Phill Eversons AD&D PBEM game - Merchant - Episode 4

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

Date: Thu, 21 Jun 1990 15:09:00 +0000

Campaign: merchant
Date:     2 Mirtul, 1358DR Year of the Prince
Weather:  Clear, Warm (65), None, Calm,
Location: On the road North West of Searloon, Sembia.

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

Players:
 Dennis_Michaelson_Cooper          Alex_Newman troll@world.std.com
                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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Here's a brief map showing the general layout ...

$ $
                Galin [ ] Kroda
                      [ ]

$ $
                        Tas [ ] Sedate
                            [ ]

$ $
                          Toran [ ] Almarik
                                [ ]

$ $
                                Nerod [ ] Milember
                                      [ ]

$ $
                                    Riandor [ ] Castellan
                                            [ ]

Galier leaps off his wagon and charges to the right towards a group of
3 or 4 men with clubs, shouting - no, almost roaring in rage as he draws
his long sword.

Riandor yells, "Ambush! Kroda, lead us in this ...", jumps off the
wagon to his right and charges straight towards the attackers.

Kroda jumps off the wagon to the left, calling out, "Everyone get
shoulder to shoulder and keep your backs to the wagons.  If you see
that archer call out, we need to get him.  Take prisoners if you can,
we may need to make a trade for Garithnor." There are 3 or 4 bandits
immeadiately in front of him - one with a sword!

At Kroda's cry, Almarik stops trying to maneuver his wagon and drawing
a long sword from his back and a long fighting dagger from his waist
leaps down, flipping the gleaming dagger blade into the air, snatching
the hilt from mid-spin, and smiling visciously at Toran, saying "No
working relation problems, eh, ... Now we shall work!  I'd get down
from there if I were you... now an arrow in your throat is your fault."

Sedate jumps off his wagon to the right and runs towards the flank of a
sword-wielding bandit advancing towards Kroda.

Raindor calls out, "Someone take out that archer, and fast...".

Nerod leans over into the back of his wagon and begins to try to bind
Milember's wound with a piece of cloth ripped from his shirt.

Toran shouts, "They outnumber us two to one... about even I'd say."
He smiles back at Almarik and continues, "Let 'em advance all they
want, just don't let 'em get behind you.  Keep your backs to the
wagon!" He jumps off his wagon and stands next to Almarik, pulling
out his sword and standing ready. "Someone take that archer - he's on the
left! Come and try to take us if you can, you bastardly thieves!  I'll
send you back to the hell you were spawned and you can greet your
incestuous family there, you mother lovers!"  "Come on!", he taunts.

Castellan steps down from his wagon, draws his sword and begins to move
resolutely towards the advancing brigands.

Tas Felric smiles grimly but calmly, strings his bow and whilst still
sat on his wagon looses an arrow into the trees high and to the left of
the caravan.  There's a groan and a leather clad man falls awkwardly to
the bushes beneath shortly followed by a short bow and the clatter of a
number of arrows and their quiver. A truely great shot.

Kroda ducks under the first club swing and staps upwards under the arm
of its wielder into his chest. His opponent falls. Stepping over the
body, he blocks a club swing with his broadsword, the force of the
impact making him shudder. He quickly regains his senses and dispatches
the second by stepping inside the swing and slashing at his foe's
stomach. The remaining two stand back out of reach.

Sedate catches one of those trying to avoid Kroda from the side and
with a particularly deft flick of his wrist deeply cuts the man's neck
with his epee. He says to Kroda raising an eyebrow, "Yours?", glancing
at the one remaining foe and then moves towards the bushes where the
archer fell.

The remaining bandit looks at Kroda and turns running back into the
forest.

Toran and Almarik move in unison, as if they are one. The larger of the
two, Toran slashes his longsword deep into the side of the bandit in
front of him who colapses. Almarik ducks under a club swing and brings
his long sword down onto the exposed arm. His opponent screams and
Almarik shoulders him to the ground before finishing him off with a
sword thrust to the throat.

Oh. the two of them seem to have dispatched all of the bandits on this
side of the caravan. Looking left they see Kroda challenging the one
remaining bandit as he runs off into the forest and Sedate pushing into
the bushes to get the fallen archer. No foes that way. Looking right
they see at the far end of the caravan Castellan facing 3 or 4 bandits
single handedly. They begin to run down past the wagons towards the
rear of the caravan.

Meanwhile, Gailin is in deep trouble. Two of his assailants have
attacked him with clubs which he has been able to deal with without too
much of a problem, even badly wounding one with a sword thrust to the
chest, but the other two have gone onto opposite flanks and thrown
themselves at Gailin, bringing him down under their weight.

Tas fires an arrow in the back of one of the men on top of Gailin, as
his opponent standing in front of him with a sword stabs Gailin deeply
in the stomach. The man Tas hit with his arrow goes limp, but the
remaining tackler pulls himself up from Gailin's motionless body and
turns to face Tas. He and his companion advance towards the second
wagon...

Tas withdraws his bastard sword from its scabbard and jumps down to the
ground to face Gailin's murderers.

Riandor has reached the nearest bandit and is now locked in fierce
fought combat. Ouch! A club blow to the ribs, but a couple of
shortsword thrusts, one to the arm and the other to the chest soon
dispatch his opponent.

Unfortunately, looking around, there only seems to be himself and Tas
far down the caravan on this side of the wagons at the moment with 4 or
5 bandits just in front of him.

Ducking back between the end two wagons Riandor is able to restrict his
opponents to coming two at a time. Denense may be the sensible course
of action for the moment ...

Castellan has made short work of his immeadiate opponent. The brigand
having no real counter to the paladin's swift slash at the lightly
armoured chest of his opponent. Unfortunately, glancing back down the
road he sees a further 7 or 8 bandits approaching led by Garithnor in
chainmail wielding a longsword. The 3 remaining bandits in front of him
turn and begin to move up the caravan for some reason inexplicable to
Castellan.

"'ware the rear!", Castellan shouts.

"Surrender, or die!", the Garithnor yells.

Castellan replies calmly, "Never - prepare to meet thy god, worm!", as
he slowly begins to advance, hopelessly outnumbered towards this new
threat.

Tas stumbles as he gets down and takes a severe blow to the head as he
gets up.  His bastard sword flashes in the sunlight as enraged it
removes the head of the man who struck him from the rest of his body in
a single savage blow. 3 more in front. Head hurts. Ugh.

Things don't look good. Milember is at least seriously wounded, if not
dead from an arrow wound. Gailier is seemingly dead and the group is
now even more hopelessly outnumbered than it was initially. Fifteen or
so bandits might have been possible, but this many?

"Give me the strength to do thy will, O mighty Torm", mutters Castellan
as he advances towards the new threat from the rear.

Suddenly, there is an almost unnatural second couple of seconds of
quiet as a voice rings out loud and clear from the bushes immeadiately
to Castellan's left, "Yes, got it, take that!", and a ball of something
wooshes past Castellan's left ear speading out to form a sticky mass of
tangled threads between the trees on either side of the road falling on
top of the fresh brigands.

Only Garithnor is able to cut his way out of the sticky web of threads.
He looks around at his disabled companions, visibly gulps, but turns to
face Castellan.

Clash. Steel against steel. Ugh. Castellan receives a cut to his waist,
but it is largely deflected by his armour. He stikes back swinging far
too close to his own body to hit his opponent, who laughs and moves
forward just as Castellan reverses his swing and brings the sharp edge
of his blade back into the neck of the bandit leader. The attacker
falls to the ground. Castellan slumps to the ground, not badly injured,
but badly shaken.

The remaining bandits who are free of the strands of web by the wagons
turn and run back into the trees seeing the defeat of their leader.

A tall thin man with medium length blond curly hair and a very young
face steps out from the bushes to Castellan's left, steps up to him and
holds out his large hand, "Dennis Michaelson Cooper, a pleasure to meet
you. I hope I was of some assistance, Sir." A large shock of white hair
stands out in the middle of his forehead just above two of the most
piercingly blue eyes Castellan has ever seen.

Half an hour later, the bandits have been tried up. Castellan has
invoked the power of his god Torm and lain his hands on Tas' head wound
saying, "Oh Just and Mighty Torm, this warrior has fought valiantly for
justice and with honor.  Please allow him to continue The Struggle, as
he has been a boon to this group, and to your plan." Tas' head feels
better - not perfect, but definitely better.

Riandor sits back on a wagon and says,

Well, friends, you all fought well, and I think you deserve a tale of
mighty warriors. So this lunch I'll tell you the beginnings of the
greatest tale I know, as an honour to you all, my friends. And a
welcome to our mysterious helper ...

Pass that ale over Sedate, Ill need to wet my throat telling this one.
Castellan, if you can, fill in on the sung bits.

Many, many years ago, friends, there was a king in the Northlands. He
was a great and mighty warrior and it was said that his line was chosen
by Odhinn himself for great destiny. His name was Sigmund, and he was a
hero. Now, friends, when I say hero, you think of warriors such as
Mane, or Valahar "Swordswinger", who I grant you are warriors far
beyond our compare. But in those days, heroes were true heroes, chosen
by the Gods. A hero danced with the hero-light when he fought, next to
invulnerable to mortal weapons. Sigmund was such a hero, and no poison
nor disease could touch him either.  In his youth he had been granted a
magical sword by Odhinn himself, and it was this that gave him his
power.

Sigmund, lived a long life, and was getting into his older years. He had
done many acts of heroism in his life, but he was getting old. And it is
not fitting for a hero to die of old age, but he had begun to think that
it was his fate to do so.

So, he sued for the hand of Hiordis, a fair young maiden, daughter to
Eglimi, King of the Islands. Hiordis was extremely beautiful, like unto
the fairest of elven ladies. She had many suitors, amoung others young
King Lygni of Hundings, but so great was Sigmunds fame that she gladly
accepted him and made him her husband.

Lygni, however, was furious. He fumed, and tore his hair, and swore that
Sigmund would die before the hordes of his army, hero or not. He immediately
collected a huge armym and marched against his successful rival, who, though
overpowered by superior numbers, fought with the courage of dispair.

From the depths of a thicket which commanded the field of battle, Hiordis
and her maid anxiously watched the progress of the battle. They watched
the hero-light dance around Sigmund, as he piled the dead around him, for
none could stand against him. Until at last, a tall, one-eyed warrior
appeared, and the press of battle gave way before the terror of his
presence.

Without a moment's pause the new champion aimed a fierce blow at Sigmund,
which the old hero parried with his sword. The shock shattered the magical
blade, and Sigmunds hero-light began to fade. Although the strange assailant
vanished as he had come, Sigmund was left defenceless and was soon wounded
unto death by his foes.

Riandor sings...

"But lo, through the hedge of the war-shafts, a mighty man there came,
 One-eyed and seeming ancient, but his visage shone like flame,
 Gleaming grey was his kirtle, and his hood was cloudy blue,
 And he bore a mighty twi-bill, as he waded the fight-sheaves though,
 And stood face to face with Sigmund, and upheaved the bill to smite.
 Once more round fierce Sigmunds head glittered the Branstocks light,
 The sword that came from Odhinn; and Sigmund's cry once more,
 Rang out to the very heavens above the din of war.
 Then clashed the meeting edges with Sigmunds latest stroke,
 And in shivering shards fell earthward that fear of worldly folk.
 But changed were the eyes of Sigmund, and the war-wrath left his face,
 For that grey-clad, mighty helper was gone, and in his place,
 Drave on the unbroken spear-wood 'gainst Sigmunds empty hands.
 And there they smote down Sigmund, the wonder of all lands,
 In the foemen, on the death-heap his deeds had piled that day."

Riandor nods thanks to Castellan, and takes another deep swig of ale.

As the battle was now won, and Sigmunds family all slain, Lygni hastened
from the battlefield to take possession of the kingdom and force the
fair Hiordis to become his wife. As soon as he had gone however, the
beautiful young queen crept from her hiding place in the thicket, and
sought the spot where Sigmund lay all but dead. She caught the
stricken hero to her breast in a last passionate embrace, and then listened
tearfully while he bade her gather the fragments of the sword, Branstock,
and carefully treasure them for thier son who was soon to be born, and who
was destinied to avenge his fathers death and to be far greater than he.

Riandor sings..

" 'I have wrought for my family true, and yet I have known full well,
   That a better one than I am shall bear the tale to tell,
   And for him shall these shards be smithied, and he shall be my son,
   To remember what I have forgotten, and to do what I left undone' "

After a few seconds silence Kroda says, "Thank you for that Riandor,
but come, we must decide what to do with our new friends", gesturing to
the tied up bundles of the surviving bandits, "and learn more of our
new friend", gesturing to the youth Dennis.

References

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