![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Session 01: "Introductions and beginnings"
Joren couldn't beleive that he was hearing what he thought he was hearing. "So what are salvage rules?" he asked enthusiastically.
The druid had commissioned his group -- Beryl, the human sorcereress with a dark secret; Aramar, aasimar paladin, though Joren doesn't hold that against him; and Frag & Frak, twin half-orc barbarians -- to find the supplies that was normally brought by caravan , and had been intercepted by a goblin tribe moving into a nearby tower from the Bone March. Looking at him, she sighed. It was apparent that she didn't think that they'd have any money or other goodies to "obtain", and that the goods on the caravan wouldn't count. Joren started to cry, just a little bit.
"It's so good to see that you're so moved by the chance to help such a nice community, too, Joren," said Aramar. Aramar had been Joren's friend for a long time, and always hoped Joren would "reform". It's not that Aramar was a stick in the mud. Rather, Aramar was just Stuffy. Of course, that's what Joren called him at times like this.
"Be quiet, Stuffy."
The only up side, in Joren's eyes, was that the group would be supplied mounts to ride to the tower where the goblins were rumored to be lairing, as well as having their rations handled for the duration of the trip. When the group left the next morning, Joren was quite happy about things. After all, there was a CHANCE of plunder. "What someone else doesn't know won't hurt me," was one of his sayings, and he was quite fond of it.
The journey to the tower was rather uneventful, aside from the time the group nearly ran into the dire bear, or the day spent looking for some meat (the trail rations were vegetarian, since a druid had put them together). Joren spent his free time studying the spellbook he'd acquired, hoping to find himself able to cast at least once spell. Before he could, though, they had gotten as close to the tower as they could on horseback.
Joren decided to ride on ahead, and scout the place out while everyone else took their time getting ready that morning. He saw three soldiers and a few women and children. Circling the tower, he found more of the same, though some of them were chopping up one of the wagons from the waylaid caravan for firewood. Heading back toward his original vantage point, he saw Aramar and the brothers walk up. After a few whispered words, the brothers split up, circled the perimeter of the tower while they kept just inside the trees.
Aramar, true to form, insisted on trying to negotiate, so Joren played translator. Joren translated, but sometimes settled for "altering" what was said slightly, just to keep things interesting. When Aramar became less than diplomatic by saying "..or there'll be trouble," Joren knew he needed to do the talking. He began to ask questions, but the goblins just insulted him, and wouldn't answer.
At that point, the goblins got hostile. Joren glanced at Aramar as if to say, "I told you it'd happen this way," and dropped into a fighting stance. Quick work was made of the goblins outside, and the ones inside were soon defeated, too.
The women and children and remaining warriors took off, running away from the tower in their desperation to escape these dangerous warriors. The victory was not without its casualties, though. Aramar, Frak, and Frag were hurt badly. Since Beryl had trouble lifting her crossbow, it fell to Joren to get the undamaged wagons, hitch them up, and carry each crate up to the wagons. Beryl did help by having her donkey -- Flower -- pull the injured out of the tower cellar where they'd fallen.
On the way back, Joren cracked a barrel of wine, and drank some. Joren was going to make sure he got SOMETHING out of this trip. Aside from a little drunken (horse) driving, the drive back to the village was more uneventful than the trip there. Joren didn't complain, though, since he was the healthiest member of the group, and he didn't have any armor.
Arriving back in town, Joren found a chair, and promptly fell asleep. That night, the village held their spring festival, and declared the group to be "heroes." The whole town turned out, and there was much drinking, dancing, and revelry until the wee hours of the morning. The "heroes" were "required" to show -- "Won't be much of a party without the guests of honor!" an elder had said.
It was fun, and became even more so to Joren when he realized that a chest that he'd loaded had been filled silver and gems. The druid speculated that the chest was the goblin tribe's savings. Quite a lot of money, Joren volunteered to count it. For some reason, Frak (the "goodlooking one" as opposed to Frag's "the smart one") insisted on trying to help count. Once Joren managed to keep Frak's hands out of it, Joren was done in no time. The gems were expensive, but being fair, Joren took an even cut, leaving most of the group's money in the form of the fire opal that was with it. Frak seemed put out.
The next day, Joren happily realized that he could get some armor in the village, so he bought a suit of finely crafted leather armor. He was quite happy, now that his neck wasn't QUITE so much at risk. The spellbook laid in his bags, forgotten for the time being, as he worked on his dagger throwing and lockpicking.
Now, he ponders what will happen next...
Joren couldn't beleive that he was hearing what he thought he was hearing. "So what are salvage rules?" he asked enthusiastically.
The druid had commissioned his group -- Beryl, the human sorcereress with a dark secret; Aramar, aasimar paladin, though Joren doesn't hold that against him; and Frag & Frak, twin half-orc barbarians -- to find the supplies that was normally brought by caravan , and had been intercepted by a goblin tribe moving into a nearby tower from the Bone March. Looking at him, she sighed. It was apparent that she didn't think that they'd have any money or other goodies to "obtain", and that the goods on the caravan wouldn't count. Joren started to cry, just a little bit.
"It's so good to see that you're so moved by the chance to help such a nice community, too, Joren," said Aramar. Aramar had been Joren's friend for a long time, and always hoped Joren would "reform". It's not that Aramar was a stick in the mud. Rather, Aramar was just Stuffy. Of course, that's what Joren called him at times like this.
"Be quiet, Stuffy."
The only up side, in Joren's eyes, was that the group would be supplied mounts to ride to the tower where the goblins were rumored to be lairing, as well as having their rations handled for the duration of the trip. When the group left the next morning, Joren was quite happy about things. After all, there was a CHANCE of plunder. "What someone else doesn't know won't hurt me," was one of his sayings, and he was quite fond of it.
The journey to the tower was rather uneventful, aside from the time the group nearly ran into the dire bear, or the day spent looking for some meat (the trail rations were vegetarian, since a druid had put them together). Joren spent his free time studying the spellbook he'd acquired, hoping to find himself able to cast at least once spell. Before he could, though, they had gotten as close to the tower as they could on horseback.
Joren decided to ride on ahead, and scout the place out while everyone else took their time getting ready that morning. He saw three soldiers and a few women and children. Circling the tower, he found more of the same, though some of them were chopping up one of the wagons from the waylaid caravan for firewood. Heading back toward his original vantage point, he saw Aramar and the brothers walk up. After a few whispered words, the brothers split up, circled the perimeter of the tower while they kept just inside the trees.
Aramar, true to form, insisted on trying to negotiate, so Joren played translator. Joren translated, but sometimes settled for "altering" what was said slightly, just to keep things interesting. When Aramar became less than diplomatic by saying "..or there'll be trouble," Joren knew he needed to do the talking. He began to ask questions, but the goblins just insulted him, and wouldn't answer.
At that point, the goblins got hostile. Joren glanced at Aramar as if to say, "I told you it'd happen this way," and dropped into a fighting stance. Quick work was made of the goblins outside, and the ones inside were soon defeated, too.
The women and children and remaining warriors took off, running away from the tower in their desperation to escape these dangerous warriors. The victory was not without its casualties, though. Aramar, Frak, and Frag were hurt badly. Since Beryl had trouble lifting her crossbow, it fell to Joren to get the undamaged wagons, hitch them up, and carry each crate up to the wagons. Beryl did help by having her donkey -- Flower -- pull the injured out of the tower cellar where they'd fallen.
On the way back, Joren cracked a barrel of wine, and drank some. Joren was going to make sure he got SOMETHING out of this trip. Aside from a little drunken (horse) driving, the drive back to the village was more uneventful than the trip there. Joren didn't complain, though, since he was the healthiest member of the group, and he didn't have any armor.
Arriving back in town, Joren found a chair, and promptly fell asleep. That night, the village held their spring festival, and declared the group to be "heroes." The whole town turned out, and there was much drinking, dancing, and revelry until the wee hours of the morning. The "heroes" were "required" to show -- "Won't be much of a party without the guests of honor!" an elder had said.
It was fun, and became even more so to Joren when he realized that a chest that he'd loaded had been filled silver and gems. The druid speculated that the chest was the goblin tribe's savings. Quite a lot of money, Joren volunteered to count it. For some reason, Frak (the "goodlooking one" as opposed to Frag's "the smart one") insisted on trying to help count. Once Joren managed to keep Frak's hands out of it, Joren was done in no time. The gems were expensive, but being fair, Joren took an even cut, leaving most of the group's money in the form of the fire opal that was with it. Frak seemed put out.
The next day, Joren happily realized that he could get some armor in the village, so he bought a suit of finely crafted leather armor. He was quite happy, now that his neck wasn't QUITE so much at risk. The spellbook laid in his bags, forgotten for the time being, as he worked on his dagger throwing and lockpicking.
Now, he ponders what will happen next...
