Phill Eversons AD&D PBEM game - Merchant - Episode 2

From: malcolm@cstr.ed.ac.uk (Malcolm Campbell)

Date: Thu, 21 Jun 1990 15:06:07 +0000

Date:     Later, 1 Mirtul, 1358DR Year of the Prince
Weather:  Clear, Warm (65), None, Calm,
Location: Somewhere on the road just north west of Saerloon, Sembia

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DM:
                 Phill_Everson everson@cs.bris.ac.uk

Players:
           Castellan      Charles_J_Cohen charles@zip.eecs.umich.edu
    Toran_Cimberlain        Daniel_L_Rouk gt6940a@prism.gatech.edu
             Almarik         David_E_Wall wall@hubble.ifa.hawaii.edu
       Nerod_Jergens      Jason_D_Lampert potential@oak.circa.ufl.edu
 Riandor_El_Annoreth     Malcolm_Campbell malcolm@cstr.edinburgh.ac.uk
          Tas_Felric       Mark_Giaquinto wolf@ariel.unm.edu
               Kroda             Sam_Bell bell@sgi.com
        Sedate_Foote       Terry_Kelleher terryk@encore.com
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This campaign episode compilation is Copyright '90 by Phillip G. Everson
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It's begining to get quite hot. Unfortunately with this being the first
warm day of the year the mud in the road has well and truely dried.
Occasional clouds of mud dust rise as the wagons lurch from wheel rut
to wheel rut.

The city walls are soon left behind as the caravan passes amongst the
farmers fields that surround the city. From the ocassional farmstead
you pass children dart out and run alongside the wagons for a while
until tiring they drop to the side of road laughing and panting.

Towards the back of the caravan, Castellan sitting alongside the driver
Riandor, leans back in his seat and pulls out a silver flute. He raises
it to his lips and blows a few tuning notes to get his mouth right. Up
in front Toran turns at the noise to see the sunlight flash off the
highly polished instrument.

Castellan turns towards Riandor and says, "Friend. It seems we might
need something to pass the time.  From hearing a bit of your tales
before we left, surely you must know some songs to help wind away the
miles."

"Of course. Pass me the ale-skin to loosen my throat and I'll see what
I can do."

A couple of minutes later a melodic lilting voice starts to drift over
the caravan accompanied by the wandering harmony of a flute ...

Long long ago, in the time when the old Gods still walked the earth,
and heros were heros, there was a young man called Athel.

Athel was a soldier, not an officer mind, an ordinary soldier. And he had
a problem.. He was in love with the General's daughter. Now, this may be
a common enough problem, with fighting men, and beautiful officers
daughters, but she loved him too. Their love was true and deep, but
Valera (for that was her name) told him her father would never give
permission for them to marry. Athel promised her that when the war was
over he would approach her father and ask for her hand in marriage. In
return she promised not to marry another until he had asked.

Now the war was long and hard fought, and Athel had many adventures
fighting under the General's command, and impressed the General so much
that he was made a sargeant, or the equivalent in those long off times.

So, the war came to an end, and it was time for Athel to ask for
Valera's hand in marriage, and Athel was sore afraid of her fathers
reaction, for he wanted her to marry another.

But, he plucked up his courage, and approached her father..

"General Batar" he said, "I have fought long and hard in your service,
and would ask that you consider a request".

"Why surely Athel, you are a fine soldier, I will listen to your
request" replied the General.

"General Batar, I have loved your daughter these last few years, and
believe that she loves me; I promised her that I would ask you for her
hand in marriage when this battle were over"

General Batar's face fell. Then he went red, then blue as he
fumed in anger, then in dispair. But he said not a word.. Finally he
calmed down, and said, "Athel, I shall ask my daughter of this, and if
she truly loves you I will think on it more".

Valara was called in, and sure enough, she declared her love for Athel.
General Batar's face fell. "Valera, I would dearly love to let you marry
this man, but I have sworn an oath that you shall only marry the man who
can build a church  to Thur at Bakinsford, and this man has not the
means."

"I will do it" exclaimed Athel

General Batar looked stunned.. "How will you do this?"

Athel looked confident, "I do not know Sir, but I shall have the church
built within 3 months, or die in the attempt".

General Batar looked hard at Athel.. "Well, young man, if you can do
that, you can indeed marry my daughter, but if you fail..."

Athel looked hard and confidently at the General, and led Valara out by
the hand.

"Athel!" exclaimed Valara, "how can you build a church in three months,
 you have no money!"

Finally, it struck home to Athel what he had promised to do. It would
take 100 men 3 months to build the church, and he couldnt pay one. He
hung his head, and walked off into the hills to think.

Later that night he was sitting on a rock, looking out over the hillside
(as I have done many times), muttering to himself, when he heard a voice
from behind him.

"And what would thee be mutt'rin about, young 'un"

He spun round to see the ugliest creature he had ever laid eyes on..
a Troll..

Athel reached for his sword in fear, then realised that he'd left it
behind.

"I'm in d.. dd... deep.. trouble S..S..Sir Troll" he stammered.

"And what might that be, young 'un"

"I've promised to build a church to Thur at Bakins ford within three
months or die in the attempt"

"Ho HO HO!" laughed the Troll. "And how be thee going to do this!"

"I don't know Sir Troll..."

"Well, young 'un.. I might be able to help thee thar.. I could build
thee a church, but you must speak my name aloud before it is complete or
I will come and take thy eyes and heart for my dinner."

Athel pondered on this for a moment.. This Troll didnt look too bright,
and it sounded awfully easy. Three months to guess someones name, that
wasnt too hard, so he agreed to the deal, and they went their separate
ways.

Now over the next three months a church gradually started to appear. The
Troll worked all night on it, got dwarves to cut stone for him, goblins
to help carry it, and night by night the Church got bigger.

The General couldnt understand how the Church was being built. Noone
worked on it all day, but every morning it was bigger, and Athel spent
every day with his daughter.

As the months slipped away, it became obvious that the Church would be
ready on time, and Athel, lost in his love for Valera, forgot completely
about the Troll's name. Their wedding was set for the day the Church was
to be completed.

The day before their wedding, Valera and Athel were keeping a vigil in
the Church togther late into the evening, as was the custom in those
days, when Athel spied the Troll walking over the hill with the very
last stone in his huge hands. Then he remebered his promise..

He broke down and cried..

"Valera, I have promised to guess yon Troll's name, for he has built
this Church for me. If I guess not his name before he places the last
stone, he will tear out my eyes and heart for his dinner."

"Oh Athel," cried Valera, "would that I could die in your place". And as
young lovers are wont to do, they cried in each others arms.

But as they cried, Valera heard a voice singing, a strange deep voice,
far off in the hills, and it was the Troll's wife singing an infant,
that Father Fine would be returning tonight with a mortals eyes and
heart.

She told this to Athel, and he leapt to his feet.. "Too late Fine," he
yelled "for your wife has sung your name to mine".

And at these words the Troll vanished with his stone, and it is said
that the peasants heard the sobbing of a woman deep within the hills
that night, and the voice of the Troll loud with blame.

{sings}

"And of the Troll of the Church they sing the rune,
 By the Northern Sea in the harvest moon,
 And the fishers of Zealand hear him still,
 Scolding his wife in Ulshoi hill.

And seaward of its groves of birch,
 Still looks the tower of Bakinsford Church,
 where first at its altar, a wedded pair,
 stood Athel the soldier, and Valera fair."

And the church to this day is missing a stone..

All is silent for a moment, until Kroda and Galier begin to clap
closely followed by the rest of the caravaners.

"My thanks, friends", says Riandor, "But 'twould have been as nought
without an accompaniment", gesturing with a tilt of his head as if to
bow towards Castellan, as he reaches for the ale-skin again.

"Perhaps you would be so kind as to retell your tale of the time of ice
and giants.  Unfortunately I am not to wise in the ways of the world,"
Castellan says, while putting his flute in a fold under his mail, and
glancing about at the land around.

"Perhaps this evening, when we camp", is the reply as Riandor hands the
reins over to Castellan and leans back closing his eyes.

After a short rest stop during which, much to the amusement of his
audience, Sedate starts to 'shadow fence'. He fences with the imaginary
opponent until he builds up a good sweat, then collapses next to the
others and begins to fiddle with his cat's craddle trying to make some
sort of a church steeple with the string struggling to ignore the
friendly giggling still going on around him.

Later in the afternoon, well into the wilds by now, Almarik attempts to
have a conversation with Toran ...

"Well met, Toran", Almarik begins and without waiting for a reply
continues, "A wonderful spring day like this one is what makes it fine
to be alive.  No buildings to block your view and a road before our
feet.... ahh...  So, what did a hale and huge one such as yourself do
for the festival of Greengrass? I tied one on in the fine fest halls of
Saerloon and was doing quite fine in the games halls, as one of my wit
and speed would do, until the drink began to affect my usually steady
hands.  Shouldn't have done that.  There could have been 'markers' in
the crowd... but from then on I hardly remember the evening."

Almarik leans back tossing his cloak onto the tarpaulin covering the
cabinets behind him and sits with his gauntleted hands crossed behind
his head, letting Toran continue to drive the horses. As he does so
Toran glances across and notices some rope and three belt pouches
carefully arrayed around Almarik's waist and a long fighting dagger in
a scabbard strapped to his right arm. After a moment he continues, "I
do remember something to do with an auburn haired vixen and a silver
crescent - I always can tell when I've had the best of times - can
never remember them!"

Toran breaks the silence, "Perhaps a little less of the liquid sunshine
and you would carry the memories longer. Anyway, well met my friend.
Art thou a warrior? For your garb suggests something different."

"Pah", scoffs Almarik, "I find that I wield a blade as well as
anyone else, but I have chosen to perfect other skills which warriors
do not possess.  I am a thief extrodinaire.  The best I have ever
known! Why, let me tell you of my greatest heist ..."

A large flock of birds suddenly rises from some trees to the right of
the wagons temporarily drowning out Almarik's boasts. Castellan
immeadiately sits up straight, alert, hand on the hilt of his sword, but
the flock wheels to the left and flies southward. Almarik doesn't seem
to have been put off his story by the interruption ...

" ... in the Thunder Peaks to the East ... a magical, gold-inlaid
chalice from the bedstand of the abbot which wispered prayers as you
drank from it ..."

The story tails off into the calm of the heat of the day.

"Toran, do you know any of our stalwart companions?" pipes up Almarik a
little later as he sits with his fingers steepled as if he were a monk
in meditation.

"No, not really. 'think I may have seen squeaky Garithnor aways the
city tho'" comes the reply.

Almarik smiles and says, "It looks like you smiled once too often, and
once too wide..." as I make a throat cutting motion but along my right
cheek.  "What was her name, that made you laugh so strongly?"

The only response is a huge belly laugh.

Almarik steeples his fingers once again and gazes out at the distant
figure of Garithnor ahead through the dust.

Up ahead through the dust a larger dust cloud can be seen approaching.

"'Ware ahead", shouts Gailin. People sit up straight and reach for
their swords.

The large dust cloud approaches rapidly switfly coalescing into a galloping
band of armoured men on horseback - some 20 strong. The Raven and
Silver standard of Sembia flutters in the wind above them as they draw
up to a halt at the front of the caravan.

Gailin stands and belows, "Well met, Good Sirs. What of t'road ahead?"

The obvious leader of the helms stands up in his stirrups and says, "Be
wary. We have reports of a team of bandits operating maybe a day north
of here. Be on your guard. The Good Lady Merelith of Searloon has
offered a reward of 50 gold soverigns for their heads - they have been
preying on traffic on this road."

"Thank you for your warnings, Captain", says Milember, who has got down
from his wagon and walked up to the front of the caravan, "Chronus
Milember,  Merchant of Sembia at your service - however, I have as I'm
sure you can see the best guards money can buy. I do not anticipate any
trouble when these bandits see what they'd be up against."

"On your head be it", replies the Captain curtly as he sits back down in his
saddle and leads the helms on down the road towards Saerloon.

The horses take the strain and the wagons get going again as Sedate
leans over to Tas Felric, murmuring, "Perhaps the good merchant is a
trifle optimistic ... Have you worked for Galier or Milember before?"

Tas replies by shaking his head.

Only a couple of hundered yards further on Gailin pulls the lead wagon
off the road onto a grassy patch. "Time ta pitch camp. Cumon you lazy
oafs. Let's see some movement out of ya. Pull the wagons round into a
circle. Get the 'orses un'itched and watered. My good friend Kroda will
be organising grub. Just like in the army again eh, Sergeant?"

Kroda laughs as he clambers down from the wagon and begins to get
togedther some cooking utensils.

An hour later, stomachs full, sat around a small fire as the sunset
fills the western sky, Gainlin organises the night's watch - Castellan
and Garithnor first, then Toran and Almarik, Nerod and Kroda, Riandor
and Sedate with Tas and Gailin himself bringing in the dawn.

Suddenly the sun dips below the hills in the west and it is dark with
only the dull embers of the fire providing an eerie light.

References

Phill Eversons AD&D PBEM game
malcolm@cstr.ed.ac.uk (Malcolm Campbell)
Thu, 21 Jun 1990 14:57:27 +0000