick. He rolled to a stop, in agony and at 1 hp. Ravage got up and saw his herd had been knocked out, Garrick firing, Sprink just pointing in horror, and Seagull on the ground in pain. Across the area Peppy was beating a gnome with his mug after hurling fire on his face neck and clothes, and Scrambles and Spatula, very hurt, were plying their sticks and swords at the last gnome Defender.

He snatched up his bow, loaded a 7’ arrow to it, and fired – ripping into the gnome with the first shot. And then a second one went off, killing it outright. We dragged the bodies close and looked them over, taking what we could from them, Garrick taking a full sized crossbow. Once the women were up, Ravage told us we had to bury the bodies deep, so no one would know what happened to them, especially that centaurs were involved in the killing of gnomes.

For the most part, the group was uneasy with the combat, killing other gnomes just seemed wrong. This whole thing was just wrong. And the wrong started with one gnome – the Theocrat. Fish rots from the head down, and the Theocrat was the person, for whatever good intentions he had in the beginning, for the ultimate way that gnomish society and home had been perverted and warped. And they had to leave because of it.

We healed what we could and then rested, some of us just not feeling it. The next day had us on our way and by afternoon we arrived at Tradeford. A gnomish friendly caravan group of wagons was situated there and waiting for us. Ravage arranged payment and wished us the best. And we went. We saw hills and dales. Small human cities and larger former orcish keeps and garrisons. We beheld the majesty of the Borbuta Sea, an inland body of water so large it had its own tide and affected weather patterns for 3 days around it. We travelled through cities so massive, it had to house 50 thousand souls. And we saw poverty and misery unlike we had ever known before. There were people starving on the sides of the roads for lack of food, lame and sick were there as well, poor medicine and lack of basic sanitation their downfall.

But through it all, 12 days of travel, we noted that as gnomes, we were looked on as “quaint” and “neat”..but then just as fast, dismissed and ignored. It was weird and humbling. To come from a society where most everyone looked like you and the world was your size, to another where you were at a size disadvantage for everything from doors to chairs to steps…and to be also ignored as unimportant…was humbling. And there were things that showed how dire things were for the people of Rand, and they didn’t even know any better.

Eventually the caravan arrived at Stivil, a former orcish walled city that had been opened up some time ago. We went to a section of the town that appeared to be an industrial center, more shapeless and bland buildings with more misery to spread around. But at the end of a block, was a large 3 story structure, painted in the bright reds, pinks, and whites. And there were gnomes here, half orcs and half ogres as well, but gnomes, lots of gnomes. They were well fed, clothed in clean raiments, and in good health. We were met with hugs and cheers, songs and tears. Two older gnomes came and held our hands and wished us welcome and that we were for now safe and amongst friends and family. Malted and Uke, led the party into the Falser Confectionary where for the first time in 15, 20 years, the party felt..safe.

And home.

Gnome One Shot Post Report - Meet 1

Picking up a campaign or characters after having them shelved on the sidelines is sometimes hard. There is a feeling of disconnect with them, a sense that this might be familiar, but it also doesn't feel the same. To avoid this, or at least ameliorate it, I had come up with 2 or 3 one shots (or possibly "2" shots since they take place over 2 meets and not one) that would bring the party back to the original campaign and maybe flesh out some of the area they are in.

One of my players runs a gnome and we had some run in with others. The gnomish homeland is falling into fascism and this party never had a chance to learn about it wholesale. So this was a good 1st one shot - get the group to see a campaign villain as the "good guys" and learn about some of the gnomish area and history.

Follows:

On the eastern end of the former Randari Ympyr, stands the Nightwoods, the ancestral home to gnomes as far back as any record goes. Original documentation also showed that halflings and elves lived there in roughly equal numbers but most elven families have left over the centuries and halflings over time filled with wanderlust have been emigrating out.

Some 130 years ago, normally on good terms with the orcish and dwarven enclaves, it was when the Orcish Kaizer started his expansionist push that the Nightwood gnomes were approached to help control the growing orcish threat. The matter was debated and eventually voted upon, and although it was a close vote, the decision of the Nightwood gnomes was to go to war. Gnomes are long lived (3 ½ times the average lifespan of a human) and gregarious creatures - they like to talk and they like the company of other creatures - especially gnomes. An individual gnome would get angry - but a group of them to commit to all out war is almost unheard of.

After 4 years of fighting and the increasing xenophobic and bloodthirsty destruction the Gorokian Mountain Dwarves were displaying was enough for the Nightwood Gnomes to drop out of the combat and instead work for peace. Their removal from the conflict was enough for the Jarlborrin and Reetersbeard dwarves to do the same about a year later; leaving the Gorokian Dwarves to continue their aggression for another year until every far flung outpost, keep, and orcish stronghold of power and government had been destroyed.

It soured the relationships between Gorok and Nightwoods ever since.

Normally all beliefs are welcome in gnomish society but the atrocities the dwarves exacted on the orcs for 6 years followed by the next 2 decades the gnomes spent on rebuilding, aid, and support for the broken orcish, human, and other races ravaged by the war; made the following and belief in Odin, Thor, Sutur, Thrym, and Tyr seriously impacted and diminished in the gnomish homeland. Open displays of worship were looked upon with some disdain and suspicion; warmonger, dwarf lover, and baby killer were bandied about often.

As the years went on the gentler gods were given sway and a greater impact on Nightwood society. Garl Glittergold and other ancestral gnomish figures were always revered but maybe 4 decades ago a powerful orator and adherent for Garl rose to the head of the religious order where he espoused his name and took only the title of Deacon.

Since then the following of Garl exploded - with public festivals, singing, dancing, shows, public works, and a firm rebuke for those who don't allow his followers their due. In time the following of the other gods also began to wane. Some of the fields began to have fewer yields, hunts became less fruitful, and some trees might have had some sickness upon them.

The followers of Garl Glittergold did not suffer from these issues and offered to lend his help and prayer to those who needed his help - for a small stipend, a tithe - barely 5%. And again, the Deacon and the Garl Glittergold church prospered.

Other shrines were defaced, statues quietly removed, markers taken down. Priests and clerics were publicly ridiculed and chastised. The Deacon was eventually invited to be the High Lord's religious confidant - further expanding his reach and power. Other impacts of the other gods and even races were now being reduced further. Dwarven caravans were turned away at the borders, and then other caravans were denied entry. Immigration trickled and the High Lord repurposed the gnomish armed forces to be one of protection - keeping all other races out.

And then the High Lord, always prone to bouts of brain fever, fell into a coma. Not dead, his heirs could not assume the throne - so it was up to the council to rule until he either awoke or passed on. The Deacon consolidated power amidst the council and was elected as the First or head councilor. He took the honorific of Theocrat and said to speak for the High Lord and Garl Glittergold for the betterment of all gnomes and gnomekind.

The Nightwoods is a Monarchy Republic - meaning there is a titular High Lord, about 5-8 other lesser Lords, and 6-9 Counselor positions (always one more than Lords on the council). Lord titles are passed down to next eldest is line (no restriction on male/female) - Counselor Titles are appointed by the committee of the Council and are retained for a 15 year window or if the Counselor steps down, dies, or is found to be unanimously incapable of doing his job.

Because the High Lord is NOT dead - his seat is not open for his heirs to take - even though the next in line does sit on the Council as one of the 5-8 lords (since they are ostensibly the next head of the noble house). So unless they are willing to declare their father and leader of the gnome people dead (which no one is willing to do), the situation is in limbo. Hence the Council is still doing its job and guiding the Nightwoods gnomes.

Each Lord gets a vote, and Counselor gets a vote, and the High Lord gets 2 - for decision making purposes. Without the High Lord there, the Council is functioning differently - hence why the Theocrat has been able to solidify power - the Lords he can't do anything about - but any dissenters on the Counselor positions he has slowly changed the make up to be even more loyal to his view of the Nightwoods - and to be honest - the Lords are making money hand over fist especially since it is their properties and people that is driving all the industry and crafting - and not outside "barbaric" merchants from beyond their borders.

He tightened his grip on the Nightwoods and some gnomes not liking the way things were going agonized over the decision to leave but eventually did so. And many of them were denied the chance to leave! Turned BACK from the border, they were then taken by the Theocrat's people where they were indoctrinated again into the ways of Garl Glittergold, and taught that they have a purpose in gnomish society and that is to be a member of it - the outside world is not here and is not safe. This is the gnomish ancestral home and has been so as far back as history goes, at least a thousand years, definitely longer. You. Don't. Leave.

Ever.

Those who go through the indoctrination come out with 3 axioms that they often hold up.

Adherence to the Nightwoods is inimical to every gnome.

If you love the Nightwoods, then you love its leader, the Theocrat.

And 3) If you listen to the Theocrat's teachings and advice, then you show your love for our god, Garl Glittergold.

Otherwise gnomish families try to leave and the loudest dissenters sometimes just disappear.

There is a network of underground tunnels and escape ways that various centaurs, fauns, and satyrs help maintain along with a core resistance of gnomish followers of Idun and Frey who don't live in the 5 principal cities; instead make the homes and lives in the wild and try always to avoid capture by the Theocrat's Defenders. They help spirit the various gnomes in and out of the Nightwoods to others beyond the borders to eventually get these gnomes away and to safety. It is long, difficult, and expensive to maintain and do - but until the High Lord dies, wakes up, or the Theocrat is removed from power - to some gnomes this terrible choice is all that's open to them.

The five of you have attracted the attention of the local Theocrat Defenders for a variety of reasons. Perhaps you were a servant at a locale where sedition was being talked about and you were in ear shot. Perhaps you had complained about the paucity of local wares and spoke longingly about trade goods that are no longer available. Mayhap your family was important in the past days with regards to various now unsupported deities and churches. Or maybe during your teachings, some of your lessons might have made their way through a variety of channels and your tenure was called into question.

However it came about, you were given instructions to pack a bag, one and light, and make your way south to the principal city of Deerwood, a home to some 3,000 gnomes. Once there, there is a wedding (a planned 2 day affair at least) at the Deerwood Manor house for Thurge and Mellie. You were given an invitation and told to arrive at the wedding the day before. You were told to stay in a crowded area, say nothing, make sure you had at least 2 silver on you, and to not lose your invitation no matter what.

So we had Sprink Wobbledrop, an upper-class scion just past his 130th year of age, and ewerer at the Function House in Nightdale. Peppy Pothercary, a healer and herbalist, practicing apothecary in his 140’s. Scrambles Lemonbreath was a teacher of 4th form students in Foxmanor and a matronly gnomish woman in the latter half of her 20th decade. Charles “Seagull” Vadurn was a spinster for the Springlesprocket Loomworks who was on a bit of hard times striving to achieve his journeyman card before hitting his 100th year. And lastly Garrick Silverlight, a tall gnome, was a practicing Atilliator and craftsman even though he hadn’t hit his 90th year.

Each of them arrived on their own, by foot, coach, or railcar, and each of them had what worldly belongings they could carry and a healthy concern for getting out of the Nightwoods before the Theocrat Defenders found them. They arrived at the Manor House and were directed to some of the bunk houses to house themselves in. The Wedding promised to have some 400 attendees and the gnomes each felt they could blend in for now. A few of the Defenders were seen, but none were necessarily watching anyone in particular.

After striding the grounds and going through their belongings, conversation was light at best; no one wanted to say anything to anyone in particular. It was in the early evening that a knock came to the bunkhouse door and a corpulent gnome by the name of Ruffles was there seeking Sprink. Upon coming in, he also looked around the room and addressed Peppy, Scrambles, Seagull, and Gerrick – as if he was looking for them as well.

He worked some magic and his form reduced to half the weight, his features changing as well. He was the first part of our contact and his job in this part of the railroad was to verify who the party was, and then bring them to the next person in the chain – a gnome named Konami. During the wedding tomorrow around 11, they were to go to the Portico and meet Ruffles there, and he would get them into the Manorhouse and to their contact. He told them to be careful; this was a long trip and was costing some money to get them out. Various benefactors both in Nightwoods and outside of it in the greater Randari area were supporting this and other smuggling endeavors and each cell only knew their portion of the “railroad” to prevent the path from being sussed out.

Lastly, there was a Theocrat Defender from the Main Monastery in Foxmanor, named Vulpurus, who had been seen arriving during the day. The group should keep their noses clean and say nothing outside of their circle of 5 for now.

We thanked Ruffles and then after he left, the party spoke at length about their lives and the need to leave the Nightwoods; even though the need to do so was heartbreaking. And when gnomes get emotional, it is a good time to eat. So they made their way to the Buffet Roundabout where they merged in with some 50 other gnomes, took a plate, and walked around section to section, sampling various foods, cheeses, meats, and sauces. They pulled to the outer ring to eat slower and then back to the inner ring to refill their plates again.

Finally they had retired to their bunkhouse and slept, anxious to see what the next day would bring. They awoke, made sure their belongings were packed up and ready to go, and went to the wedding. Thurge and Mellie seemed very happy and made a nice looking couple. There were well over 400 people about and afterwards, there was some stand around time while servers came by with trays of various foods. A discussion had was that with the cost of sugar being so high and difficult to grow over the last number of years, the majority of gnomes had to make due with maple candy – which was just a terrible candy. And the possibility that someone would eventually learn that a candy serving at the start of a meal makes more sense than having it appear at the end of a meal.

As for the Defenders, there were at least a dozen of them wandering the wedding grounds. The locals were doing their level best to ignore their presence while the Defenders, in their distinctive red and black tabards and cloaks, walked slowly through the throng, eyes peeled and focus sharp. One of them was a sharp faced looking gnome in his 150’s, who had very distinctive red hair cut in such a way that it stood straight up, a patch of white running from his temple back. He was also behaving differently. He would pointedly stare out at one gnome or another for a minute or two, concentrating on them for some reason, before shaking his head, blinking a bit, and then centering on another gnome to look at and starting the process again.

Sprink advised that we all move on as it was already getting a bit after the end of the ceremony and Ruffles was waiting for us. There was a brief delay as 3 of the party looked to top off on one more hit from the travelling sample trays (which Gerrick happily took in the entirety) but we all made it away from the food area and started to walk around the Manorhouse. At the portico, we came upon Ruffles (in his “fat” form) and he began to wax long and agonizingly about cigars and the best way to enjoy them. His topic had other local gnomes make themselves scarce as they had been subject to this conversation before, giving us a clear window to join him on “his way to the humidor”.

We arrived at the smoking room and joined him around a display where he talked about the cigars at length, voice carrying to inspire other gnomes to not come in and check. He had signaled us NOT to close the door (as that would appear to be suspicious) and tapped the side of the display, pointing it out to Scrambles. The teacher looked there and a hidden layer had been pulled aside to show a number of markings (up, up, down, down, left, right, left, right, two, one) before Ruffles had hidden it again.

He said he would go and get us some wine to enjoy with the cigar and would be right back, tapping the back of the display, where we could see the bottom end of it swung free. Once he was gone, the party got down low and crawled into the space behind and under the wall, cramped and dark, but in the bowels and bones of the Manorhouse. A rail thin gnome with a foul smell and holding a long stick with a sweep on the end, made sure we all came in, counting us off.

He introduced himself as Konami and there was a series of catacombs and caves that stretched away from the Manorhouse and south and west from here. The exit was maybe 2 miles away and when they came out, they would meet the “Baggers” who would take them on the next part of their journey. He led us to the start of the caves and told us to follow the code as it would get us out at the correct spot at length. Failure would mean they might be lost down here forever. He gave us a water skin filled (1 gallon), handing it to Sprink.

So the group walked on, relying on their infravision to guide them through. At each junction we discussed if it led us in the direction of the Konami code, and if it didn’t, we stayed on the main course. We came upon a fat mole at one point, Gerrick speaking with it, that wanted to be fed before it would let us through, and its job was to make sure no one followed us through the tunnel. So we gave up most of the finger foods we had taken from the wedding and moved on. There were some turns and the passages went up and down. We came upon a down section that we needed to take but it was a 6 foot drop. So Gerrick hung from the bottom rung and allowed the rest of the party to climb down his legs and drop.

Sprink and Peppy were not exactly thin, and Gerrick was getting weary after cycling them both down. So he dropped and they all helped catch Seagull who went last. There was another area where one of the support beams was missing and we used a candle to light the way, picking our way across and eventually making it to the other side. The quality of the cavern was changing from stone to stone and hard packed dirt, and the air was tasting fresher.

There were 2 bodies in the cave, both dead, at least 3 weeks. They were rotting, but turning them over showed them to be 2 of the Theocrat’s Defenders – distinctive tabard visible. One had a short sword, the other a hand crossbow and a smattering of bolts. Peppy took the tabard and snapped his fingers, removing the odor from it for now. Scrambles took the short sword and its poor scabbard. And Gerrick the hand crossbow and 4 bolts, knowing that it was going to need at least a half hour of his attention to get it working properly.

We did eventually come to the end and found a shaft heading straight up. So one of us went first, coming to the exit and looked around. Seeing half a dozen half ogres sitting around the remains of a campfire, eating turkey.

Damn it.

He got into an awkward one way conversation with one of them who was talking poor gnomish, asking if there were “Other gnomes”. Um, others? I dunno. Maybe? Meanwhile after he was instructed to come out, the next one had crawled up and was pulled out by another half ogre.

Damn damn.

The rest stayed low, and one of them had a shovel and started to dig into the hole, sticking its hand in and reaching around. The two had come up realized that these were the “Baggers” and we were given turkey legs to eat. Mollified, the rest of us came out and we joined them here. We ate and were told we would have to get in the bags they were carrying. It was a long walk, and we might be stopped, so SAY NOTHING.

So we ate and when they offered us cup fulls of river water, Spink declined, using the skin, and sharing it with Peppy. The others drank the full cups, opting not to comment on the strange taste. We were told to stand still and they wrapped their lean-tos and gear together, with us in the center of each bag, and hung from a long pole like a hobo stick. They then took dozens and dozens of pine cones and placed them over us, burying us in the sacks. Gerrick, not wanting to have any problem with “pee” later, used his tankard in front of himself inside the sack, just in case, and the Baggers led us out, telling us that there was a storm coming and we would need that to get where we needed to be.

We walked on for some time, uncomfortable in the bags, but told often by the half ogres to BE QUIET and DON’T MOVE no matter what! It was some hours later, after fitfully sleeping and feeling cramped, that we could hear the Baggers had been hailed by a number of wood or wild elves. They had instructed the Baggers that no one can cross their area without being searched. The Half Ogres refused and some discussion followed, getting heated. The Baggers reiterated that they had pine cones and they were taking them to trade. Not believing it, one of the elves said, “We’ll see about that!” and stabbed one of the bags! (not one with a gnome in it – random check!).

Pine cones came out, and the elves were confused. So more words followed and the elves targeted a second bag…also getting more pine cones. Not wanting to lose face, they instructed the Baggers that these pine cones were tribute and would be left here as payment for their passage and the brutes can move on. As we travelled away, Seagull commented that the pettiness of the elves over the pinecones that they surely didn’t want or need was very spot on and typical for elves.

We eventually stopped around early evening and we ate some dried meats and some water that Sprink had appear out of the ground. Scrambles was feeling poorly as the day went on, most likely the bad water the ogres had fed us at the start of the trip and she spent a large portion of the evening cramping up and finding a place to “feel better” in the woods for some privacy. As for Gerrick, his cup had only about ¼ of the “pee” in it, a fact he was proud of.

We cleaned up, ate, drank, and rested for a bit. But 4 hours in, the Baggers had us get once more in our carryalls, bundled us up, and said they had to get us to our destination by morning and there was still many hours to go. So it was through sheer exhaustion that we fell asleep.

The next day we arrived at a clearing in the woods where some burn had occurred. The sky was heavy with rain and some fat drops were falling. A ship was here, maybe 60’ long, 20’ wide. It had two leaning forward sails and long metal mesh netting along its port and starboard sides, and a set of very long and half full gas bags held from the mid to front end of the ship. It was old, worn, tired, with split wood and bits of rusty piping sticking out here and there. Emblazoned on the side was the name, “Westward Gale”. A crew of maybe 8 or 9 gnomes tended to it, and a wood elven woman wearing a patched yet still lovingly cared for naval uniform and captain’s insignia descended the gangplank.

She identified herself as Captain Notchers and thanked the Baggers for their help. She met the party and let them know that they were to provide 2 silver for their fare. We all paid up and were instructed that we were going to sail the incoming storm, harvest some lightning, and make good speed near Clearmeadow, but actually set down at the Hellburn Estate where we will then meet Dame Fireball Hellburn who would take up on the next stage of our journey. She let us know that this ship had been her grandfather’s originally and with the Theocrat having a tight grip on the Arcane Academy, raw magic was at a premium and fresh lightning could be used to power many of the Nightwood’s active and latent magics.

We were brought aboard and she advised us when we were airborne – NO MAGIC OF ANY KIND. It would act as a beacon for any of the Theocrat’s dreadnaughts that often patrol during the storms and the Westward Gale was not interested in picking any fights – especially with gnomes looking to emigrate.

The ship’s Bosun was a short, 2 and a half foot gnome, named Squirrel, who offered the party the chance to stay on deck or come below. Scrambles was going to the ship’s mage, Berkely, to get a tonic to fix her upset stomach, and Peppy was going there as well. Seagull went to the galley and met the cook there, engaging in another food conversation.

Sprink and Gerrick were on deck, meeting the crew and helping out, tying off ropes and getting the ship ready to cast off. The storm was getting closer. Berkely made up a tonic to fix Scrambles’ illness and when she was feeling better, went off to the Galley, while Peppy stayed behind and chatted with the mage a bit. Eventually it was time to take off and the coal bunkers were stoked, steam fired, and the gas bag inflated.

The Westward Gale listed to port, then straightened out, and then turned and rose into the air, gaining altitude as it did so. Sprink and Gerrick had both mimicked the other crewmen and tied off a safety line on their belt. Even so, the ship did take a tilt at one point and Gerrick slipped, but his line held. For safety purposes, Sprink opted to wrap his rope around his belt an additional time.

As they closed on 1,000 feet, they were in the clouds and could see St Elmo’s fire running through the rigging and the bowsprit. The ship drew closer to the blasts of lightning going from cloud to cloud. The command came to extend the fins and the two party members helped the sailors in getting the metal fans, each over 40’ in length, to run out, flailing left, right, and down, acting as lightning rods dangling off the copped keel of the Gale.

Bolts drew closer and then one of them hit the ship! It ran through the fins, down the wires, and dumped the bolt of lightning into a large 50 gallon can with a fan inside that began to spin. Each bolt had the fans spin faster and faster, light spilling around. After a number of bolts had been captured, one of the crew shoved a cover over the can, released it from the catch hold, and it swung down, dangling from the bottom of the Gale, while a new can was fastened into place and the process started over again. Slink and Gerrick were soaked and working hard, but elated none the less.

In the Galley, Peppy had eaten his full and offered to take a tray or two down to Berkely in the engine room. The cook helped the apothecist out and he went to help. She was thankful for the food and company and gave the gnome a brief description of what he could do to help her out while she ate. Keep the coal box over 600 Celsius, there are 3 100 proof alcohol decanters if need be to flash the box. Shake the ash free, watch those dials, keep the boilers at full pressure. Peppy stepped up and for 10 minutes maintained the engines for Berkely before she finished eating, thanked him, and took over the job again. He chatted a bit more and then returned to the Galley.

As for Sprink and Gerrick, Captain Notchers and the helmsman had noticed a ship in the clouds, shadowing the Gale, visible when the lightning crackled. Not sure if it was a Theocrat vessel or a pirate hoping to take advantage of the Gale, it was decided that it might be best if they went below…just in case. The party all met at the Galley a bit and then we were escorted to a visitor’s berth near the bow of the ship. We talked about the journey so far and what was next, as well as how much Gerrick was enjoying being on a skyship. It seemed that Sprink had some experience on a skyship as well in his youth, but didn’t say anything specific about it. Gerrick spent some time working on the hand crossbow, confident that it would function for a bit more than one shot for now.

After some hours, something hit the side of the ship and the distant cries of the crew could be heard. Pirates! Some of the deck weaponry was being fired and we could hear the battle from our room, the party not wanting to go out and either get in the way or risk any other problem. The battle was going on for a bit when a loud crack of thunder sounded and the Gale fell to port a bit before righting. We could hear the cries of “Dreadnaught!” from above and we were getting concerned.

At this point we could hear running and Squirrel came running to the room. He advised us that pirates had attacked the Westward Gale and right now, the Golden Gambit, a Theocrat Dreadnaught, had disabled it and was demanding the Gale stop and allow themselves to be boarded and searched. Captain Notchers sent him here in the dark, lit only by the soft light of his left earring, to take then to the hold where they would be loaded in a drop ship and sent to the ground below to escape. They had to go now. Time was wasting and they had only a few minutes.

As they were being swayed, Peppy and Sprink both felt uncomfortable with Squirrel during all this, noting that he was wearing an earring – and it was glowing with active magic! A supposed no no! So Sprink sidled up to Squirrel while Peppy went behind…and slammed the door! The group braced Squirrel while Seagull was growing frantic on what to do and how to get out. Maybe get some help?

The gnome was attacked at first by Scrambles; she slashed at him with her short sword. For her effort, she was stabbed in the stomach deep and hard by a Kris blade that Squirrel expertly drew and had the gnomish matron dropped immediately to half!! Gerrick fired and a crossbow bolt hit, Squirrel yanked it out, blocking other blows with some ease. As he was lining up for another stab, Seagull managed to get out of the room, running through the ship, looking for help.

It was getting desperate when Sprink took out his precious vial of acid, used primarily for etching glass, and splashed the entire vial into Squirrel’s face.

“YEAARRGH!!!!”

His left eye burst, followed by most of his cheek and jaw line being eaten, as the pain maddening acid burrowed into his retinal cavity and eventually hit his brain, sending him into convulsions before he hit the deck brain dead and drooling, Sprink looking on with horror at what he had just done.

Seagull had found the Galley and the cook there brought him to Captain Notchers who was talking with the crew on what was going on. He explained briefly of the attack and double cross and the elven captain drew her sword and raced off to the room – to find the problem already solved and Squirrel dead. She commended Sprink on his actions and bravery, and told Seagull, that he probably acted prudently in going for help. There is no need for a drop ship and it was never her order. Looking Squirrel over, he had a scrip on him promising 30 silver each for any gnome trying to escape that he helps the Monastics reacquire.

His Kris bladed dagger was given to Sprink and his body was going to be tossed overboard. Captain Notchers gave the order to run – Dreadnaughts are powerful but very slow, and speed was our watchword. We could feel the engines pick up speed and the entire ship dove down and out of the sky, gathering velocity before banking left and right, going from cloud to cloud, and eventually giving the Golden Gambit the slip.

It was some time later that they were in the clear and the crew reiterated that Squirrel was a shit. We were near Clearmeadow but the Westward Gale turned south and east, and made their way for a small clearing some 10 acres or so in size, with a stately home and tower situated there. As we came in to land, a gnomish woman wearing dark robes trimmed in red and yellow fires and her staff met the Gale as the gangplank lowered.

She told Captain Notchers of her tardiness and was told of the party’s efforts, the Dreadnaught, and Squirrel. The crew had decided that the group should be thanked. Two canisters, about the size and shape of a metal thermos, were presented – one to Sprink for his killing blow at the Squirrel. And the other was to be given to either Peppy or Gerrick for their efforts as well. What was it? Each one had a bolt of pure lightning in it.

Nice.

Gerrick and Peppy talked a bit, each of them wanted it. And Gerrick SO wanted to join the Westward Gale and become a Lightning Harvester – but Captain Notchers told him that it was dangerous to the entire crew if he stayed and his path was elsewhere. He realized then that it was what he always wanted, lightning and everything, but didn’t know before today to it was ever an option. Peppy took a smattering of coins from the Atillitor and let him have the canister.

Dame Fireball was at one point a member of the Arcane Academy but as the Theocrat was rising to power, she could see the way things were going and “retired”, moving to her ancestral estate and staying here and out of the public eye. She is part of the underground railroad and uses her estate as a way point for gnomes looking to flee. She has a hollow space set up under the grain silo and they will stay there. At midnight, her long time friend, Undark, will meet them and it is three days from here to the next stage of their escape – a Thorpe named “Hopeless” and a contact named Sintankerin “Skank” Skunkherder.

She wished them well, helped them get set up in the hollow under the silo, showed them where the water skins and food stuffs were, and instructed them to rest up for now, it’s three days hard travel overland to the next locale. Once inside, some healing was given to Scrambles by Peppy’s healing kit and a natural touch or magic by Sprink. We loaded up about 4 days of food and water – it was going to weigh more, but as Seagull suggested, it was better to have more than not enough.

PBEM - Episode 583. Wrapping it up. Final Post

And...done.

For those who might want to know - some breakdown of this Covid remote PBEM game:

583 posts starting March 27th, 2020 when I sent everyone the adventure and had them pick dice colors, ending November 4th, 2021; making it 588 continuous days of playing and posting. Meaning we missed a total of 5 successive days, two of which were the last post I was working on.

Including the 5 homeworks, the entire adventure takes place over 1,277 Word pages, and numbers 730,812 words.

For help, that is the equivalent to roughly seven, 300 page novels.

There were 1,263 pictures taken as well. 

It has been my honor to go with you all on this journey and guide through it to the very end.

We are back at the table now for regular game and have had a few small one shots, but for this PBEM - it had truly been Epic. Again, This was a modified B3, Palace of the Silver Princess.

Follows:

FIVE HUNDRED EIGHTY THREE (FINAL)

(I/C)

The group found themselves driving through the Duchy of Karameikos, loaded on their purchased wagon, deep in thought. They passed larger and larger towns along the way, opting to continue on until the mules grew too weary to trudge any further and the light fell too much to guide their way. It was 2 more camps, and amongst the many things that were strange to the party, was the number of citizens they passed. Cheery waves and wishes of “good morrow” and what not. As they were travelling along on the 30th day since they had left Specularum, 23 days since their adventure had begun when they first crossed under the rainbow ward, the group was musing and pensive as the distant alabaster walls of the capital city drew closer.

"Well our long long road is almost over,” Lannis muttered. “I've said a lot of mean things to all of you, some more than others, but to be perfectly honest... I meant them all. Still at the end of the day I couldn't pick another group of people to be forced to adventure with.”

“Wow, Big Brain,” Kovid chuckled. “You’re getting me all misty eyed and choked up here.”

“I... I can't believe it's finally over!” Wyn gave a weary sigh, the elf seeming to deflate slightly. “It's, um, it's been a real... Adventure? Trek? Um... time? Yep. It's been a time.”

“Amigos, ese es it! Estamos finito!” Abraxas pumped the air once with his fist, the other still gripping the reins steadily.

“Aye, Lad. By Thor’s balls, we did it!”

Lyra gave a sad sounding laugh, looking around at the party. “I’d say it’s been fun… but honestly it hasn’t. I hated every second of it and honestly I’ve grown to hate the whole lot of you. BUT - I’m grateful it was all of you that had my back, otherwise I’d be dead. Probably. Maybe, I don’t know. That was an exaggeration. I would have been fine, it’s the rest of you that would have been dead without me.”

“It sure had been several weeks that felt like a year and a half huh?” The Magic User took off his hat and checked the brim before putting it back on. “I'm sure we'll all be seeing each other again some day, I can feel something pulling us all together against our will.”

“I can think of other places that would have been more fun,” Brendon offered, watching the walls grow larger. “But traveling with you all is well worth all the aggravation.”

They arrived at the gate where eventually a bored official took their name and purpose for visiting the capital before letting them through. From there they travelled the wide and crowded streets to the Guild District where they eventually came to the Academy of Explorers. An officiate was there to meet them and after some discussion back and forth, had them drive their wagon to the private lot and stables. The group checked their wagon and mules with the teamster there and then, groaning under their loads, made their way through the halls to the Office of Recipients.

They entered their name and quest onto the record log and waited only a short while before they were called to meet with the Second Council and report their findings and present the Prism Crown. There were 5 members on the council in session, 2 clerks, a stenographer, three guards, and the Academy Loremaster on hand. But as the group went through the details of their astounding and fantastical adventure, each person further expanding on the last point and then adding another, the chambers swelled with other adventurers and members who wanted to hear the mission first hand. A group of at least 10 halflings were the most put out, many of them grumbling that they WANTED to be on this mission but felt they had been Kyle’d and missed out.

But at the last, after the party detailed the demise Corfard…twice, Wyn withdrew the scintillating Prism Crown from the depths of the bag and placed it on the table at the front of the room; the rainbow light bright enough to be seen in all its brilliance even in the light of day.

Applause followed as well as ratifying each member of the party as a permanent member of the Academy of Explorers. 6 identical large pouches of gold were presented along with certificates of merit and completion for their job well done. The group all thanked the councilors, chatted with the others who came to hear the tale, and when it was done, laughed a bit at the small “reward” they had just gotten in relation to the sheer amount of treasure and goods they had on them.

“Remember when we thought 200 gold crowns was a big deal?” Lyra chuckled.

“I’ll still take it,” Kovid laughed. “I have a good idea where I want to break ground for my alehouse. I’m going to check to see if the site has been claimed or homesteaded.”

“Yo will head a Jector to meet con El Carcinera - Shy'shisheer - y hago mis dreams de una shipping company con mucho success una reality.” Abraxas sighed. He swung his bag around and patted the side of it, “Also, Si no one minds, yo will take los scales de Corfard y put them a use bueno.”

“Nah, that’s a good idea,” Lyra said. “Let’s get what we need sold off, maybe a day or two tops. The Council gave us some names of possible buyers and I know the Church is pretty good at making purchases for interesting artifacts and treasures.”

So the group spent the next day selling off the majority of the unclaimed items, Brendon helping make sure we were given a fair trade for the items in question. At the end of it all, we netted an additional 5,790 crowns. On top of the 16,786 we had been carrying, AND the 200 crown reward (each) we had all gotten, there was a tremendous amount of gold for each person. Some of the party had taken a few items they had wanted but when it was over, the break down was:

Lannis: 4,730 gold, 6 silver, 6 copper.

Lyra: 4,706 gold, 6 silver, 6 copper.

Wyn: 3,686 gold, 6 silver, 6 copper.

Abraxas: 4,286 gold, 6 silver, 6 copper.

Brendon: 1,598 gold, 6 silver, 6 copper.

& Kovid: 4,766 gold, 6 silver, 6 copper.

The sheer amount of coin was almost mind boggling.

After it was all finished, the group was at the local inn, drinking deep and thinking about what the future was about to bring to them. “Listen,” Lyra said, voice heavy with emotion. “If any of you guys ever need me, look me up. Not for adventuring, of course. I think after this, I’m done with all of that. Maybe I’ll retire a bit south and get knocked up and become fat and miserable and sick.” She gave a short laugh, “Who knows. The sky’s the limit.” She handed over the magical shield to Wyn, taking the normal one back from him. “Thanks for that.”

Laying it at his side, Wyn asked, “Prêtresse, may I accompany ye to de Church of Aine? I figure ye be going right away, but if not I just go later. Dat fine, too. Merci fer all de healin' en blessin'. Good luck wit de horses en tryin' ta find yer way in de Nord-most of Carolinas. Oh... um... en merci again fer de shield. It be appreciated.”

“Sure, as soon as I’m done here, I’m going to make my appearance there and then probably join Kovid at the assayers office and see about getting some property.”

“Dwarfriend, keep in touch s'il vous plaît. I be lookin forward to tryin' ye ale en brews once yer done buildin' en brewin'. I figure we keep in touch best out of de lot of dem, anyway.”

“You’re always welcome, Elffriend.” He looked at his Theystran Hammer and smiled. “I am going to visit a few weaponsmiths for sure though. Get a duplicate one made sooner rather than later.”

Wyn turned to Lannis, the Magic User was drinking heavily at this point, almost grimacing as he tossed shot after shot back. “Monsieur Offop, do ye need someone to accompany ye to de apothecary? Or de physician? Or de young cleric en old cleric? Ye be hit in de head far too many times ta be healthy while we be on de road, en I tink ye may want ta get dat personality disorder sorted out soon. If not, den would ye be willin' to stay in touch by writin' in case eidder of us find interestin' spellworks? I know ye just said doze very Lannis tings, but figured it be wort de ask, as I figure we had common ground in dat interest, at de very least dere.”

Staring around with eyes watery and head lolling back and forth, Lannis eventually focused on the elf and his frown deepened. "Did you just call my personality a disorder Keebler? And I don't even remember hitting my head, sure there were a couple of times where things got fuzzy for a while but I'm fine.” He gave an absent wave and slouched further in his seat. “I guess I'll write if I find something good though, you were the fifth worst member of this group."

“Your words are like honey, Monsieur,” Wyn smiled.

Brendon had been fingering his necklace of stones for a bit. He finally took it off, unstrung 5 of the pirate stamped stones, and put the necklace back on, fingering the tokens before leaning over and handing them out one at a time to the party. “This stone will help you if you encounter trouble while on the high seas,” he said. “Piracy, privateers, or the like. Just present it and you will be unharmed.” He sighed and then poured himself another mugful. “Who knows what’s going to happen next. Whatever it is, Please, Stay Healthy, stay safe… and above all… stay the same.”

“Hear hear” the party replied, toasting his remarks. Lannis looked at the stone, glanced at Brendon, and as soon as he could do it without being seen, flicked the rock towards the spittoon where it fell in with a wet clunk.

“Merci fer de stone, Monsieur du Lac. I hope ye find sometin out dere dat holds yer interest more den a sloshin' bottle. Ye be too young ta trow yer life away to de drink, mon ami. Ye not be yer fadder, en ye don't gotta act like 'im.”

“You got that right,” he replied. “I am certainly going to get myself a bit of land and some apple trees as soon as I can.” He looked over at Kovid, “I’ll come with you to the Assayers if that’s alright.”

“Done.”

As the drinking was winding down, Abraxas clapped his thighs with the palms of his hands and stood up with a stretch. “Amigos, parting es un sorrow dulce. Hasta la vista. Yo will be en Jector si to need me.” He reached over and gave each party member a firm hug and a number of back slaps, the group doing the same.

“Monsieur Salazar, you goin' to make yer way to Jector to meet up wit de Butcher first ting in de morning? Or you hangin' out a bit? I'd like ta go offer to buy de 'arp off 'er. I dontink she'd listen to or rememba a random elf iffin I go by myself. Whenever ye be goin', let me know when dat be... por favor?”

“Let’s go to the docks and see if there is a ship making trade run to Jector. We don’t have to leave until manana.”

Nodding to the group, Lannis righted his hat, gave a half assed salute, and said, “Well, until then, so long dick weeds!"

The party watched him go, the wizard was walking with a limp, emphasized by Lyra twisting the doll’s leg almost entirely backwards. “He is an infuriating shit,” she muttered.

“True,” Kovid nodded, “But he uses these spates of hate and invectives to stave off what he assumes is going to be hurt and abuse. It’s a bit sad, but I hope that he finds what he is looking for.”

“I don’t tink dat is de last we ‘ave heard o Monsieur Offop.”

The remaining 5 party members all shook hands and hugged one last time, promising to keep in touch as they parted with heavy and wistful hearts to the next steps of their lives.

Wyn followed Lyra to the Church of Aine where we thanked the Matriarch in question for their effort in helping to sell off the party’s treasures. He then made a generous donation of 184 crowns to the church. They thanked the elf for his kindness and had his name added on a brass plaque in the foyer with other high ticket donors to the church.

He went next to the Tower of the Arcane where he spoke with the magisters about the Butcher’s harp and what an item such as that might be worth. His hope was to possibly buy it from her. He was given a number of 1,000 crowns, which was, thanks to his largesse, well within his means. He then went to the bazaar, filled his quiver with arrows and met up with Abraxas at the docks.

For his part, Abraxas had gone to his old dockmaster and officially turned in his pink slip, quitting. There was some conversation as to WHY he was going but once he explained he was looking to do some work in Jector, he was given the name of at least 2 dozen ships and crews that ply their trade between the Karamiekos duchy and the wilder goblin lands to the east. Thanking him for his help and time, Abraxas let a few of the choice men he knew of his plan to emigrate and let them know that if they were looking for work and a change of scenery, to come there and look him up!

They booked passage on the “Sea Robin”, a merchant-class vessel that was making its rounds along the Dyrian Sea, and expected to dock at Jector in 8 days. The trip was without issue and the two men laughed and joked with each other, talking wistfully about their time at Halgafar’s Castle and the adventures they had. Eventually they arrived at Jector, the two men disembarking, packs heavy, and made their way through the crowd.

Wyn was an anomaly, the only elf he could see in any direction. He was given open stares and some scowls. At one point a scarred looking hobgoblin with a 4 count at his back braced the elf, demanding to know “What the fuck a pointy eared piece of shit like you was doing here other than trying to get killed?!”

With Abraxas at his side and a well placed sleep spell, Wyn had the brutes knocked out and then idly walked past them and the other watchers, their bow and Scythe visible and ready should need be. Abraxas asked for directions to Jowass, being guided to a warehouse that had a heavy kobold staff present. It was only a short time later that Jowass was found and the Fighter and kobold reunited with back slapping and laughter. Even Wyn was invited to join in, as other kobolds and the lizardman foreman came out to meet Jowass’ friends.

They talked for hours, Abraxas making no secret of his desire to stay, asking questions about the docks, ships, and wondering if any of the shippers was in poor state of affairs. He was given a few names to hunt down and thanked the bunch. Jowass then took the Fighter to his home where he met the kobold’s clutchmates and some of his brood. Food and drink flowed and when it was deemed time, the kobold fighter took Abraxas to a nicer part of town.

A butcher’s shop, large and well positioned in relation to the slaughterhouse, was doing a robust business. And it was here, that the large red haired bugbear was working on a half a side of beef.

Shy'shisheer.

On seeing Abraxas and Wyn coming up, she buried the cleaver she was using into the cutting board, vaulted over the counter, and slammed into the Fighter, lifting him easily off the ground and flinging him around in a circle. The two of them kissed and laughed, tears of joy and happiness flowing. The two gnomes, Standard and Typical, both shook Wyn and then Abraxas’ hands and the lot of them were invited back to the shop where Shy'shisheer introduced Abraxas to her staff and workers.

As the days passed, it was obvious the two were in love and the seriousness of the relationship was never in doubt. Wyn was known as a friend of theirs and the elf was begrudgingly accepted and left alone. As for the harp, there was some haggling back and forth, but she was willing to let it go for half the expected price (500 crowns), and Wyn was the proud owner of the Ice Harp.

Abraxas had the Ring of Spell Storing scribed with Shy'shisheer’s name and gave it to her as a betrothal gift, which she then had accepted and wore it with pride. The bugbear was known to often pick Abraxas up at random times, the 8 foot tall fulsome bugbear beauty, and make out with him regardless of who might be around. In return, Abraxas would sometimes reach up and grab her by the ear, dragging her head down to his level and returning the favor.

Wyn hung around for 3 months until the wedding, and to arrange the purchase of a Refilling Quiver. He could not find an Everful one., but the Refilling Quiver would add 3 arrows every 8 hours, as long as 1 arrow was at least present. For another 1,000 crowns, Wyn felt this was a fine deal and made the purchase. Eventually he bid his farewell to Abraxas and Shy'shisheer, thanking them and Jowass for their kindness and help, and took the long boat ride back to Karameikos.

Once there he walked three days back to the elven swamplands where his tribe lived, bringing treasures, trinkets, and gifts for them all. He sang and danced, laughed and drank, and spoke long about his adventures, holding up the gems he had purchased to catch the light when he would describe the dragon’s fire and the monsters he had seen there.

When he would grow tired from his tales, he would often chuckle and say, “Suck it Corfart.” He fell back into the rhythm of his tribe and their lives there. There was still lots of coin and things that could be fixed and built and repaired here, and he would talk with the elders about getting it done. He was  not going to tie himself down to one potential outcome, he didn’t know what the Grand Dice have in store. All he knew is that, for at least one time in his life... he did, in fact, Wyn D'Endee.

Meanwhile Brendon, Lyra, and Kovid had gone to the Assayer’s office and had spoken with the clerks there. Kovid had been the easiest to work out as he had the exact place he was looking for in mind. According to the map it was not only unclaimed, but also had part of the mountain side as the acreage. So Kovid plunked down the 200 crowns for the land including the taxes and the engineer’s fees, getting 3 acres for himself. Lyra and Brendon were looking for farmland, Lyra specific for horses and grazing.

The Scout ended up with 6 acres that was within 2 miles of Specularum, and Lyra settled on a 60 acre spread that was going to be possible home for up to 35 horses without issue. Both were going to need some work, but for the ex-pirate the 250 crowns was sufficient and Lyra was on the hook for 2,000 crowns. Costs included engineer’s fees.

They all separated. Brendon heading off to various farms and orchards, spying over their apples and wares. He purchased a total of 5 different bushels and got the ok from 2 of the farmers to take some smaller trees and saplings – total spent was 40 crowns. He then went off and after spending a week on the property, marked off the size of the house and barn he wanted. The house was modest, 1 story wooden construction, 30’ square. He splurged on real glass for the windows and heavy wooden doors and shutters. A small cellar was added. The barn was not much larger, simpler in function and design. The home was 750 crowns and the barn was another 500 crowns.

His funds were getting low at this point, so Brendon parceled out part of his time working at the docks and a few of the day trip ships that might have gone out fishing. It was some 6 months before everything was built and in place and the former Scout was down to less than 20 crowns to his name. But he had a dozen small apple trees planted, at least 4 times that number of seeds growing, and had plowed at least half the remaining acreage for planting. He went for fast growing crops: Lettuce, radishes, spinach, and turnips. He had a dozen chicks and 2 hogs to his name, and a older dog and 2 cats that he had rescued from the city.

Life was hard, sometimes hungry, and a struggle. But Brendon would smile as he looked over his golden rapier hanging over his mantelpiece, and he would occasionally run his hand over the sextant, thinking of the adventures he would be on. He kept in touch with Kovid, stopping in for a beer now and again, the dwarf always telling him his money was no good. And he did see Lyra often, the two of them getting together to laugh and joke, swapping vegetables or other garden goods. Brendon had not heard from Lannis at all but Lyra would occasionally get an angry letter filled with crudely drawn horses and little else in her post box.

It was after the first harvest that Brendon felt that had finally some breathing room. He had hired a hand to help out, and the two of them sold their wares in the city, making a profit. Enough to lay in seeds for the next year, plant winter corn and potatoes for now, and even get a dairy cow as well as double his chickens. His farm grew and although the work was often and long, Brendon felt good about it; bringing life and growing things as opposed to killing, hunting, and the like. At a grange dance in his 40’s he met a younger woman name Klarain, 3rd daughter of a prestigious landowner. He was not above getting Lyra to vouch for him and eventually got the ok to court the young woman.

Six months later a dowry was paid and Brendon married Klarain, eventually having 3 children of their own. With some of the profits he did expand the homestead to 10 acres and it was maybe 10 years after he had first purchased the property that his apple trees were giving forth large and constant fruit. No matter what was going on, Brendon always brought a bushel to Lyra, a bushel to the Church of Poseidon, and 2 bushels to Kovid, with the dwarf promising to turn it into cider as soon as he could.

Was it a busy life? Yes. Did he burn out and die like his sister did? No. Did he amass an armada like his brother did, but chased from port to port? No. Did he eventually open an alehouse? No, there never was enough money but he was good friends with Kovid who owned such a place. But was Brendon happy? Yes. The answer to that was yes, yes he was. But in his later 40’s, when he would sit on his porch, feet up, pipe in his hands, wife in the kitchen, and kids playing in the yard with the cats, he would lift his mug high and look down the road, wondering if adventure would come his way, if he would take it once again.

As for Kovid, he commissioned to have the Ale house built. At first he wanted a mighty stone structure, but the cost was going to wipe him out. Instead he went for a wooden one, 2 stories, with an attached open walled stables for thirsty visitors. At 80’ x 40’, it was going to be grand but was going to run him 3,000 crowns. He figured he was going to need another 250 crowns for casks and counters, chairs and tables. Setting it aside for now, that left him with a bit over 1,000 crowns to his name.

While things were being built and cleared, Kovid had gone to the Ironhills and had spoken to various smiths there, bringing the Theystran Hammer with him, hoping to get a twin made. It was going to take some time and would run the dwarf 300 crowns, but he commissioned it with broad smiles. He then went to a number of dwarven armor smith and had a copper chased set of platemail made, costing another 180 crowns.

With 600 plus gold pieces still going, Kovid had spent 3 months working with a local cartographer, refining his skills as well as getting a set of pens, sights, and other tools for himself, spending another 150 crowns in the process. During his time in town, Kovid ran across Lannis a number of times. The two of them would meet up when they could, share a pint or two, and the dwarf would let Lannis pick apart the maps and drawings he was working on. Lannis was sporting some serious crimson red clothes these days, and had gone through some effort to grow a beard and moustache. Out of courtesy, Kovid did not pick on it, but he couldn’t help but chuckle when the meetings ended.

As the place was being built, Kovid travelled a bit, making the trip to see Wyn where proper addresses were exchanged. He made stops along the way and bought grains that he liked. Eventually he made the trip east by boat to Jector where he spent 3 weeks with Abraxas and his wife. Surprising to Kovid, he got along with the two gnomes, Standard and Typical, and met with people they knew about brewing techniques and other off the norm recipes.

When he left, he brought with him 40 lbs of beef steak as a thanks from the Butcher, 200#’s of Jectorian potatoes, and Standard made the trip, vowing to help out to run the place for 1/4th the profits, for a period of 5 years.

Kovid had customers before his ale was even ready, travelers happy for a place to rest and put their feet up on the trip between Ironhills and Specularum. His clientele leaned dwarven, but was open to all. He had both hammers over the bar and had a sign commissioned that read, “You’ll be safe at Korona’s!” with underneath it in slightly smaller lettering, “Unless you’re a goblin.”

As the first barrels were ready, Kovid was known to give a thanks to Theystra and then plunk both warhammers into the golden liquid. It was said that the ale was so delicious and clean, that if you held a glass up to the sunlight, you could see clear though it.

He was asked now and again if he was Kovid Manslayer XIX, and he always replied, “No. Not for some time.” He would joke about Thor, tell stories about cabinets and apes , and every autumn solstice would have an axe throwing contest where he would use a dummy in a set of pink robes positioned as a target, using the largest pumpkin he could find, the winner being the one that would wear the hollowed pumpkin and be proclaimed “Big Brain”.

Friends old and new would come and visit Lesser Valhalla, Korona’s Ale House, enjoy the dwarven repast and stay if need be. Standard stayed on for another 5 years and eventually married a local dwarven woman, scandalizing all parties from both races. Kovid had befriended a dwarven woman, Kolora, who had come to him at first hoping to hire him. It seems a distant relation of hers, Rona, had gone missing and the family was looking to get some help in finding her. Kovid had befriended other adventuring groups, including a smaller one that Lannis was running, and set her up with the wizard’s party to hunt the missing dwarf down.

Kovid and Kolora remained together and even though they hadn’t yet, there was talk of possibly tying the knot together before the decade was out. For now though, the former dwarven adventurer was happy with his maps, his brewing, his alehouse, and the friends he had made. But he always kept an ear out for that perfect adventure, that perfect need, that would have him done his armor and take his hammers out again. And, By Thor’s Hairy Ass, for a shot at Valhalla again? He’d take it.

Lannis was a different matter. The erstwhile wizard had tromped off to the Arcane Academy where within minutes he had gotten into a screaming match with Master Brooklyr. Words were thrown out, followed by fists and then kicks. Both men had to be separated, with the older slovenly Brooklyr flat out sneering at the younger Lannis, calling him, “A fucking dick weed. You should be plucked.”

Eventually tempers were relaxed and Lannis gave his report along with the documents from the Academy of Explorers of what he had done. He presented Corfard’s teeth and described the fight again and again. There was almost no belief in his fantastic tale, but the Magic User brought out item after item, including Mirabellis’ spellbook.

There was some discussion with the Arcane Masters over Lannis burning through spells in his book, and the other book too, but given the dire situation and once in a lifetime struggle at that time, it was understood even if not approved. The first thing he did though, was commission a copy of Fireball for his own book. There was some pushback but after a donation of 900 crowns was allowed down to the library where he scribed the spell to his book.

He then signed himself up as a specialty teacher, “Dungeon Magic User Class” where he had an oddball group of students take his class every 4 months. On the home front, things did not go as well. He had returned home to find out that his mother had indeed missed Lannis, but was hesitant on having him move back home. She had a gentleman friend named Beltran who tried to make nice with the magic user. But assorted screamings about not my real dad, and I just want my things, and how could you do this to me followed him out the door as he stormed to back to the Arcane Academy and set himself up in the Bachelor’s Quarters.

He went off to the Assayers after a week to see if there were any places in town he could buy. Specifically near his mother’s place, but on a nicer block, slightly larger, and with a larger property. He did find one and plunked down the purchase price of 750 crowns, becoming a home owner of a 3 story wood and stone structure, right on the corner of Main Street and Overdale. He immediately had the 2 families living there evicted and then spent 150 crowns more in having the entire place cleaned, painted, and the windows, shutters, doors, pipes, and cisterns all upgraded.

He went to the seamstress and washer woman where he next berated the woman who did the work last on his robes, and had her take his measurements. He had his clothes cleaned from top to bottom, and then ordered 4 more sets, each one dyed a deep crimson burgundy red. She asked about his gloves, and had them cleaned, as well as both hats. There were some questions about the cut of them, and Lannis feigned interest in it. One of the robes though, did have a feminine cut to it, with which the Magic User happily took and would wear now and again, walking up and down his own home. He matched it out with a set of boots that had a low heel and lift. All told, cleaning, new clothes, and whatnot, as well as having the matronly washer woman available to him if need be, in his mind, best 30 crowns he had ever spent.

He then purchased a set of glass alembics, an entire potion making set up. Using the 2 books and scrolls he had taken back, he was lucky enough to get an elven glassblower who was able to duplicate some of the items he had seen in the tower, the entire set up running him 500 more crowns.

He had spent about half his money at this time, blowing another 100 crowns on furnishings as well. He took to walking past his mother’s house at least twice a week, ignoring her if he saw her, running away if she approached. Master Brooklyr continued to ridicule Lannis at every meeting, and Lannis was teaching his classes as well as getting ready to start brewing potions.

Another 500 crowns went into buying ingredients to make them, and within a few weeks, he realized he hated it. He looked next into golem making, but when the costs began to spiral over 100,000 crowns he decided to abandon the idea for now. Also, the return on potions were tight, with profits difficult to recognize. Not wanting to expand to warehouse levels of brewing, he instead decided to do what all masters do. He got an apprentice. Making sure to get either young attractive women or fat and unimposing men, Lannis had a constant stream of 3 month apprentices come in and work in his lab, clean his house, and when needed, rub his feet and feed him fruit. And at the end of three months would let them go with a, “Get the hell out!” and then move the next one in.

For giggles he would write hate letters to Lyra and mail them to her homestead along with crude drawings of horses doing illegal things to people with anatomically impossible dimensions. If she would reply, he would throw them aside and have his apprentices read them to him. He would write with Wyn often, the two of them exchanging thoughts and ideas, maybe the elf would send the stray bit of root or herb he would run across. But he spent the most time meeting with Kovid. He would get a spot at the Lesser Valhalla, bringing his apprentice with him, and regale any and all about his time with Kovid and how he single handedly saved everyone. When he would see Lyra and her beau, he would be dismissive to the man and tell Lyra often that, “He was a piece of shit and you can do better.”

Eventually Lannis discovered it was easier to gather his own ingredients and at 1/10th the cost if he would just go out and gather them. Some required a few adventures, and Lannis would mine the Tower Arcane for 3rd, 4th, and 5th year students as well as those who formerly took his class, and take them out to hunt old mines for corpse fungi, or wipe out a nest of giant rats or at one time, they went against a barrow that had broken down, and skeletons were raiding local farms. And if given half a chance, Lannis always made sure to shoot his Fireball spell off. He doesn’t know where it came from, but around the school he was given the nickname, “Trigger,” which he wore with pride.

But through it all, Lannis made sure that he had feelers heading east to Abraxas and his company, but more importantly to anyone who went to the Dawnlands. In the basement of his house behind 2 sets of locks, he had one of Corfards’ teeth, a shrine to Ishtari, the Rod, Mirabellis’ book and hat, and a series of mirrors and alert chimes in place. In case ANYTHING were to change from the status quo. If anything untoward was going to come up there, he wanted to be ready. And if need be, he suspected that he could call on his former party and friends to quell anything that might need to be put down. Again.

As for Lyra, after leaving the Assayers, went to the best stabler in town and purchased a riding horse. Definitive, capable, strong, well tempered. She wanted no shit from it. After 100 crowns well spent including saddle, bit, bridle, and what not, she went off to ride her property. 60 acres was pretty big but she was dismayed. It was going to need some work. More than she expected. She started off with fencing. Lots of it. And the number quickly hit 500 crowns. She had that working while she looked around for the most affordable barn she could build. It was going to have to be big enough for the animals she wanted, and she decided that she’d live in an apartment in the barn for now to keep costs down. Even so, it was still 1,000 crowns to build one. “This is bullshit,” she muttered. “Should have brought back the rest of the treasure.”

She still had over 1,000 crowns but she hadn’t bought any horses yet, except the one. In town she had purchased some new clothes (30 crowns), and arranged for a animal handler who had just gotten his journeyman card, to come out and help her on the homestead (another 75 crowns for 2 seasons). Then, relying on some family contacts, some contacts from the Church, and her own blessings from Aine, she visited stable after stable, farm after farm, breeder after breeder, looking for the best of horseflesh that she could find. It was a slow process, taking the better part of 4 months, but she managed to buy another 6 animals, 2 stallions and 4 mares, and none of them under2 or over 5. It took another 400 crowns of her money but she was happy to spend it.

A few chickens followed, then a stray goat or two. She kept up with Brendon and Kovid, and exchanged letters with Abraxas often. Communication with Wyn was spotty at best and Lannis’ would often write her abusive notes. She found him the most hilarious and when it was learned that he had snubbed his mother and moved out, teaching an dungeoneering class, Lyra had made sure, by donation (20 crowns), to be made abreast of his comings and goings. She would abuse his Artificer doll often, and made sure to learn that he would in time develop a new skin rash, or have an unexplained limp or ache that he would pass off to his students as, “An Old Dragon Injury.”

For another 50 crowns she had bees added to her homestead and made sure to transplant wild flowers when need be to her side of the fence line. The months moved on and she would hire a new journeyman to help out for 2 more seasons and then sign off on his paperwork, getting another one to come in. Some she slept with, others she didn’t. But she would make them feel bad and grow upset with her as the end of their tenure came so they would leave and she could look in the mirror and say after a good cry, “See!? They weren’t worth it! No one wants you!”

And then she’d do it all over again.

Foaling went well and her stable of horses grew. Through Aine gifted visions and patient breeding, she mixed and matched her small herd, growing their numbers. And just before her funds were fully depleted, after 3 years, she was able to sell her first foals at a three fold profit. Which opened the line for more animal husbandry on a going forward.

She had a small patch of vanilla growing thanks to the beans she had brought home, and her profits grew along with her knowledge and fame. When Lannis began to go adventuring, his short temper, use of fireball, and plethora of horse names thrown at her over the years; she had a few minstrels visit the Tower Arcane and sing of the Mighty Lannis, also known as, “Trigger” and his exploits. It would always make her laugh when she heard how much he liked the nickname, never cottoning that it came from her.

She did have her eye out for a specific purchase and when word came through Abraxas that he had found one for her, she paid over 1,000 for the precious Philter of Love. When it arrived, months later, the rose quartz vial was like lead in her hand. She hid it away a dozen times in a dozen weeks and took it out just as many times. It had been 6 years now since the party had come home and Lyra was a wealthy woman with a following of cavaliers and knight errants who sought her out for her horses. She was a mid to high ranking member of the Church of Aine, and would be invited to speak at meets and seminars often. Her fame was further added at Lesser Valhalla with travelers coming to visit and speak with her. But she was afraid to open herself up to someone else and her close friendships were few.

So it was when Lannis expressed a serious dislike of her current stablehand and sometime lover, Jack, that Lyra felt the time was right. She took the philter of love and just before meal time, poured half of the mixture in his cup of ale and half in hers. They ate and drank together and even though she felt no different, she knew in her heart the philter had done its job. Jack didn’t leave after 6 months, staying on with her and in her bed. They would fight with one another, Lyra crying now and again for no reason. But Jack would hold her and wait for the feelings of self loathing to fade before he would remind her that she was the only woman for him.

Which made her feel even worse. Because was he staying because he loved her? Or because she enchanted him to do so? Whatever the reason, Lyra lived on her life, breeding her horses and selling them, visiting friends old and new, faithful Jack at her side regardless of whatever invectives she threw his way or what hateful things she might say; and she was sad and unhappy because if it would have been real, she soiled it by using magic to make it happen. And if it wasn’t real, then she was a terrible person for what she did.

Finally in Jector, Abraxas and Shy'shisheer were wedded happily. He tried to give her back the Morrigaan Scythe but she told him often, that it was his. And she would have him occasionally swing it around the yard to show off to the other people in town, as well as get her juices flowing. She made sure to reward him often and many times a day. He did commission to have the 40 dragon scales made into a set of scalemail armor (costing 1,000 crowns) which when polished and holding his Scythe, made him look like some heroic warrior of old.

He was asked often to go and join various warbands, but was happy to just stay at home. His inquiries at the dock though were beginning to pay off. He started to join in as junior partner on lone ships and trades, making a few coins for his effort. When a sailing boat came up to buy, he snatched it up for 1,750 crowns, the 20’ craft capable of carrying a crew of three and 2,000 pounds of cargo.

With an actual boat at the docks of his own, it gave him an in to visit the dockmasters, longshoremen, loaders and warehousers. Jowass and his family would let Abraxas know of shipments that might be coming in or going out that needed a backer or two, or could be shipped on his smaller craft with little issue at a profit. Abraxas was always there, helpful, happy, and willing to laugh and joke with goblin, lizardman, orc, bugbear, kobold, human, Halfling, dwarf, gnome, hobgoblin, and even one time, a ship with a minotaur captain. Being married to Shy'shisheer gave him more cred than expected, and Jowass’ entire clan, well over 150 kobolds, vouched for him as well.

His empire was expanding. Slowly. But surely.

Not every excursion turned a profit. And there was some piracy involved. He did use Brendon’s stone three times in his career to turn what would have been a terrible loss at sea to a parley and bribe. But he also this way made inroads with the unlawful side of shipping. When he had a chance to buy into Freebody Shippers, a business with over 10 ships that make up their courier fleet, and with ties to at least 3 Jectorian necromancers, Abraxas talked with his wife about it. The Butchery was in the black and the cost of signing on to the Shippers was 1,000 crowns. It would deplete much of his funds, but both of them thought it was a good deal.

He worked and worked hard. It was a slow process, but he eventually took over the day by day of Freebody Shippers when the main owner took to drinking and gambling. Abraxas purchased more shares of the business with the use of the shipper’s profits until he was the man in charge. From there, he expanded where he could and ran the business as he saw fit.

He did add a shipping line to the Elfhome Swamps where trade was opened up with Wyn and his tribe as well as the other swamp elves who lived there, hoping for trade with the far flung Jector. Once in a while the elf would make the trip back to Jector and would spend some months getting his sea legs and visiting with the Salazar family. Wyn noticed that Abraxas had grown a bit thick in the middle, the fighter having made a partial purchase of a bakery in town where fresh bread and cakes would be delivered to his offices and staff every day. He laughed it off saying that Shy'shisheer would pinch him on the belly, commenting that it gave her some cushion when he was feeling like letting his aggressions off during some of their love making.

The two of them did keep their eyes open for possible magical items that would cross their docks, or people that were looking to sell. It wasn’t often, and the prices would be a bit high now and again, but they made small purchases of potions, rings, daggers, and the like. Occasionally potions from Lannis would make their sale here, and at one point, Abraxas managed to find a magical love philter for Lyra, which he had shipped out to her when able to.

The most wonderful thing though was when Shy'shisheer had gotten pregnant. Abraxas, now in his later 30’s, was a nervous wreck. It seems that Typical and Jowass and his clutchmates had purchased a charm of fertility from a local wizard and gave it to the Butcher who had been lamenting the lack of children. When Abraxas’ son was born 9 months later, he was a large child, mixing the best of both his mother’s race and his own. They named him Antonio, but Abraxas would refer to him as Tony, Anthony, Nio, Zorro, Mariachi, Puss, Galgo, Gregorio, Alejandro, Ibn, and Benito.

It drove his wife crazy.

As the years moved on, Abraxas sat in his office on the docks, a box of dough knots near by, Jowass at the next desk writing away, and the warehouse bustling behind him. He imagined he could still squeeze into his scalemail armor but didn’t mind if couldn’t. To little Bebe, he was a hero no matter what he did. And to his wife, he was the man who gave her the freedom to be herself, and brightened her life by being in it. Wyn would visit, the elf looking not a day older regardless of the years, and they would share a mug of Kovid’s Korona Ale or even a glass of Brendon’s hard cider, and talk about days behind them.

“So Monsieur,” Wyn would ask, ankles folded over his knees, looking out the window, sea breeze ruffling his hair. “You feel it?”

“Sentir que?” he asked. “What?”

“Dat call. Dat call to maybe go back to adventure?”

“Mi?” Abraxas would smile broadly, leaning back in his chair, making it groan beneath him. “No Senor Winner, no hay oportunidad.”