This is Why We Can’t Have Nice Things

Adventure Log by Arxaggus Add comments

That itch returned, and it needed to be scratched.

Downtime is good.  It lets the body heal and relax; allows the mind to ponder past events, regroup, then focus on things to come.

Where everyone scatters to mid-week is beyond me.  We’ve all rooms at the Hob & Goblin but we more or less go our separate ways while we’re in town.  I’d spent the past two weeks asking the smithies where to find more adamantium (they were clueless), swimming through the assessor’s archives trying to find maps (their lore-vault is woefully unorganized), and figuring out how to send mail home.  Apparently there’s no official service for it and I have to hire me own courier.  Blast.

Anyway, that itch came back, and I wasn’t the only one afflicted with it.  I rounded up the usual suspects at the Hob and we set out north in search of a few laughs and some beasties to sink our blades into.  We even recruited a new orcblood, named Mandark.

Taking the north road and actually going north this time, we discovered that it turned west after only a few miles.  Preferring ground we were wholly unfamiliar with, we left the road behind and continued north.  The terrain here varies between grassy plains and low, lightly forested hills.  We glimpsed our first sign of combat only a few hours outside the walls, cementing the reality that the world is equally dangerous outside Westhaven regardless of the direction one travels.

Mandark’s orcish eyes proved keener than mine.  He spotted two figures at quite a distance, fighting on a hillside.  Before the rest of us could agree on a manner of approach, he rode off at a full gallop, leaving us in the dust.  I approached more slowly than me mates, opting to observe and study before engaging whatever was ahead of us.

Mandark arrived first; following close behind were Wrenly and Ham.  The half-man charged right up the hill at them, not pausing even a moment to allow the rest of us to catch up.  The three of them soon realized these creatures possessed some unearthly traits.

Skandale’s first shot landed true…but passed right through the armored figure.  The second one was already engaged when I rode up.  Signore swung his sword, and with a loud CLANG it bounced right off of its’ heavy armor.  I recognized the things as ghosts, restless damned spirits cursed to wander the earth for eternity.  I reached into me pockets and retrieved the Flask of Ghost Oil I purchased specifically for such an event; after applying it to me weapon, the blade turned transluscent, much the same way the ghosts themselves shimmered in and out of our reality.

Mandark was immediately struck twice on the chest.  Any lesser creature would have fallen from their saddle, but not this half-orc.  Gritting his teeth, he vowed to stay in the fight.  Wrenly, the eternal jokester, burst into song: “the half-orc bites the dust.”

Most of our weapons simply failed to land.  Between the ghost’s incorporeality and their heavy armor, the fight lasted much longer than it needed to.  Me ghostly glaive landed true enough, and I sent one back from whence it came.  The other was destroyed, eventually, to group persistence.

Pressing up the hillside, the ground turned black and the air chilled.  Our horses spooked and would have fled the hilltop had we not insisted upon it.  Though a bright summer’s day, the sun rays seemed diminished.  We discovered the outline of what once was a mighty keep built there, but nothing lived there now, not a single blade of grass.  The entire hilltop was unholy ground, the site surely a home to a great number of undead monsters, sleeping during the daylight hours.  I marked the spot on me map, and we all agreed to avoid this location in the future, especially at night.  Mandark wondered aloud about bacon, then burst into a jig.

We continued north for a few more miles and made camp amid a cluster of trees.  I awoke to the sounds of combat in the darkest of the night.  As I sat up, a dozen or more javelins and atlatl-darts whizzed past me head.  I spotted Wrenly off to me left…the lad lit a torch and tried to throw it, but fumbled with the haft and smacked himself right in the face with it.  I heard the sounds of gunfire somewhere beyond me darksight: Skandale was already up and about.

I grabbed me glaive and sprang to me feet; caught without me armor, I braced meself for the injuries I’d surely feel this battle.

Another wave of javelins and darts came in.  As me eyes adjusted to the waking world, I realized that a large war party of goblins, hobgoblins, and bugbears surrounded us.  One javelin struck me leg and sunk a few inches into the muscle.  Traunk grabbed his tower shield and used it to protect the both of us from further ranged assaults.

I needed mobility.  I broke for me horse; behind me, Ham and Signore were engaged in melee.  I spotted Mandark…climbing a tree…already bleeding from his belly.  Reaching a branch safely hidden from javelins, the half-man…found a cluster of nutberries and began munching away…

Traunk charged a pair of goblins.  The pair of beasties were armed with a smoldering-hot cauldron filled with coals.  Designed to burn rather than pierce flesh, the coals inflicted a serious wound upon him.  The sounds of gunfire continued; Skandale comes well-equipped to a battle.  The darkness, though, hindered his accuracy greatly.  He later told me no more than a few shots out of a dozen rounds discharged managed to hit the enemy.

A new threat emerged: the larger goblinoids mounted our horses, and what seemed to be the bugbear commander rode Skandale’s horse into battle.  A hobgoblin foolishly tried to mount up within reach of me polearm; it was the last mistake he ever made.  Another one, out of range, spurred his stolen horse to a gallop and rode off into the night.

The battle now fully joined, the goblins quickly realized they were overmatched.  Not to be outdone, however, a second group of hobgoblins, unseen to us in the darkness, came in from behind and made off with three more of our prized mounts.  These bastards weren’t here to kill us; they were here to steal our transports.

Signore and I engaged the bugbear leader head-on.  Skandale’s horse, currently in the employ of a foe, struck me repeatedly with its great hooves.  I quaffed a vial of pure adrenaline, bolstering me to continue the fight but giving me a wicked case of the shakes.  As a last-ditch effort, the bugbear fled with Skandale’s horse into the night, but a well-timed shot from Wrenly’s bow felled the bastard off in the darkness.  As it happens, only me and Skandale’s horses were saved from thievery.

A single goblin remained alive.  Wrenly shouted, “don’t kill that one!”  Some questioning was in order.

All of us claimed killing blows that battle, but apparently Signore and the newcomer Mandark had a bet.  I didn’t hear them make it…I was too busy limping about with a spear in me leg.  I’m not positive as to the particulars, but I believe it was over who could land the most kills, and the stakes were a tidy sum of fifty gold pieces.

Mandark lost the best.  When Signore confronted him, the half-orc flew into a rage and struck the beefy berserker in the face.  As Wrenly taunted him with cries of “Mandy” and the rest of us looked on with confusion and alarm, Signore drew his blade and slashed him wickedly across the chest.  Mandark fled into the night, crying loudly in pain.  He barely managed to stop the bleeding, then collapsed to the ground unconscious.  Fresh from a battle and not wanting another in the middle of the night, we left the mad orc there to his own devices, knowing full well what would happen to him.

We returned in the morning to find his corpse, stripped naked.  His throat had been slit, and the body of an additional goblin was nearby.  We regretted his fate but acknowledged that he had brought it upon himself.

Examining the dozen or so goblinoid corpses at the site of the battle, we realized every last one had one trait in common: their left thumbs were missing.  We immediately made the connection to one of the bounties in town: Boros the Ninefingers, who shot off his own thumb during firearms training and fled the city in a murderous panic.

We questioned our goblin captive, who was all too happy to fill us in on what he and his tribe were up to.  It seems Boros killed their orc captain and set himself up as warchief.  He likes waging war and bringing more goblinoids under his rule.  We returned to town (most of us on foot) as we debated a number of possible ways to engage him.

Next on our list of things to do is spend some quality time at Dragons’ Delve…

Tonight's Cast:
Captain Arxaggus "Ox" Dunnbuldanngen, Dwarven Myrmidon - Tristan
Krix Skandale, Human Archer - Russ
Signore, Human Berserker - Keith
Ham, Human Harrier - Scotland
Traunk, Half-Orc Armiger - Eric
Wrenly "The Clever", Human Harrier - Mike
Mandark "Mandy", Half-Orc Berserker - Connar
DM - Paul
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One Response to “This is Why We Can’t Have Nice Things”

  1. Traunk says: |

    lol… zzzz, pew pew pew

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