<![CDATA[Pen & Paper Games - Blogs - Max_Writer]]> http://www.penandpapergames.com/forums/blog.php/8662-Max_Writer Pen and Paper Games hosts a very powerful, but easy to seach and join database of players and game masters in the United States and Canada. Our forums are also a great place to find the most recent news, product releases, tips, and rpg discussion. en Tue, 21 May 2013 07:42:52 GMT vBulletin 60 http://www.penandpapergames.com/forums/pnpg_style/misc/rss.jpg <![CDATA[Pen & Paper Games - Blogs - Max_Writer]]> http://www.penandpapergames.com/forums/blog.php/8662-Max_Writer Tabloid! - Faux Pas Part 1 http://www.penandpapergames.com/forums/entry.php/1788-Tabloid!-Faux-Pas-Part-1 Wed, 17 Apr 2013 20:05:30 GMT Thursday, April 4, 2013 (After playing the *Tabloid!* scenario “Faux Pas” Friday (March 22) with Josh Smith, Buddy Rosso, Jeff Laforest, Adam... Thursday, April 4, 2013

(After playing the Tabloid! scenario “Faux Pas” Friday (March 22) with Josh Smith, Buddy Rosso, Jeff Laforest, Adam Frager, and Steven Walkup from 7:30 p.m. to 11 p.m. at CaesarCon 2013)

“Editorial meeting! In my office, everybody – now!” bellowed the editor as he strode through the reporter’s bullpen. He didn’t wait to see if anyone followed, but barged right through and planted himself at his desk. He was sweaty and his tie was pulled down, but he wore a nice suit. He always put people in mind of J. Jonah Jameson from the Spider Man comic books, at least for his temper and his tendency to hit people.

The editorial offices of the World Tattler-Tribune were in one of the squat skyscrapers in the greatest city in the world: Akron, Ohio.

Howard Combine was an ace tabloid reporter. He had an athletic build, blue eyes, a soul patch, and a nice tan. He was a bush pilot and was into voodoo. He was also a smug liberal and could talk down a conservative Republican like no one else. From Quahog, R.I., and graduated from James Woods High. His fellow reporters didn’t know much about him.

Mark Farcas was a good-looking though thin and pasty man with thinning brown hair. He was nervous-looking and always watchful. He covered Bigfoot and dead rock stars (like Elvis Presley). He had graduated from Tudbull High School in Scranton, Penn. After that he went to the beach where things went well. In an effort to better himself, he enrolled in Columbia School of Journalism but unfortunately that story on poodle-barbecuing cultists was good, but there was no witness protection program for reporters. He got a job at an amusement park but was framed for beating up a kid so he turned to tabloid reporting. He was also being hunted by the.

Horace Shrugg had long, greasy hair and squinty eyes. He was shifty-looking with a gold tooth prominent in the front of his mouth. He usually wore jeans and a t-shirt. He was a photographer who’d graduated from Eunice Harper Higgins High School in San Antonio, Texas. He went to college at the Conservatory of Secrets Humanity Was Not meant to Know. He had a hacker fix his grades but then headed to the CIA University of the Air and there was an “incident.” He decided that exposing the truth was the best idea ever. That’s when he started tabloid reporting.

George Schmidlap was a tall, thin Dwight-Shrute-ish looking man who wore his hair parted down the center. He wore thick-framed bifocals and had a thick, black beard and mustache. He didn’t have a penny to his name and lived in basement somewhere. He was shifty and always watchful. He told his fellow reporters that he was wanted by the law for a crime he didn’t commit. He’d had trouble getting into college so found a job at Captain Jeffery Spaulding Junior High, but quit it when he got blamed for allegedly flunking the star of the rugby team. Things went bad at his next job as a nuclear weapons technician and he travelled the country with 5,000 neo-hippies for a while before getting back into the Academy of Data-Entry, where he’d failed to get enrolled before. He blew his academic probation there, however, and decided to be a tabloid reporter.

Ralph Fisher had dark hair and was handsome but his face was scarred and slightly burned. He wore a fine suit that fit his tall frame perfectly. He also wore thick glasses which his fellow reporters knew were fake (ala Clark Kent). After graduating from Benedict Arnold Senior High School in Muncie, Ind., he went to college for a while. He was arrested for, as he put it, “unknown reasons.” Then he went to the beach and won the lottery, finally going back to school – which didn’t work out either. It wasn’t his fault that time, it was an accident, honest. He became a highway surveyor and then had to marry a woman he’d gotten pregnant. He was transferred to Russia and the last words he remembered hearing at that place of employment had been “Oh my god! Don’t mix those–!” before the explosion. The company paid him quite a bit of dough to keep quiet but his good looks were ruined. He tried to go back to college but late-night research at Lawson’s Absolute Center of the Universe School led him to secrets better left undiscovered. He knew people were hunting him, however, because he knew too much. So, he became a tabloid reporter.

All of them started to get up and head for the office except for Fisher,

“Where are you guys going?” he asked. “He can wait. He pays us.”

“You remember the last time we made him wait more than five minutes?” Schmidlap asked the man. “Wasn’t pretty.”

As they all squeezed into the cramped office – there was no place to stand, let alone sit – they saw a short, skinny, bald, bespectacled man with a bow tie standing alongside the editor’s desk. He acted nervous to be the center of attention, though his pinched little face still radiated that “I’m-better-than-all-you-weasels” sense of smug superiority that only comes with excessive pride in one’s undergrad education.

“So, you a CPA?” Combine asked the little man.

The man simply shrugged and rolled his eyes.

“Two things, staff,” the editor said. “First, I want you to meet Lester Windooth III. He’s our new head of Research and Fact Checking. Unlike you bums, Lester’s done something with his life. He was a History professor–”

“With an English composition minor, sir,” the newcomer had the temerity to add.

“Like I was saying, he’s educated, and he’s here to oversee our fact checking. There’s been complains that we ain’t always getting our history right, and I want that to stop!”

With that, he slammed his fist on the desk and glared at each of them, even though they hadn’t done anything wrong lately.

“Second thing – the public wants real news. They’re getting tired of these Hollywood Heights, who’s-sleeping-with-who stories you’ve been filing! Sales are slipping. I want ground-breaking material here, stuff that’s gonna make people sit up and take notice.”

He picked up a sheaf of papers from his desk and thrust them into the reporters’ hands.

“This is a good one I’m thinking of running. Lester’s already checked it. What do you think?”

The article read:


What’s Buried in Grant’s Tomb?
By SPECIAL CORRESPONDENT LESTER WINDOOTH III

In a startling announcement exclusive to the World Tattler-Tribune, Canadian historian
Anton Sacka-Weejie has proven that US Vice-President and Civil War general Ulysses
S. Grant was really a space alien!

“The evidence is all there,” explains Anton, professor at the Great Slave Lake Academy
of Arts and Sciences. “There are links to this ‘war hero’ and all sorts of strange events
like the Wendigo up there and the Men in Black of the American Southwest. Your
government’s got documents proving it all, but they’ve locked those all away. Think about
it. Why do you suppose they started asking ‘Who’s buried in Grant’s Tomb?’”

Ulysses S. Grant was a top general for the Confederate army during the Civil War (or
War Between the States for our southern readers). After the war, General Grant went on
to become Vice-President of the United States.

With information from Civil War Secret Service files, Professor Sacka-Weejie proves
Grant was not of this world. “No human could ever drink the quantities of whisky he did
and live. Why, President Lincoln had to keep him supplied with barrels of the stuff. What
did he do with it? Well, no one ever saw him bathing.”

Professor Sacka-Weejie explains why it has taken so long for the news to be revealed by
pointing to the powers of alien beings. “They don’t want us to know just how Grant won the
war. In fact, there are still secrets they are trying to suppress.”


They read over the story, Fisher muttering in Russian. The editor sat down behind the desk, took out a cigar and started smoking at his desk. It was 1998 and smoking wasn’t being persecuted in the U.S. yet. It’s time was coming though. The air in the room started turning blue with the stench.

“You know, I just heard that the stories about Grant were false, because he was such a small-statured man that one drink would get him hammered,” Schmidlap said without even reading the story. “He wasn’t really an alcoholic. That’s just what I heard.”

“What do you think of the ...?” the editor bellowed. “Just ... just don’t talk anymore!”

He turned to Fisher.

“What do you think of that story?” he said.

Fisher replied in Russian at first.

“Yeah, English there, Smirnoff!”

“I really think that, first of all, your fact-checker’s wrong because wasn’t he president, not vice-president?” Fisher said. “He was the president, he wasn’t the vice-president.”

“He was in the Union,” Farcas said.

“He was Union?” the editor asked.

“Yeah!”

“This is the new fact-checker and he wrote ... who wrote this?” Fisher asked.

The editor turned on Windooth and glared at him. The little man squirmed for a long time.

“Well, I may have been in error, but it was in keeping with modern educational standards,” Windooth said.

With that, the editor turned and snarled at his reporters.

“Well, we can’t go printing this story ‘til we’ve checked the facts,” he said.

“Well, he’s the fact-checker, right?” Fisher asked.

“Well you are now because he obviously sucks!”

“You should fire him,” Combine said.

“You don’t tell me who to fire,” the editor said. “I tell you that you’re fired.”

“Oh, okay. Well, I am replaceable.”

“Exactly. Anyway, I want you to go find this Professor Sacka-whatja and check out just what the real story is. Get your tickets from accounting and have a nice trip. Enjoy Canada. Get out!”

“Dasvidaniya, boss,” Fisher said.

They all left the office, followed by Windooth. The door slammed behind him.

“So, your little scene’s made you look good at my expense,” Windooth hissed. “Well, I’ll make you sorry you ever heard of Dr. Windooth.”

With that, he slunk away.

“Doctor?” Fisher said. “What are you, a pharmacologist or something?”

The reporters returned to the bullpen and looked over the story more carefully. Then they headed down to accounting to get their plane tickets.

“Where to?” the rat-like little accountant at the desk asked. “Where are they supposed to be for?”

“Canada,” Schmidlap said.

“You know how big Canada is?”

“I thought he told you?”

“Canada’s really big,” Shrugg said.

“Yeah,” the rat replied. “Find out where you’re supposed to go and then I’ll give you the money for the tickets.”

Fisher looked over the newspaper article again.

“Great Slave Lake Academy of Arts and Sciences,” he read.

“Yeah, where’s that?” the accountant asked.

“Uh ...” Schmidlap said.

“We have to find out where that is,” Fisher said. “Somewhere in Canada.”

They headed off to try to find out where the place was. The office had a 1983 Encyclopedia Britannica set that was missing the U and X books. Fisher started looking through the atlas at the office. He found Great Slave Lake in Canada near the city of Yellowknife. Combine and Shrugg headed down to the public library while Farcas headed off to Akron University to see what he could learn.

The public library had a surprisingly large “Canada” section consisting of a bookshelf full of books about the country. Most of them were written in crayon, but they were fairly comprehensive. They could not find anything by Professor Sacka-Weejie. However, Shrugg located an entry for the Great Slave Lake Academy of Arts and Sciences in Grommp’s Guide to Government Grants. It stated that the Professor A. Sacka-Weejie received a grant of $10,000 from the US Department of Defense, Psi-Lab division. No phone number for the academy was given and the address listed was Post Office Box 647A-/* in Yellowknife.

Farcas talked to some co-eds at Akron University. They seemed quite enamored of the handsome man until they noticed that he was wearing a wedding ring. He’d been married ever since the Christmas Party when he had been interning at a newspaper a year before. He’d woken up in Mexico with a hangover and a spouse.

They all met back in the bullpen after lunch. They agreed that Yellowknife was the place to go. They headed down to accounting where they were received plane tickets.

“Coach?” Fisher asked as he looked at the ticket. “You expect me to fly coach?”

“At least you’re not flying with the baggage,” the accountant said.

“Can’t I get an upgrade?”

“Fisher, we go through this any time you go anywhere! You always want an upgrade.”

“Well, you dress for success and I’m not dressed for coach.”

“Then I guess you’ll have to dress down.”

“I agree with him,” Combine said. “We should be flying first class.”

“It’s nice that you two are in agreement,” the accountant said. “It’s very nice. Not that there’s anything wrong with that.”

“At least one of us wants to attempt to get into the mile-high club.”

“Well, work together then. Ew. But that’s fine.”

“Don’t ask, don’t tell,” Farcas said.

Fisher tried to fast talk the man into giving him an upgrade, as he did every time he had to fly somewhere.

“Get outta here!” the accountant yelled.

“But–” Fisher said.

“Don’t any of the rest of you try it either!”

“But–”

The accountant reached up to the window over his desk, slamming it down. For some reason, the accounting department had a big window that could be closed at the whim of the accountant on duty. No one was sure why, except that it allowed accounting more easily not to deal with people asking them for money. There was a door right next to the window, so it wasn’t as effective as it could have been.

“Do you want the receipts?” Fisher mumbled.

“Of course I want the receipts!” he heard the accountant shout from behind the glazed window.

They flew out of Akron in an hour, going to Calgary, where they had a five-minute layover. Unfortunately, their flight was taking off in four, so they had to run the length of the airport. They made it to the plane and it took them to Yellowknife. It was snowing when they arrived that evening. Combine asked Fisher if it was as bad as Russia. Fisher sent Farcas to get a car.

“I don’t think we’re going to get a limo in Yellowknife,” Combine said.

“Hey, you need a taxi, eh?” a voice called from a nearby yellow cab.

“Yeah, we need a taxi,” Fisher said to the man who was leaning out the cab window.

“Well, my taxi’s right here, and I’ve got doughnuts,” the cab driver called.

“Doughnuts?” Fisher said.

“Doughnuts. Free doughnut for every ride.”

“I don’t want a doughnut.”

“You don’t have to eat it. I’ll eat it for you if you want.”

The driver was pretty fat and filled the front seat. They weren’t sure how long it might have been since he got out of his cab. The car had a funky smell but the back seat looked clean.

“Take us to the finest hotel,” Fisher said as they got into the car.

“Oh, you’re going to have a hard time finding a hotel, eh,” the driver said. “They’re all booked up.”

“Something big going on in town?” Farcas asked.

“Yeah. There’s a political convention of the Indigenous People’s Party, eh.”

“Don’t they live in igloos?”

“Well, yeah, but they’re a political movement and they’re having some kind of convention, so it’s all booked up.”

“The what?” Schmidlap asked.

“We’ll try a hotel,” the cab driver said. “Maybe you’ll get lucky. C’mon, let’s go.”

They tried five hotels, but they found all of them were booked up. They’d never seen so many indigenous Canadian people, all of them wearing fine suits.

The driver was giving them each another doughnut every time they went to anther hotel.

“I’ve got a jelly,” he said at one point. “You want a jelly?”

At one of the last hotels, Shrugg tried to bribe the concierge to get rooms with a whole American dollar. He was gently rebuffed by the unimpressed concierge.

“However, seeing as you are Americans, our lower brothers, so it is, eh,” the concierge said.

“Lower brothers?” Shrugg muttered.

“Let me make a few phone calls and see if I can help you out.”

“Eh?”

“Here, have a brewski while you wait.”

The concierge handed cans of beer to all of them. Then he made a few phone calls. Their cab was waiting but the driver said he was not going to leave the meter running. Everyone in Canada seemed so nice and polite.

The concierge returned and told them that the only place available was the Snowblind Chalet out on the edge of the city.

“So, tell ‘em to take you there,” the concierge said. “I think they’ve still got some room left. But you’d better hurry, cause I hear those indigenous people are just snatching them up.”

The cab was still waiting out front and the cabbie had fresh boxes of doughnuts in the front seat. They could also smell bacon and guessed he’d gone for a sandwich while waiting for them to get back.

With all this sugar, I could probably run there, Shrugg thought.

The cabbie was just popping open a beer when they returned.

“Oh, hey. Oh, hey,” he said. “Oh, you’re back, eh? Where we going?”

“Snowblind Chalet,” Schmidlap said.

They got into the cab and he drove them to the edge of town.

“You know anything about the college here?” Fisher asked en route.

“I didn’t know there was a college here, eh,” the cabbie replied.

Shrugg was getting bored. He told Schmidlap to look at him and then fired the flashbulb off in the other man’s face.

“You know anything about the Great Slave Lake Academy of Arts and Science?” Fisher asked.

“I know Great Slave Lake is out this way,” the cabbie admitted. “I never heard of no academy of science or art.”

“Do you know of anybody that might?” Combine asked.

“No, not really,” the cabbie said.

“You ever heard of Anton Sacka-Weejie?” Schmidlap asked.

“No,” the cabbie said. “Nope. But I’m not very well educated, eh.”

“I thought you had a master’s degree,” Fisher joshed.

“No, I have a Ph.D.,” the cabbie said. “But, you know, it’s in brewing.”

“A post-hole digger?” Schmidlap said.

“What?”

“P.H.D.”

The cabbie didn’t get it.

Farcas asked about the Canucks, which got the cabbie talking about hockey, which he did until they pulled up outside of the Snowblind Chalet.

The chalet was right on the edge of the city. In fact, the forest started right across the street next to the dog teams’ kennels. There were two rooms remaining but the owner said he could roll a bed in for one of them. The cost was $40 Canadian per night. The front of the hotel was part office, part living room with a television blaring with a hockey game behind the front desk. Only a single lamp was lit, leaving many suggestive shadows. The owner was a round, sweaty fellow with a smooth, shiny face.

“You’re Americans, right?” the owner said. “Oh, it’s so great to see Americans. Now I got to carry stuff, God damn. So glad you’re here, eh!”

He seemed to go back and forth between fawning affection and grumpiness. He reminded Combine of Tinfoil Ray, a man he’d met during his time living on the beach. Shrugg guessed to himself that the man had been subjected to too many mind wipes.

The two adjoining rooms were on the second floor and had a lovely view of the dog kennel. Fisher checked his own room for microphones and cameras but found nothing out of the ordinary. When he started screaming in Russian, someone knocked on his door and asked him to keep it down.

Combine walked down to talk to the owner, who was sitting in the back and watching hockey. Combine banged the door and called for service. The owner came out in a rush.

“What do you want, eh!?!” he bellowed. Then lowered his voice. “Can I help you?”

“I’m looking for the university,” Combine said.

“Yellowknife doesn’t have a university. It’s a crappy town.”

“Cabbie that dropped us off said there was supposed to be one on that side of town.”

“What was his name, eh?”

“I don’t remember. I don’t remember him giving us his name.”

“Was it Bob?”

“I don’t think so.”

“He’s a liar! How about – was it Dan?”

“Didn’t see the–”

“Dan’s crazy! He’s crazy! He doesn’t know what he’s talking about. How about Phil? Was it Phil?”

“No.”

“Definitely wasn’t Phil?”

“Definitely wasn’t Phil. He gave us a bunch of doughnuts though.”

“Did you pay him, eh?”

“Yeah, one of us did. So, pretty much everybody you’re rattling off here is kind of crazy?”

“No. There’s Sally. She’s stupid. I like her so much. But damn, she’s so stupid. What were we talking about?”

“The university.”

“No, I don’t know about no university.”

“Any college?”

“No.”

“It’s supposed to be on Slave Lake.”

“Well, there might be something up in Snowdrift, eh.”

“Snowdrift? How far is Snowdrift?’

“About 30 miles. Down the road.”

Combine returned to the others and told them what he’d learned. Shrugg mentioned that there was a post office box in Yellowknife for the college. Schmidlap was too busy to talk: he was stealing everything that wasn’t nailed down out of his hotel room. Fisher suggested he wait until they left the next day.

“Oh yeah,” Schmidlap said.

Fisher and Schmidlap shared a room while Combine, Farcas, and Shrugg shared the other, Shrugg getting stuck with the roll-out bed.

* * *

They were all awakened in the early morning hours by the howling the sled dogs across the street. It went on for a minute or so before the howling changed to that kind of screaming the dogs did when James Arness, the alien, tore them up in The Thing. Fisher leapt out of bed and threw the curtains open. He heard movement in the room next door.

* * *

“Don’t turn on the lights!” Farcas said as he crossed the room to the window and threw back the curtains.

“What do you see?” Combine said from the warmth of his covers.

Shrugg stumbled out of bed, buck naked, and ran to the window.

Across the road, they could see a tall, manlike figure, flailing about. There might have been dogs around it if that was what those dark specks were.

* * *

“I got my headline!” Fisher said loudly. “‘Canadian Dogs Attack Bigfoot!’ Let’s hope Horace gets pictures!”

“Wait, does he have his camera!?!” Schmidlap said.

He ran to the adjoining door and burst through it into the other room.

“It’s bigfoot!” Fisher yelled. “It’s bigfoot out there! The dogs are attacking bigfoot!”

Shrugg flung open the sash and a cold wind blew into the room. Schmidlap saw that his camera was sitting on the nearby desk.

“Take the camera!” Schmidlap yelled, grabbing up the device.

He shoved the camera into Shrugg’s hands and then gave him a shove out the window.

“Grab him!” Combine yelled.

There was a flash from the camera and Farcas tried to grab the man until he realized that he was naked. Then he let him fall out of the second story window.

“Don’t break the camera!” Schmidlap called as he fell backwards, blinded by the flashbulb again.

Combine, still lying in the bed, saw Schmidlap’s ass, exposed through the open back door of the ratty long johns that he wore, coming at his face. He quickly rolled over and slid out of the bed as Schmidlap landed. Combine was very cold in just his boxers in the increasingly colder room but he ran to the window to see what was going on outside.

* * *

Next door, Fisher leaned against the window and saw the naked Shrugg disappear into a snow drift under the window. Only the camera didn’t disappear into the drift as Shrugg held it over his head.

“It’s cold!” a muffled voice came from the snowdrift.

He quickly scrambled out of the snow. Another window was flung open over his head.

“Take a picture!” Fisher yelled, leaning out the window. “Do your job!”

Shrugg struggled out of the snowdrift and ran towards the road, taking photographs the entire time.

* * *

“Did he die?” Schmidlap said, struggling to the window. “What’s going on?”

“Get the picture!” Fisher shouted from the next window.

Shrugg ran across the road, flashbulb still going off erratically as he took pictures. He stopped in the middle of the highway.

The huge thing spotted him. Suddenly, a sickly green light lanced down out of the sky, just like in the science fiction shows. The snow swirled up golden flakes and a gust of freezing cold wind slammed into Shrugg. Frost coated his cheeks, icicles hung from his eyebrows (and other places), and his skin was transformed into a trendy, pale blue-white – kind of like a northwoods nosferatu.

Back at the hotel, the blast of cold stopped just short of the windows as the others all ducked back inside. When they looked again, they saw Shrugg slowly walking back, shivering and shaking.

Fisher ran down to the lobby. He found a bar on the door and the owner standing in the middle of the room with a shotgun in his hand.

“No, eh!” the man said nervously. “It’s just a bear, eh. But stay inside. It’s just a bear but stay inside.”

He looked scared to death.

“It’s just a bear!” he said again. “I said it’s just a bear.”

“I believe you!” Fisher said. “I have friend out there. He fell out the window and I have to go get him. He’s going to freeze to death.”

“Oh ... he’ll be fine, eh,” the other man said. “It’s just a bear, eh.”

“He’ll be fine,” Fisher said. “Can I take him this coat?”

“But it’s a bear! You don’t want to give a bear a coat, eh.”

“No no.”

The conversation continued to go around in circles as Combine entered the lobby.

* * *

Meanwhile, Farcas leapt out of the window with a blanket. He landed in another snow drift. Then he headed for Shrugg.

Schmidlap looked up into the sky but could see no sign of where the green light had come from. However, he saw what looked like an extra star in Orion’s belt that just might have been suspicious. He watched it for some time.

* * *

“You ain’t never heard a bear before?” the owner said. “It’s just a bear.”

“This bear show up often, in town?” Fisher asked.

“It’s just a bear,” the other man said. “I don’t know what’s so exciting about a bear, eh.”

“But does he show up often?”

“No, I don’t think so, eh.”

He called for Combine to go back to bed as well.

* * *

Farcas wrapped the blanket from Shrugg’s roll-away bed around him. It was rough, like it was made of a mixture of burlap and wool, but at least it was warm. The two of them stumbled back to the hotel. Just as they reached the door and tried to open it, there was a shout from within and someone fired a shotgun.

* * *

The owner was alternating between begging the others to go back to bed and screaming at them that there was nothing out there. Then there was a rattle from the door.

“The bear!” he shrieked.

He fired both barrels at the door. Fortunately, he was a lousy shot. One blast blew a hole in the wall on one side of the door and the other blast tore through the wall on the other side of the door. Fisher leapt at the man, who turned back towards him. The hot barrel of the shotgun slammed into his face.

“Oh, I’m sorry, eh!” the owner said. “Sorry about that!”

A rattle came from the door and the bar fell to the floor. The shotgun had blasted through both sides of it.

“We need to get a cold beer on that,” the owner said, ushering Fisher towards his living area.

The door slowly creaked open to reveal Farcas and Shrugg peeking in. The owner was alternatingly soothing or berating Fisher and pressing a cold beer on his face where the shotgun had slightly burned the man.

“I’m really sorry,” the man said. “Why’d you do that!?! You shouldn’t have done that! Oh, I’m hoping you’re going to be okay. Don’t ever do that again! Are you sure? Let’s get a beer on you, let’s get something cold. Man, you’re so stupid! But you’re great guests.”

He told Fisher to hold the beer to his face. Then he opened a second beer.

“And put that in your mouth,” he said.

“Thanks man,” Fisher said.

“Have a doughnut too,” the man said. “You want some smokes? Smoking’s bad! You shouldn’t smoke! Here, give me one.”

Farcas helped Shrugg upstairs where the man took a hot shower. Combine returned to bed and Fisher arrived at the rooms a short time later. They all discussed briefly what they’d seen.

“Yeah, a star was moving up there,” Schmidlap said. “I think there was a UFO. Green light.”

“You think there was extra-terrestrial involvement?” Combine asked.

“I don’t know. I don’t know what the one thing was. It was huge!”

“Did we all see it?”

Everyone agreed that they had seen it.

“Did it look like it was pissed?” Combine asked.

“Ripping dogs up,” Farcas said.

* * *

The rest of the night was quiet. Shrugg made sure he wore pants to bed.

The next morning a mountie was talking to the owner when they came down from their room.

“It was a bear,” the owner was telling the man.

“Yeah, those bears are awful,” the mountie said.

“I don’t like those bears.”

“Hello, good day, eh,” the man said to the reporters.

They muttered about green lights and UFOs.

“They grow ‘em big up in Canada, I guess,” Schmidlap said.

He and Fisher headed off for breakfast at the diner next to the hotel.

* * *

Combine, Shrugg, and Farcas went out to the scene of the attack. They found some dead dogs and some tracks while the mountie examined the scene as well. Shrugg took some pictures of the tracks that might have been bear tracks but didn’t look terribly much like bear tracks. He also took pictures of the dogs.

Combine realized that the wounds on the dead dogs looked a great deal like cattle mutilations. He wondered if the animals were actually cows that had been turned into dogs and then mutilated.

“It’s probably the voodoo people from Zimbabwe came here, brought some cow carcasses and used to voodoo magic to turn them into dogs,” he said.

Farcas examined the tracks. Though the wind had blown them and they looked somewhat like bear tracks, he didn’t think they looked like the traditional bigfoot tracks.

Shrugg also took some pictures of Ed, the Mountie.

“This is a big story, huh?” Farcas said to him. “Lots of ripped up dogs.”

“Oh no,” Ed said. “It looks like it was just a bear, eh.”

“Like I said, a bear came and ripped up all these dogs.”

“It was just a bear, eh.”

“Yeah.”

“It’s a terrible thing but when you live on the edge of town, these kinds of things happen, eh. Oh, you’re not from around here, are you? Are you liking Canadia?”

“Yeah.”

“It’s a great country. It’s a great country.”

He looked into the distance, his eyes sparkling in the sun and the wind blowing his hair just enough, his jacket bright red against the cold, white snow. Shrugg took a photo.

“Do you get bear attacks like this often,” Farcas asked.

“Oh, not often but every once in awhile,” Ed said.

“Every once in a while?”

“Because it is Canada.”

“Yeah. Does this happen on a regular basis?”

“Well, I just said not often.”

“Well, no.”

“Which would mean not a regular basis, eh.”

“Well, not often, but like the same time every month?”

“No. No, I think the last bear attack was a while back.”

“Totally irregular?”

“That’s what it seems like. Every once in a while you have a bear.”

“What kind of bear does this sort of thing?”

“A big one. Ed McTaggert,” he motioned towards the hotel, “yeah, he said it was a bear. Sounds like it was a bear, eh. Said he tried to shoot it through the door.”

“No, that was ... us.”

“You shot it through the door?”

“He shot us through the door.”

“You look pretty good for somebody who’s been shot through a door.”

“Luckily he missed.”

“Oh, that’s good, eh.”

Shrugg said if they had any more reports of bear attack, they’d help them look for the bear.

“Are you bear hunters?” Ed asked.

“No,” Shrugg said.

“Why are you hunting bear?”

“It might help out the region.”

“Well, that’s my job, eh. We’re looking into it. Don’t worry about it, eh.”

“Well, we’re more than happy to help,” Combine said.

“Why do you want to help us?” Ed said. “You’re just civilians; you might get hurt. We don’t want you getting hurt, eh. You should leave this up to the professionals. You know we’re Royal ... and Canadian ... and Mounted. We are the police, eh.”

“Think of us as Scooby-Doo without the dog,” Combine said.

“Yeah, do they ever get hurt?” Farcas asked.

“It’s just a bear, eh!” Ed said. “God. What is wrong with you guys? You’re all obsessed about this bear?”

“We don’t want to see anyone get hurt,” Farcas said.

“Well, they’re not my dogs, eh,” Ed said.

“How about a dollar?” Shrugg said, holding out an American dollar bill.

Combine asked the mountie about a university or science academy on Slave Lake in Snowdrift, but the man didn’t know anything about it. When they asked how many people were in Snowdrift, he guessed at a couple hundred.

Then Ed the Mountie mounted up on his horse and headed out majestically. When Farcas called to him and he came back.

“What would be a good place to locate ... someone,” Farcas asked. “We’ve got a friend up here we’re trying to locate, but we don’t know where he is up here.”

“Do you know his address?” Ed asked.

“No, unfortunately, we don’t.”

“Do you know his name, eh?”

“Yeah, his name is Anton Sacka-Weejie.”

“I never heard of him. Is he a missing person?”

“No, he’s just a contact we have up here that we’re trying to get hold of.”

“Well, you could try a telephone book.”

“We do have a P.O. Box for him.”

“Well, then you’ll have to go to the post office, eh. You go to the post office, if he’s got a P.O. Box, they might be able to tell you what his address is.”

“Oh, okay, thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

Then he headed off.

* * *

Fisher and Schmidlap, meanwhile, had a nice breakfast with plenty of back bacon, eggs, gravy, and toast. The waitress brought them beers too.

“With breakfast?” Schmidlap said.

“Oh, sorry, eh,” the girl said. “That should be light beer.”

They also asked if there was a place to rent a car and they learned that the car rental places were all booked up. When Fisher told them they were trying to find a way to get to other parts of Great Slave Lake, the waitress told them that they might be able to rent a plane. She wrote down the information on a card.

“It’s Captain Sturgeon,” she said.

“Captain Sturgeon?”

“He’s great. He’s an American.”

* * * ]]> Max_Writer http://www.penandpapergames.com/forums/entry.php/1788-Tabloid!-Faux-Pas-Part-1 Tabloid! - Faux Pas Part 2 http://www.penandpapergames.com/forums/entry.php/1787-Tabloid!-Faux-Pas-Part-2 Wed, 17 Apr 2013 20:04:07 GMT * * * The five reporters met up after Fisher and Schmidlap had finished their breakfast. They discussed renting a car... * * *

The five reporters met up after Fisher and Schmidlap had finished their breakfast. They discussed renting a car and Fisher told them he’d found a guy who could fly them to where they wanted to go. Combine suggested renting dog sleds but that idea was soon nixed. Then he talked about renting snowmobiles.

Farcas and Shrugg headed for the post office to try to track down the address attached to the P.O. Box. Meanwhile, Fisher and Schmidlap went to find Captain Sturgeon. Combine went to inquire about snowmobile rentals.

* * *

Combine didn’t have much luck finding rental snowmobiles. They would cost $50 a day, each, and none of them had brought the heavy coats and hoods they’d need for such overland travel.

He headed to the post office.

* * *

A large group of people had formed a picket line and were protesting in front of the post office. Signs read “Management Unfair,” “Boycott Canadian Post Office,” and “More Stamps.” No one was crossing the picket line. Some locals were watching and one man even had a fold-out chair, a TV tray, and a cooler.

“What’s happening?” Farcas asked the man in the chair. “What’s going on?”

“Hey, you have a funny accent,” the man said, pouring some coffee from a thermos.

He put some doughnuts, cooked back bacon, and cigarettes onto the TV tray.

“Nice spread there,” Farcas said to him.

“Yeah, I’m waiting for them to beat up the next scab that tries to go through,” the man said. He brightened up but then looked sad. “Oh, that little old lady’s changed her mind. She isn’t going. Damn it.”

“What’s got you all in such an uproar here?”

“Oh, the Canadian Post Office is on strike ... again.”

“Oh, they are?”

“Yeah. See, look.”

He pointed at the building. Over the door was a sign that read “Six days since the last strike.” The “Six” was one of those numbers that could be changed. Everyone once in a while, someone peeked out the windows upstairs.

“Wow,” Farcas said. “Oh, I just need to check on something inside real quick. I don’t work there.”

“Me either,” the man said.

“Nice. That’s great. At least you don’t have to personally put up with their crap then.”

“Well, I don’t get my mail. I’m waiting for them to stop and then I’m going to get my mail.”

“At least you don’t have to wait for bills,” said Combine, who had come up during the last part of the conversation.

“I do have to wait for bills, eh,” the man said.

He opened up a beer from his cooler and took a swig.

“They got to break to go to the bathroom sometime, and that’s when I’m going in,” he said.

He looked them over.

“Are you scabs?” he asked.

“No no no no,” Farcas said quickly. “I just need to go in and check some mail.”

“Oh, look at that! Little girl! Oh ... she left. Damn it.”

“I just need to go in and check some mail.”

“Oh. Go!”

“I have a feeling that would be real ...”

“Entertaining,” Shrugg interjected.

“... hazardous to our health,” Farcas finished.

“I’ll hold your camera if you don’t want them to break it, eh?” the man said.

“I don’t want you to hold the camera but that’s a good idea not to take it with me,” Shrugg said.

“Well, I’m not going anywhere. Not ‘til this cooler’s empty, at least.”

Farcas headed up to the protesters. They glared at him.

“So, I hear you’re having problems with the management in there,” he said.

“That’s right, eh!” one of the protesters said angrily. “You a scab?”

“No no no no no,” Farcas said.

The other protesters started muttering amongst themselves that he was probably a scab. The last one sounded like a British woman.

The protesters looked around.

“Who was that, eh?” one of them said.

“I’ve been watching Monty Python,” another man said, laughing. “It’s funny.”

“I want to go talk to them and tell them how bad they’re doing a job with you guys,” Farcas said.

“They know, eh,” the man said to him. “They know what they’ve been doing.”

“But I’m trained in this. I can convince them to give you ... what are you actually looking for?”

“Better work and better pay, eh!”

“Well, you know what–”

“And more doughnuts. And longer breaks, eh. And coffee. And beer. We want to be able to smoke in the mail room. We want to be able to smoke the mail if it’s the right kind, eh.”

“I’m trained in negotiations. Why don’t I go in there and see what I can do for you guys?”

“All right, you can go in,” the spokesman said. He turned to the other strikers. “He’s gonna get us better jobs.” Then he turned back to Farcas. “Don’t come out ‘til you get us better jobs, eh.”

Farcas jotted down some information and then asked Shrugg if he was ready.

“Who’s that?” the spokesman said.

“Fact checker,” Shrugg replied.

“He has some information for me that I can use in the negotiations,” Farcas said.

“Yeah, grab him!” the spokesman said, pointing at Shrugg.

Two of the other men on strike grabbed him.

“If you’re a scab, eh, we’re going to beat the crap out of him!” the spokesman said. He turned to Combine. “Who the hell are you, eh?”

“I’m looking for work,” Combine said. “I just got into town. I’m looking for work.”

The strikers glared at him.

“Don’t be crossing the line or you’re a scab!” the spokesman said. “There’s nothing in there but our jobs and if you try to take our jobs, we’re going to beat the crap out of you.”

“What if this is the only place in town for me to get a job?” Combine said.

“You’re out of luck, then, because then one of us will get fired.”

“Yeah, he ain’t taking my job!” another man said.

“He ain’t taking my job!”

“Meauh – JOB!”

“Don’t you be taking Elmo’s job,” the spokesman said. “He’s been there 14 years. He’s this close to retirement. He’s got a fat pension saved up.”

“I was with him,” Combine pointed after Farcas, who was just entering the building.

“So he is a scab!” the spokesman said. “I’m beating his ass when he comes out.”

“What’s that!?!” Shrugg said, pointing.

When the picketers looked, he ran away. He ended up leaving his camera with Combine, telling the man he hadn’t been warm since the night before. He headed back for Akron with the film of the photos he’d taken.

* * *

Farcas closed the doors behind him and made sure they were locked. He broke into the back room and quickly found out who owned the P.O. Box they were looking for. The address was in the town of Snowdrift. He jotted it down and pocketed it.

Then he looked around the place for some beer but couldn’t find it. There were no more doughnuts, only empty boxes.

* * *

Fisher and Schmidlap found the office of Captain Sturgeon.

“Captain Sturgeon,” Fisher said as they entered the place.

“Yes, can I help you?” the small man behind the desk asked in a frighteningly boring monotone.

Captain Sturgeon had a bland face, flat brown hair, and dull brown eyes. He spoke without inflection.

“Hi, I’m Ralph Fisher.”

“Hello Ralph Fisher, I’m Captain Sturgeon.”

“The waitress at the restaurant said that you might be able to fly us around Great Slave Lake today.”

“Yes, I have a plane. I could fly you around Great Slave Lake today.”

“How much would that cost us?”

“It would cost ...”

His eyes glazed over in thought.

“... how many? It’s just you and your friend, here?”

“Five of us,” Schmidlap said.

“There are five of you?” Captain Sturgeon said. “It would be $100 and then I fly you.”

“Will you fly us back after?”

“Yes, I can wait and fly you back after.”

“For another hundred?”

“It will be another $100. No, I will give you a discount. It will be $50.”

“I have another question,” Fisher said. “How long have you been up here?”

“Only for a few months,” Captain Sturgeon said. “I was working in Florida but I found it very dull.”

“Very dull?” Fisher said.

Captain Sturgeon handed him a form to fill out. It was a standard boilerplate with background information and an agreement not to sue if there was an accident.

“You ever see anything weird flying around up here?” Fisher asked.

“I don’t see anything weird, no,” Captain Sturgeon said in his flat monotone. “It’s boring in Canada. I’m looking for a little excitement.”

“When can we leave?”

“What time do you wish to leave? I can have the plan ready for you anytime. You said you wanted to leave today. I can leave anytime today.”

“How about noon?” Schmidlap said.

“Very well, meet me here at noon,” Captain Sturgeon said.

“Is there a library in town?” Fisher asked.

“I don’t know,” Captain Sturgeon replied. “I don’t read.”

“You don’t know, you don’t read? You been here a couple months and you didn’t drive by a building that says ‘library?’”

“No. It’s very dull here. I don’t pay much attention to buildings.”

“Any newspaper in town.”

“I believe so but I don’t read the newspaper. I don’t read.”

“You don’t know the name of the newspaper?”

“It is probably the Yellowknife Newspaper.”

“Thank you very much, Captain Sturgeon.”

“You’re very welcome. It was very nice to meet you. It’s the most exciting thing that’s happened to me all month.”

They headed back into town and stopped at the newspaper office. The only unusual things in the paper over the last few months were the bear attacks. There had been about three in the last year. Fisher was pretty sure it was all a conspiracy.

* * *

Farcas found a typewriter and typed up the demands that the picketers wanted. Then he put a note on it to the effect that management would provide the employees with all of the demands. He took it up to the offices of management where he found the men in suits frantically sorting mail.

“I need you guys to sign this,” Farcas said.

“Oh, thank God!” one of the men said. “A scab finally showed up, eh! Okay, come here!”

“No no no no no!” Farcas said as they hustled him into the room and shoved him in front of a pile of mail that came up to his shoulder.

“Get sorting!” the man said. “Thanks so much! We appreciate this so much! We’ll get you some doughnuts, eh!”

Then they went back to sorting the mail.

“I need you to sign for the boxes I’m delivering that are downstairs,” Farcas said.

“What?” one of the men said. “You’re just a delivery boy!”

He signed the bottom of the sheet of paper with an “x.”

“Thank you,” Farcas said.

“Send some scabs!” the man called after him as he left. “We’ll take anybody. We’re desperate, eh!”

Farcas left the building and held up the piece of paper.

“I got you a deal!” he shouted at the picketers.

They looked surprised and then broke out into a cheer. They rushed forward and grabbed Farcas, lifting him up onto their shoulders and bearing him to a nearby bar, where they plied him with drinks. He had been so convincing that they didn’t even look at the paper he’d held up. He found himself there for some time.

The old man with the chair had folded it up and joined the crowd. Combine did the same thing. The next hour was taken up with eating and drinking. Farcas was not sure where the piece of paper was. The last he remembered having it was in the bathroom. He was very, very drunk.

Combine and Farcas hailed a cab with an Arab driving it. He drove them back to the Snowdrift Hotel, looking around suspiciously the entire time. He dropped them off, charging them double of what Combine thought they should pay. Fisher and Schmidlap pulled up at about the same time.

“Hey ... you guys ...” Farcas said drunkenly. He looked disheveled and reeked of alcohol.

“You don’t want to know what happened,” Combine said.

Farcas fell over into the snow. His notepad fell out of his pocket, open to the page where he’d jotted down the address.

* * *

They took a cab to Captain Sturgeon’s airport. There was a single-engine plane on the tarmac.

“Are you ready to leave now, sirs?” Captain Sturgeon asked, his voice monotone.

“Yes, we are ready,” Fisher said.

“Is your friend going to be okay?”

“Yeah, he’ll be fine.”

“Do you need help getting him on board?”

“No, we’ll get him on board.”

“Let’s go then.”

They got Farcas on the tiny plane and strapped him into a seat.

“Didn’t I see you in that movie ... Star Wars?” Fisher asked Captain Sturgeon.

“I don’t know that movie,” the other man replied. “I’ve never seen that movie, sir.”

“You’re from America and you’ve never seen Star Wars?”

“No. I’ve never seen Star Wars. I don’t see many movies.”

“You’re like a robot.”

Captain Sturgeon did a preflight check while Fisher talked to the others about medical droids from the movie Star Wars.

They flew up over the Great Slave Lake and soon spotted another village on its shore. Just then a UFO shot down from the north. The big, silvery, cigar-shaped objected jinked and swerved through the air like no normal flying craft. Suddenly, sickly green beams lanced out from its hull, just missing Captain Sturgeon’s craft. Where the beams struck ground, dirt and snow exploded into the air. Where they hit water, the ice shattered into a thousand pieces. Captain Sturgeon didn’t seem to have noticed.

Fisher grabbed the camera that was around Farcas’ neck and started taking pictures out of the windows as best he could.

“Get us to the ground!” Schmidlap yelled. “Land this thing!”

Captain Sturgeon shoved forward on the controls and the aircraft headed straight down. He began his own series of jinks and turns, sending the tiny craft flying like a fighter jet. Everyone was tossed around the cabin except for Captain Sturgeon. Fisher continued to take photographs as quickly as he could. One of the doors flew open and the unconscious Farcas was almost flung out.

Sturgeon was quite the pilot.

“Finally, some excitement,” he mumbled in his monotone voice at one point.

He flew through a barn that was blasted to pieces by the green beam a moment later. He flew between trees and under bridges, one of which were also destroyed behind them. He remained completely and utterly calm throughout the entire mad flight. After several minutes, the green beams stopped and there was no sign of the UFO.

“Don’t worry, guys, I got pictures of it,” Fisher said.

Shortly after that, they landed near the town of Snowdrift. True to its name, there were many snowdrifts in the village, one of which they dumped Farcas into to wake him up as they were tired of carrying him. He had a terrible hangover and he found some bruises on himself that he couldn’t explain.

“What did you guys do?” he asked.

“You fell in the parking lot,” Combine said.

“We got attacked by a UFO,” Schmidlap said.

“But I got pictures, man!” Fisher said. “I got pictures of everything. It’s going to blow the doors off all the conspiracies. I got proof, man! Nobody can cover his up! I got proof!”

“Great,” Farcas said, holding his head and groaning.

“I’m going to have to let my buddy Tinfoil Ray know about this,” Combine muttered.

* * *

Great Slave Lake Academy of Arts and Sciences was actually a little log cabin in the deep, snow-bound woods. As they got closer, they could see that the place looked like it’d been ransacked. Fantastic junk, some of it snow-covered, some of it not, was scattered among the trees all around the building. The cabin itself looked like a scavenger’s dream. It was covered with nailed-down bits of everything: flattened tin cans, old boards, hides, plastic sheeting, truck fenders, old windows, screen doors, and traffic signs. A satellite dish perched precariously on the roof. The place seemed deserted except for the hum of a generator.

A wooden sign nailed over the door read “GREAT SLAVE LAKE ACADEMY OF ARTS AND SCIE―” but the rest was missing. A yellowed note taped on the door read “True seekers round back.”

“Black helicopters, man,” Fisher whispered. “Black Helicopters. Black Suburbans.”

At the back of the cabin in a small clearing was a battered picnic table cleared of snow. A well-worn path led from it to the house, while other tracks stomped all around the clearing and branched off the woods in various directions.

Fisher suggested sitting at the table and calling Professor Sacka-Weejie out. He sat down at the picnic table. Combine sat down while Farcas looked at the tracks, which bore a striking resemblance to the tracks of the creature that had appeared near the hotel the night before. They were the wrong shape and size for bigfoot or yeti tracks. Fisher called out for Professor Sacka-Weejie.

Schmidlap wandered to the front of the house and started looking through the junk in the hopes of finding something worthwhile.

Suddenly there was a terrible hissing and gurgling noise from the house! Something horrifying was happening inside. Just as Fisher and Combine stood up, the back door opened and out came a stunted humanoid clutching a smoking something in its three-fingered hand. It seemed to be wearing some kind of silver suit like ... well, you know. The suit covered its face too, except for its huge, saucer-like eyes.

“Take a picture! Take a picture!” Fisher screamed.

Farcas realized he had the camera and took a picture of the alien.

“Doctor Sacka-Weejie, I presume?” Fisher said calmly to the figure.

“Eeeep!” the figure said. “Eeeep!”

Then it turned and bolted back to the cabin, slamming the back door behind it. Just then Schmidlap came around the side of the building.

“There’s an alien in there!” Fisher said. “There’s an alien in there! We got a picture! We got a picture!”

“I got the picture,” Farcas said.

“What are we waiting for!?!” Schmidlap said.

He ran to the back door but found it locked.

“I’m not going to be fooled by THEM!” a voice came through the door. “I know that THEY’RE coming to get me because THEY know that I know what THEY already know!”

“Who is ‘they?’” Fisher called through the door.

“You know who THEY are because you’re part of THEM.”

“No we’re not!”

“THEY are part of an evil conspiracy run by THEM and THEY ... you ... have come to get me to make me one of THEM or get rid of me so that THEY can continue in their secret plans to have the world run by THEM.”

“We’re not them!” Farcas called. “We’re us!”

“They’re after me, too, man!” Fisher said. “I know what you’re talking about, man! They’re after me too!”

“No no, it’s a trick,” the voice called out again. “I think that you’re part of THEM.”

“We’re not part of them, we’re part of us!” Farcas said again.

“No! For THEM, us is THEM,” the voice said.

“So aliens can speak ... English?” Schmidlap said.

“Well, they do have those transcommunicator thingies,” Combine said.

“Don’t try to confuse me!” the voice called out.

“Hey! The black helicopters have been chasing me for years!” Fisher said. “I know exactly what you’re talking about.”

“You’re just trying to trick me!”

“No, I’m not trying to trick you.”

“Bigfoot was out here,” Schmidlap suddenly said.

“I know all about the fake moon landing and all that other stuff,” Fisher went on. “I believe you. The government lies! They didn’t land on the moon–”

“Why were you shooting at us from your spaceship?” Schmidlap asked.

“What!?!” the voice said. “Don’t try to confuse me!”

The others looked at Schmidlap.

“You said there was an alien in there!” he said.

“I know you’re THEM,” the voice came from behind the door again. “There’s no aliens in here. You’re just trying to trick me into opening the door.”

“We got a picture!”

“We just saw one come out!” Combine said.

“No no no!” the voice replied. “You’re not going to confuse me. I’m not going to let THEM take me away and brainwash me.”

“We just got shot at by a spaceship when we were flying here!” Schmidlap said.

“I’m a reporter,” Fisher said.

“With some crazy bush pilot that acts like he’s dead inside,” Combine said.

“Excuse me fellows, excuse me,” Farcas said, trying to change his voice. “I got beer and pizza, eh.”

“And you’re not going to fool me with your creepy accent!” the voice behind the door said.

“Wait,” Schmidlap said. “Now wait. Who we talking to?”

“You ordered pizza, eh?” Farcas said, still trying to disguise his voice.

“We’re just talking to the door,” Fisher said. “We’re just talking to the door. You know as much as we do.”

“Is this Anton Sacka-Weejie?” Schmidlap said.

“I know you’re working for THEM and I know you’re going to try to keep me from telling the truth!” the voice said.

“No, we want to talk to you about Grant’s tomb!”

“What?”

“We work for a tabloid and we’re fact checking one of our stories.”

“Do you know who’s in Grant’s tomb, by chance?” Combine asked.

“Wait a minute,” the voice called. “You’re going to print the truth.”

“Yeah!” Schmidlap said.

“The whole truth?”

“And nothing but the truth,” Combine said.

“You’re idiots!”

“That’s what we get paid to do, sir,” Schmidlap said.

They were finally able to convince the man to open the door. Professor Anton Sacka-Weejie turned out to be a human being. He was very short, standing only four foot eight inches, and completely bald. He had hugely thick glasses that magnified his eyes and he was wearing a silver snowmobile suit with hood and a face mask for warmth. He did only have three fingers on his right hand and the smoking thing he was holding was a cup of espresso.

“So, you believe in telling the truth?” he asked them. “You believe in bigfoot and the aliens and–”

“Yeah!” Schmidlap said.

“We seen one last night,” Combine said.

“Come on in,” Professor Sacka-Weejie said.

“So great, we got a picture ...” Schmidlap said. He shook his head. “You guys are awesome.”

Professor Sacka-Weejie’s story didn’t make much sense. He started babbling about THEM and THE CONSPIRACY. He went on about clones and how World War I was all part of THEIR plot and how he had been enlightened and how it all started in 1864 and the assassination of Lincoln wasn’t really Lincoln and how Booth could see the clones and how U.S. money had secret messages coded in it and it was not as pretty as Canadian money anyway.

“And would you like some coffee?” he said.

Schmidlap was trying to write down as much of the babbling rant as he could. Combine was getting as much of it down in shorthand as he could.

What Fisher understood the professor was trying to say that there was an evil conspiracy of ancient proportions that had been working for centuries to control humanity for its own evil ends. According to him, sometime in the 1800s THEY perfected the secrets of cloning and behavioral conditioning. That allowed THEM to clone world leaders and then condition their clones into absolute loyalty to THEIR conspiracy. THEIR clones weren’t perfect, though, so people who knew what to look for could spot THEIR clones.

When they asked how he knew all of that, he told them that he’d been enlightened by friends.

“Oh, and they’re coming over for coffee!” he said.

Just then, they heard that burbling and hissing noise they’d heard every time the sickly green beams had appeared. The noise was coming from outside. A charged scent of ozone filled the air and the clomp of footsteps came from outside. The professor’s face was beatifically calm as the said “They’re here,” and got up to open the door.

“Uh-oh,” someone said.

Outside were two tall visitors. They wore silvery suits. They were bald. They had large, saucer-like eyes. They had three-fingered hands. They were not the professor’s cousins.

“Take a picture!” Fisher hissed.

They saw the reporters and did a double-take. Then they raised their three-fingered hands which were clutching silvery tubes and pointed them straight at the reporters.

Farcas closed his eyes and took a picture, the flash filling the room momentarily with light. Fisher and Schmidlap ducked for cover. Combine walked towards the creatures. A purple ray erupted from the aliens’ weapons and struck Fisher and Combine. Both of them fell over, paralyzed, Fisher pointing forward. Schmidlap leapt over the back of the couch and cowered there, hero that he was.

The aliens looked towards Farcas. Schmidlap headed for a full-length mirror on the wall nearby while Farcas ducked and crawled behind a chair. One of the aliens tried to shoot Schmidlap but missed him, the purple ray actually striking the mirror, creating a rippling affect behind it, though not bouncing off it like Schmidlap had hoped. The other alien fired at Farcas but missed him as well.

“No no, it’s not THEM!” Professor Sacka-Weejie called. “It’s not THEM! They’re friends.”

The aliens stopped firing. Schmidlap slipped into the next room and used the mirror to see the aliens. Farcas lifted up his arms from behind the couch.

“Hi?” he said.

“They are friends of yours, Professor Sacka-Weejie?” one of the aliens said in a deep voice.

“Yes, yes they are,” Professor Sacka-Weejie said. “They’re not with THEM. They are seekers of the truth! Seekers of the truth!”

“Ah, very well. Our apologies.”

One of them flipped a switch on his weapon and fired his weapon at Fisher.

“Take a picture! Take a picture! Take a picture!” the man shrieked as the paralysis wore off.

Then they did the same thing to Combine.

“Most ... we apologize most ... very much,” one of the aliens said.

“Let me just get everyone some coffee,” said Professor Sacka-Weejie.

They sat around the little table with the aliens to chit chat. Professor Sacka-Weejie brought out a pot of coffee and a jug of anti-freeze. The aliens seemed to like the latter in their coffee. When Schmidlap got out his Dictaphone, the alien waved him off.

“No, please,” the creature said. “Do not record us. Please. Please. You have to understand.”

They confirmed the professor’s story about THEM as Combine took notes in shorthand.

“Were you the ones that were shooting at us earlier?” Fisher asked.

“We had to make sure you weren’t working for THEM,” the alien said. “You see, we feel bad because we’re the ones that taught THEM the secrets of cloning a long time ago. We didn’t realize that THEY would use these secrets to evil ends. Ever since, we have been trying to secretly make amends. Of course, we don’t want to go public. That would create a panic, and THEY would be able to blame us for things THEY did. Furthermore, THEY are always hunting for our secret alien base, and if anyone printed anything about us, THEY might be able to find it. Finally, there’s always the problem that THEY are a secret conspiracy. Anybody who reveals something about THEM becomes a target. This could make your lives exciting ... but short.”

He looked over all of them.

“I call them Sid and Nancy,” Professor Sacka-Weejie loudly whispered to the reporters as he looked at the aliens.

“Why did you vaporize that ... what was that you vaporized in town the other night?” Fisher asked.

“The Wendigo?” Sid said. “It was sent to investigate you. It got ...”

“Hungry?” Farcas asked.

“... a little excited,” the alien said.

“What is a wendigo?” Fisher asked.

“It is one of our servants who conceals its presence by staying in the deep woods,” Nancy said. “We sent it to look you over and see if you were a threat to our plans.”

“You found out the cameraman was very little of a threat,” Farcas said.

Fisher laughed.

“In many ways,” Sid said. “His squiggly-spooch is very small.”

“So how did you know we were coming up here?” Fisher asked.

“Oh, we have ways of finding that out.”

According to Sacka-Weejie, Sid, and Nancy, the story about Grant being a space alien was a forgery, written by THEM.

“Oh, it was true,” Sacka-Weejie said. “Grant was. Grant was an alien.”

“We planted him to try to undo some of the damage caused by THEIR clones,” Nancy said. “But that’s not something we want everyone to know about. THEY wrote the article to expose the aliens and increase fear of alien contact. THEY are evil and cunning.”

When they told him that Lester Windooth III had written the article, Sid noted that he might be one of THEM.

“You might want to be cautious around him,” he said. “We need to keep complete secrecy; otherwise THEY might get the upper hand. Not to mention, THEY might be chasing anyone who tells anything about THEM.”

When Schmidlap asked if they wanted to confirm Windooth’s story, Nancy said that they would rather the reporters denied it. THEY were trying to get the story out to discredit the aliens and make them look evil. What the aliens basically wanted was their involvement not to be publicized at all. Combine suggested they could write the story to get rid of any mention of their involvement.

“That would be most appreciated,” Sid said. “Truth is important.”

Both aliens looked at Professor Sacka-Weejie and he nodded.

“Can you give us more knowledge on who THEY are?” Combine said.

The aliens confessed that they were not entirely sure. They only knew that it was a large, world-spanning conspiracy that had been replacing world leaders with clones for hundreds of years. They knew only that the organization consisted of evil humans. They hoped that the tabloid reporters wouldn’t tell the part of the story that involved the aliens at all. They noted that they had no problem of them telling the story of the wendigo, so long as they didn’t mention the aliens or the conspiracy. They felt it would endanger the reporters. They also asked if they had photographs of anything connected to the aliens and wanted the photographs of themselves back as well as any photographs of their ship.

“We will destroy them on our return,” Fisher said.

“We were fairly sure you were working for THEM,” Nancy said.

“Could we get one of those guns to deal with Windooth?” Schmidlap asked.

“No,” Sid said. “We can’t.”

Farcas suggested that they could make a sketch of Windooth so the aliens would know what he looked like and they agreed. They were not sure if Windooth was one of THEIR agents, but it sounded like he might have been.

“My question is this: is there any way we can expose the clones,” Fisher asked. “Is there any weakness of the clones?”

“Certain people can tell,” Sid said.

“They’re world leaders?” Schmidlap asked.

“Your last Republican president was one. The actor. He started malfunctioning towards the end.”

“He still is,” Farcas said.

Combine asked if, when they wrote the story of the wendigo, they might give hints on how to recognize the clones. Schmidlap pointed out that if they mentioned clones, they would make targets of themselves.

“We don’t want to see you hurt,” Nancy said. “You seem nice. Sorry about the whole paralyzation thing. Sorry about that. Sorry.”

“Is there any way we could write it up so that we could convey the traits that tell the clones apart from actual humans?” Combine asked. “We could say that those types of people might actually be wendigo in disguise, not clones.”

The aliens were afraid it might still give away too much. They feared that if THEY find out about their reporters’ knowledge of THEM, they might become targets. Schmidlap agreed that it might say too much.

“Well, can we write it up anyways and go with you?” Combine asked.

“Our ships are not meant for humans,” Nancy said. “I don’t think that you would survive. The non-Euclidean geometry might drive you mad.”

“My question is this: the quote we have in the paper says you have proof,” Fisher said to Professor Sacka-Weejie. “We don’t want to discredit you, but they sent us up here to interview you.”

“Tell them that there was no proof,” the professor said. “Tell your editor that the story was a fake. That’d be the best way to do it. They never came up here to interview me.”

He was more than willing to give them a quote noting that the story was a forgery and that he never made the quote. He also said he didn’t know where they got his name from. He also agreed to let them take a picture of him.

“How would you describe your school?” Farcas asked the man.

“We seek the truth,” Professor Sacka-Weejie said. “But don’t mention THEM.”

They decided to bring back the wendigo story.

“What is buried in Grant’s tomb?” Combine asked.

“It’s an alien,” Sid said.

Schmidlap pointed out that Windooth might be one of THEM and was trying to make the aliens out to be evil so they’d fear them.

“Did he have to really drink all that much whiskey?” Fisher asked.

“Oh yeah,” Nancy said. “It was very important for him to drink the whiskey so he could survive in your carbon-based environment. And it was really good whiskey. At least that’s what he told us.”

They decided to go with the wendigo story. The aliens said they appreciated it and warned them to be careful of THEM. Unfortunately, they didn’t have any good way to identify THEM.

“Before you guys leave, make sure you try some of the Canadian whiskey,” Farcas told the aliens. “It’s good stuff.”

“Oh, we have,” Sid said. “It’s almost as good as this.”

He pointed to the anti-freeze bottle they had been using to top off their coffee.

“We do like putting whiskey in our coffee also,” Farcas said.

* * *

When the reporters returned to Akron, they turned over the photograph of Professor Sacka-Weejie. They also found that Shrugg’s pictures of the wendigo actually turned out fairly well and could be used with the story.

Most of the pictures that Fisher had taken when they had been in Captain Sturgeon’s plane actually somehow ended up being of himself. Mostly he was mugging for the camera and giving a big thumbs up or had his mouth in an “o” and was pointing at where he thought the UFO was, almost as if he were trying to get into the picture with the UFO. He didn’t remember doing any of that.

The UFO was not in any of the photographs. ]]> Max_Writer http://www.penandpapergames.com/forums/entry.php/1787-Tabloid!-Faux-Pas-Part-2 <![CDATA[D&D 3.5 - Fight for the Fallen Keep]]> http://www.penandpapergames.com/forums/entry.php/1786-D-amp-D-3-5-Fight-for-the-Fallen-Keep Wed, 17 Apr 2013 02:49:51 GMT Thursday, March 28, 2013 (After playing Adam Frager’s *Dungeons and Dragons* scenario “Fight for the Fallen Keep” Friday (March 22) with Aaron,... Thursday, March 28, 2013

(After playing Adam Frager’s Dungeons and Dragons scenario “Fight for the Fallen Keep” Friday (March 22) with Aaron, Josh Smith, and Jeff Laforest from 9 a.m. to 1 p.m. at CaesarCon 2013)

A story of Gruff Gusslegut: Dwarf Ranger

Brycewater was a decent-sized city on the edge of Lake Koran. It was known for its fishing, had fertile soil, and excelled in the crafts and arts. We had paid for a week’s stay at the local inn and enjoyed our stay there to that point.

We had come to the city in our travels and were staying at the Broken Buckle Inn. It was a fine establishment and stood three stories tall, built of cobblestone with louvered cedar shutters and a three-flued chimney running up the back. Large fieldstones encased the double doors as well as the windows flanking the doorway. A wooden plank sign roughly three feet high and two feet wide read “Broken Buckle Inn” above a crude painted leather boot with a broken buckle upon it. The common area was very large and run by Ted Rosenhall, the innkeeper, who stood about six feet tall with shoulder-length hair pulled tight into a pony tail.

I’m Gruff Gusslegut, dwarf ranger. I liked the forest more than the mine and carried a battleaxe and a bow. I also took less care of my beard than some other dwarves. Or so it appeared. Actually, my beard was perfect for the wilderness. I even had a few bird’s nests built into it, though there were no birds. Might have been an egg though. Sometimes I found them there.

With me was Jakob Rocksmasher, a priest of Kord, and the token human of the party. He tended to beat his religion into those he was trying to convert. He was also a klutz and always tripping over his own feet. Faldrial Moonshiver, a half-elven thief of no little repute, was also part of the group. He thought he was better looking than he was and had long, chestnut brown hair. It was perfect without a strand out of place. He carried a rapier and a hand crossbow – the weapons of the pansy. Finally, there was the halfling mage (or so he claimed) Tweedle T’Dum. We had never seen him actually cast a spell. He wore a pointed hat and carried a quarterstaff with a knob on the end, proving he was a wizard. At least to some.

There had been rumors of increased banditry and robbery on the local highways. Trade into and out of the city was nearly at a standstill, though the morale of the people still seemed high. The independent city was still doing well but many worried that without trade, residents would leave and the economy would be damaged as well. Not much was known about the attacks as, to that date, there had been no survivors. Those who had investigated the scenes of the attacks believed it to be the work of orcs.

On that third morning, the conversations in the common room seemed a bit livelier and there was a general excitement about the city. Town criers called out that the magistrate, John Armshed, had declared a quest to local heroes and mercenaries to aid their country and reclaim the nearby keep of Fort Senkin. All those interested were to join a town gathering in two days in front of the town hall. Fliers and signs were posted at every cross street as well as every mercantile shop and front door.

We decided we’d try to help so I bought a small cask of ale and strapped it to my back. Jakob got some money from all of us to buy a magical healing wand in anticipation of injuries.

We spent the next two days gathering information in the city. We learned that the keep lay about three day’s walk north and stood atop a large plateau with little or no cover. Approaching the keep would be very dangerous if the guard posts were manned as the enemy had a vantage point. We also learned that there were abandoned mines under the keep, but they were filled with monsters and giant spiders. That incensed me as I loathed the horrid beasts.

We learned that Lord Senkin was a great adventurer and had performed great deeds throughout the lands. He was said to have done everything from slaying dragons to running around with gnomes bent on burning down taverns. They said he even knew a minotaur and others who comprised a diverse group and ventured far and wide. However, it was said that many scholars believed the stories of Lord Senkin to be false or misleading. Until his later years, many stories about his adventures didn’t hold up. Locations never existed or were ever heard of. It was like he came from another world.

We also learned that a man named Perry Faustburg might have information. He was one of the last guards at Fort Senkin and was working repairing weapons. Faldrial suggested we go to the local smithy.

“Why?” I asked. “Do we need some armor?”

“He was the last known guard,” Faldrial said. “He’s going to know more about the castle than anybody else.”

“Oh. So he’ll have plans.”

“Possibly. And he can tell you all about the spiders, too.”

“I friggin’ hate spiders!”

We spent a half day looking around the city before we found the man. The Clank and Bang Smithy had a stone front with a central chimney. Anvils flanked either side of the forge in the back and several men with worn aprons moved about the place. They were too busy to speak to us but I stopped one of the apprentices and he pointed out Perry Faustburg in the back. He was an old man, at least 65, his white hair pulled back into a ponytail. His beard was long and pointed. He looked up from the sword he was repairing.

“I assume you’re here because of the keep?” he asked.

“Yes, we are,” Faldrial said.

“What do you want to know?”

“Everything!” I said.

“Everything you know,” Faldrial said.

“Spiders?”

“What about the spiders?”

“I hate spiders.”

“There are no spiders I know about at the keep,” Faustburg said.

“We were told there were big spiders,” Jakob said. “The size of cattle and they only ate dogs and small children.”

“I didn’t hear that,” I muttered.

“You must be drinking the ale down at that one place,” Faustburg said. “It affects your mind from what I understand.”

“No,” Jakob said.

“We just want to know what you know about the keep,” I said. “There’s a meeting tomorrow.”

“Keep Senkin, as you probably know by now, was run by a man named Lord Senkin,” Faustburg said. “He was a great man. A very caring man. Everybody there I worked with always considered him a little off. He seemed–”

“He like little boys?” I asked.

“No.”

“He like little girls?” Jakob asked.

“Could be,” Faustburg said. “I don’t know. I didn’t know the man that well. Nobody ever knew anything of his past. It was like he came out of nowhere. Nobody knew his parents or his towns. He would talk about places, but nobody knew of them. Either they were far away or he was just making them up. He kept referring to a place called Argana, but nobody ever knew if it was a region, a country, a city. Nobody ever knew.”

“Sounds made up,” I said.

“That’s what a lot of people thought,” Faustburg said.

Once Faustburg started talking, he wouldn’t shut up. He told us that Lord Senkin had once vanquished 50 kobolds all by himself. He also related that Senkin was looking for something called the Domav Stone, but never said much more about it.

As he seemed rather verbose, I invited him back to the Broken Buckle to have a meal with us, wet his whistle with beer, and tell us more. He was happy to comply and we talked to him for a long time about the place and about Lord Senkin. One very useful piece of information was that a coal shaft ran from the cellars of the keep down into the mines below. The coal was gathered and burned to keep the keep heated. He also said there was an entrance to what he called the Coughing Mines in one of the nearby hillsides. He even drew us a map that showed the entrance to the Coughing Mines.

After he left, we discussed how best to approach the keep.

* * *

In the center of town was the town square. A beautiful park stood there, surrounded by a red brick road. Tall prestigious homes and businesses circled the park. In the center sat a large fountain depicting scholars holding books and scrolls while pointing to the heavens. On the north end was a five-story building with multiple wings and balconies, all made of stone and brick. Tall, graceful towers flanked the entrance to the front of the building and were capped with copper roofs. Ivy climbed up the side of the building.

We arrived close to noon to find a large crowd. An older man with peppered black hair and a mustache walked out onto one of the balconies on the town hall. He wore a fine suede jacket that went to his knees. The rest of his attire was very clean and well kept and he had a lot of silver buttons.

He cleared his throat and the crowd quieted down.

“I have called this gathering, as you all well know by now, to help take back Fort Senkin,” he said. “It has recently come to my attention that many of the local bandit attacks have been traced back to the keep. I know many of you wish I would have acted earlier to put an end to these attacks, but I wasn’t willing to put the safety of the city at risk by thinning our already short supply of militia and guards. It’s also because of this that I’m putting out a request to any and all capable heroes, adventurers, and mercenaries for their assistance. We don’t know all the details yet, but many, if not all of the attacks have come from orcs. We’ve also received word that Fort Senkin is now crawling with the hideous creatures. It doesn’t take an enlightened magus to figure out that this is where the attacks are stemming from and, by ridding the fort of the orcs, it will make this county and city ever safe.

“For those of you brave enough to take back the keep, you will not only be rewarded one thousand gold pieces, but also given the title to the keep. Those of you interested, please see me in my office in an hour. Thank you.”

People in the crowd were calling out questions but the man merely turned and disappeared back into the town hall.

Jakob and I pushed our way through the crowd to the town hall, the others following behind.

“I assume you’re interested in taking back the keep?” Mayor John Armshed asked us.

“Yes,” Jakob said.

“And killing spiders,” I added.

“Very well,” the mayor replied. “I’m very much in need of your assistance. Like I said, I can’t spare the guards to try to take back the keep. I’m just afraid that with all the bandit attacks, there could be more of them lurking out there.”

He told us that Fort Senkin fell 15 year ago. The place sat dormant and unoccupied for many of those years. Only recently was there any activity. The elderly Lord Senkin himself disappeared without warning, vanishing. Shortly after that, the fort was deserted. Nobody knew where he had disappeared.

“I have a loyal and local scout,” the mayor said. “His name is Saul DeTarka. He recently tracked the orcs from an attack on a caravan to the keep. Even though the caravan was well-armed, because many of the bandit attacks had been well-known of by that point, all were lost and no bodies were found.”

After searching the debris of the caravan, the scout had found something. The mayor took out a stout and sturdy battle axe with dwarven runes on the blade. The handle was made of stone and set below it was a dull piece of obsidian. I could see a name on the side of the battle axe.

“It says Laddiger!” I said.

I looked at Tweedle, the smartest in our group.

“Who’s Laddiger?” I asked him.

He usually knew such things.

“He’s the god of the duergar,” Jakob said.

“Duergar!?!” I said. “Oh.”

“Those are your people.”

“Well, it’s been nice working with you,” I said to the rest of the group.

“They’re your people, but–”

“They’re not my people!”

“They’re like the bad–”

“Duergar aren’t my people!”

“You’re a dwarf, aren’t you?”

“Duergar ain’t dwarves!”

“You’re a dwarf.”

“Yes.”

“And they’re dwarves.”

“No, they’re not!”

“They’re evil dwarves.”

“Duergar are these ... vermin that ... they just look like dwarves. Uh ... I think they can turn invisible at will. We’re going to have to buy some flour.”

“Can you turn invisible at will?”

“No! Can you.”

“Yes, I can.”

“Do it right now.”

“What’s that over there?”

He pointed over my shoulder but I didn’t look away from the man.

“You can’t bluff me,” I said.

“Look, it’s a duergar!” Jakob said, still pointing.

“Entertaining,” the mayor said, obviously not entertained. “I got word early this morning that another attack was on the north road, roughly 20 miles from the city. I sent DeTarka to investigate. There’s no telling when he’ll be back. As of now, that’s all I know. I suggest you ask around the city. There are still those who used to serve Lord Senkin that may know more about the keep.”

“Yeah, we already talked to everybody,” I said. “Everybody.”

“If you were to spare guards, how many guards could you spare?” Tweedle asked.

“Yeah, like for a distraction?” I asked. “Four?”

“I’m not going to risk any of my men’s lives for going foolishly at the keep,” the mayor said.

“Not foolishly,” Tweedle said.

“What if we just send them towards the keep, not to it?” I asked.

“I’m not sure what plan you might have, but once you see where the keep is located, you won’t be able to get close,” he said.

“Do you know what times the attacks happen?” Faldrial asked.

“It’s at night,” the mayor said. “It’s always at night or dusk or early morning.”

“That sounds like duergar,” I muttered. “They don’t like the light.”

“Or dwarves,” Jakob said.

I glared at him.

“No,” I said.

“Or orcs,” he went on.

“Maybe,” I said. “Or goblins.”

Tweedle started to mention the secret entrance to the keep but I shushed him, whispering to him that we didn’t know if we could trust the mayor. I asked to look at the axe and saw that it was fairly well made. It was dull and simple, like duergar weapons tended to be. It had a decent balance.

We were escorted out of the mayor’s office and the town hall. I again suggested buying some flour as I thought duergar could turn invisible.

“Okay wizard, here’s a question,” I said to Tweedle.

“No,” he replied.

“How did you know what I’m going to ask?”

“I don’t.”

“Well then how can you answer?”

“Because I’m pretty sure that’s the answer, but go ahead. You can still ask.”

“Okay, I’ll ask. You know about invisible stuff?”

“Uh ... I ... a little bit.”

“So, if somebody’s invisible and they’re standing in water, does the water ... does it leave it a hole?”

He didn’t think it would. He thought it would look like the water was running through.

“Are you afraid of invisible spiders?” he asked.

“No,” I said.

“Wait, spiders can be invisible too?” Jakob asked.

We agreed to meet back in the town square in an hour. Faldrial talked of getting in with a caravan and I told him to investigate it. I purchased five one-pound bags of flour and a horse, though no tack and saddle. Jakob arrived with horses and a wagon. While I was shopping, I heard the orcs at the fort had a powerful warlock that could turn living flesh into ash. That was why no bodies had ever been recovered after the attacks.

“That’s your job,” I said to Tweedle. “Warlock’s your job.”

“My job?” he said.

“You’re a wizard, you fight the warlock,” I said. “Challenge him to a magical duel.”

“It’s a lot easier if he sees you first, though.”

“Because he’ll ... like my beard?”

“On fire and then I can kill him.”

“Not light it, like it! Shut up!”

“Light it on fire.”

We had also heard of a bandit group called the Legion of Green, whose members dressed as orcs to frighten their victims. They hauled said victims away to devour them, being freakish and primitive people who practiced cannibalism and human sacrifice.

It looked like it would only be a day and a half ride to the keep. We set off that afternoon and made what progress we could before nightfall.

* * *

We found the cave entrance the next afternoon. A large an ominous hole choked with weeds sat at the base of a large hill. A riverbed lay not far from the mine and nearby, barely visible, were the remnants of an old mining community, burnt to the ground. Foundations stuck up to and fro, lining the weedy, broken paths and roads. Nearly buried near the cave entrance was a rail line, now rusty with age.

We had seen Fort Senkin in the distance. It encompassed almost the entire plateau on which it stood. The path up to the keep was narrow and crossed a small, stone bridge near the walls. The portcullis was down. At each corner of the keep were large towers where we could make out the tops of siege equipment. A small trickle of smoke rose up from the structure. In the center of the place was the tall keep itself. The stonework looked loose, pitted, and worn. Several windows were built into the walls and there was a small balcony at the top.

We hid the horses and wagon in a nearby copse of trees that offered good shelter. Then we cleared away the weeds, cobwebs, and vines from the cave entrance and saw nothing but blackness within. As the wind picked up, we could hear the sounds of water dropping far away. It sounded like an old man coughing. Jakob thought he actually heard an old man coughing.

We entered the cave, Faldrial lighting a hooded lantern. I led the way. The floor was lined with track that led to three open tunnels. Two more had collapsed on either side. Track led into the tunnels that left the hub. In the tunnel to the left, I found barely visible tracks of some kind. I told the others. After some discussion, Tweedle headed into the right tunnel and we all followed. It went several hundred feet, the track giving out about halfway, where the tunnel turned into a natural cave until it came to the side of a deep ravine. I dropped a rock in and guessed that it fell about 100 feet.

“I don’t think this is the way,” I said. “And I don’t have any rope, so we’re going to have to head back.”

“Well, I have rope,” Tweedle said. “I have fifty foot. Unfortunately, that’s not going to make it down.”

“Let’s go back and try another tunnel first.”

“Huh?”

“Before we start climbing, let’s try another tunnel.”

“I’m not much of a climber,” Jakob said.

“Yeah, exactly, c’mon, let’s go,” I said.

I headed back down the tunnel. The others followed.

“You know what it seems like to me?” Jakob said. “It seems like to me this was a way in but somebody did something to make sure that no one would get in.”

“You have the most vast imagination of any man I’ve ever met,” I grumbled.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Let’s go.”

When we got back, we headed left. We went about 90 feet, following the rail line, before the tunnel came to a four-way intersection. The track went each direction. To the left, the tunnel immediately opened into a large room. Straight ahead and to the right, it went as far as I could see.

I motioned for Faldrial to put the hood on his lantern.

“Hold on,” I said. “Wait here.”

I crept to the edge of the room and looked in. It was about sixty feet deep and forty feet wide. There were multiple wooden bins held together by rusty iron bands. Most of them looked empty but some held debris. There was sign of coal in some of the bins as well. There was no movement.

“Clear,” I whispered.

Light appeared behind me and I carefully entered the room. Tweedle picked up a chunk of coal from a bin near the entrance as I continued into the room. There was a cry and a dark, crusty brown dog-headed thing popped up out of one of the bins. Several other heads popped up as well. There were horns on the things’ heads and they had glowing red eyes.

“Kobolds!” I said.

They glared at me.

“You kobolds want to make some money?” I said.

The kobold started to lunge out of the box and I stumbled back and fired two arrows into the room. One of Tweedle’s sling bullets struck a kobold near the front of the pack, hitting it in the head. It fell back into the bin. Faldrial’s hand crossbow bolt hit one of the kobolds in the room and it fell with a scream.

The creatures tumbled out of the bins and rushed us.

“C’mon you damned spider-lovers!” I shouted.

Two of them rushed me, their short spears glancing off my armor. Two others used the bins for cover as they approached us. Then Jakob ran into the room, moving between a couple kobolds.

“Glory to Kord!” he yelled.

The morning star came down hard on the ground next to the kobold.

I dropped my bow, drew my battle axe, and cleaved one of the kobolds facing me in half. I swung my axe around my head after the kill, splashing everyone in the area with kobold blood. A kobold popped his head out to look and was struck in the face by one of Tweedle’s sling bullets. It went down without a sound. Another kobold tried to stab me again but I easily dodged the blow. They tried to flank Jakob and another hand crossbow bolt flew into the room. Jakob easily blocked another of the kobolds with his shield and then ran between a pair of them. He tapped his morning star almost gently on another kobold’s head. The creature fell to the floor.

Seeing him subdue his enemy, I turned my axe sideways and tried to knock out the kobold I faced but the creature leapt out of the way. Tweedle kicked a crate. Faldrial slipped around the side of the room and then ran through the last kobold with his rapier.

We looted the dead bodies. The bins were empty except for some raw ore. I tied up the unconscious kobold, first tying his hands, then his feet, and then wrapping the rest of Tweedle’s 50 feet of rope around the creature until I had used it all. Jakob used his healing wand on it and it awoke. It struggled against the bonds and I slapped it in the face.

“Stop struggling,” I growled. “You speak common?”

He looked at me blankly. I asked he spoke dwarvish but the blank look didn’t leave his face. I grabbed him by the throat.

“Speak common!” I shouted at the terrified creature.

He shrieked something in some tongue I didn’t understand. I put him down.

“Shut up,” I said to the beast. “One yip for yes and two yips for no.”

He continued to shriek and squeal.

“That’s way too many,” I said.

“I don’t understand what he’s saying,” Jakob said.

“I can’t under understand him either.”

“Maybe we should just kill him now.”

Then Faldrial said something in a hissing language that bore a resemblance to what the kobold was still shrieking.

“You speak gibberish?” Jakob said.

“I do,” Faldrial said. “Fluently.”

He talked to the kobold and told us that he’d asked it if there were any other humanoids in the mines. I told him to ask if there were any spiders down there. The kobold nodded frantically. I glared at him.

“It’s going to be bad for you from now on,” Faldrial said to me.

“No it’s not,” I said. “I love killing spiders.”

“I know you love killing spiders but apparently we’ve got a lot of them.”

“Ask him if knows the way up to the keep.”

He spoke to the kobold and the creature asked him some question in return. I shook him.

“You’re sounding evasive to me!” I shouted in the creature’s face.

Faldrial spoke at length to the kobold.

“What are you telling this guy?” I asked. “What’s going on?”

“Possibly getting him to help us,” Faldrial said.

“All right, that’s fine with me,” I said. “I got nothing against kobolds.”

Faldrial also told us that if the creature acted funny to just chop him in half.

“Shall I do it right now?” Jakob said. “He’s acting funny right now.”

The kobold said something to Faldrial.

“What’d he say?” I asked.

“What’d he say?” Jakob said.

“He’s going to offer to be our guide,” Faldrial told us.

“Does he know the way up to the keep?” I asked.

“He says he knows his way through the mine.”

“Does he know his way to the entrance up to the keep? Because if he doesn’t, there’s no reason to drag him along.”

“Do you think he’s lying?” Jakob asked.

Faldrial talked to the creature and told us that he didn’t know how to get into the keep, but could take us as far as where the spiders laired. I told him to ask the kobold if other kobolds lived in the place.

“Lots,” he translated.

“He’s lying,” I said.

“I think there’s some, but not a lot.”

“But he could lead us past the other kobolds to the spider area. He thinks.”

“Potentially.”

“That’s what he’s telling us.”

“Yes. That’s basically what he’s saying.”

“Fair enough. Hopefully that’s the right way. Ask him if anyone in his tribe can lead us up to the keep.”

He spoke to the kobold again and then told us none of the kobolds went past the spider room. I started unwrapping the rope from around it and then untied the creature’s feet. I tied his hands behind his back as Faldrial spoke to it in his own language again. He told us that the kobold still claimed he didn’t know of any way into the keep. I told the half-elf to warn the kobold that if shouted out or warned anyone of our approach that he would be instantly killed, but if he cooperated with us, we’d let him go. He translated my threat and told us that the kobold agreed.

The kobold led us out of the room and straight on through the intersection, where the tunnel began to head downwards. He took us through another intersection with a cave-in to the left and caves to the right. Some 50 feet after the second intersection, still following the rail line, the corridor opened into a huge room. The kobold stopped before we reached the entrance and said something quietly in his language.

“Ask him what’s here,” I said. “Is this the spiders, here?”

“He says he goes no further,” Faldrial said. “We’re where the spiders start.”

I started to untie the kobold.

“Tell him to tell his people that if they leave us alone, we’ll leave them alone,” I said. “Live and let live.”

“We should knock him out and throw him in the middle of the room and see if spiders eat him,” Jakob said.

“That seems kind of ... evil,” I muttered. “And awful.”

The kobold, now untied, ran away. I suggested getting some of the kobold bodies. After discussing it for a few moments, Jakob objecting that the spiders wanted blood and I noting that two were killed by blunt sling bullets, I went back to the room with the kobold bodies and retrieved the two corpses that Tweedle had killed. Tweedle asked for a torch and I gave him one. Jakob chanted and his morning star glowed.

“That’s magic,” I said.

“This is what magic looks like,” Jakob said to Tweedle.

The room beyond looked like a staging area. A track ran through it as far as we could see in the dark. A tunnel lay to the right and another tunnel lay further down the left wall. On the track were a half dozen mine carts, some tipped on their side and others upright, waiting for their next load. Wooden bins were scattered around the room. The ceiling was out of sight though I could make out stalactites there. I could hear water dripping all around. Spider webs hung down from the ceiling and tatters of the webs clung to the walls.

“I’ll scout ahead,” I whispered. “Cover me.”

I moved into the room, which proved to be only about 80 feet deep, and I saw nothing in the mine carts or the bins. However, shadows moved in the webs above.

“Spiders! Let’s get ‘em!” I said.

I headed for the opposite wall and thought I heard Jakob say “Where’s he going?” somewhere behind me. Then the spiders started to swing down on their webs. There were at least four of the things, each of them the size of a man.

Faldrial drew his hand crossbow and aimed at the things. Tweedle took out his sling and swung it around his head. He let fly, striking one of the spiders. Then he backed up to the entrance of the room. I shot the same spider twice, putting two shafts into it, but it continued to descend, blood dripping from its wounds.

“These things are tough!” I called out.

Jakob chanted and I felt suddenly blessed by his presence. The spiders dropped lightly to the ground and rushed towards us with that awful, eight-legged gait the nasties had. Faldrial shot the one filled with arrows as it approached him and it slowed to a crawl. Someone mumbled and two blue, magical missiles flew across the room and struck one of the spiders. I stopped and looked around.

“Was that the halfling?” I said. “Did we miss it? Son of a–!”

I fired two arrows at the spider that had been struck by the magic missiles, both of them sinking into the flesh of the beast. It slowed and stumbled as I backed away. Jakob slammed his morning star into the same spider, crushing its skull, while Faldrial closed his lantern, dropped his crossbow, and moved towards him.

“Come on!” I yelled at the spiders.

They did so, crossing the room. Two of them tried to bite Jakob but he blocked the horrid beasts and they did not injure him. I was not so lucky, however. The spider bit my left arm and I felt the terrible poison course through my veins. I felt terribly weak.

“Buggery stupid buggers!” I shrieked.

“Are you okay?” Jakob called to me.

“Spiders!” I shouted. “Why did it have to be spiders!?!”

Another sling bullet struck the spider that was still latched onto my arm. It fell off me and was badly injured, almost swaying on its eight legs. I dropped my bow and drew the battle axe from my back, then brought it down, but the spider skittered aside. Jakob was swinging wildly at the spiders around him.

Faldrial moved around the edge of the battle and flanked one of the spiders he fought. He skewered it, burying his rapier deep in the beast. The spider turned on the half-elf and bit him, blood and black venom spewing from the wound. Faldrial went pale and sagged. Another spider tried to bite Jakob but the man used his shield expertly. The last creature tried to bite me and sagged, dropping to the ground, its legs curling up underneath it.

“I hate you!” I bellowed.

Another sling bullet slammed into the spider that was fighting Jakob. I moved to stand by him and cut the spider he faced with my battle axe. Jakob turned to the spider that was trying to kill Faldrial. He slammed his glowing morning star down on the creature, cracking its thorax. Faldrial stabbed ineffectively and did a back flip away. The spider turned from him and bit Jakob, who stumbled back, visible sagging. The other spider bit me, tearing at the flesh of my chest and ripping through my leather armor.

“Damn you, spiders!” I cried. “This is why I hate you!”

Another glowing pair of magical missiles struck the spider that had just bit me. A leg flew off and the thing dropped the floor, dead. I glanced behind me and saw smoke coming off Tweedle’s finger.

“Yes!” I said. “I saw it!”

“What’d you see?” Jakob said.

“Never mind. It’s okay.”

“I didn’t see nothing!”

I moved to the last spider and brought my battle axe down upon it, killing it. I followed up the kill by swinging my axe over my head once again.

We tended to our wounds and tried to clean them of the spider venom. Tweedle retrieved his torch while I got arrows out of the dead spiders.

“I feel like crap,” I said, slumping against the wall.

“This armor is so heavy,” Jakob said.

He suggested going somewhere to rest. I disagreed, noting that we’d just gotten there and we had to press on.

“Okay, have fun,” he said.

“What?” I said. “Just stay in the back.”

Tweedle was, meanwhile, examining the spiders. Jakob used his wand to heal those of us who were injured and Tweedle asked if there was any way to get the poison from the spiders.

“Well,” I said, “your typical spider has a venom sack. It’s located just inside the mouth at the top in the back. Giant spiders – regular spiders it’s different. They’re notoriously difficult to remove. You got a dagger?”

He didn’t. While Jakob talked about getting rest and using his magic to restore everyone to their full strength, I crossed the room and briefly looked down the corridor opposite the one we’d come in. A passageway continued on into the darkness, going gradually upward as far as I could see.

I went back to the room where we’d killed the kobolds and brought back one of the short spears, breaking the head off and making a small dagger. I was able to remove the venom sacks from two of the spiders. I told Tweedle that the poison would have to be injected somehow.

We discussed what to do. I pointed out that if the orcs were nighttime raiders, they would find our camp if we camped outside. If we camped in the mines, we’d have to deal with the kobolds. I didn’t think we’d explored enough to set up a base camp in the caves yet. Jakob was of the opinion that we should camp in the room where we’d killed the kobolds. Faldrial thought we should push through, as did I. I noted that if it looked like the odds would be too steep, we could fall back to the mines.

In the end, we decided to at least scout ahead. I went down the dark corridor as quietly as I could. It went to about 100 yards before the rail came to an end in a larger room, the rough walls being replaced with flagstone and cobble. A single mine cart sat at the end of the track near a ramp. A small pile of coal sat near the ramp, the rest of the floor caked with black powder. On either side were dumbwaiters with two more in front of me. To the far right was a set of steps going up. There were a lot of boot prints in the coal dust.

I went back and told them I’d found the shaft that led up to the keep but that someone had been there.

We discussed when we should strike and the general consensus was to wait until nightfall in the hopes that most of the orcs and their warlock would go out to raid the countryside. I suggested we move to the end of the corridor and examine the shaft and the basement. We listened up the stairwell but I couldn’t hear anything. Faldrial said he could hear voices and movement up above somewhere. He suggested he scout ahead.

“If only there was some way of making you invisible,” I muttered. Then I turned to the human. “Jakob, that’s what I meant to tell you. That I saw something earlier.”

“You did?” he replied.

“Yes.”

“When?”

“In battle. When I said ‘I saw it.’ And you said ‘What?’ And I said ‘I’ll tell you later.’ I’m telling you now.”

“What was it?”

“It was the weirdest thing I’ve ever seen. I think the halfling actually cast a spell and I think I saw it.”

“What?”

“I saw smoke coming out of his finger.”

Tweedle asked what we’d do if we had invisibility and I told him that if Faldrial was invisible, he could scout around above and get numbers of the enemy and figure out where they were.

“Hey look, an orc,” Tweedle suddenly said, pointing.

Jakob and I looked and I heard someone speak some strange words. When I turned around, Faldrial was gone and Tweedle was smiling.

“Where’d Faldrial go?” he asked.

“Did he skulk away?” Jakob asked.

Tweedle told us he’d cast a spell on the half-elf to turn him invisible so he could scout above.

Faldrial returned a short time later to tell us that the cellars above had orc cooks. He noted that dumbwaiters went up into those cellars and the orcs above were tenderizing meat. He said it appeared that they were actually eating the dead from the caravans.

I suggested the possibility of using lamp oil as the poison but it was pointed out that they orcs would taste it – it would taste horrible. My suggestion of adding a lot of pepper wasn’t taken very well.

We ended up going back to the room where we’d killed the kobolds and resting long enough for the spell casters to regain their spells. We figured after we had done so, it would be late enough that the orcs might be out raiding.

* * *

Faldrial crept up the steps ahead of us. He signaled us to come forward and, once we were at the top of the steps, we peeked over. Five orc cooks were in the room.

We attacked.

Faldrial rushed into the room and ran through the nearest orc. I shot two arrows into the room, dispatching two more of them.

“If you surrender, you will not be killed,” I said quietly in orc.

Then Tweedle shot one of them with his sling.

“Warning shot,” I muttered in orc. “That was just a warning shot.”

Jakob charged into the room and smashed the skull of another of the orcs. Then he finished off the last orc.

We had killed all of them without making a racket.

Faldrial peeked through the double doors on one wall and told us there were six orcs and three duergar within. The other set of double doors on the same wall led to the same room. Another door had a plate that read “Armory.” Faldrial said it looked like it was filled with various goods that had probably come from the various attacks on caravans. Two doors led into a storage room filled with more goods. Sleeping in the corner was a bald dwarf with gray skin and a raggedy beard. We killed him handily. Other doors opened into a hallway.

We found our way to a garden, passing various bedrooms. Three small doors that led to garderobes. Archways opened into some kind of sitting room. We dispatched the orcs in the bedrooms and the orcs and duergar in the sitting room.

From there, we went up the main hallway to the large double doors at the top. They opened into a large room with a fireplace, desk, and chairs. Further into the room were a balcony and a chest. A wall split the room in two and stepping around the corner was another gray dwarf. He glared at us and readied his battle axe.

“He’s mine,” I said.

Two magic missiles flew between Jakob and Iand struck the duergar. We both looked over our shoulders but Tweedle just shrugged at us.

“Was that you?” Jakob asked him.

The halfling shrugged again.

“That’s weird,” Jakob said.

The duergar muttered something in dwarvish. It sounded like “Arise my followers.” Then he vanished.

“Flour! Flour!” I shouted.

Two nearby doors opened and two men came out. They were obviously dead and looked as if they’d started rotting.

“Do your job, cleric!” I said.

Faldrial moved around one of the things and it struck him a blow to the arm. The thief ran the thing through but it did not fall.

“Get the flour out!” I yelled.

I dropped my bow and pulled the axe from my back. I swung widely and missed the horrible creature nearest to me.

Then Jakob raised his holy symbol and flexed his muscles at the creatures. That was all he did. Just looked buff. It must have been too much for them, however, because the skin melted from their bones and the things literally fell apart.

Tweedle stepped forward, said a few words, and suddenly a colorful spray of light burst from his fingers and filled the air in front of him.

“What the hell was that?” Jakob asked.

“Nothing,” Tweedle said.

“Sleep,” I heard a dwarven voice say from the far end of the room.

“I’m not tired ... you douche,” I said.

Then I heard someone running across the room, probably around the wall that cut the room in two. Jakob flung a bag of flour into the area and it burst open on the balcony, pretty far from where the duergar should have been. However, it was apparently right on target. The flour coated the duergar and Tweedle cast another magic missile spell, the bolts striking him. He stumbled and then glared at us just before he grew to over eight feet tall. He swung at Faldrial, who stood nearby, but missed, and then backed up onto the balcony. The half-elf tried to stab the creature ineffectually.

With a roar, I rushed across the room and ran into the giant duergar, trying unsuccessfully to push him off the balcony. Jakob cast another spell and then Tweedle cast another magic missile at the creature. The bolts struck him in the face and he fell over the balcony to his death. ]]> Max_Writer http://www.penandpapergames.com/forums/entry.php/1786-D-amp-D-3-5-Fight-for-the-Fallen-Keep Birthright: Family Matters http://www.penandpapergames.com/forums/entry.php/1779-Birthright-Family-Matters Thu, 10 Jan 2013 00:16:01 GMT Saturday, January 5, 2013 (After playing the *Birthright* scenario “Family Matters” Friday (Jan. 4) with Jeff Smith, Stephen Turner, and Erik... Saturday, January 5, 2013

(After playing the Birthright scenario “Family Matters” Friday (Jan. 4) with Jeff Smith, Stephen Turner, and Erik Huffine from 7 p.m. to 2 a.m.)

Shaemes Whitestaff was a young lad of 17 who had been content in his role as minor noble in the country of Aerenwe, at least until the current regent, Liliene Swordwraith, died in the early spring of the year 551 Michaeline. It was little less than a month later when it was determined that he was the next in line to the throne of the old woman and so moved his court and advisors to the castle of Caer Callin in the village of Calrie in the province of that same name to become king. He was slight of frame with auburn hair and had been sick as a child. He was only a novice with war, having spent most of the time studying to learn the laws of the land and how to administer a government.

Gaelyn Markland was a priest of Haelyn. He was an aged gentleman who had seen 41 years; his hair was mostly white with only a little red left over from his younger days. He was stark and hard around the edges. He had been an advisor to King Shaemes’ father before his death the year before and now found himself in the court of the entirety of the kingdom, advising the boy king.

Ruinil hailed from the Erebannien mostly. He was tall and strapping. A true companion to his friends and liege, he dutifully served the boy king in whatever capacity he might need. He was a ranger of that forest and had been a yeoman for the family all of his life.

Only three of the seven provinces of Aerenwe were cultivated, being verdant grasslands that were farmed and fenced by the people. The other four provinces housed the Erebannien, a great forest where no army had ever marched. Those forest provinces were controlled by two separate mages: the High Mage Aelies and Rogr Aglondier of Ilien, a nearby land that also housed the Erebannien.

King Shaemes found himself ruling a court that was barely acceptable and that had 19 gold bars (each bar the equivalent of 2,000 gold pieces) in its treasury. He had a few units of troops scattered across the lands composed of infantry and archers, mostly in the more civilized northern provinces. When he took the throne, he decided he would leave the taxation of the people at its present light level.

It was less than a week after Shaemes had taken the throne that he called Gaelyn to his study.

“Gaelyn, I think that we need to learn more about the country,” he told the priest. “These people are still grieving the death of my great aunt. I think that we should travel through the cities and let them know that we share their grief but that we’re pushing forward to develop a stronger country, one seeking new trade, new allies.”

“Are you speaking of sending an emissary or are you talking of going yourself, My Liege?” the other man asked.

“I think I should go myself.”

“That would be an expensive trip.”

“We have a few bars left in the treasury, I’ve seen.”

“Whatever My Liege desires, of course, we will see it done. Perhaps we should send for Ruinil to scout out the road and secure us a safe path.”

“That would be wise. If he would begin a plan of travel. I know my guard will accompany us. Or should we just go with the three of us?”

“That would be a terrible idea, My Liege. It will certainly take more than my prowess at arms to protect you.”

“Maybe it might be best, at the moment, to go in disguise, so that we can truly see what the country is like: how they feel, how they act, find out their woes, their joys, as simple travelers.”

Gaelyn felt the situation suddenly slipping away from him.

“Simple travelers get robbed on the road more often than royal travelers, my lord,” he said. “I would highly advise against it, but if it is your will, it will be done.”

“I think that is what we should do,” King Shaemes said. “We shall go in disguise; you, Ruinil, and myself, as simple travelers looking for work elsewhere.”

He smiled, pleased with himself. He had been sheltered all of his life. Gaelyn frowned.

“Yes!” he went on. “That is what we should do. Go find Ruinil.”

“Yes,” Gaelyn said, leaving the chamber. Once he was alone, he whispered “Ruinil, I need you.”

He knew that the yeoman had special powers, handed down by his bloodline, that if anyone said his name, he would hear it and would hear what was being said about him.

* * *

King Shaemes met with a chamberlain named Daene who told him there were rumors that the country of Osoerde, on their northern border, had moved troops from some of the inner provinces to the province of Algael, which bordered the Aerenwe province of Dhoenel. The man also asked, when he learned of the king’s plans, for permission to surreptitiously send men ahead on the king’s route in order to act as a secret bodyguard while he traveled. He was also adamant that at least two bodyguards go with the king as well.

“I will have two with me,” King Shaemes said. “Gaelyn: he is older, but he is wise. And Ruinil.”

“What does Gaelyn say about this?” Daene asked hopefully.

“He is for it,”

“No, about having extra bodyguards.”

“I would not worry him about that. He has too many other things to deal with. Send for Richard, my wisest chamberlain, so that I might talk with him.”

“Very well,” the man said, defeated.

Richard, King Shaemes oldest and wisest chamberlain was at least 90 years old. It took him several minutes to cross the room where the king was holding court. When the king told him of his plan, he loudly protested. Of course, he did everything loudly, as he was losing his hearing and thought everyone around, therefore, must be losing theirs as well.

“No no no!” he said. “That’s out of the question! You must take a least a bodyguard! Plus you must have an entourage. Don’t forget that you must also carry the royal coat of arms at all times. Preferably you should have, also, several maids, as well as cooks and food tasters!”

He blustered on for several minutes.

“And of course you must not forget the washerwomen!” he said at last. “Things must be kept clean! A king is not to be seen with dirty robes! And, of course–”

“I would like you to arrange all of that,” King Shaemes finally interrupted the man. “When we return from our general scouting mission, I will come back and I want to go with the entire retinue and meet with the leaders of Osoerde. So, if you could put this plan in to place ...”

“You want to talk to Jaison Raenech?” Richard said.

“When I return.”

“I understand he’s positioning his men on the border. They’re probably going to invade any day now!”

“We will see what is happening while we are out. First hand.”

“Very well. I don’t see as well as I used to, but I will arrange it My Liege.”

* * *

The chamberlain Daene found Gaelyn in his apartments and advised the man that at least a small retinue be with the king or he should at least arrange men already in the villages that that the king was planning on visiting.

“Yes, absolutely,” Gaelyn said. “Please, please make that happen.”

“But the king has advised against it,” Daene said.

“No need for the king to know.”

“Very good, sir. Thank you, sir. Can you at least keep him here at Caer Callin for a day or two so that I might make the arrangements?”

“I will do what I can.”

* * *

“I need a carriage,” King Shaemes said to Onwen, the Master of Carriages. “Not too fancy, yet workable. Throw some dirt on it, scar it up a little bit.”

“You mean this one, sire?” the man said, taking him to the royal carriage.

“No, that’s too fancy. I need something that looks like one our simple folk would use. But yet, I want it sturdy enough.”

“Simple folk don’t own carriages, sire.”

“Well, a wagon then.”

“A wagon?”

“Something like what you would carry hay in. Or maybe pigs.”

Onwen stared at him, his mouth open.

“What?” he finally said. “A wagon?”

“Yes,” the king said.

“But you – a wagon?”

“A wagon, yes. If you could have it ready.”

“How about a coach?”

“No, it needs to be something simple. We’ll be leaving tomorrow.”

“A wagon?”

King Shaemes then went to the seamstresses and tailors in the castle and asked them to make him some simple clothing and then dirty them up. This was also met with amazement.

* * *

Gaelyn soon heard about the king’s preparations from Daene. He groaned when he learned about the wagon and about the king talking to the castle’s tailor. There were many questions and rumors moving through the castle wondering exactly what the king was up to.

* * *

Ruinil was approached by Onwen as he was heading for Gaelyn’s chambers.

“Could you help me, sir ... your grace?” the dirty little man asked him. “The king wants a ... wagon?”

“I’m not ‘your grace,’” Ruinil said.

“Yes, your service ... sir. The king wants a wagon.”

“You may simply call me “my lord’ if you wish.”

“Your Lord, my lord, excuse me. The king says he wants a wagon. I assume it’s to ride around in. He didn’t want the carriage. I don’t know what to do. I could get him a wagon, but–”

“By the Gods, you make him a wagon!”

“Make?”

“Yes. Construct. As in use your hands.”

“Oh dear.”

“Or go purchase one.”

“Yes sir.”

“I have pressing business.”

“I’m sorry sir. I’m sorry.”

The little man groveled away.

Ruinil went to Gaelyn’s chambers and knocked on the door.

“Come,” a voice called from within.

Gaelyn looked harried and harassed.

“Gaelyn, you called for me?” the yeoman asked.

“Thank the Gods,” Gaelyn said. “We must meet with His Highness and ... calm him down, I think. He has it in his head that we, the three of us, mind you, are to travel the countryside, gauging the reaction of the people, to his ascension to the throne.”

“That sounds good,” Ruinil said. “A king should know his land.”

“He wants to be in disguise. Just the three of us.”

“All right.”

“No guards.”

“I can make that happen.”

Gaelyn stared at the man.

“I expected more support from your side of the court on this actually,” he said. “At the very least, meet with him with me so that we may at least convince him not to run around speaking with all of the servants, asking them to do all these things. He’s going to give the wrong impression.”

“Very well,” Ruinil said.

“And ... do you have any red root? I have a splitting headache.”

“I could call one of the meisters, if you need.”

“No no no. Perhaps after we meet with ... there’s no point in curing a headache just to gain another one.”

* * *

King Shaemes had found the armory and spoken to Vaesil, the armorer. He was salt of the earth and only referred to the king as “Your Highness” when he remembered. He was very helpful, however. When Shaemes first arrived, the man had shown him several guilt swords and wonderfully engraved crossbows. However, when the king had told him he had wanted the same kinds of weapons the guards used, he grinned, pleased.

“Really?” he said. “Come over here.”

He showed the king several broad swords and crossbows that were simple yet effective in design, all of them well oiled and cleaned. The two men were looking over several weapons that were lying on a table when Gaelyn and Ruinil found them. Vaesil was holding a crossbow in one hand and an apple in the other.

“Are you sure you don’t really want me to show how this really works?” the man said.

“I understand these,” King Shaemes said, taking the crossbow and loading it.

“Oh!” Vaesil said. “Then I’ll stand over there with the apple on my head!”

“I’m not that good.”

“My Liege!” Gaelyn said with a loud cough. “Excuse me. Master Vaesil, is it? Please excuse us for a moment.”

“Yes, my lord,” Vaesil said. “Yes, my lord.”

He bowed and left the room.

“So, has Gaelyn told you about our adventure?” King Shaemes asked Ruinil.

“Yes, he has indeed, My Liege,” the man replied.

“What say you? Do you think it is as good an idea as I?”

“My Liege, I do think it is a wise decision for a king to know his land.”

“Excellent! Thank you!”

“However, My Liege, that is exactly why you have men such as me.”

“That’s why you’re going with us.”

“I would be happy to ride the land for you.”

“And I will go with you.”

“Surely there are things here at the castle that are more pressing than to ride about the land.”

“The most important part of being king is knowing the people. I have been hidden away, studying, for the last 12 years. It is time that I get out and meet these people.”

“But there are concerns for your safety, My Liege,” Gaelyn said. “We must make that paramount.”

“That is why I have you,” King Shaemes said. “I think more attention would be caused if we had guards, wagons, and the like.”

“Yes, but it would be the right kind of attention.”

“I do not know.”

“I think that mere numbers and the royal seal and the banner would dissuade any bandits or fell-minded men from attempting anything to harm your safety, My Liege.”

“My fear is not that they would cause us harm, but that while we are out, they would attack the castle.”

“This is a strong castle, My Liege.”

“Especially if our neighbors to the north are already moving troops in.”

“Yes. That is another matter that I wanted to bring up for discussion, My Liege. It’s not exactly the best time for taking a leisurely stroll through your lands. There is much to consider to the northern border.”

“That’s why I want to go see it firsthand.”

“Then perhaps we should assemble the proper entourage and make haste to the border.”

“Chamberlain Richard is doing that now, so that when we return–”

“Richard?”

“He’s a wise man, for his age.”

“My Liege, whereas a smaller number may travel more freely, perhaps in some ways even quicker,” Ruinil said, “still you must understand that our chief concern is your safety.”

“I do understand that,” King Shaemes said. “I do appreciate that.”

“Perhaps if you want us to travel in disguise, at least take a bodyguard and we can travel as a caravan, if this is a decision that you are insistent upon making.”

“I have a wagon prepared. I have clothes prepared for us so that we can go unnoticed and travel freely.”

“That brings up another point, Your Highness,” Gaelyn said. “These types of things, if you want them to remain secret, they should be kept secret. We shall summon the proper servants and discuss these options with them but please try to refrain from going around the castle grounds and talking out in the open to all these servants and such about this. It will do nothing but give the wrong impression of you, Your Highness.”

“I understand,” King Shaemes said. “But it is too late.”

“Well, it is too late for what has been done, but it is not too late to avert future issues, Your Highness. If you have other needs or concerns, discuss it with me. I will see it done.”

“I think, right now, the only thing lacking would be foodstuffs. I was on my way to the kitchens.”

“I will take care of it, Your Highness.”

“Then we should be ready to go by tomorrow.”

“We might need at least another day’s preparation before we can leave.”

“Indeed,” Ruinil said. “At least.”

“What have I missed?” King Shaemes asked.

“Well, there are many considerations,” Gaelyn said. “We have to make sure that the government is in order before we walk away from the castle. There’s etiquette, procedure, protocol involved in this kind of thing, Your Highness. We can’t simply abandon all of the traditions of this great country.”

“I understand that and I understand the rule of law of the land and who’s in charge when I’m absent, who has the power.”

“Who is in charge when you’re absent?” Ruinil asked.

“That would be Aeric, the seneschal,” King Shaemes said. “He will wear the chain and mantle of command when I am absent.”

“Is that a sound choice, My Liege?” Gaelyn asked.

“He ran while the queen was sick.”

“He did run thing in the interim between the death of the queen and your ascension, but if the men massing on the border is any indication of his rule–”

“I don’t think he ordered them to go anywhere.”

“No, My Liege. I mean, his foreign policy may have caused a rift, which has prompted the massing of soldiers on our borders.”

“Your Highness, I am taken to mind suddenly that the swords on the border are of much more concern,” Ruinil said. “This Raenech is a cruel and hard man. I wouldn’t put it past him to attack the castle, or at least attack one of your provinces.”

“After he’s raped and pillaged his way here,” Gaelyn added.

“Were you to be caught out in the field by a number of soldiers, it would be catastrophic.”

“It would put a damper on things,” King Shaemes said.

“It would,” Ruinil replied. “At least a damper.”

“But, as king, I’ve decided that we will travel. I will grant you your day before we leave.”

“Then will you also grant us more than just us? At least your guard?”

“I have my spies too and I understand that preparations are being made to place spies ahead of us as we travel.”

“Who would do such a thing?” Gaelyn blustered.

“You are not the only ones with the ears,” King Shaemes went on. “We will take precautions. We will carry with us pigeons to send word back in case we need help.”

Gaelyn put his hand to the bridge of his nose and groaned lightly. The headache was getting worse.

“In all fairness, Your Highness, it seems like the best precaution would be, perhaps, to send someone else,” Ruinil said, “but if you are want to do this, then we are your men.”

“And I thank you for that,” King Shaemes said.

“Aye, Your Highness, we will see it done,” Gaelyn said.

“Shall I prepare animals then?” Ruinil said.

“Please,” King Shaemes said. “We will be riding in wagons.”

* * *

Ruinil, noting to himself that the king had not actually said they were not to bring his bodyguard along, spoke to the sergeant of the royal bodyguard, telling him of the king’s plan for the day after the next, and that the guard would accompany them, albeit dressed as commoners and with only a few simple weapons. The sergeant was happy to comply.

“We’ll be travelling as a simple caravan,” Ruinil told the man.

“Discrete,” the sergeant said, sounding out the word carefully.

“Yes. Quite.”

He ordered the man to have another wagon or perhaps carts readied, noting that the men would be riding on them as travelers or merchants. The sergeant told him he would arrange it. Ruinil went to arrange for the horses for the journey.

* * *

King Shaemes met with a young but white-haired mage that afternoon. Trevor Ciesen offered his services to the crown as a true blooded mage. He noted that there was no official mage yet in the court and, for his services, asked for control over the province of Dhoenel or Calrie or four gold bars.

“Master Ciesen, I’ve just taken over as king,” he told the wizard. “Feeling where we are as a country, financially, at this time I don’t think that I can afford to pay you what you’re asking, even though I am sure that it is well worth the money. I would ask that, for two gold bars for your services, until we are in a better position.”

“I am still willing to help you without the payment,” the mage said quietly. “Out of loyalty to the king. If you need my services, please call upon me.”

He told the king that if a man was sent to the village of Ruin’s Keep near the Erebannien in the province of Calrie, he would come.

“Before you leave, if you could introduce yourself to Gaelyn, my advisor,” King Shaemes said, snapping a finger and pointing to a nearby page, who ran out of the room.

“Yes, Your Highness,” the mage said.

Gaelyn soon arrived and met the man.

“One of the wood-dwelling folk, eh?” Gaelyn said.

“Uh ... no, My Lord,” Trevor said quietly.

“Oh, you live here?”

“Yes, My Lord. In this province.”

“My apologies then.”

“I was told to introduce myself to you as I will be potentially coming to your assistance, if you have need of me.”

“What assistance could you provide?”

“Oh, many powerful spells, My Lord.”

“Such as?”

“Demagogue and the like. You do know what that is, do you not?”

Gaelyn did. He knew it was a powerful spell that could affect an entire province, playing upon the fears and loyalty of the province towards its ruler to increase or lower the loyalty of the people therein, depending on how the mage cast the spell.

“Well, if we have need of your services, I’m sure we will summon you,” he said.

“Very good, My Lord,” the mage said.

* * *

That same day, King Shaemes received an invitation. It read:


The honor of your presence is requested at River Hall on Haelyn’s Festival in this year
551 Michaeline. With the marriage of our children, Leira Bellaen and Aeric Pelien,
we also celebrate the joining of our two houses. We could think of no better gift than
your blessing.


The festival was a little more than two weeks away. The wedding itself was a weeklong event. It would still leave time for his own travel across the land.

King Shaemes went to the castle’s library and eventually found out who the Peliens and the Bellaens were. The Peliens were a powerful family within the province of Dhoenel while the Bellaens were a powerful family in the province of Halried. The two families had been feuding for hundreds of years and the marriage appeared to be a peace accord between them after far too long.

* * *

The tour of the countryside, just the three of them, was uneventful.

When they had arrived at the stables, two days later, they had found all 24 of King Shaemes’ private bodyguard there, waiting for them on several carts. They were all dressed as commoners though they were all well-armed. One of them was dressed in fine clothing with many ruffles.

“I’m a merchant!” that soldier said proudly.

“Shut up, Howerd!” the sergeant snapped at the man.

King Shaemes rolled his eyes.

When they arrived at towns, people were lined up along the streets as if they were there for a parade, or to see the king. Many of them had small flags of Aerenwe, but at the same time, none of them looked at the king or his party of “merchants.”

“Is that the king?” one little boy called but his mother quickly hushed him.

Only the best food was available at the inns that they stopped at, but when King Shaemes asked if they were expecting him, they denied it. One inn was even called The King’s Head that had a painting of Shaemes’ face both over the front door and within, both of them very accurate. The innkeeper refused to believe, allegedly, that Shaemes was the king, all the time looking towards Gaelyn.

Gaelyn was adamant that he had nothing to do with it.

Word had gotten out.

* * *

Some days after that, they arrived, this time along with a proper retinue, at River Hall, around noontime.

They rounded one final bend, and the walls of a grand estate stretched out before them. It sat near one Aerenwe’s minor rivers – the creek’s babbling filling the air as they drew new.

River Hall, a three-story, white marble edifice, sprawled across its considerable grounds, surrounded by high walls that protected it from poachers. However, the manor looked obviously indefensible against siege. The hall itself seemed well fortified, which one might expect, considering the frequent incidents of banditry in the province they had heard of.

To one side of manor lay a garden with statuary placed artfully among the greenery and blossoms. It looked as though a labyrinth hid deeper in the garden, though the high hedge walls concealed much of the area.

The drive leading to the manor was filled with carriages and mounts; grooms rushed hither and yon, leading horses to the huge stables off to the other side of the house. As they approached, a team of grooms rushed up, bowed, and helped them dismount. Once they’d unloaded their possessions, they led their horses away.

A young man with long blonde hair and a mustache, assuredly not older than his early twenties, stepped forward to greet them. He sketched barely a bow and said, “My Lords and Ladies, I welcome you to River Hall and bid you a good stay. I am Hadrien Pelien, second son of the baron, and I am here to see to your needs.”

“Very good,” King Shaemes said.

Hadrien led them into the house and showed them to their quarters. He offered to guide them around River Hall’s grounds if they wished and noted that there was a luncheon in the courtyard. He also told them a chamberlain named Stiele could give them a list of all the events if they so desired. He noted that either he or the chamberlain could show them around the grounds if they so desired.

At the luncheon, they all met the immediate members of both families.

Baron Brosen Pelien was the father of the groom. A large man with long blonde hair and a long mustache, expertly waxed, he was glad to meet the king. He seemed a bit vain and loved to show off the manor. Jonathan Pelien was the baron’s brother and seemed friendly enough, though he chose his words carefully whenever he spoke. Aeric Pelien, the groom, was a tall young man with long, dark hair and a handsome face. He seemed friendly enough but when one spoke to him, his simplicity shown through. Buess Pelien was the youngest of the baron’s three sons, also dark-haired, and seemed very eager to please and helpful. Finally, Hadrien Pelien, who they had already met, was to inherit the province from his father someday. He did not like the Bellaens at all and was against the wedding.

They also met the bride’s family over the course of the next few days. Baroness Laera Bellaen was the family’s matriarch and mother of the bride. She was shrewish, shrewd, and sharp with a harsh opinion of the Pelien family. Her husband, third of the men she’d married, had a mass of black hair on top of his head and was very friendly, though never seen without a drink in his hand. He never stood when he could sit and never sat when he could lie down. He seemed to most love the comforts inherit with his nobility. Leira Bellaen was exceptionally beautiful with a fragile frame and lovely blonde hair. She was bright, sparkling, and innocent, and seemed very sweet and kind. Her mother and sister hovered nearby, making sure they were never far from the woman. At one point, when Gaelyn intercepted Laera while her daughter spoke again to the king, she frowned at him.

“I do not have time to speak to god-beggars right now, My Liege,” she said to him.

“I am not a god-beggar,” he replied. “I’m advisor to the king himself.”

“I care not,” she replied, moving away from the man.

Leira’s brother, Ladie Bellaen, actually hit it off with Ruinil. The man had long, red hair and proved to be exceptionally quick-witted and humorous, with jokes that were clever and original. He was easy to talk to and bright. Even his puns were clever and made one think. He didn’t really care for the marriage, but it was merely because he didn’t like the Peliens and thought they would corrupt his sister. He was of the opinion that what would happen, would happen, however. He also had numerous jokes about the Peliens. Though he laughed with him, Ruinil also advised Ladie to watch his tongue, as soon the Peliens would be members of his family. He was unhappy with the sound of that, but agreed that the man was correct.

Finally, Jarri Bellaen was the youngest daughter in the family. Her face was already growing sharp and she was spiteful. Once, when Gaelyn had actually managed to intercept the baroness by “inadvertently” standing on her dress and seemingly not having the intelligence to raise the correct foot quickly, the king had almost gotten Leira to privacy, only to find another woman slipping her arm around his on the side opposite of Leira. He found Jarri there and she began talking about everything and nothing until Leira was called away. Between the mother and daughter, no one could monopolize the bride.

At least 200 of the nobility were present at the wedding. Additionally, there were numerous servants and the like. Many of the guests were trying to get time with the king of his advisors. One man approached Gaelyn asking him to talk to the king about lowering taxes for the rich. King Shaemes himself was approached about raising trade tariffs to dissuade trade from other countries and promote the local craftsmen of Aerenwe. There was also a lot of question as to whether or not war with Osoerde was inevitable. Several ladies approached King Shaemes; all of them seemed to think that their daughter would make a wonderful match for the king.

King Shaemes found Hadrien and asked him, based on the troop placement of Osoerde, what he had done to protect the borders. The man told him that the archery unit in the province was arrayed along the border. He noted that his father was not a leader of men, however. King Shaemes suggested that Hadrien begin training men in the province to defend themselves. Hadrien assured him that he would see to it.

The king also made inquires of both Hadrien and Ladie as to why they were against the wedding. Neither man could say more than that he did not approve of the other family, Hadrien more so than Ladie. Ladie seemed more annoyed by the Peliens than truly hateful of them.

The inquiries and requests to the king and his advisors continued throughout their stay.

The king also talked to both Leira and Aeric in private, individually. He learned that the two seemed to actually be in love. She said she did not know how wonderful a man could be until she met him. He, in turn, could not stop talking about her. Though he was not eloquent, he seemed sincere. He also met both Laera and Michael Bellaen and with Brosen Pelien. Laera, who really controlled the Bellaens, seemed sincere in the marriage ending the age-old feud that was damaging her family. Though she hated the Peliens, the feud was more damaging that the marriage would be. Michael seemed more concerned with food and drink than with the marriage or the wedding. Baron Brosen Pelien also very badly wanted to see the feud over and done with.

The true festivities began on the fifth day of their stay and ran through the sixth day. There were tests of strength with a joust, as well as foot lists, archery contests, and foot races. Ruinil participated in the archer contest and actually won the platinum trophy, valued at 200 gold coins. Gaelyn won the foot list.

King Shaemes took his two advisors aside.

“I appreciate your skills, your prowess,” he said to them, “but we are at a party for these people.”

“Of course, My Liege,” Gaelyn said.

“It would be nice if you would donate those trophies to a local charity or church.”

“Of course.”

“My Liege, in all fairness, you are the local charity,” Ruinil said.

“Well, if you could donate it to the church, I would appreciate it,” King Shaemes said.

When the king wasn’t looking, the two men simply exchanged their trophies.

There were also sumptuous banquets on both days. The number of people trying to get the king’s ear continued. The wording was more casually introduced and worked more carefully into the conversation by then. Several guests remarked upon the obviously strained friendship between the two families. Many of them expressed their doubts that the marriage would last.

At one point during the last banquet before the wedding day, King Shaemes stood behind the bride and groom, a hand on each of their shoulders.

“Lords and ladies, gentlemen, goodwives, before us we have a pair that are truly in love, and I ask you to support them,” he said. “Cease any conversation of doubt. Be supportive of this joining of families because we are here to rebuild this country, to see it grow. Just as they will see their family grow, this country must grow with them. New trade, new prosperity. So, we’ll just drink a toast to the new family and offer them well-wishes and good fortune.”

“Well spoken, My Liege!” Gaelyn called out.

“I offer as a gift to the newlywed couple to come and spend time with me in Caer Callin,” the king went on. “As a support of the union and the peace that they will provide.”

There was applause and people raised their glasses. King Shaemes noticed that Hadrien did not raise his glass. Shaemes picked up his glass and then tilted it towards Hadrien, staring across the room at the man. He very slowly raised his glass and barely tipped it to his lips. Then Shaemes drank. Hadrien left the banquet soon after.

* * *

On the night before the wedding day, King Shaemes awoke to cries of “Assassin! Assassin!” from inside his room. The page who slept at the foot of his bed was stumbling to his feet as the armed guard who stood watch over the king rushed a man who had come from a secret panel in the wall across the room. The man was thin and wore a dark mask that covered his face. He fled into the secret passageway.

“After him!” King Shaemes yelled.

The guard grabbed a lit taper and ran into the passage. Someone was trying to break down the door and King Shaemes ordered his page to open it. Two other guards rushed into the room as Shaemes picked up his sword. They looked around the room and one of them went to the secret door.

* * *

Ruinil woke up to the sounds of shouts and cries of “Assassin!” He grabbed his short sword and rushed to the king’s room to find him standing by his bed, sword in hand. A guard stood near a black secret passage in the wall while another stood near the king.

“My Liege!” he said. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” King Shaemes said. “Someone came through this doorway.”

“Keep an eye on him!” Ruinil said, pointing to the king.

He rushed to the passageway.

“Boeric went after him!” the guard in the passageway said. “But I haven’t seen him!”

“How long did he go?” Ruinil said. “Just now?”

“Moments ago, My Lord.”

“Watch the king!”

Ruinil grabbed a taper and headed into the darkness of the passageway. There were numerous branching passages and doors along the walls everywhere.

“Boeric!” he hissed.

He only went a little ways before he turned around and headed back to the king’s chamber. He told the guards to watch the king and then told Shaemes that he was going to wake Gaelyn and head into the passages. He had Gaelyn woken and told the man there had been an attempt on the king. After Ruinil explained what he’d found, Gaelyn sent for torches and Ruinil went to get his leather armor. Gaelyn took his shield and the torches to the king’s room, meeting Ruinil there.

They sent for more of the king’s bodyguards and then headed back into the secret passages, using a red candle to mark the way. The passages were remarkably clean though dark. Gaelyn thought that whoever it had been must have known the passages well to navigate them. Ruinil agreed and both figured it was someone from the Pelien family or their servants.

Other guests, woken by the cries and the commotion, had begun to arrive and question what was going on. The king ordered that they be told nothing.

* * *

After half an hour, Gaelyn and Ruinil found Boeric, who had lost the assassin and then gotten himself lost in the passageways. The guard noted that he had not opened any doors for fear of being accused of being an assassin himself. He apologized profusely. They told him to follow the red wax marks back to the king’s chambers.

* * *

King Shaemes went out to the courtyard to see what lights might be on in the castle. None were aside from those in the area where the disturbance had taken place. Baron Brosen found him there and asked what had happened.

“It seems as though an assassin has breached your walls and entered my room,” King Shaemes said.

“My Gods!” Brosen said snapping his fingers at his guard. “We’ll spare no expense to find this villain.”

“My guards are even now traveling through your secret passageways, looking.”

“Oh ... oh dear.”

“If you could get some of your men to search, I would appreciate it.”

“Yes! Discretely. We will search discretely.”

“Please check on Baroness Bellaen and make sure her family is in good health.”

Brosen scowled but complied.

Soon, lights were lit all over the manor.

King Shaemes went to the well, drew water, and offered some to the guards. They were grateful to drink from the bucket and the two waited with him.

“In just a few moments I’m sure that Gaelyn and Ruinil will come out and reprimand me for leaving my room,” he said conversationally. “But that’s one of the perks, isn’t it?”

The mean seemed uncomfortable but one replied with a careful “yes.”

There was more uncomfortable silence.

“You know, Your Highness, I was wantin’ to ask you something,” the short guard suddenly piped up. “My mum, she always wondered ‘How does one become a highness?’”

“The luck of the draw, I would imagine,” King Shaemes said.

“Oh oh oh. Then my Uncle Sparc, he should be a highness. He’s very lucky.”

He laughed.

“Shut up, Nobby!” the other one hissed at him.

“Sorry, Sire, sorry,” Nobby said.

“What say we find the kitchen and see if there’s any food available?” King Shaemes said.

“Ooh,” Nobby replied.

They soon found the kitchen where there was cold meat, cheese, and bread. Just as they had all settled down at the table to eat, a hue rose from the part of the castle that he realized the Bellaens were quartered in. King Shaemes dropped his turkey leg, leapt up, and ran out of the room. Nobby grabbed the turkey leg as the guards ran after him.

* * *

Still somewhat lost in the secret passages, Gaelyn and Ruinil heard a wailing cry not far off. The found the door nearby where the cry was coming from and Ruinil flung it open.

The room was well-lit. A couple of men in armor wore the coat of arms of the Bellaens. Laera Bellaen was crouched on the bed, cradling the body of Leira Bellaen. The daughter’s throat had been slit and blood covered the bed. Duchess Laera was shrieking and wailing. Nearby, Jarri knelt on the floor, banging her head on the wood and wailing. Michael stood in the doorway, his mouth hanging open. Ladie stood just outside the doorway, his shoulders shaking and he cried silently to himself.

As she wailed, Laera screamed for the blood of the Peliens incoherently, declaring that they must pay for the murder they had committed upon their daughter. She cursed and gnashed her teeth.

The two guards looked towards Ruinil and raised swords in his direction, pointing at the two men.

“By the Gods, men, what happened here?” Gaelyn said.

“Is this the assassin?” one of the guards cried.

“No!” Gaelyn said.

“No, we’re not bloody assassins!” Ruinil said.

“We’re the king’s men! Put down your sword.”

“They killed her!” Laera shrieked. “The Peliens killed her! They killed my daughter! You tell the king that he has to do something about that! You tell him right now!”

“Stop your wailing, woman!” Gaelyn said.

“You go to hell, you fool!”

“What happened here?”

Ruinil glared at one of the guards, who had lowered their swords. The ranger sheathed his sword and pointed at Jarri.

“Take care of her,” he said. “Get her out of here.”

The guard looked towards the duchess, who continued to scream at Gaelyn of justice, beheadings, and death to the Peliens. Ruinil grabbed the man by his arm.

“We are trying to bring peace here, sir,” he growled. “Take that girl out and calm her down.”

The guard moved to the girl and lifted her from the floor.

King Shaemes arrived at the doorway, passing through those who were clustered outside. He called for Gaelyn who left the horrible abattoir behind. The advisor told the king that the young bride had been assassinated.

“We must search the house!” Ladie said. “We find out who did this horrible thing!”

“We will see to it,” Gaelyn said.

He saw Baron Brosen coming down the hallway in their direction and he moved to intercept the man. He quickly told him what happened and ordered his men to search the castle and the ground. Gaelyn advised that the Baron and his family stay well away from the Bellaens for the time being. Baron Brosen agreed wholeheartedly and left to lead a search of his own.

Ruinil, meanwhile, looked back into the secret passage for blood. He found none. He guessed that the girl’s throat had been slit straight across the windpipe, meaning there would be a lot of blood in the room and the bed, but not necessarily blood dripping off the assassin.

King Shaemes entered the room, the two guards close behind him. The little one, still holding the turkey leg, offered it to the king and then hid it behind his back.

“I’ll hold it for you, Sire!” he hissed.

King Shaemes approached Laera, who remained hysterical. He began to speak but she started screaming at him that he had to find the murderer that had killed her daughter. He took one of her bloody hands and assured her that they would find the murderer. He squeezed her hands past the point of being painful, assuring her quietly that they would find the murderer. He also suggested that she and their family go to the chapel and pray. She jerked her hands free, still wailing and crying over the body of her daughter.

He turned to Michael.

“It’s now time for you to be the strong one in your family,” he said to the man.

Michael’s eyes opened wide in terror.

“Give her your drink,” the king went on. “It’s not time for you to drink, now. She needs it.”

* * *

The search only took a half hour before a cry went up that the assassin had been found. In a wine cellar was found a bloodstained servant. His name was Terem and he was the personal servant of Jonathan Pelien. The man was dragged to the courtyard by guards.

King Shaemes and Gaelyn headed for the courtyard.

“No one talks to him but one of us,” King Shaemes told the other man.

“Yes, My Liege,” Gaelyn said. “Guards!”

He pointed at the king and then headed towards the courtyard at speed, the king following at a more leisurely pace.

Gaelyn found that two Pelien guards had Terem by the arms. Other guards were in the courtyard, as well as numerous wedding guests. Jonathan and Hadrien Pelien were also in the courtyard and the mutters of accusations noting that Terem was Jonathan’s personal servant were starting to spread. Jonathan protested his innocence loudly, as did his servant. Gaelyn pushed through the crowd. He put one hand on the servant.

“In the name of the king and at his command, I take this man into custody!” he shouted.

Two Bellaen guards grabbed Jonathan and the Pelien guards put their hands on their swords.

“Stay your hands!” Gaelyn screamed as other guests backed away.

He pointed at Jonathan.

“You two! Take him! Bring him with us!” he shouted at two of the king’s guards who stood nearby.

The two men moved towards Jonathan and took him into custody.

“He’s obviously the murderer,” one of the Bellaen guards said. “He obviously made his servant do it!”

“I represent the king!” one of the bodyguards said, slapping himself in the chest. “I represent the king!”

They finally handed over Jonathan just as the king arrived.

King Shaemes climbed onto the edge of the well.

“My Liege!” Gaelyn blustered.

“Lords and Ladies! Gentlemen!” the King called out. “Unfortunately, the festivities have come to an end. It is time for those of you not connected to the family to collect your belongings and leave.”

“Your Highness, in the middle of the night?” someone called.

“By the time you gather your belongings, it will be daylight.”

“Yes sir!”

“Sir?” Gaelyn said.

But the questioner had turned and walked away.

King Shaemes yelled for Brosen, who appeared within moments.

“I need a room that is not connected by one of your hallways,” he told the man.

Brosen thought for what felt like a long time.

“The stables, sir,” he finally said.

“What?” Gaelyn said.

“I cannot help how the castle was crafted, My Lord,” Brosen said.

“Then that is where we go,” King Shaemes said. “Take him to the stables. Put each of them in a separate stall. Find Hadrien as well.”

As they parted, a shriek rose from the far side of the courtyard. Baroness Laera strode across the ground shrieking “Where is he!?! Where is the murderer!?!” There was still blood on her hands and on her nightshirt. Michael trailed behind her, urging her to calm down.

“You shut up!” she shrieked at the man.

“It would be in your best interest to take your mistress back to the chapel,” King Shaemes said to the Bellaen guards standing nearby.

The two men hesitated and then headed for the woman. They intercepted her and there was a hushed conversation even as Gaelyn got to the stables with his two prisoners. King Shaemes looked around for Ruinil but saw no sign of the man.

“Where is Ruinil?” he asked.

* * *

Gaelyn, in the stables, heard the king call for Ruinil.

“Ruinil, we need you in the stables,” he said quietly.

* * *

Still searching the secret passages, Ruinil heard his name spoken by Gaelyn’s voice and that he was needed in the stables. He ordered his men to continue the search and then began to make all due haste to find himself out of the twisted network of corridors. He soon arrived in the courtyard and saw the king there.

“Send your fastest messenger to the village of Ruin’s Keep and tell Trevor to come here post-haste,” King Shaemes ordered.

“You require a mage, My Liege?” Ruinil asked.

“In this case, it would not hurt.”

“I’m not sure that I trust sorcery, Sire, but I will do as you command.”

* * *

Both of the men being held in the stables protested their innocence to Gaelyn. Terem also claimed that someone had forced him to kill.

“Both of you keep your tongues behind your teeth,” Gaelyn said. “I’m not the one you need to convince. We will wait here for the king.”

Jonathan seemed affronted while Terem seemed cowed by the command. Gaelyn put them in separate stalls.

King Shaemes entered the stables. He ordered the prisoners to be made comfortable but not be allowed to speak. As the guards went to do so, a gasping and a grunting came from one of the stalls. One of the guards backed out of the stall, horrified.

Terem lay on the floor of the stall, blood pouring from his mouth, his nose, and his eyes. He struggled on the ground.

“Escort the king out!” Gaelyn said.

The man on the floor died within moments.

“I told him he wasn’t to speak until the king told him to–” the guard said.

“Escort the king out!” Gaelyn said again.

The man quickly escorted King Shaemes out of the stables. On the way, the shaken guard told him he had told the man not to speak but Terem had said he knew who had manipulated him. He was about to say the name but then he started spewing blood everywhere. The king asked if he had been attacked but the man said it had looked more like magic of some awful sort.

* * *

Gaelyn looked over the body but could not determine what had killed the man. Nothing natural had done it and he guessed that it was some kind of terrible magic.

King Shaemes reentered the stables, Ruinil close behind him, and walked over to stall that housed Jonathan.

“Well, I hope nothing like that happens to you,” he said to the man.

“What happened?” Jonathan said.

“Your servant is dead.”

“What happened?”

“We do not know. He is dead.”

“How?”

“We do not know. He just started to bleed from his mouth, his nose, his eyes.”

“Why?”

“We do not know.”

Jonathan thought of that.

“He was a faithful servant,” he finally said.

“So, what happened?” King Shaemes asked.

“What do you mean?”

“Why did he break into my room?”

“I don’t know, My Liege. I have no idea. Unless it was to frame me for some reason.”

“Who would want to do that?”

“I could not tell you. I was asleep in my bed. I had not seen Terem since he helped prepare me for bed earlier this evening.”

“Would your servant have been familiar with the passageways?”

“Oh yes. Some of the servants here are.”

“We need to prepare Leira’s body and have their family leave before we can figure out what is going on. I don’t think it’s good for them to stay. If I were you, I would not go near them.”

“I will not.”

“But do not leave.”

“May I leave the stables?”

“Yes, but do not leave the grounds.”

“I will not.”

Jonathan left the stables.

“What happened?” Ruinil asked Gaelyn.

“The servant is dead,” the priest told him. “The assassin is dead.”

“What?”

He went over to the stall.

“By the Gods!” he said. “Did the guards do this to him?”

“No, the guards didn’t touch him,” Gaelyn replied. “It was either poison or magic. Or a curse of some sort.”

Ruinil spit on the floor.

“Sorcery?” he said.

“Yes, most likely,” Gaelyn replied.

Ruinil expressed his opinion that ordering everyone to leave was a bad idea. They also discussed what magic might have been used to cause Terem to kill against his will.

* * *

Within two hours, the Bellaens had packed up their wagons and carriages and were ready to leave. They stopped only long enough in the courtyard to register a formal complaint with the king. When he said that he would have his advisor Gaelyn bless the body before they went, he was politely rebuffed. He expressed his sincerest regret that it had happened. Michael thanked the king.

The servants of the family were barely restrained from attacking each other and a few of the more hotheaded ones were arranging duels. The king noted that if there was any attack made, all involved would die. There was muttered and mumbling about that.

Ruinil took the king aside as the family prepared to leave.

“I do not think it wise to let anyone leave the castle at this time,” he said quietly to the king. “I know that there is grief. I know that there is murder, but there may be an assassin in our midst. If we allow him to leave, then we may never discover who he is.”

He looked at the family, stepping onto their carriage.

“Or she,” he said.

“I think any assassin could leave at any time,” King Shaemes said. “I’m more concerned about bloodshed that might be caused by the continued closeness of the families.”

Gaelyn noted that the families could be kept separated but also urged him to keep everyone in the castle. He thought they should keep everyone there until they could deduce what had happened.

King Shaemes returned to the baroness.

“As much as I hate to do this, I must ask you to stay,” he said to her.

“There will be bloodshed if we stay,” she said.

“No, there will not be.”

“There will be. I cannot retrain every servant or watch them at all times.”

“You will watch your tongue, woman, when you speak–” Gaelyn said.

“You go to hell!” the duchess shrieked at the man.

“Shut your mouth!” Gaelyn said, casting a command spell.

The woman’s mouth clamped shut. She gasped and then went for his eyes with her fingernails. Guards intervened but other Bellaens started to shout imprecations. Someone screamed as two servants fell into fighting, one stabbing the other with a dagger. The still standing servant glared at the king and his advisors.

“It’s worth it to have one of them dead!” the boy shouted.

More servants were now verbally assaulting those of the other family. Guards from both sides had their hands on their weapons. King Shaemes ordered his own guards to restrain the murderous servant and then ordered the Bellaen guards to restrain the baroness. He told them he would talk to them later. He ordered everyone from both families to return to their rooms. He also asked Baron Brosen to close all of the tunnel openings. He noted that they would have to nail all of the doors shut and King Shaemes ordered him to hurry. Ruinil suggested sending some of the king’s guards to make sure it was done properly.

“Shall I deal with this servant?” Ruinil said, indicating the young Bellaen man.

“Take him out and kill him,” King Shaemes said.

“Yes, kill me!” the youth shouted at Ruinil. “Kill me!”

He spit at the yeoman.

“Yes, My Liege,” Ruinil said.

He had a page fetch his axe and then he and two guards took the man outside of the walls. The servant, defiant to the end, actually laid down himself on the log that Ruinil found to do the deed. He told the man his misdeed and the youth noted that the Peliens murdered Leira, the most wonderful incredible woman of all time, so he killed one of them for that.

“Do what you must, sirrah!” he said.

Ruinil did the deed.

* * *

For the rest of the night, guards were busy keeping servants of the two families from each other.

The next morning, a servant of the Bellaens came to the king with a message asking permission to leave the castle immediately. He replied that he would give an answer within the hour. Then he called for Gaelyn and Ruinil and spoke with them.

“Kind of a difficult situation for a young king,” King Shaemes said. “I hated having to decree death upon the young boy last night.”

“He welcomed it,” Gaelyn said.

“My Liege, unfortunately, you are still responsible for bringing justice,” Ruinil said. “Although someone, apparently this servant, was responsible for killing the bride, it gave no cause for this man to wantonly kill another servant who had nothing to do with this. It was murder. It was justice that we did.”

“We did have a message from the baroness this morning,” the king said. “They are ready to leave. I told her I would give her an answer within an hour. I do agree that keeping them here might be better, but I’m afraid that our own resources would be strained, perhaps beyond our capacity, if we continue to hold them. I’m hoping that I can convince them to stay another day in the hopes that maybe our friend Trevor will be here. Maybe he can shed some light on what happened to our assassin. Do you have any suggestions? Any ideas?”

“Do you believe this man?” Ruinil asked. “That he didn’t do it ... that he was forced? One of the guards who was in the stable, he kept talking about how the man started to say he knew who the person who forced him to do what he did was. He started to say the name when he died.”

“There is magic in the world,” the king replied. He looked at Gaelyn. “Just yesterday, we saw what you can do. If there’s a more powerful caster, who knows what could happen? I do not believe that Jonathan was that man. The one person I’ve talked to while we’ve been here who is against the marriage is Hadrien. Everyone seems to support it. The baron, the baroness, the brothers and sisters. All but Hadrien.”

“You think Hadrien’s a sorcerer?”

“I do not know.”

“As always, I’m at your command. If you wish me to keep these families here, I will do what I can to see that they stay.”

“What would the typical burial ritual as far as preparing the body ...” King Shaemes said to Gaelyn.

“I do not think the mother of the deceased would want me anywhere near her family,” Gaelyn replied. “And honestly, I do not wish to attend them. At all.”

“The girl was sweet, at any rate,” Ruinil said.

He suggested for the Bellaens to send for their own priests. King Shaemes thought on the matter for some time.

“It may not be the wisest move, but I’m going to allow them to leave,” he finally said. “It will be more difficult if they stay. If you could tell them that they can leave.”

“That is your command?” Ruinil said.

“Yes.”

Ruinil went to the Bellaens quarters and informed them that there was no new information and, despite what had occurred between the two families and the wrongs against the king, he understood their grief and would allow them to return to their own lands.

The Bellaens left with all due haste.

Other guests also left the estate.

* * *

Trevor Ciesen arrived the next day. After learning of the situation, he guessed that true magic had been used to silence the servant and keep him from revealing the name of the person he was working for. The king questioned him on what a young man might need to cast such a spell but the mage told him that only a tome would be needed. However, in the case of the magic used, the magic would have to be quite powerful, not the kind that a simple hedge mage could use.

Ruinil suggested to the king that Brosen might be somehow behind the spell casting. He also suggested Jason Raenech, the self-named Duke of neighboring Osoerde, might be capable of something.

“He is not without making mischief in other kingdoms,” he said.

“That was my thought,” King Shaemes said. “The fact that maybe he had sent someone down to cause strife.”

“How could he have heard of the marriage of these two families?” Gaelyn asked.

“It’s not exactly secret,” Ruinil said.

“No. But he’s not exactly here.”

“Servants talk. Townsfolk talk. Invitations went across the land.”

The three men looked at each other.

“I am loath to recommend this, My Liege,” Ruinil said, “but perhaps we should make some sort of overtures to the Bellaen family.”

“Yes, I agree,” King Shaemes said. “We may have to. I’m not sure what they would require more than the blood of the person who killed their daughter.”

“Perhaps giving their son a place of honor in the kingdom. Or even pledging their youngest daughter to another noble.”

“The Peliens have a younger son. But I don’t think that’s going happen. It is a possibility. Most of the provinces are smaller than these two so it would not be much compensation.”

There was little else to do at River Hall. King Shaemes told Baron Brosen that the matter was not over and he would continue to work to resolve the situation. Baron Brosen desperately wanted some resolution and an end of the feud.

They returned to Caer Callin the next day.

* * *

Over the next week, the feud escalated. Assassins were allegedly sent to the Pelien estate and mercenaries burned Pelien holdings. There was talk that some of the agents working against the Peliens were killed. Likewise, Bellaen holdings were set fire to. In response, King Shaemes put his archers in Halried on high watch and moved a unit of infantry into Dhoenel and put them on high watch in the hopes of stemming some of the violence. He also sent letters asking the two families to guarantee that they were still loyal to Aerenwe and to himself as king, as well as wanting assurances that they promoted the safety and welfare of the country over priority over anything. He noted that if they believed that, for them to strengthen their pledges to him and their country again to uphold the laws of the land, swear allegiance to protect the provinces of the land and not shed the blood of the land. He hoped that would stem some of the worse of the feud. In addition, he sent each family a gold bar. It seemed to help.

Osoerde’s troops continued to muster across the borders. He sent a letter to the Duke of Osoerde, who claimed that the troops were merely training.

Within a day of receiving that letter, however, Osoerde declared war on Aerenwe and sent troops across the Berendor River. Only a unit of 200 archers and a unit of 200 infantrymen defended the province. Against the force of 400 cavalry, 400 infantrymen, 200 archers, and 200 pikemen, King Shaemes ordered his men to flee the province and regroup in the province of Calrie.

The next week, King Shaemes mustered more troops in the kingdom. In the end, he sent an army of 600 infantry, 600 archers, 400 pikemen, and 200 knights raised in the provinces of Calrie and Halried. That left a unit of 200 irregulars in Calrie. Ruinil and Gaelyn led the army.

The battle was vicious and mostly one-sided. The knights on the right flank led by Gaelyn crashed into the Osoerde infantry and were met on one side by a unit of charging Osoerde cavalry. The infantry unit was destroyed and the Osoerde cavalry that attacked their flank were ineffective against the knights.

Infantry and pikemen moved up on the left side against part of the Osoerde cavalry. On the left, the Aerenwe forces also moved to engage the Osoerde troops. In the center, the Aerenwe archers held back, hoping for an opening but the Osoerde cavalry pivoted and roared up the middle to engage them. The Osoerde archers hang back.

Ruinil’s archers in the back routed the cavalry that had been sent up the line against them before they could even reach the Aerenwe line. On the left side, the troops fought viciously against each other.

Aerenwe troops on the left and right sides pivoted into the center even as another unit of pikemen moved from the back lines and attacked the Osoerde pikemen and fleeing cavalry there as more troops moved forward on the left flank. More troops also moved to the right to support the main battle going on in the center of the field of battle. The Osoerde archers in the rear moved forward to engage the archers who were waiting on the left side, clashing with them and then being routed, fleeing back towards their own lines.

On the left flank, the Osoerde infantry was destroyed. On the right flank, Gaelyn’s knights wreaked havoc among the Osoerde infantry while taking little damage in return.

In the center, in the great melee that was going on there, the Osoerde cavalry still trying to flee the field of battle was destroyed by the pincer that was the Aerenwe pikemen. The Osoerde pikemen there were also wiped out, leaving the center of the field of battle free.

The routing Osoerde archers on the left side fled with Aerenwe forces in close pursuit. The Aerenwe archers caught the fleeing Osoerde archers and fought them to a standstill. Though the Osoerde cavalry fought viciously, they were pushed back and then destroyed by the Aerenwe knights led by Gaelyn and the archers led by Ruinil.

One of the Aerenwe infantry units that had not yet been in combat suddenly fell back and left the field of battle. From his vantage point on the nearby hill, King Shaemes recognized the colors of the unit: it was led by Hadrien Pelien.

The last Osoerde infantry unit was wiped out by the archer unit that they, themselves destroyed, the only Aerenwe unit that was completely wiped out.

Hadrien’s infantry unit had fled the battle and was soon found. Hadrien was not with them. He had fled across the river into Osoerde.

When they met at the king’s pavilion after the battle, Gaelyn noted that their troops were massed and ready and only the Berendor River stood between them and Osoerde. King Shaemes protested that he couldn’t afford war, but Gaelyn pointed out that he could if he took the treasury of Osoerde. He noted there would also be taxes collected from the provinces of Osoerde when they were victorious. He pointed out that, as the duke had recently usurped the throne of Osoerde, they were actually liberators.

King Shaemes decided to take the war to Osoerde. He said he would take command of Hadrien’s unit in the war. That met with some resistance from Gaelyn.

“Put me at the forefront of your army, My Liege!” Ruinil said. “I will take that province for your kingdom!”

King Shaemes agreed. He sent a letter to the wizard Trevor Ciesen to catch up with them. He also sent a letter to Baroness Laera that the killer of her daughter had fled the country and he was personally leading an army in pursuit. A letter went to the baron, telling him his son was a traitor and had fled into Osoerde. He further stated that he would pursue the man and that he would be talking to Brosen when he returned. He soon received a reply that the gold bar would be returned to the king immediately.

Within a week, his troops crossed the Berendor River into Osoerde. There were 400 archers under the command of Ruinil, 200 knights under the command of Gaelyn, 400 infantry, and 400 pikemen. They left a unit of 200 infantry behind. They found the resistance there was weaker than they expected. In the end, all that could be arrayed against the massive force of Aerenwe were 400 local levy holding the right side, 200 irregulars holding the left, and 600 archers in the center.

On the field of battle, the knights of Aerenwe roared down the right side of the field at the levies positioned there. They were followed closely by other Aerenwe forces. Osoerde moved its archers towards the right even as the other forces of Aerenwe focused on the left side of the field.

On the right, one unit of Osoerde levy was immediately routed and completely fled the field of battle. The other unit holding that side fought back viciously and several knights were killed in the melee. On the left, the Aerenwe forces struck the irregulars and one of the units was repelled and fell back. The other units destroyed the irregulars, that remained.

The Osoerde archers opened fire on the infantry trying to join the battle on the right side but only injured the unit they were trying to wipe out. The Aerenwe cavalry there fought the levy that still stood to a standstill, neither side making headway against the other. The injured infantry unit that tried to join the battle fell back but the fresh infantry unit managed to injure the remaining levy soldiers rather badly.

On the left side, the forces of Aerenwe rushed the archers positioned there. Those archers let fly on the archer units rushing them but did little damage or injury to those forces. When the two sides collided, the Osoerde archers were destroyed in the melee. The Aerenwe archer units under Ruinil charged across the field towards the two remaining Osoerde archer units. His men were struck by the arrows, but Ruinil’s unit retained cohesiveness and both units of archers crashed into the remaining Osoerde archers. One of the two Osoerde units was routed and fled the field of battle, while the other one fought the Aerenwe archers to a standstill.

On the right, the Aerenwe knights were joined by infantry and pikemen and the Osoerde levy fell back and was then destroyed. Then the knights, infantry, and pikemen joined the Aerenwe archers. The cavalry crashed into the Osoerde Archers, the footmen coming in behind. It took very little to destroy the remaining unit of archers, leaving the field of battle in Aerenwe’s control.

King Shaemes lost no time in occupying the province of Algael, assigning a unit of infantry to neutralize the stronghold of Duiren Haneire there. He levied taxes in that province and sent back to Aerenwe to increase taxes in all of the provinces to pay for the war. He also sent spies out to try to find William Moergen, the rightful ruler of Osoerde. He told them to convey the message that Osoerde invaded and that they pushed back Raenech’s forces and would now help reclaim the country if he pledged allegiance to Aerenwe to create a larger, more powerful land.

He also received word from the present Duke of Osoerde, Jaison Raenech. In the letter, he claimed that he had fallen under the influence of his advisor wizard. The letter went on to say that, while he was mustering troops for a training exercise in Algael, the mage cast a spell upon him, forcing him to declare war and invade. In the letter, he admitted to having a vested interest in taking Aerenwe’s lands, but claimed he never planned to invade. However, he wrote, once the die was cast, he felt he had to pursue the matter to its end.

King Shaemes sent the messenger back asking who the mage was. In the letter that returned, it noted that the mage had been duly executed. It also noted that Duke Osoerde was willing, if King Shaemes withdrew his troops from the nation, to give a formal apology and send a gold bar to show his remorse at his unintentional acts. He also noted that he understood there was a traitor that had escaped to his borders and he was willing to send the traitor back to Aerenwe if the king pulled back his troops.

The king had not yet heard back from William Moergen.

Gaelyn thought a single gold bar was a slap in the face.

“I do not think that this Raenech is truthful at all,” Ruinil said. “My suggestion is that, in good faith, you cannot leave until the traitor is captured. Once he is captured, then perhaps discussions could be opened again.”

King Shaemes sent a letter that he could not leave until the traitor was captured. He said he must have him in his hands. Secondly, the loss of life must be paid for and, as generous as his first offer was, he thought a more appropriate payment would be three gold bars. He noted that he would also be waiting for the capture of the traitor.

Within a day, a letter came back, offering King Shaemes two gold bars and noting that the traitor had fled to the city of Moriel and had been captured. It noted that he would be sent to the king post-haste, once the troops had been withdrawn back across the Berendor River. He wrote back that he would gladly come to the capitol and claim both his prizes, his three bars and the traitor. The letter that returned noted that the gold bars and the traitor would be sent directly if, upon their receipt, all of his troops withdrew back across the Berendor River.

In that time, King Shaemes also heard back from William Moergen. What he learned was that the former duke didn’t have any troops or money, only the secret support of the people. Gaelyn advised that the king send for the man so that once Raenech was defeated, he could be reinstated. He sent his spies out again to ask William Moergen to return with one of them so that Shaemes might protect him and rally troops in Algael as they would join forces so that he could reclaim his throne.

Trevor Ciesen never arrived.

King Shaemes sent a final letter to Duke Jaison Raenech, noting that he felt he was in his territory even in Algael. He claimed it and noted that he would see the duke shortly with the traitor and the five gold bars.

He also decided that he would perform the investiture ritual and before his troops moved on, he had invested the province of Algael into the Kingdom of Aerenwe. ]]> Max_Writer http://www.penandpapergames.com/forums/entry.php/1779-Birthright-Family-Matters <![CDATA[Eriks D&D Game: Plague at Goblin's Tooth Part 1-1: Introductions]]> http://www.penandpapergames.com/forums/entry.php/1770-Eriks-D-amp-D-Game-Plague-at-Goblin-s-Tooth-Part-1-1-Introductions Sat, 06 Oct 2012 19:19:18 GMT Monday, September 24, 2012 (After playing Erik’s Dungeons and Dragons game Saturday with Stephen Turner from 6:00 p.m. to 2 a.m.) ... Monday, September 24, 2012


(After playing Erik’s Dungeons and Dragons game Saturday with Stephen Turner from 6:00 p.m. to 2 a.m.)

Porthos’ Tale

I am Porthos, priest of Olidammara, God of music, revels, wine, rogues, humor, and tricks: The Laughing Rogue. This is the tale of my first meeting with Aeryn, Orrin, and Marzena.

It was the fall when I first met them. By the Elvish calendar, the year was 2012, though no one used those notations anymore. For some reason the Elvish year stuck in my head. I had left Sharn in the Spring to explore the other villages and the rural areas in and around the Aldharath Forest in the Eastwold. I only stayed in each village until my welcome had been worn out, usually by jealous or suspicious husbands.

I had last left the town of Cambol-Túr, a village under the control of Baron Bardon Signum, deciding to leave during that storm season after I had come under the scrutiny of some of the nobles of that village. They were not happy with the, let us say, friendships I had developed with their wives and daughters. I headed for Goblin’s Tooth, a frontier town that had been under hard times recently. I had joined a caravan of two wagons that were going in the same direction.

Early in the journey, we were overtaken by a contingent of armed guards not wearing the device of the blue arrowhead of Cambol-Túr but rather red and blue tabards with an eight-pointed star, indicating they were royal guards from Sharn itself. They were led by a man with a high-crowned, silver helm with a white horse tail coming out of the top of it. He warned us to keep our guard up as there were fell creatures on the road. He noted that several logging camps and caravans that had been attacked by fell wolves.

I was starting to think that travel might not have been the best idea.

On the first night, after we had crossed a ford in the river, I heard howls in the forest. The reflection of eyes, low to the ground, also appeared around the camp that night. It was most disquieting.

Early on the last day of the journey, we overtook another wagon on the road pulled by two sturdy-looking draft horses. Two men sat on the wagon’s seat: One wore a chain shirt and the other man was nondescript. In the back of the wagon was a woman, the hood of her cloak over her head. Even at that distance, I could see how striking her face was. A tarp was pulled over the back of the vehicle, apparently covering goods.

The man in the chain shirt climbed into the back of the wagon by the woman. He put a bow in his lap. I was sitting in the lead wagon’s seat, next to the driver and leader of the small caravan, Oswald, my loaded light crossbow in my lap. When we got close, Oswald hailed their driver, who merely grunted in reply. When he asked where they were headed, he replied “Where do you think? Headed back to Goblin’s Tooth.”

“There’s no reason to be like that,” Oswald called. “There’s strength in numbers. We’ve heard of fell creatures on the road ... and seen some too.”

The driver of the other wagon seemed inexperienced, which accounted for our overtaking them. Then the other man stood up in the back of the wagon. He held onto the side, his short bow in his hand.

“Was it orcs, goblins, or wolves?” he called in a thick, rural accent.

“We’ve seen wolves ... or something,” Oswald replied. “We heard howls on the road and saw fell eyes at night by the campfire. We knew not what they were.”

“Wolves. It’s a good thing you didn’t see ‘em up close.”

“I say I agree with you sir.”

“Very large. Very dangerous.”

“As wolves are wont to be.”

“No no no. These aren’t like wolves.”

He held his hand near his waist.

“These are wolves,” he said, then holding his hand near his neck. “That’s not an exaggeration.”

“Do you mean from where you are standing or from the ground?” I called.

“Shoulder high, up to me slats, was a wolf,” he replied.

I looked around more carefully at the woods around us.

“Those are very big wolves,” I muttered to Oswald.

“And there’s orcs loose on the road too,” the other man continued. “Led by humans, it seems.”

“I thought these roads had been cleared!” Oswald said.

“By who?” the other man replied.

“I’d heard that the last wagon had made its way to Goblin’s Tooth!”

“What wagon?”

“They sent a supply wagon ... some time ago.”

“Oh, yeah. Everybody from that was killed. We got the wagon back. Took it back to town but everybody was dead. Orcs and wolves and humans.”

“Bandits!”

“A little bit more organized. Perhaps a little bit more nefarious, I would say.”

“Bloody roads are not what they used to be.”

“No. You’re in for a little bit of a clear time now, though. We took care of most of them. Me and me mates.”

“You did? Are you King’s men, then? Or guards from Goblin’s Tooth? What are you?”

“No no no. We’re just ... uh ... gentlemen and a lady of opportunity, as it were.”

“Mercenaries,” Oswald muttered to me.

“Not bandits?” I replied.

“Could be either one,” he said, nervously. Then he raised his voice. “Good day to you lads, good day!”

He slapped the reins on the horses and they increased their pace.

“But what about safety in numbers?” the other man called.

“Yes, there are great numbers still in Goblin’s Tooth!” Oswald called.

“Have a nice day,” the driver of the other wagon growled.

I saw the man with the bow climb over the seat and talk to the other man as we passed. I winked at the lady in the back and gave her a nod. She didn’t look up at all.

“There is a lady with them,” I said to Oswald once we had passed. “Should we not consider this?”

“I doubt she’s a lady at all if she’s with those bandits,” the man replied.

The sound of galloping hooves came from behind and, when I looked back, I saw that the bowman’s wagon had increased speed and was now chasing the two wagons in the caravan.

“It looks like a race,” I muttered.

“No! They’re coming to rob us! They’re coming to rob us!” Oswald said in a panic.

“I do not see any weapons,” I said calmly as he urged the horses into more speed. “The man in the back seems to be hanging on for dear life.”

I did the same.

“You will kill the horses!” I said.

“Not if we make it to Goblin’s Tooth first!” he replied.

“Though they appear armed, they do not appear ready!”

“It doesn’t take much time!”

I sighed and hung on to the wagon seat as best I could.

“Better make good use of that crossbow, my lad!” Oswald shouted.

“Well, if they attempt to board us, I will do my best to repel boarders!” I shouted back sarcastically.

I looked back again. The driver was laughing hysterically.

Well, happy people are good people, I thought.

The pursuing wagon struck something in the road and lurched upwards, coming back down with a crash and a crack. There were shouts of confusion and anger as it slowed, one of the wheels obviously broken.

“If they mean to board us, they are failing quite spectacularly,” I muttered.

Oswald laughed.

“They broke a wheel!” he said. “We have a chance.”

“They look more pathetic than pirate, if you ask me,” I said.

“Oi!” one of the men shouted from the wreck. “Are you going to stop and help us with the wheel?”

“We outnumber them two to one,” I pointed out to Oswald. “They appear to be in great trouble. Perhaps we should stop. I will lend assistance. I will distract them while you go on to the town.”

“You’re welcome to hop off if you want to, but I’m not stopping,” he replied.

He slowed the wagon and I jumped, landing solidly in the road. I gave Oswald a quick salute.

“I’ll see you in Goblin’s Tooth for that drink you promised me!” I called.

He took his cap off his head and waved it. I stepped back and the second wagon, pulled by mules, roared by. I took off my hat and waved at them as well and they waved back. Then I walked back to the wrecked wagon, whistling. The two men were arguing heatedly.

As they argued, I took a look at the damaged wheel. I guessed it could be fixed with magic. In between spokes, some sections of the wheel were missing, but I guessed if they could be found, I could use the magic to mend it.

“We don’t have another wheel,” the woman said. “What are we going to do?”

“I don’t know,” the man with the bow replied. “I guess we’ll have to walk back and borrow another wagon.”

“We’ll just ride the horses,” the other man said.

“Excuse me, gentlemen, I do not wish to interrupt your conversation,” I said. “Once you’re finished, please let me know.”

“You just did,” the larger man said. “What do you want?”

“I am Porthos, priest of Olidammara,” I said.

“Who?” the bowman said.

“Olidammara. Party God,” the larger man said.

“Party God?” I said. “That’s exactly correct! It’s surprising to me that people recognize sometimes. I could, perhaps, mend your wheel, if you so desire?”

“How much would that cost us?” the bowman said.

“A ride into the next town?” I said.

“Oh, sure,” the bowman said. “I’ll help you find the piece.”

We searched down the road for the pieces that had ripped free of the wheel. It took us some time to find the pieces, possibly because I continued to look back at the woman on the cart, trying to get a good glimpse of her face. The bowman noticing me.

“Yeah,” he said. “From here up,” he indicated the upper part of his face, “is just as good as from here down.” He waved near his mouth.

“Is she all right?” I asked. “We had a rough ride. Have you checked on her?”

“She’s fine, mate,” he said.

The woman was standing by the wheel, looking at it. She was very short and had a nice figure.

“She’s not exactly a delicate flower,” he went on. “She takes care of herself.”

“That is good,” I said. “Everyone should take care of themselves.”

“No, I mean, she can handle herself just fine. That’s what I’m saying.”

“Very well. I am looking and I’m glad she can take of herself.”

“Yeah, but you’re not looking at the road, mate!”

“I have been looking. I looked here and I looked over here.”

“Marzena! You got that piece of the wheel? I didn’t think so! See, she don’t have it.”

“Marzena, what a lovely name. Where did you hit this thing that you hit that damaged the wheel?”

“I didn’t hit nothin. I was in the back.”

“Yes, where did your friend ... what is his name?”

“Orrin.”

“Really? Anyway, I’m sorry, what is your name?”

“Aeryn.”

“Aeryn. Is great pleasure to meet you.”

We continued looking.

“Where did you hit ... where did he hit whatever he hit?” I asked.

“I don’t know!” he said. “Orrin!”

Orrin stomped our way and then picked up something and walked back to the wagon.

“He’s got good eyes,” I said.

“Yeah, but he’s embarrassed,” Aeryn said.

“He’s embarrassed?”

“Yeah, give him a good rib poking about it when you get back – no, wait. Don’t. Don’t do that. You can’t do that. I’ll do that. Just don’t say nothing to him.”

“I could try to soothe him and tell him he doesn’t need to be embarrassed.”

“It’s a bad idea! It’s a bad idea!”

“All right.”

We walked back and I used two spells on the wheel to make it whole again. It didn’t look as badly damaged as I first thought it was, however.

“All right, let’s go!” Orrin said.

“You drivin’ again?” Aeryn asked. “Take your time this time. Slow it down, mate. What was into you? I don’t know whatever come over you, driving like that. It’s reckless.”

“I let you get in my head, that’s the problem.”

“It’s reckless of you. You endangered all of our lives.”

“But you didn’t!” I said. “And did you enjoy yourself? Was it invigorating? Stimulating?”

“It’s was great until we hit that rock,” Aeryn said.

“I am not asking you, I’m asking him,” I said.

“It was good,” Orrin said.

“Then there you are,” I said. “It was all good. Where would you like me to be? Whoever’s in charge of this party?”

I looked towards Marzena.

“Who is in charge?” Aeryn asked.

“I guess that’d be you,” Orrin said.

“Really? Me?”

“Very well,” I said. “Do you wish me on the back or do you wish me on the seat in the front.”

“Sit where you want, mate, I don’t care.”

I walked to the back of the wagon and sat next to Marzena. I made small talk with her. She said very little but it was all right. I could talk enough for two. I chatted away with her though she only barely replied. I also chatted with Aeryn though Orrin said little more than the girl. When I asked her if the race was invigorating, she merely said “It was very fast.”

“But did you find it invigorating?” I pressed. “Did you find it was something you enjoyed or something you hated?”

“Neither,” she replied.

“So, you remain neutral and uninterested in the race?”

“Quite.”

Aeryn offered all of us biscuits as I continued chatting with Marzena. The girl merely took the biscuit without a word. I took the dry hardtack and ate it for my lunch. We talked about the best way to prepare such unappetizing food and I told him about dwarf bread.

“Is it made from real dwarves?” Aeryn quipped.

“I believe they use gravel,” I said. “You take it out, you look at it, and you realize ‘I am not as hungry as I thought I was.’ A good loaf of dwarf bread will keep you going for days without food.”

“It gives you days without taking a shit is what it is!” Orrin said.

“Not that I know of,” I replied. “Just looking at dwarf bread and you no longer wish to eat. It is good to carry some with you. It reminds you how hungry you are not.”

“I don’t think I know any dwarves,” Aeryn said.

“I know a lot more now,” Orrin said.

“So, you come from Cambol-Túr, eh?” Aeryn asked.

“Yes, I said. “I decided to travel here in the fall. Find a place to settle down. Spread the teachings of Olidammara.”

“Goblin’s Tooth?”

“Yes, I’ve never been here. I find that going new places and seeing new things is invigorating. It is good for the soul.”

“For about the first five minutes it’s all right. Then you’ve seen the whole town.”

“That is fine. It is a good place to winter, is it not? Where are you from?”

“Lots of places.”

“But where most recently?”

“Back down the road a little ways,” Orrin said.

“Yeah, back there,” Aeryn said. “A mile and a half, maybe.”

“You have a house in the woods?” I asked.

“Sort of,” Aeryn said.

“No, you asked where we’re from,” Orrin said, thinking he was explaining a joke he’d said. “You met us down the road a little ways so that’s where we’re from.”

I laughed politely.

“So are very literal as well as clever?” I asked.

“Um ... aye,” he replied uncertainly.

“Yes ... or not?” I said. “I don’t know. I just met you. It’s hard to make an impression of people that you do not know.”

We continued chatting as we rode. I noticed the glint of metal from under the tarp and as I reached over to look, Marzena grabbed my wrist.

“You should mind your hands of everything in this wagon,” she said quietly, turning and glared at me. She had very striking, green eyes and dark black hair.

“I do touch anything or anyone who does not wish to be touched,” I said.

It had looked like the back of the wagon was filled with weapons. There were also bags of coin.

“So, you are traders, then?” I asked.

“No,” she said, turning away.

“We will be shortly,” Aeryn said.

I advised them that they might have to pay taxes on any goods going into Goblin’s Tooth. Aeryn noted that they hadn’t had a problem with that before. I continued chatting with Marzena.

The village of Goblin’s Tooth was quaint and probably housed only about 300 people. A green, thorny hedge wall surrounded the town and we passed a graveyard on a small hill near the road as we approached it. The guards at the gate waved the wagon through. The market square dominated the town. A large statue stood in the middle of it of a man dressed heroically and holding a sword. A mill stood not far from the market square. A large building that looked like a grocery of some kind and a trading post was on one side of the market. I finally spotted a tavern with what appeared to be a dragon rampant on the sign.

A young man stood in the stocks on one side of the market.

“What is the man stockaded for, do you know?” I asked Marzena.

“I don’t know,” she said.

“Gentlemen! Good gentlemen!” the boy in the stocks called as we passed. “Come and free me.”

“Why would we do that?” Aeryn called to him.

“Because I asked, how about that?”

“Do you see a tabard on my chest that says ‘deputy’ or ‘sheriff’ or ‘constable’?”

“What have you been stockaded for?” I asked.

“Did you trip and fall and get yourself locked in the stocks?” Aeryn asked.

“No, no, I’ve been wrongly imprisoned ... for love,” the boy said.

“Stockaded,” I said.

“Whatever,” he replied. “Technicalities, mate.”

“For love?” I said.

“Then ask love to let you out,” Aeryn said.

Orrin stopped the wagon at the trading post. I climbed off the back of the wagon and offered the lady my hand, which she ignored as she climbed down. I bowed to her. She nodded.

“It was a pleasure to speak to you and your friends,” I said to her.

She nodded again.

I left them, walking across the market towards the boy in the stocks.

“Oi! We’ll be in the Staggering Dragon in about an hour, hour and a half!” Aeryn called to me.

I pointed towards the one with the dragon rampant.

“Yeah!” he called.

“Thank you!” I called. “I would love to join you for a drink!”

I swaggered over to the stockade.

“Yes, yes, my good friend!” the boy of maybe 16 said.

“No, we don’t know each other,” I said to him. “So, we are mere acquaintances. Why are you locked up? And I need more than ‘love’ because I have dealt with my share of ‘love’ and I can understand how someone could be locked up for it. I’m curious as to your story, for the moment.”

“I was trying to prove myself to my love and fell into hard times and unluck and that ends me here. Tavian the Unlucky, they call me.”

“How were you so unlucky? Who was the man whose woman you were trying to ...?”

“Hopefully she would have been mine.”

“But she was not because she said no?”

“It’s not like that! I wouldn’t force myself on any woman!”

“No no. Tell me your story.”

“I was born to simple parents out in the farmlands,” he began.

He told me tales that were mostly true. What was true is that there was a girl in town he was trying to impress. Egged on by “friends,” he had pulled the rope on the alarm tower to prove his love for the girl. He was to be locked in the stocks for a day or two.

“Unless some kind gentlemen would release me and ...” he said.

“... take your place?” I guessed.

“No, not take my place,” he said. “Release me and I would be ... in your charge, I suppose.”

“Uh-huh. I would be responsible for you if you pulled off any more shenanigans.”

“Of course I wouldn’t pull off any more shenanigans.”

Beyond some of the lower houses, I could see a large stone building that looked official.

“What is this girl’s name?” I asked.

“Daphne,” he said.

“I will see what I can do for you, my friend,” I told him.

“It doesn’t take much! Just unclasp that ... I just can’t reach it ... my hands are ...”

I walked towards the stone building and noticed the men I’d rode into town with unloading weapons and armor from the back of their wagon. They also had sacks they were taking into the trading post.

I found two armed guards in front of the barracks, which I guessed housed the town guard and sheriff. I introduced myself and the temple was pointed out to me.

“There’s a boy in the stockade,” I said. “Tavian the Unlucky? What did he do? Is he a criminal? I am just curious.”

“Damned boy rang the alarm bell,” one of the men said.

“How long is he supposed to stay in the stocks?”

“I don’t know. Day or two?”

“Ah. Is it true that if someone releases him, he becomes their charge?”

The guard laughed.

“If you want to take charge of Tavian, you’re bloody welcome,” he said.

“But the person who took charge of him will end up in the stockade if Tavian does again something foolhardy?”

“Aye – for the rest of the time he’s supposed to be in there. The rest of the day or so.”

“Ah.”

I chatted with the deputies and learned their names were Dudley and Ballard. I learned that Daphne was a farm girl and they joked of who would have an interest in “that dumb kid.” I didn’t get the idea that she was repelled by his advances, however.

I left them and wandered around town, getting the lay of the land. A dairy was near the barracks and closer to the center of town was an inn with stables across from it. A sign declared the inn to be the Shady Oak and I could see several oak trees around the building. A few of the houses in town were very well made. I passed the manor house and saw that smithies were on the road that led to that building. On a hill overlooking the town was obviously a temple, as well as a small, ramshackle building, and the watchtower where Tavian had probably pulled the alarm bell.

I finally returned to the marketplace.

“Have you learned your lesson?” I asked Tavian.

“Aye,” he said. “Aye.”

“Really?”

He nodded.

“Tavian, I’ve been told you have some time left in the stockade,” I said.

“Maybe only a day or so,” he replied.

“That’s what they told you.”

His eyes got wide.

“I will need you to stay with me until such a time as your sentence has been fulfilled,” I told him. “Are you willing to do this if I let you free?”

“Yes,” he said.

“I will let you go free, but I will require you to be my servant. This does not require much, but you will have to stay by my side at all times.”

“All right.”

“Well, not all times, obviously. If there’s a lady involved. This girl Daphne: perhaps I could help you with that situation.”

I learned from the boy that his parents were farmers and he had numerous brothers and sisters. They lived far outside of town and I asked if he needed to go home that night. He told me he was the 7th of 10 children, so they had plenty of help. Then I let him loose.

“Do you have any money?” I asked him.

“No,” he said. “Do you have any money?”

“No,” I replied. “We shall find a way. Come.”

We went to the Staggering Dragon and I told him about women and Olidammara as we walked. We only talked about Daphne a little, though she seemed more interested in Fred, according to Tavian.

The tavern was a tidy establishment containing a bar, small stage, trestle tables set up along the center of the common area, and a few booths along the walls. Each booth had a small archway for an entry and curtains could be drawn across the archways for privacy. Behind the bar was a very attractive, handsome older woman who was probably in her late 30s.

“Evening lads, what can I get you?” she asked.

I looked around the tavern but saw no sign of Aeryn as of yet.

“I am Porthos, priest of Olidammara,” I said with a smile. “And this is my charge, Tavian. You probably know him.”

“I know Tavian,” she said. “Come in lad.”

“He has been in a bit of trouble so I am keeping an eye on him rather than leaving him in the marketplace.”

“So you took him on, did you?”

“Yes.”

“Brave man.”

“Why thank you. You are a beautiful woman.”

“Thank you.”

“A glass for each of us, please. Ale.”

I paid the four silver coins for the beverages and chatted with her, telling her I was waiting for a recent acquaintance by the name of Aeryn. She thought she knew him. I asked Tavian if he was hungry to which he replied “I’ll always eat.” I ordered lunch for the boy but declined to eat myself, noting I had had a biscuit and it was enough for a poor and devoted priest. When she asked, I told her that I was a priest of Olidammara and could bless or heal something if she wished, though I also noted she looked very healthy. Lunch was stew and consisted of a bowl of stew and a piece of bread for the boy. It smelled delicious so I had some as well.

There were only a few others in the tavern. A dwarf sat at one table while at the end of the bar was a disheveled and unhealthy-looking man. He was thin and had a bulbous and reddish nose. He sat, staring blank-eyed at his ale. The teamsters from the caravan were also having lunch in one of the booths. I learned that the tavern-keeper’s name was Rebecca. I asked her about the other two men in the bar and learned that the man at the bar was Edvard.

“Poor man,” she said. “Spends most of his days here at the inn.”

“Why is he poor?” I asked. “It is not my business.”

“It’s all right. He’s a grocer but he’s missing his brother.”

“How did his brother go missing?”

“That’s maybe a story for another time.”

She told me the dwarf was named Marr and he was taking some time from his pregnant wife.

The teamsters came over once they spotted me and Oswald asked how I had escaped the bandits. I told him it was a misunderstanding and that the men hadn’t been bandits at all. I did note that the driver had not seemed that confident but urged them not to tell him that I had said that.

The door was suddenly kicked open and a man leapt in, hood over his head and scarf pulled up, covering his face.

“All right!” he shouted. “Nobody move!”

“Uh ...” I said, recognizing Aeryn. “Or I could be mistaken.”

“Hey lad!” Rebecca said.

He yanked the hood off.

“Sorry, just a joke,” Aeryn said. “For these lads, right here.”

He gestured to the teamsters, who had fallen to the ground in fright.

“You chaps need some drinks,” Aeryn said to them. “Obviously.”

“Perhaps you should buy them some then,” I said.

“I would be happy to buy you all some drinks,” Aeryn said. “Drinks for everyone in here.”

I helped Oswald up. They seemed shaky and Aeryn advised they relax a little bit.

“What’s with bustin’ in here like that?” Oswald said.

“Because I knew that’s how you would react,” Aeryn said, laughing.

“You about to give my heart an arrest!”

“You’re fine.”

“But it was just a joke,” I said. “And he’s buying you a drink.”

Oswald looked at Aeryn.

“You better make that two,” he said.

“Well, maybe I’ll make it half a one, since you left us stranded on the road,” Aeryn replied.

“Or perhaps three,” I interjected.

“If it hadn’t been for the generosity of your ...” he looked at me.

“Travelling companion,” I offered.

“Right!” he went on. “We’d still be stuck back there!”

“You shouldn’t have posed as bandits!” Oswald said.

“Who was posing as bandits?”

“Gentlemen!” I said. “Perhaps we should just solve this by having a few drinks together and sorting this out. There are better ways than arguing, especially in the beautiful establishment of a beautiful woman. Now, aren’t you embarrassed about the way you are both acting?”

“No, not really,” Aeryn said. “If I’m going to buy this fellow a drink ...”

“I suppose it was a bit presumptuous,” Oswald conceded. “But when I saw you racing up behind us, I suspected the worse. You don’t exactly look like–”

“You panicked!” Aeryn said, refusing to let it go. “You soiled your britches and you drove off in a huff, didn’t you?”

“Now, there is no need to press and issue, especially when one bursts into a room like he was a bandit,” I said.

“Oh, c’mon.”

“Ah.”

“Relax.”

“Ah.”

“Relax. It was a little joke.”

“It was a little joke.”

“It was a little joke.”

“But there’s no need to embarrass a man in public.”

“Orrin’s sitting on the porch, laughing.”

“Orrin cannot drive a wagon to save his life apparently.”

Orrin came in just then. He slapped his hand on the teamster’s shoulder.

“No hard feeling, mates,” he said. “How ‘bout we buy you a round?”

“Or perhaps two,” I said.

“Yeah, perhaps two!”

“Your associate is a generous man,” I said to Aeryn.

He frowned.

“That’s fine,” he said. “That’s fine. He’s a very generous sort, isn’t he?”

He noted I had Tavian with me.

“Yes, Tavian is guilty of loving too much,” I said.

“Yeah, we heard him shouting that,” Aeryn said. “What the hell does that mean?”

“Tavian could probably tell you his story,” I said. “Go ahead, Tavian, tell him your story. You must be patient though.”

“I was in the stocks,” Tavian said quietly.

“It’s very fascinating, is it not?” I said.

“You let him out?” Aeryn asked.

“He’s in my charge,” I said.

“He’s a very generous man,” Tavian piped up. “Olidammara’s known to be very generous.”

“Especially with food and drink. And women.” ]]> Max_Writer http://www.penandpapergames.com/forums/entry.php/1770-Eriks-D-amp-D-Game-Plague-at-Goblin-s-Tooth-Part-1-1-Introductions <![CDATA[Eriks D&D Game: Plague at Goblin's Tooth Part 1-2: It Begins]]> http://www.penandpapergames.com/forums/entry.php/1769-Eriks-D-amp-D-Game-Plague-at-Goblin-s-Tooth-Part-1-2-It-Begins Sat, 06 Oct 2012 19:18:17 GMT Edvard started to violently cough. I asked if he was all right and patted him on the back. “Thank you,” he said, his coughing subsiding. “Thank... Edvard started to violently cough. I asked if he was all right and patted him on the back.

“Thank you,” he said, his coughing subsiding. “Thank you.”

I noticed blood on his hand. He had coughed it up. He wiped his hands together.

“Are you all right?” I asked. “It looks as though you have coughed up blood. This could be something very serious.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” he said, coughing again.

“I am a priest and I am versed in the healing arts. I might be able to help you.”

“I don’t need any help. I am beyond help.”

“No one is beyond help. I will not acknowledge that! Perhaps I could help you?”

“No. No.”

He pushed the mug away and got up, staggering out of the tavern. I looked towards Rebecca. She furrowed her brown and picked up the mug, wiping it out.

“He coughed up blood,” I said to her. “Is he in ill health?”

“He’s been in ill health for a while now, yeah,” she said.

“What is wrong with him, do you know?”

“The poor man misses his brother, and he blames himself for his death.”

“His brother is dead?”

“Aye.”

Aeryn and Orrin had bought drinks for everyone in the bar, myself included.

“I’m not a bloody dwarf!” the dwarf suddenly shouted.

“Oh, sorry Rumdan,” Rebecca said to him.

The person sitting at the table was actually an exceptionally short man, not a dwarf.

Aeryn ordered food for himself but, for the life of me, I couldn’t understand the rural accents of both him and Rebecca as they talked. Marzena also entered the tavern. I could understand her very well when she ordered bread and butter. The man then ordered a bottle of brandy and seemed to be flirting with the innkeeper. She left for a short while and returned with a bottle. He paid 15 gold coins for the entire bottle.

Then he invited her to have a drink with him.

“It’s barely noon,” she said. “You think you can hold it? It’s barely noon.”

“I don’t know about that,” Aeryn replied. “I don’t think that bottle of brandy’s goin’ t’ make it ‘til sundown. You going to have a drink with us love, you might want to have one now.”

“Very well,” she said.

He went back to the table, motioning me to come. I thanked him.

Tavian and I joined him, Orrin, and Marzena at the table. Rebecca also joined us for a glass of the brandy. Marzena pushed her brandy away but Aeryn admonished her and she took it with a nod. She held up her mug and looked at the man.

“Right,” Aeryn said. “Here’s to profitable adventures.”

We tapped our glasses together and I sipped from mine. It was delicious and as good as anything I’d ever drunk in Sharn, warming me as it went down. I sighed contentedly as Marzena coughed over her drink and Aeryn gasped its potency. Orrin drank down the entire glass. He was horse after that.

“This is exquisite,” I said.

“Smooth is not exactly the word I was looking for,” Rebecca gasped.

“Like melted butter,” Aeryn said. “Anyone fancy another?”

“As long as it’s here,” I said.

“Where’s your mug, mate?” Aeryn said to Orrin.

The other man drew out a gem-encrusted, gold-inlaid stein.

“That’s what I’m talking about,” Aeryn said.

He poured a large amount of the brandy into the mug.

“You earned that, mate,” Aeryn said.

“Yeah, I did,” the other man said.

He didn’t drink it down but took a long swig of the brandy.

“Damn Rebecca, that’s some good stuff,” he said.

Tavian reached across for Marzena’s glass and both Aeryn and I slapped his hand at the same time.

“Now Tavian, if a beautiful woman does not wish to drink, then you allow her to sit with her glass,” I said to him.

“But, she’s not drinking it,” he whispered to me.

“But it is still hers.”

“But, she’s–”

“Ah! Behave yourself and you will have some later.”

“I’ll let you smell the bottle when it’s empty, mate,” Aeryn said to him.

“If she wishes to offer it to you, you make take it,” I whispered to Tavian. “Otherwise ...”

Marzena pushed her mug towards the middle of the table. I looked at the woman and she made no protest. I took the glass and put it in front of Tavian, whereupon Aeryn picked up the glass and slid it over in front of Orrin. He grabbed it and drank it down. He slid the glass back to Tavian.

Rebecca left after her first drink.

“Oi, Becca!” Aeryn called to her. “One day, I’ll come back, and when I do, I’ll rent the whole tavern out for the whole day and you can drink with us all day long; not have to worry about not customers, how about that?”

“Careful lad,” she said. “I’ll hold ye to that. You might not be surprised by how that turns out, either.”

“Why not? I don’t exactly know what you mean by that.”

“I believe she means she will ... sex,” I whispered to him. “She’s talking about sex.”

“Yeah, I know exactly what she’s talking about,” he said. “You can’t let on you know what she’s talking about. You got to keep the intrigue up.”

“Oh, please teach me more about women.”

“You got to seem untouchable, unreachable. You got to make ‘em want you.”

I looked at Marzena.

“He is so wise in the way of women,” I said. Then to him “Tell me more.”

She raised an eyebrow.

He talked for the next hour about the women he’d known in the past, his amateurish attempts at attracting them, and how it had all allegedly worked out. He was quite graphic. Marzena turned red on occasion but, by that time, the other man had noticed that as well and so continued his inappropriate tirade. The last time she blushed, she smiled and shook her head.

He also discussed the adventure the three of them had just had in the woods, though he avoided talking about his actual past. He was not completely honest about the women he was talking about but his tales of recent adventures seemed to be completely true.

He finished his stories of women with a story of a girl named Daphne who he ran down the street to save from zombies.

“That’s all it took,” he finished.

“Daphne?” I asked. “Where was this?”

“What do you mean, Daphne?” Tavian said.

“Where was this?” I asked again.

“Is your lass named Daphne?” Aeryn asked Tavian. “Well, lass was a little bit generous.”

“Where was this?” I asked again.

“Yeah, where was this?” Tavian echoed me.

“Nowhere near here,” Aeryn said. “Why?”

“Oh,” Tavian said.

When I had drunk about half of my last glass of brandy, I gave the rest to the youth. He drank it down and coughed loudly.

“This is really good!” he hissed through watering eyes.

“See, wasn’t that better?” I said.

He continued to sip his brandy.

We spent the day in the tavern. Aeryn bought three rounds for everyone in the bar but continued to buy drinks for the table. Tavian fell asleep, his head on the table, but occasionally woke up and looked around. Marzena sipped at mead.

When Rumdan left, I saw that he was very, very short. It was no wonder he was confused for a dwarf. I learned from the others that he was a tradesman in the village.

“I’m surprised he had any coin left to come over here and buy anything,” Aeryn said.

“Why is that?” I asked.

“Because we just cleaned him out,” he said.

Later a dwarf did come in, who Rebecca told me was Marr. Aeryn bought him a drink in honor of his wife’s imminent birth. The dwarf glared at him.

“It’s a free drink,” Aeryn said.

“Thank you,” Marr said and then walked away.

Aeryn and Orrin chattered away in their incomprehensible rural accent. I tried to figure out what they were talking about but often couldn’t follow the conversation. They were talking about an axe handle. Apparently they had found an axe head and the dwarf was making an axe handle for him. Then they realized they had not had a dwarf make a handle for the axe head they found, so they had gotten someone else to do it. They were not sure if the axe was magical and I offered to find out for them if they wanted.

“Are you some kind of wizard or sorcerer or something?” Orrin asked.

“No, I am a priest,” I said.

“We already got one o’ those,” he continued, pointing at Marzena.

She glared at the man and then blushed.

“I am merely a priest,” I said. “A humble servant of Olidammara.”

“You have anything with that magic that would, I don’t know, scare all the patrons in here,” Aeryn said to Marzena. “Give ‘em a good half-over.”

“I’m not going to do that,” she said.

“Oh, c’mon,” he said.

“You do know you will probably be wintering in this town,” I said.

“No, no,” he said. “We’re not staying.”

“Oh.”

“There’s nothing here for us.”

“I see. Then do as you wish.”

“Of course.”

“Why do you wish to scare the patrons all the time?”

“It’s so funny.”

“Ah, well, I ... you want the people of this town to hate you?”

“They don’t hate me. I just bought ‘em all drinks.”

“I see.”

“I single-handedly rescued this town from poverty.”

“Hey!” Orrin said. “Single-handedly?”

“Well, I’m sorry, but I’m the one that’s spending all the money that we worked so hard to get,” Aeryn said.

“That just means you spent all the money,” Orrin went on. “Not that you did all the bloody work.”

They began to argue about the use of the term “single-handedly” in their incomprehensible accents. Aeryn finally conceded.

“Me and my mates single-handedly saved this town from poverty just today,” he said.

“Really, if you think about it, we didn’t really save this town from poverty,” Orrin said. “We just sort of took some money from somewhere else and are spreading it around town.”

“Redistributing the wealth,” I said.

“Aye, it’s redistributing the wealth,” Orrin agreed. “You know.”

“Who the hell are you and what have you done with Orrin?” Aeryn asked.

“Drink always makes me smart!” Orrin said.

“What of your companion here, Marzena?” I asked.

“What of her?” Aeryn said.

“You have not mentioned her single-handedly, or multi-handedly, saving the town from poverty.”

“I’d talk about her multi-handedly all night long,” Aeryn quipped. “But that’s not my place. I told you earlier mate, she can take care of herself.”

“Yes yes, and I believe it. She seems more than capable.”

“She pulled out fat out of the fire a couple of times.”

“And to answer your original question: no, I am not a wizard but a humble priest of Olidammara. There are certain things that I can do.”

“Humble priest?”

He looked at me.

“Anyway, Marzena and I have an understanding,” he said.

I looked at him.

“And ... it is?” I finally asked.

“Our understanding,” Marzena said.

“Yeah, our understanding!” he echoed her. “We’re like travelling companions, adventuring souls. That sort of thing is off limits. You know, it complicates things.”

“What sort of–?”

“So I don’t even try because, one: I’d probably get slapped in the face.”

“You don’t try what?”

“Two: out of respect for her.”

“You know that I’m right here, don’t you?” Marzena said.

“Course I know you’re right here!” Aeryn said.

“Oh! You are talking about sex again,” I said. “Do you ever talk about something beside sex?”

Aeryn was still defending himself, claiming it was better to talk in front of the woman’s face than behind her back. She said she was going to the inn.

“Wonderful,” I muttered to him. “You have driven away the most beautiful woman in the tavern.”

“I’m good at that,” he said.

“Apparently!”

“Yes, it’s one of me few talents. I have so much fun with her.”

“One of the most beautiful, but not the only beautiful,” Orrin muttered.

“No, I did not say ‘only,’” I said.

Other villages also entered the tavern. I noticed that many of the people in the bar were coughing. I waved Rebecca over when she was not very busy.

“Is there a sickness in this town?” I asked her.

“I don’t believe so, lad,” she said.

I looked at the coughing patrons of her tavern.

“Are you sure?” I asked.

She looked around and frowned.

Later in the evening, Aeryn asked Rebecca to send a boy to the inn with a message. After some confusion he sent some money to the inn so that Marzena could have a nice dinner. He opened a pouch and opened it up, pouring out several gemstones. Then he put it away and took out a pouch of gold coins. Orrin suggested we get a booth if he was going to be throwing money around. He didn’t know what to be worried about and when the man said it wasn’t wise to flash their money about, he noted that Orrin could take anyone in the town. I pointed out that if he was asleep, he would not be able to thump on them on the head. Aeryn claimed that the man slept with one eye open.

“Like a hawk,” he said. “Like an owl at night. No one can get the drop on him.”

Orrin had put his head in his hand and a snore issued from his lips.

“See what I mean,” Aeryn said, grasping at straws. “His eyes are open.”

“Put the gems away,” I said.

The man did so.

“Even honest men can be tempted by too much wealth,” I said.

“That’s not too much wealth,” Aeryn replied.

“For a town this size, that would purchase most of it.”

No one seemed to be paying him any attention, though. Many people had bad coughs, however.

“I’m only saying that if the people of this town survive whatever plague seems to be striking, that even honest people might go to some lengths to get money that would set them up for the rest of their lives,” I said. “It is merely prudent not to flaunt your wealth.”

He argued that he was not flaunting his wealth, but I ignored him and asked if the people of the village had been so sickly since they’d arrived. It took Aeryn and Orrin some time to determine when they had come to the village, though it had been several days. They had not noticed the people coughing before that very evening.

I called Rebecca over when she was not busy once again. I again asked her about the number of people coughing. She had only recently noticed it but was unsure of what it could be.

“You know what’s good for a cough?” Aeryn asked her. “Me. If you got a little tickle in your throat.”

She patted him on the cheek.

“That doesn’t make any sense,” she said.

Then she went on her way.

Shortly after that, a gentleman entered the inn. He carried a lute and walked to the stage, where he introduced himself as Gerald Chentier. He began performing and he was quite good. The longer he sang, however, the more he would interrupt himself coughing. Rebecca seemed concerned about it and went over to the man to talk to him. He waved her off though he did take the ale she brought him. I asked if anyone at the table had noticed the coughing before, but they said they hadn’t. I pointed out that the grocer had coughed up blood.

“There is some disease striking this town,” I said.

“Well, we’d better get out of here,” Aeryn said. “I don’t want to get sick.”

“If you so desire,” I said.

“We could be packed up as early as tomorrow morning, yeah? I mean, we’ve got a wagon now. Got all our winter gear.”

“Why don’t we leave that wagon?” Orrin said.

“What?”

“Why don’t we leave that wagon?”

“It’s right out front.”

“It is?”

“Isn’t it? You were driving it.”

“I wasn’t really driving it. I was just kind of leading the horses.”

“Well, where did you lead ‘em to?”

Orrin stared at the man.

“Cor, mate!” Aeryn said.

He stood up and staggered out the front door.

I nudged Tavian awake and gave him the remaining cheese and bread on my plate. I asked him if he’d noticed people coughing in town and sickly folk. He said he hadn’t.

“Come, we will be back shortly,” I said. “We’re going to talk to the priest. We will be back shortly.”

Just then the song broke off and Gerald Chentier started to cough violently and uncontrollably. He fell to his knees as I rushed to the stage. Blood was in his hand. Rebecca had also run to the bard’s side. Others in the tavern stood. There was a ruckus in the bar and Aeryn talked to several villagers. Then people started to vacate the premises with speed. Gerald looked like he was very sick. I got the man to drink some ale, but he continued coughing. He spit bloody phlegm.

“Have you been sick?” I asked him.

“No, I just got a small cough once the weather turned,” he said.

Tavian had fled with most of the other patrons. Perhaps three townsfolk were left in the tavern. Orrin and Aeryn were discussing whether or not to abandon the town to the sickness. I saw that Edvard sat at the bar so I approached him. He coughed mightily.

“How long have you had this cough?” I asked him.

“What cough?” he said. “What do you mean?”

I merely looked at the man until he coughed again.

“That would be the one!” I said. “And the blood that came out into your hand. Yes, I saw that too.”

“Uh ... it’s just the drink,” he said. “Just let me have my drink.”

“No, it’s not the drink; there is more to it because others are also sick. Now, it is important that you tell me how long you have had this cough. It could be dangerous.”

“I don’t know. I don’t know. Maybe a day or two.” He coughed again. “It doesn’t matter. Let me have my drink. Leave me in peace.”

“My friend, I understand despair and I understand loss. You cannot let it destroy you. There are those who depend on you.”

I left the man and questioned Rebecca about the sickness. She said that it was the first she’d noticed it. She noted that she hadn’t seen Gerald in a few days. I found out from Gerald that he had been “around.” When I pressed, he admitted that he’d been to the lumber camps and the farms in the area. He had noticed some people coughing in the lumber camps. However, he’d only returned to the village around noon.

I told Aeryn and Orrin what little I’d learned. Aeryn told me someone had called it the “Black Scour.” The term was associated with a rare type of fungus, I told him. It grew in damp conditions but I knew little else. I asked Rebecca if she knew of it but she knew little more of it than I. She said that it had not been heard of in Goblin’s Tooth in years. When I asked what happened to people who caught it, she said not everybody died.

“With us being short of supplies and all, and the harvest not being good, I don’t know,” she said. “I’m worried. We should get these folks to the temple, or maybe even to Lorel the Herbalist.”

We took Gerald to the wagon and headed for the temple. I called for Aeryn and Orrin to bring Edvard as well. A few moments later, Aeryn led Edvard out and got him into the wagon. When we reached the temple, there were others already there, all of them coughing. I found the temple priest giving the afflicted towels and water. His acolytes were doing the same.

The priest was perhaps the most gaunt person I’d ever seen, looking like a scarecrow in vestments. The way his sunken eyes and beaked nose peered out from below his tonsured brow only added to the effect. He wore a sun disk amulet on his neck: the symbol of Pelor.

“Hello priest, I am Porthos, priest of Olidammara,” I said.

“Greetings ... a priest of revelry and thieves,” he said. “We could use some joy here tonight. Sick men. You know any songs?”

“A few,” I admitted. “But they might not be appropriate. What is going on here with these people?”

“I don’t know. They seemed to have developed a terrible coughing sickness.”

“Someone mentioned the black ... scour?” I looked at Aeryn.

“Scour,” he said with a nod.

“It could be but I’ve not seen it in years,” the priest said.

“Are the symptoms correct for this ... fungus or whatever it is?” I asked. “It is not catching, it is?”

“No, it shouldn’t be.”

“Then there must be something in the food or drink of this town.”

Aeryn had reached into his mouth to pick his teeth. He stopped in mid-motion.

“I don’t truly know much about it,” the priest said.

“That’s horrible,” Aeryn said quietly.

“I’m trying to treat the symptoms,” the priest went on.

An older gentlemen lying on the pallet coughed violently. Blood came from his mouth. I went over and struck him in the back, which didn’t help. Then I cast a minor healing spell upon him, relieving his terrible cough for the moment as bloody, bubbly phlegm was dislodged. There might have been bits of flesh mixed in as well. His coughing settled, though he still looked ill. I cast a more powerful spell, and he seemed to subside, falling into sleep. I unbuttoned his shirt and listened to his chest. The man wheezed as he breathed.

I returned to the priest and related what had just happened.

“We need to keep these people separated,” he said. “I’m not sure if this is the black scour or the wheezing death.”

The wheezing death was a terribly contagious disease that was spread through the air, flying from one to another faster, sometimes, than a man could run. Orrin began to complain of what to do with the now-contaminated wagon. I told him that if he was going to catch the disease, he would have caught it already. I turned back to the priest.

“What?” he said. He turned to Aeryn. “If I start coughing a lot ...” Then he thought for a moment. “Don’t do anything, actually. Just bring me to the damned priest.”

“He’s a priest,” Aeryn said, pointing at me.

“A real priest,” Orrin said.

“What!?!” I cried, turning on them. “I am a real priest!”

“Really? You don’t act much like a priest.”

“How are priests supposed to act?”

“Like him,” Aeryn said, pointing at the temple priest.

I grunted and turned back to the priest. I asked if he had the magical powers to deal with what was happening. He confessed that he wasn’t sure, but he would try. When I asked if he could actually cast the spell to magically cure the people of their diseases, he admitted that he could not. I also was not powerful enough, yet, to cast the spell.

Orrin and Aeryn quietly discussed what they should do about the wagon, with some discussion of ripping out the boards that the people had touched. Aeryn was of the opinion that they could burn the wagon “a little bit.”

“Do not forget to burn all of your clothes and all of the possessions that were on your body when this happened,” I said, sarcastically. “They must all be destroyed.” I looked at them for a moment. “You either have the disease now, or you do not. If you not, you will probably not catch it. If you do have it, you have it.”

I went back to trying to help out the sick in the temple.

“That wasn’t a very jovial, cheerful, party-going sort of attitude, was it?” I heard Aeryn say.

“He’s not a priest,” Orrin muttered.

The old man started coughing again and I examined the phlegm more closely. I could see little black specks mixed in with the blood and mucus. I pointed them out to the temple priest and he said that was more along the lines of the black scour, leading me to believe that the fungus was in the local water or food. He agreed with that likelihood, guessing it was an outbreak of blood scour taint.

Some of the villagers were talking of going to Lorel the Herbalist.

When I asked the priest about any kind of library or place of learning in the town that might have information on the condition, he mentioned that Lorel, with her poultices and potions, might have some more information about the black scour. I asked him where she lived and he told me that she lived outside of town to the north. I told him that I would question her.

I told Orrin and Aeryn that the outbreak looked like the black scour. The priest was unsure of how it was transmitted and Aeryn mentioned talking to the herbalist. I told him that was my plan and I told them she lived north of town.

“It is not the wheezing death,” I mentioned. “You do not have to burn your wagon. Or run away.”

I swept past them and headed out the door, going down the road and heading for the north side of the village. The men’s wagon soon pulled up beside me and Orrin asked if I wanted a ride. I hopped into the back. As we passed more coughing people, some of them started to climb onto the wagon as well. I helped them as Aeryn told them to try not to cough up anything onto the vehicle. I leapt off at one point to help a little girl on, and helped up other children as well. There seemed to be quite a few of them. I entertained them with humorous stories of Olidammara, and played small games with them. Aeryn and Orrin discussed the possibility of starting a lucrative business using the wagon to take sick people to the doctor. Aeryn figured that both the sick person and the doctor would pay. It was appalling.

A short way out of town, a line formed in front of a small building. Creeping ivy and full window boxes covered the façade of the rugged looking, two-story house and shop bearing the faded sign that read “Roots and Remedies.” The line consisted of 10 or 20 somber townsfolk, some with pale, wheezing children, others near tears.

Aeryn stopped the wagon near the building and I hopped out and helped the women and children out of the vehicle. I said words of encouragement to all of them.

“He’s acting like a priest,” I heard Aeryn say quietly.

“A little bit,” Orrin replied.

“Comes and goes,” Aeryn said.

I ignored the morons and headed for the door.

“I say!” a man said as I passed him. He spoke between coughs. “See here! You can’t go ahead of all of us! Who do you think you are!?!”

“I’m a priest, my good man,” I said.

“I don’t care!”

“Here,” I said, casting a healing spell upon him.

“There’s a back of the line!” he muttered over his coughing.

“Here, you lot!” Aeryn called. “Listen up! Listen up! This man’s here to try to help with your remedy, right? He’s here to help out. He’s not getting in line, he’s not sick, he’s not coughing.”

“Lorel’s going to help us, we know who she is!” the man said.

“Yeah, well she could probably use a hand herself. And that’s what he’s here for.”

“Now, stand aside,” I said.

The smell of burnt earth and spicy incense choked the air of the cramped mud-tracked shop. Bunches of dried herbs hung from the ceiling, along with dangling pots, presses, and alchemical apparatuses and glassware of more arcane purposes. Pouches of rare plants, jars of colored glass, and all manner of dry, preserved, and jellied animal parts filled high shelves and tables, doing double duty as displays and work spaces. In the shop’s rear, a rail-thin woman with severe-looking eyes and hair pulled back tightly busied herself between an over packed rack of herbs, a table covered in strange powders and measuring equipment, and a pot loudly bubbling with thick, gray froth. Over the din of her work, and without looking up, she impatiently shouted “And what’s your problem?”

“I’m a priest,” I said. “I am here to lend aid and find out if you know what is going on with these people.”

“You know anything of herbs and poultices, priest?” she asked.

I hesitated.

“As I thought,” she said. “Step outside unless you can do some good.”

“What are you doing to these people as far as herbs and poultices?” I asked.

“I’m trying to help. Brew some teas if I can. Try to curb the coughs.”

“This appears to be the black scour.”

“As if you’re telling me something that I don’t know.”

“Ah. Then, as an herbalist, you know how to help these people?”

“I am helping these people. Are you sick? Why are you here?”

“We came to help, because we were told by the priest of Pelor, he never introduced himself, that you might be able to help these people.”

“I hope so.”

“If it is the black scour, what is the cure? Is there a cure?”

“It is the black scour but there is no cure around here. I’ll give these folks what I can and we’ll see what good it does.”

“How can we help?”

“What do you mean the cure’s not around here?” Aeryn asked.

“I mean it’s not around here,” she said.

“Where is it?”

“My grandmother’s book has a brew in it that says it’s good for this kind of thing. A very weird concoction sounds more like hoodoo than real medicine.”

“Is it possible that it would work?” I asked.

“I don’t know,” she said. “It says that it would. And her book has been good for things in the past.”

“Well, what do you need and where can we find it?”

“Well, there are some rare roots in concentrations, most of which I have here, but well, there’s three that I don’t. Elderwood moss, which I’ve never even heard of, but grandmother’s book says that it only grows in the oldest tree in the forest. A specially pickled root called rat’s tail? Again, that sounds more like hoodoo to me. And seven ironbloom mushrooms; those are stunted little things that only grow in dark places thick with metal. Favorite among dwarves, so I’ve heard.”

“Dwarves,” I muttered. I looked at Aeryn. “Marr.”

“We’ll have to ask him,” Aeryn said.

“Pickled root,” I said. Then to Aeryn. “Is not your friend an elf?”

“What? What’d you just say?”

“Marzena?”

“What about her?”

“That’s a personal question. Maybe you ought to take that up with her.”

“Very well. She’s at the inn. I will go right now.”

“All right.”

“Elves know of the trees and the roots and the woods.”

“Aren’t we in the middle of something?” Orrin asked.

“Yes, and perhaps she will be able to help us,” I said. “I know very little of herbs.”

“I know nothing of herbs,” Aeryn said.

“Elderwood moss,” I said.

“Oldest tree in the woods?” Aeryn said.

“Yes,” Lorel replied. “If such a thing even ... this all sounds like foolishness to me. My tea should help settle these people’s coughs and most should live.”

“Most,” I said. “Half? Three-quarters? Ten percent?”

“I can’t say. It depends on healthy a person is. But we are short of food and supplies.”

“If we could find these ingredients, you could make this ... is it a poultice, a tea, potion?”

“Yes, I suppose I could.”

“If we could find these things and bring them back in time ...”

“We don’t have any time. Folks may be dying every day.”

She looked around.

“All we can hope to do now is treat who we can and hope to save the gravedigger some work,” she said.

“Not if we can find these ingredients,” I replied. “And perhaps your grandmother was not incorrect in what she wrote. Might I look at the book where it references these things, with your permission, my fair lady.”

“Why do you need to see it?”

“Perhaps there is some clue that you overlooked. Perhaps there is some clue to where these things are or more detail. Just the page. I don’t want your secrets.”

“For elderwood moss, that’s got to be on an old tree in the vale, damned if I know where it is though. The rat’s tail and the mushrooms, those are even longer shots. Way north, towards the mountains. People say there used to live several dwarves there. They’re not there anymore, but I bet their forges are and if you can find ironbloom anywhere around here, that’d be your best bet. As for the rat’s tail, who knows? Well actually, wait, Oolas Meela, the witch that lives deep in the woods might. She’s crafty and mean, but she knows all sorts of strangeness. She might even have one. I don’t know what she’d want for it, but I doubt it’d come cheap.”

“I know what she will want,” I sighed.

“My grandmother traded her sight to the old crone for a few pages of what she knew,” the herbalist went on. “And that was years and years back, and I don’t know a soul who got any nicer as she got older.”

She looked at me.

“Will you do this thing?” she asked.

“It cannot hurt,” I replied. “I will do this, yes. You treat the people as best you can, and I will try to find these things and get back as quickly as possible.”

Aeryn pulled the herbalist aside and spoke to her quietly. Then I asked the woman if she knew any more detail on the location of the witch. She did not.

“Marzena might know,” Aeryn said.

“Is she from around here?” I asked. “Oh, I’m sorry. It is a personal question.”

“No, you asked me if she was an elf.”

“Yes, and I figured–”

“So, that’s a personal question.”

“-asking if she was from around here would be a personal question. Why don’t we ask her? If you do not think it too personal a question.”

“I do not know much of any of these things,” Lorel said. “I do not know where Oolas Meela’s hut is. I know that the dwarves used to be to the north. If anyone might know, maybe someone in the main lumber camp.”

The three of us took the wagon back to town. We passed more villagers leaving the town to talk to Lorel. Halfway back to town, I realized I wanted to ask Lorel if she had any idea where the scourge started, where it might have come from, and if it was caught from others. I ran back to ask her. She noted that it was a mold that started growing inside of a victim’s chest and stomach.

“Your body nearly turns itself inside out trying to hack the stuff up,” she said. “All that does is cut your guts up, bad.”

She didn’t think that the disease could be caught from others, but noted that it could be gotten from drinking or eating something with the black scour mushroom in it. She said if it was in the water than it got one sick by drinking it. She had never heard of it growing in the area though. She also told me that there was a well in the village.

I ran back to the village and, when I arrived, headed for the well. I drew some water and then lit a candle and stuck it between two of the stones that made up the wall of the well. It did not give off much light but I closely examined the water and noticed tiny black flecks within. Aeryn, Orrin, and Marzena walked up to me and I pointed out the flecks, asking if either of them had been drinking the water in the village or bathing.

“No,” Aeryn said.

“Hell no,” Orrin said. “I never drink the water. Never bathe. If I can help it.”

“Smart man,” I said.

We went to the guard house after that and I introduced myself to the deputies on duty. I told them that the black scour appeared to be in the well. They told me they already knew and Sir Derrick had already been informed. I apologized for wasting their time.

“No waste,” one of them said. “It was the first thing Sir Derrick thought of. He’s sending two guards to stand by the well, make sure no one goes to it.”

I asked them to pass on the information that some of us were going to try to go find a cure.

“Is Rosby, or even Lorel, are either one of them able to help?” the deputy asked.

“Lorel might be able to help with the symptoms,” I said. “We are going to try to find something to stop it. Who is Rosby?”

“He’s the head of the temple,” the deputy said. “The priest.”

“Could you tell Rosby we are going to try to help?”

“I’m not your errand boy. Do it yourself.”

I sighed.

“Every moment that we stand here talking about it, is one more life at risk,” I said.

“Indeed,” the impudent deputy said. “So, you better make your feet start stepping.”

I asked the man’s name. He said it was Bedwere.

I ran to the temple and alerted Rosby to what we were doing.

“Weird magicks,” he muttered. “Not even real magic.”

“No, it’s not magic,” I said. “It’s alchemy. It is our only hope.”

“If you think that it will help.”

“I do not know, but we will try.”

“It cannot hurt. People will start dying soon if we’re not careful.”

“Then be careful.”

With a swish of my cloak, I was off. I found an imposing-looking man dressed in mail in the market. He had a sword on his hip and a tabard over his armor. He and the other deputies were trying to keep order. Their symbol was an arrowhead that looked similar to the one of the guards at Cambol-Túr, though it was obviously different. I found the others at their wagon and asked if they had food and provisions. Aeryn said they did not yet have any. ]]> Max_Writer http://www.penandpapergames.com/forums/entry.php/1769-Eriks-D-amp-D-Game-Plague-at-Goblin-s-Tooth-Part-1-2-It-Begins <![CDATA[Eriks D&D Game: Plague at Goblin's Tooth Part 1-3: Horses]]> http://www.penandpapergames.com/forums/entry.php/1768-Eriks-D-amp-D-Game-Plague-at-Goblin-s-Tooth-Part-1-3-Horses Sat, 06 Oct 2012 19:16:46 GMT “Horses is what we need,” Aeryn said. I sucked in my breath between my teeth. I had never liked riding. “We have these,” Marzena said,... “Horses is what we need,” Aeryn said.

I sucked in my breath between my teeth. I had never liked riding.

“We have these,” Marzena said, gesturing at the draft horses.

“Riding horses,” Aeryn said.

I sucked my breath in between my teeth again.

“We could ride these,” Marzena said.

I sucked on my teeth again.

“They’re slow!” Aeryn said.

“Perhaps we should just walk,” I said.

“What do you mean, walk?”

“I mean ...”

I sucked the breath in through my teeth again.

“What is wrong with you?” he asked. “Are you afraid of horses?”

“Not afraid!” I said, a little too loudly. “I give them a healthy distance and the respect that they deserve. They kick. I’ve seen them kick. They kick certain places.”

“Not if you’re riding on them. They can’t kick you.”

“Dwarves do not trust horses either. There’s nothing wrong with it.”

“Unless you want to get somewhere in a hurry to save a town from dying. Then there is something wrong with it.”

I sucked in a breath between my teeth again.

“Horses,” Aeryn said. “Riding horses. Need ‘em.”

“I hope you have more money than I because I cannot afford to purchase a horse,” I said.

“Obviously I have more money than you,” he replied.

“Yes, you’ve been buying drinks all night.”

“Yeah.”

“Thank you, by the way. I think I have thanked you a couple of times, but thank you again. I cannot afford a horse. I will jog alongside if need be. Perhaps a dog cart, I don’t know.”

We walked to the stables.

The stable master was an old man who liked, perpetually, to talk.

“How my horses treatin’ you?” he asked Aeryn. “You not mistreatin’ them, is you? Poor old Rolf couldn’t stand it if you was mistreatin’ my horses.”

“What you mean mistreatin’ your horses,” Aeryn said. “They’re my horses, actually, because I bought and paid for ‘em.”

“Ah, but I solds ‘em to you, so I still think of them like mine.”

“Well, they’re not yours and I’ve treated ‘em quite well.”

“I have seen this,” I interrupted.

“What can I do for you then?” Rolf asked.

“I need four riding horses,” Aeryn said.

“You need four, is that it?”

“Look mate, we’re in a bit of a hurry too, okay?”

“I believe I have three for sale. Light riding horses, you need?”

“Yeah.”

“You can ride one of those horses I sold you already.”

“Do you have a stepladder so that we can get up on it?” I asked.

“I have a little small stepstool if you need it,” Rolf replied.

“Do you have somethin’ against gold?” Aeryn asked the man.

“No, I don’t,” he said.

“Then let me give you gold for horses.”

“Aye.”

“That’s what’s getting ready to happen here.”

“He only has three,” I interjected.

“You win either way” Aeryn said.

“He only has three,” I said again.

“It will be ...” Rolf said. He counted on his fingers. “Let me see.”

“How many horses do you have?” Aeryn asked.

“I have tree.”

“He only has three horses,” I said.

“You only have three?” Aeryn asked.

“Aye,” the old man replied.

“I can run alongside,” I said again. “I will be fine.”

“Wait a minute. You only have three for sale?” Aeryn pressed. “Or you only have three here?”

“I only have three riding horses,” Rolf said.

“Oh dear,” I said. “Do you have anything else besides riding horses ... that actually you can ride?”

“I have a couple of ponies and a couple of the larger horses,” Rolf said.

I sighed.

“Which of the larger horses is the fastest?” Aeryn asked.

“None of them,” I muttered.

“Speed is of the essence,” Aeryn said.

“Probably one of the two that I sold you already,” Rolf said. “You wanted some of the best horses I had and I solds ‘em to you.”

“Now we need more,” Aeryn said. “Fast. Fast horses.”

“It will be ...” Rolf said, again counting on his fingers. “Carry the one ... it will be 225 gold crowns for the horses.”

“Is there any discount for saving the entire town from death and destruction?” I said.

“Yes, you get the knowledge that you saved the town,” the old man said.

“Are tack and harness included in your price?”

“Aye. Why not? You’re saving the town, so you claim. How do I know you’re not taking poor old Rolf’s horses and riding off for who knows where?

“At least the horses will be saved,” I muttered.

“I can honestly say that we are taking your horses and we are riding off to who knows where,” Aeryn said. “The difference is that we’re coming back with somefing that’s supposed to cure the whole town.”

“So you say,” Rolf said.

“Yeah. Exactly.”

“Comes to 250.”

“That is more than you just quoted us,” I said.

“Is it?”

“Two-two-five.”

“I’m not very good with coins. I’ll say 250.”

“But you said 225.”

“Did I not say 275? It’s 275, isn’t it?”

“No, my friend. You said 200.”

“This is bargaining completely the wrong way!” Aeryn suddenly said. “I don’t understand what’s happening! We don’t have time for this.”

Aeryn pulled out the small pouch and dumped the gems he’d flashed in the tavern into the man’s hand. There were three large gemstones and I felt my jaw drop.

“I don’t know how to count these,” the old man said quietly. “But I’ll put them against the horses.”

“And when we come back, we will trade you back,” I said. “Fair enough?”

“If the horses are in good condition, I’ll buys ‘em back,” he said.

Rolf got the horses saddled up. I filled four saddlebags with oats from the trough nearby.

“Why don’t you go buy us some hardtack and beef jerky?” I said to Orrin.

“Sure we shouldn’t just sleep tonight and head out in the morning?” he asked.

“We don’t know where we’re going. Anyone in town have maps, anyway of knowing even ... north. That’s all we know: north. That’s all we know. Correct? For the dwarven place?”

“If you want to know anything about the woods, where you’re headed, I say you go to one of the main lumber camps,” Rolf said.

“That’s where we got to go,” Aeryn said. “We got to go to the main logging camp and talk to them about the oldest tree in the wood.”

I asked Rolf where the camps might be and he said they were north. Then he told Aeryn that it would cost two gold for him to keep the other draft horse for a week.

“After that, I’ll say he’s mine and you’re dead,” he said.

“We’ll pay you two gold when we get back,” Aeryn said.

“Aye,” the old man replied. “If you’re not back in a week, I’ll say you’re dead and the horse is mine.”

“If does return after that can he pay an additional gold piece a week to get his horse back?” I asked. “Does that sound fair. If he comes back alive. Only him.”

“We’ll see.”

“If I come back, it does not matter. I cannot get the horse for that bargain price. Fair enough?”

“If you come back, two gold for every week that you’re gone.”

“Right,” Aeryn said.

“And you can have the horse back,” Rolf finished.

“Fair enough,” I said. “I didn’t catch your name. I am Porthos.”

I held out a gloved hand and he shook it.

“Poor old Rolf,” he said. “That’s my name.”

We found Orrin, who had water skins and food for the trip. We mounted the horses in the square.

“People of ... what is this place ... Goblin’s Tooth!” I shouted.

“Really?” Aeryn said.

“We go to seek a cure!” I called, waving my hat over my head. “Onward!”

“Halt!” Sir Derrick said. “Are you men headed out of town? For what cause? Is it true that you’re going to find a cure?”

“We are going to try, yes,” I said.

“Where are you headed?”

“North.”

“Lumber camp first,” Aeryn said. “See if we can’t get some information on the oldest tree in the woods.”

“Ah,” Sir Derrick said. “If it’s true, what you’re saying, be wary. Jarlbin Trooks is a stern and untrusting man. Ask for Millan Radam. He’s the best tracker I know. And he works there.”

“All right,” Aeryn said. “Thank you, sir.”

“And godspeed you.”

“Hope so.”

“We will do our best!” I said dramatically.

I put my heels to the horse’s side and galloped out of town, holding on for dear life. Once I was out of sight of the hedge, I slowed the beast a little. We rode north for over an hour and it was midnight by the time we reached the lumber camp.

It cut an ugly scar of stumps into a dense stand of proud darkwood trees. Five sturdy-looking log buildings, apparently a bunkhouse, a meal hall, an office, a barn, and a smithy, stood with numerous wide carts and sleds amidst the sawdust-covered clearing. A small band of burly-looking armed men came out of the meal hall as we rode up. I dismounted.

“What the hell do you want here in the middle of the night?” one of them grunted.

“We have been sent by Sir Derrick to talk to Millan Radam,” I said. “It is a matter of life and death.”

“Isn’t it always?” the man said with a growl. “Sir Derrick doesn’t have any jurisdiction up here. Be off!”

Orrin and Aeryn dismounted and the latter took a balanced stance.

“This is how this is going to go down,” Aeryn said calmly. “We got an entire town of people that are dying, right now. We’re out, trying to find a cure for these people. Now, the next one of you that says a single word that stops me from accomplishing this task, I’m going to make you about two feet shorter from the knees down, if you get my meaning. My blades are sharp, and my reflexes are quick, and I’m tired and in a bad mood. So, if one of you don’t scurry off, right now, and find this Radam fellow, I swear by all that is holy, I’m going to cut you in half.”

Orrin, no longer drunk but looking hung over and most likely volatile after our violent journey north, stood and glared at the men.

The men glared at them for a moment and then one of them looked at me.

“Millan, you said?” he asked me.

I nodded. He looked at Aeryn and the man threw his cloak back to reveal his sword. The lumber man gripped his axe tighter.

“Wait here,” he said.

“Right,” Aeryn replied.

He walked to one of the smaller buildings. There was shouting from the building for a few moments. Then he returned.

“All right,” he said. “Trooks’ll see you. That’s no bloody favor to you.”

“We’re not here to see Trooks,” Aeryn said.

“That’s who you’re seeing,” the other man replied. “And you can take up your shortening with him.”

Aeryn glared at the man.

We were escorted the smaller building. Within was a filthy office thickly decorated with various pelts and heads of forest animals. A small black bearskin rug dominated the floor while the heads of other animals covered the walls.

“What the hell you want?” Trooks muttered. “Ridin’ into my camp in the middle of the night! Threatenin’ my men! You said that the reeve sent you, Derrick, did he? If he did, if you’re doing his work and you’re threatenin’ my men, how by I tell him about ‘at?”

“How ‘bout it?” Aeryn said. “You can start by telling me about it.”

“We’re doing work here! You want to kill all my men, stop all the lumbering? That’s up to you, and I think he might have somethin’ to say about that.”

“Yeah, he might.”

“And so would the lumber consortium.”

“Ain’t going to do a bit of good if everybody in town is dead and there’s nobody to buy your lumber now, isn’t it?”

“We’ll sell anywhere we want. Not just Goblin’s Tooth.”

“You can’t if you’re dead now, can you?”

“I’m not dead.”

“You might be.”

“The black scour does not discriminate with who it kills,” I added.

“Well, that’s in Goblin’s Tooth, isn’t it?” he replied nastily. “It’s a good thing I’ll be in my camp.”

“Your own water might be tainted as well. Probably it is. It is the same aquifer as all the other wells in this area. It comes from the same river, goes to the same place, kills as dispassionately and uncaring as any disease. There are children dying and all we ask is a few questions of you. I apologize for waking you from your deep sleep, from your restful slumber from a hard day’s work of cutting down your trees. I apologize. But there are more important things than your sleep and there are more important things than your lumber.”

“Aye, there are more important things. Maybe something that might convince me to answer some of your questions.”

“You should be rubbing your fingers together when you’re saying that,” Aeryn said.

“He is talking hard, cold steel between his chest,” I said.

“That’s what it looks like to me,” Aeryn said.

“We are not dispassionate men but ... Orrin is hung over,” I said quietly. “I would not anger him.”

I looked at the man for a moment.

“There is a man named Radam in your camp,” I went on.

“Maybe there is,” Trooks replied. “Maybe he’s out. Wouldn’t that be a sad shame?”

“It would,” I said.

“For you,” Aeryn added.

“For all of us, wouldn’t it?” Trooks said.

“Yes, it would be a terrible sad shame,” I said. I turned to Aeryn. “I am terribly fond of children and that little girl that was coughing tonight broke my heart. When my heart is broken, I feel like other hearts should be broken as well.”

“Please, stop your flappin’ your gums, I’m weeping here,” Trooks growled. “Should I be plain? A bit of hard coin may find you some answers.”

“No,” Aeryn said. “How about a bit of steel, pointed at your face?”

“Lads, gettum out of here,” Trooks said. “Be off.”

Aeryn leapt onto the desk, landing on his knees, as he drew two swords. He crossed them against Trooks’ neck, pressing them both lightly against the man’s skin.

“Better call off your men right now,” he said quietly.

Trooks stared at him as everyone stopped moving. A little sweat rolled down the side of the man’s face. I quietly drew my sword and held it low and Orrin had his axe in his hand.

“You think killin’ me’s going to mean you walk out of here?” he whispered.

“It’s a good start,” Aeryn muttered. “You think your boys, with a bunch of hatchets, choppin’ down the trees–”

“Gustav!” Trooks said. “Grab the damned tracker. Bring ‘im here.”

He looked at Aeryn again.

“You take these swords off my throat, lad, or there’s going to be bigger problems for you,” he went on.

One man shouldered his way by Marzena. Then Aeryn took one of the swords from the man’s throat and sheathed it. He backed away from Trooks, slid one leg off the desk, removed the second sword, and sheathed it. He slid off the man’s desk.

The logger who’d left returned with another man.

“We got him sir,” he said.

“Get the hell out of my office,” Trooks said.

“Sure,” Aeryn said.

The others turned and left. I backed up to the door.

“It was a pleasure to meet you,” I said to Trooks before I stepped out of the door and closed it behind me. Shouting came from within the room.

Outside was a small, wiry, hard-looking man with tan skin. He was dressed in a simple tunic and breeches.

“What you want?” he asked. “Rode a long way here. Gave Trooks the shakedown, eh?”

“We didn’t have much of a choice,” Aeryn muttered.

“What’s it to do with me?”

“You’re name was given to us as a man that we could ... trust and talk to plainly.”

“Well? Talk.”

“Got the black scour showed up in Goblin’s Tooth.”

“You don’t say.”

“I do say. We was told of a possible cure but there’s some rare ingredients that we have to gather, one of which is some moss off the eldest tree–”

“Elderwood moss,” I said, still watching the door.

“–in the vale,” Aeryn went on.

“All right,” Millan said.

“Know of it?” Aeryn said.

“We were told you might be able to show us where we could find it,” I said.

“Show you?” Millan said.

“Tell us. Anything.”

“Draw you a map.”

“We’d appreciate it,” Aeryn said.

“Goblin’s Tooth, you say?”

“Yeah.”

“It is spreading very quickly,” I said.

“My sister and her lads live there,” Millan said.

“What is her name?” I asked. “And the children.”

“Treeva,” he said.

I nodded.

“Lots a lads,” he went on.

“Well, we’ll do our best to help out any way we possibly can,” Aeryn said. “We don’t have time for jackals like him.”

“He pays my coin, so ... you got any parchment? Any pens?”

“I do,” Marzena said.

She took out a scroll case and a parchment, giving Millan a quill. He drew us a crude map. As he wrote, Aeryn told him of the other things that we were looking for. I mentioned that if he knew where the witch’s hut was, we’d appreciate it. He told us that there was a lake in the woods with the great tree on the other side of it. Not far west of the tree was the old Hag Haunted Hollow with the old witch’s hut. Beyond that was some dwarven hold.

“I wouldn’t go to any of these places,” he finished.

“Well, we have to, mate,” Aeryn said.

“Someone must,” I said. “We thank you. We’re indebted to you for your help. If there is anything that I can ever do for you.”

“If my nephew’s sick, any of my nephews are sick, I hope they don’t die,” he said.

“We will do our best,” I said.

I took the map from him and tucked it into my jacket pocket. Aeryn took out a gold bracelet and held it out to the man.

“For your trouble, mate,” he said. “We appreciate it. So does Goblin’s Tooth.”

“Aye lad,” the man replied.

I asked him the names of his nephews and found that one of the 10 of them was called Tavian. He rattled off the other seven names, but couldn’t remember the youngest ones.

There was some talk of leaving the horses there. Millan suggested it and told us the place was called Darkwood Forest and that in addition to blood scour taint, big black nasty wolves had been attacking people in the woods. Aeryn asked if they were goblin wolves but he was not sure.

“And we hear there’s one even worse out there,” he said. “He can’t be killed, so they say. He moves here and there as he will. Can even go through locked doors. Some sort of ghost. You watch yourself.”

“We’ll have a word with Sir Derrick when we get back,” Aeryn said. “Maybe something can be done about that. Make your jobs a little bit easier. A little safer.”

“Not bloody likely.”

“You’ll look after the horses then?”

“Somebody will. They won’t be yours no more though.”

We took the horses, walking them and following the river upstream from Goblin’s Tooth. According to the map, another river connected to the main river and, beyond that was the lake.

I cast a minor healing spell on my horse once we were underway, which seemed to refresh it. We walked for about an hour before stopping to make camp. I took Aeryn aside and told him that I could cast one last healing spell that day if any of them needed it. He suggested that I cast the spell on Orrin. Aeryn asked Orrin to let him take a look at his wounds. The man only resisted a little. He had obviously been in a bad fight. He asked the other man if they could trust me and then I cast the healing spell upon him, having him drink a swig of beer and splashing a little on the wound.

“Do you feel any better?” I asked.

“Aye,” he said. “I do.”

The magic had scabbed over some of the fresh wounds while others were completely healed. Then we set up camp, making a fire and hobbling the horses. Orrin flopped down and fell immediately asleep. I asked about keeping watch and Aeryn told me to get some sleep.

“Do you have enough to keep your warm, Marzena?” I asked.

“I’m near the fire,” she said.

I sequestered myself in prayer with a drink of alcohol and a short song before I went to sleep that night, wrapped in my cloak and using my satchel as a pillow. It was not comfortable and it got very, very cold, though I lay as close to the fire as I safely could. I fell immediately to sleep.

* * *

The sun was well up when I awoke as something struck me in the cheek. I leapt up and grabbed my sword off the ground.

“I was awake!” I said.

I looked around for whatever attacked me but saw nothing. Marzena sat across the fire from me while Aeryn and Orrin stood near the horses. Seeing nothing untoward, I sheathed my sword and shoved it back into my belt.

“You all right?” Aeryn called.

“I am fine, yes,” I said, picking up my crossbow and my satchel. “I was awake this whole time.”

I stretched.

“Ah, the brisk morning air!” I said. “Is there any breakfast?”

I approached Orrin and offered him more healing magic if he wanted. I took off his shirt and examined him, then cast a healing spell upon him and left him with only light bruising. He was very happy about that.

We broke camp; Aeryn and Orrin took the horses to the river and watered them. While they were gone, Marzena cast some kind of spell upon herself. Afterwards, she seemed refreshed and her clothing seemed cleaner. The men returned very wet, obviously having bathed while they were there.

“You didn’t notice black specs in the water, did you?” I asked.

“I didn’t drink any of it,” Aeryn said.

“It’s running,” Orrin said.

They finished drying themselves off, Aeryn noting that Orrin had just put all his filth right back on himself with his filthy blanket. He then shook off the blanket onto the other man.

We rode upriver and travelled all day, eating lunch as we rode. I noticed that shadowy shapes were in the woods, seemingly following us. I mentioned it to Marzena and she glanced that way. Orrin was sleeping in the saddle but I quietly called to Aeryn and looked towards the woods. He nodded as if he’d already seen the shapes. I took my crossbow from my back and loaded it as casually as I could. I kept it in my lap as I rode after that.

We continued until dark and I told Aeryn I would need an hour to pray. Before I did so, I cast a spell upon myself that would make me immune to the cold of the night for 24 hours. I also cast a healing spell on Aeryn.

Marzena said she could produce some light. Aeryn asked her to do so. I told him that I could also cast a spell of magical light and could do so when her light went out, if he so desired. He suggested that she cast it on my crossbow bolt and that I do the same when hers wore off. When there was trouble coming from the woods, he wanted the bolt out there so they could see what was coming.

She cast the spell on the bolt, creating a cold, blue light. We continued on until the magical light faded. Then I cast a spell on the bolt myself, illuminating the area with my own white light. Before it faded, we could see the connecting river ahead.

We made camp at the fork of the river, which was flowing towards where we thought the lake was. Aeryn told us that something had been following us all day. He guessed it was wolves. I noted that normal wolves did not attack humans, unless they were sick or starving.

We hobbled the horses in the fork where the rivers met. Aeryn said he was doing that so that they would fight rather than run away. He set watches and I lay down and went to sleep.

* * *

I awoke to Aeryn tapping my foot. He hushed me and then asked if I had another of those light spells. I told him I did. He told me to get ready to cast it. I could make out, in the dark, that he drew the string on his bow well back and aimed towards the woods.

“What do you want me to cast it on?” I asked.

“The arrow,” he said.

I cast the spell on the shaft, closing my eyes as I did so, and heard him shoot the arrow. I opened my eyes to see the light some ways away. It illuminated the hideous shape of a small creature held together by sinew and strips of flesh. It was clearly not alive as it staggered towards us. Others shambled towards us.

“All right everybody, up and at ‘em,” Aeryn said.

“They’re just zombies,” I said as I stood up. “Wait until they’re closer. Once they start cowering in fear from me, then you can kill them at your leisure.”

Aeryn pulled on his bow

“Don’t waste your arrows on these things,” I said. “You must chop off their arms and legs.”

“What the hell’s going on?” Orrin asked.

“Zombies,” I said.

“Shamblers coming into camp,” Aeryn said.

Orrin and Marzena stood. Aeryn dropped his bow and drew his swords. The others waited and I cast another spell on a rock, causing it to glow brightly. I dropped it at my feet, illuminating the immediate vicinity. As The things drew closer, I could see that the little creatures had not been human when they had been alive. They looked more like small lizard men. The one in the front had some kind of wooden placard hanging around his neck.

“Feels wrong just waitin’ for them to walk up on us,” Aeryn said.

“Indeed,” Marzena replied.

She chanted and a burst of light came from her finger and struck one of the zombies, bursting through its chest. It staggered but did not fall. I moved to one side.

“When they turn and run, cut them down like the dogs they are,” I said.

As the things continued their slow advance, I touched the holy symbol at my throat. Marzena cast another spell, sending another blast towards the things.

“By the power of beer, partying, and sex, the unliving will no longer harass the living!” I said, holding up my hand in defiance of the terrible things.

The things put up their arms to shield their faces and then turned and began shambling away.

“Run them down and chop them to pieces, they will not attack you!” I said. “I must continue turning them.”

I moved towards the things careful not to get close enough to disrupt the turning. Aeryn charged ahead and stabbed the nearest zombie in the side. Orrin also charged ahead and cut another of the things. I continued to pace the zombies, holding my holy symbol. One of them moved past Aeryn and he stabbed it again without doing it any harm. Orrin struck another zombie but it continued to shamble away though it was badly damaged.

Aeryn charged ahead, striking the zombie without apparently doing it any real harm. Then Orrin cleaved the thing he faced in twain. Aeryn continued stabbing the thing he followed, apparently without harming it at all. Orrin moved to another zombie and struck it without slowing it. Aeryn desperately stabbed at the same zombie again and again while Orrin cut another of the things to pieces.

There were only two left.

Aeryn stabbed the thing he had stabbed before, this time apparently damaging the walking dead body. Orrin rushed another of the things and cut it to pieces.

Only the zombie that Aeryn had been attacking over and over again was still standing.

“Aeryn!” came the scream of Marzena from back at the camp. “Orrin!”

Aeryn turned and ran into the darkness back towards the camp. Orrin brought his axe down on the last zombie and cleft it in twain. Then he looked around.

“Aeryn?” he said. “Where’d they go?”

“Screams from the camp!” I shouted.

I turned and ran back towards the camp, drawing my rapier. Near the horses, I could see two wolves stalking towards them and Marzena. One of them bit the woman in the leg and then shook its head, knocking her to the ground. She chanted and moved her hands and another magic missile struck the wolf that had just knocked her down.

Aeryn stabbed one of the animals as Orrin came crashing into the battle. I charged to Marzena, standing over the girl and trying to stab the other wolf but missed it completely. I yelled at the animal, trying to get its attention from the fallen girl.

The wolf glared at me and, though I was not sure, I almost swore it said “Die!”

“We could discuss this,” I muttered.

The thing bit me in the leg but I managed to stay on my feet.

“Why do you want me to die?” I asked. “We have food. You could have it if you want it.”

Aeryn tore into the other wolf, and it let out a yelp. Orrin rushed Aeryn’s side and brought his axe down on the wolf, finishing it. It let out a hideous cry that didn’t sound animal.

I stood between Marzena and the remaining wolf, swinging my sword wildly and ineffectually. The animal turned and fled as I tried to stab it but missed once again.

I went to Marzena. Her leg was bloody. I knelt beside her and examined it, then cast a healing spell upon the wound. It closed up the wound and something bubbled up out of the cut, possibly poison or disease. Then I went to the dying wolf and found it still breathing. I cast my weakest healing spell to stop it from bleeding out.

“What are you doing?” Aeryn asked.

“It can speak,” I said. “Which means it can be interrogated.”

Even as I said it, I realized how mad that it sounded.

I stood, cleaned my unbloodied blade on the wolf and then sheathed it.

“Perhaps I am mad,” I said. “But I could have sworn that the other one spoke and, when this one was cut down, it screamed. Wolves do no scream.”

“I’ll give you that,” Aeryn said.

“And if it can speak, perhaps it can answer questions.”

I gave my hand to Marzena, helping her to her feet.

“Perhaps I’m mad,” I said again.

“He’s not mad,” Marzena said.

“You heard it too?” Aeryn asked her.

“I did,” she said.

“All right. Goblin wolves.”

“They speak?” I asked.

“I would stake my life on it,” Marzena said to Aeryn.

She went to the camp and brought back the rock I’d enchanted. In the light, it was obvious that the creature was not a normal wolf. The face and the head looked strange. There was less fur in the face, but more exposed, black flesh. It had a goblin expression to its continence.

“What are goblin wolves?” I asked.

“They are not exactly beasts, but they are known to travel with goblins and fight with them on occasion,” Marzena said. “They are wicked and evil creatures. They are far from their homelands. They come from Ridnath and the Forest of Hárgaldor.”

“No redemption for said creatures?”

“No, they are the spawn of evil.”

“No information they could probably provide us?”

“I don’t know.”

“What types of questions would you want to ask it?” Aeryn asked.

“We were attacked by undead as well as them,” I said. “It was coordinated. It seemed to be planned. It felt to me as if this attack was something someone staged, not just a coincidence of these creatures attacking at the same time as those things.”

I gestured towards the area still lit by Aeryn’s arrow.

“Perhaps I am paranoid,” I said. “It feels to me like it is more than just running into the wrong things at the wrong time. I am, perhaps, mistaken. If you think there is nothing to be gained, we can slay this creature painlessly. It is up to you. I saved it in case it could have perhaps been interrogated.”

Aeryn decided to kill the beast and left that to Orrin, who dragged the wolf down towards the river. I told them the healing spell I’d cast on Marzena had also removed something, either a poison or some kind of infection.

“It’s gone now,” I said. “It should be gone.”

“I thank you,” Marzena said.

“Those undead things came from the direction that we need to go,” Aeryn said.

“Yes,” I said.

“The woodsman did say they call this the Darkwood Forest,” Marzena said.

There was some discussion of what we might expect and if that was the correct river to follow.

We returned to the camp and I found my spot on the ground. Though it was quite cold, I didn’t feel it at all thanks to the magic upon me. ]]> Max_Writer http://www.penandpapergames.com/forums/entry.php/1768-Eriks-D-amp-D-Game-Plague-at-Goblin-s-Tooth-Part-1-3-Horses Ravenloft: Masque of the Red Death: Falls Run Part 1 http://www.penandpapergames.com/forums/entry.php/1751-Ravenloft-Masque-of-the-Red-Death-Falls-Run-Part-1 Thu, 16 Aug 2012 22:15:45 GMT Saturday, August 4, 2012 (After playing the *Ravenloft: Masque of Red Death* scenario “Falls Run” by James Wyatt (Dungeon Adventures #67) Friday... Saturday, August 4, 2012

(After playing the Ravenloft: Masque of Red Death scenario “Falls Run” by James Wyatt (Dungeon Adventures #67) Friday with Stephen Turner and Erik Huffine from 7:00 p.m. to 1 a.m.)

On Tuesday, December 23, 1890, two strangers boarded the crowded train in Baltimore, Maryland. There were three engines on the train, the first of which had a huge snow plow affixed to it. These were followed by the coal car, a baggage car, a dining car, and three Pullman sleeper cars. The two men found themselves sitting together in the center Pullman sleeper car.

The Pullman cars were ornately decorated, inside and out, and sumptuously furnished. The main chamber of the car consisted of twelve compartments of two facing seats, a row of six compartments on either side of the car. The seats could be folded together to form a lower bunk, while and upper berth folded down from the ceiling of the car. Curtains could be pulled around each bunk for privacy. A gas chandelier hung in the aisle between each pair of compartments.

At the forward end of the main compartment, a curtain led into a narrow hallway linked to the car entrance. The hall bent around the smoking room and ended before a door leading to the vestibule between cars. At the rear end of the sleeping compartment, a second curtain opened into another hallway, which led to a rear vestibule identical to the forward one. A door in that hallway led to a drawing room.

Robert James Blair was 32 years old. A tall, slim man of average appearance, he wore rough clothing and had a thick beard and mustache. His hair was fairly long. He wore plain breeches and had well-worn boots. His clothing was a little threadbare and he wore a heavy coat and a fedora. A large knife was strapped to his belt. His Winchester rifle was also stowed in the baggage car along with his backpack, his only luggage. He was returning to Cincinnati from Baltimore with his brother’s body. His brother had died of consumption and Blair had come east from his home in Nevada to settle the man’s affairs. He’d been named as the executor of his brother’s small estate and found himself a little overwhelmed by the entire process.

Dr. Johann Jacob Heintz was 30 years old and had only recently started his own practice. He was a plain-looking man of slight build with blonde hair and blue eyes. A pair of gold-rimmed glasses was perched on his nose. He dressed in a very nice suit and wore a fine overcoat with a fur collar. He also wore a silk top hat and carried a physician’s bag and a violin case. Originally from Pennsylvania, his family had moved to Ohio when he was young. He now practiced medicine in Baltimore. He was en route to his sister’s family for the holidays and had safely seen the crate with the four Christmas presents stowed in the baggage car.

Finally settled in their seats after pressing through crowds of holiday travelers for what seemed like hours, the two men were able to allow themselves a deep breath and began to relax. The seats were upholstered in fine cloth, and the chandelier in the ceiling over the aisle gave a comforting, warm light. The fold-down bunk over their head was exquisitely decorated, and the well-dressed porters were moving down the aisle with graceful efficiency.

The train left the station. Dr. Heintz took out his pocket watch as the car began to move and saw they were right on schedule. He had been told the trip would take roughly 15 hours with stops, expected bad weather, and other delays. Snow was falling gently outside.

Blair looked around at the finery. He didn’t think much of it. Most of the people were well-dressed, while only a few were dressed like him. All of the seats were full. Dr. Heintz took off his coat and laid it in the seat, putting his silk top hat on top of it. Blair took his long coat off and laid it on his lap. He fiddled in the pockets and then pulled out a piece of beef jerky. He wiped it off and removed a little lint, then took a big bite. Dr. Heintz looked at the meat with distaste. He’d had a meal before he’d boarded the train.

Neatly-dressed porters moved down the aisle, making sure everyone had anything they needed. Two berths ahead of the two men and across the aisle was a family. A snot-nosed little boy of probably about four had his nose against the glass. He left a smear.

“What’s that?” he said. “What’s that?”

His mother very patiently told the little lad what he was pointing at outside of the window. A little girl with ringlets in her brown hair sat next to the boy, trying to read a book. She looked to be about 10 years old. Every time the boy said something, she rolled her eyes as if terribly annoyed with him. A man with a large handlebar mustache sat with them, reading the Wall Street Journal and ignoring the children.

“No time for dinner, sir?” Dr. Heintz finally asked the man across from him.

“Pardon?” Blair said.

“No time for dinner, I take it?”

“I was under the impression that they were going to be serving us a meal on this train.”

“That’s what I meant, sir. I take it you didn’t eat earlier.”

“Right. No time.”

They sat in silence for a moment.

“Beef jerky?” Blair finally said, holding out the meat.

“No, thank you, sir,” Dr. Heintz replied. “Headed home for the holidays?”

“Going to see my mother.”

“I’m going to see my sister and her husband and their children. I haven’t seen them in a couple of years, actually. So, it’s something I’m looking forward to.”

“I’m taking my dead brother’s body home.”

“Oh. I’m very sorry. My condolences to you.”

Blair looked the man over and noted the black bag and the strangely-shaped case.

“You some kind of doctor?” he asked.

“Yes sir, more or less,” Dr. Heintz replied. “I’ve recently finished school and I’m working at one of the hospitals in Maryland.”

“Ah.”

“And yourself?”

“Sort of in-between jobs at the moment.”

“Ah, I see. So, a laborer? Were you a soldier, or ...?”

“I worked with the army. Hunted Indians out west.”

“Ah. A respectable job.”

“Kept me fed.”

There was another uncomfortable silence. It stretched out for several hours and the men contented themselves with their own thoughts.

At 9:50 p.m., the train stopped. The conductor called down the car “Keyser, West Virginia” several times. Neither of the men had been to West Virginia before. More passengers were taken on at the stop. The train only stopped for 15 minutes and was on its way shortly after 10 p.m.

“I’m not sure where they’re going to keep all these people,” Dr. Heintz said.

“If they would cut back on all of the fancy finery, they’d have more room for seats,” Blair said.

“Well, they’re just trying to make it comfortable for us, sir.”

“I’d be comfortable with more seats.”

At 10:15 p.m., the porters started making their way down the car, folding the berths down for sleeping. They helped those who needed it and when one of the young men reached the berth where the two men were, he told them they’d be folding down the seats.

“How you do it?” Blair said.

“If you could stand up,” the porter said.

“I can figure it out, I appreciate it,” Blair said. He’d watched the porters do it down the aisle. “When I get sleepy, I’ll–”

“No sir, we need to put them all down now,” the porter said. “We’re going to lower the lights in here. If you’d like to stay up, you can go to the dining car or the smoking room.”

“They serving food in the dining car?” Blair asked.

“I believe that there is some food being served,” the porter said.

“They got drinks?”

“Yes sir.”

“All right.”

“Well, perhaps I’ll join you,” Dr. Heintz said, standing as the man headed towards the front of the train. “I should have asked your name earlier. My name is Jacob.”

He held out his hand.

“Robert,” Blair said, shaking his hand.

“That’s quite a grip, sir,” Dr. Heintz said. “Robert. It’s good to meet you.”

“I apologize.”

“I have to be careful with my hands, you know.”

“Of course. They’re your livelihood. I understand. I think I will head to the dining car.”

They made their way through the other cars to the dining car and were able to get hot food and drinks there. There were only a few others in the place. Blair had a double whisky and Dr. Heintz got a snifter of brandy.

“To your brother, sir,” Dr. Heintz said, lifting his glass.

“Thank you kindly,” Blair replied.

They drank.

“If you don’t mind me asking, what did your brother die of?” Dr. Heintz asked.

“Consumption,” Blair replied.

“Oh. A terrible disease which we have yet to eliminate. There are some sanitariums for it out west.”

“I really wouldn’t know much about that.”

“I would assume with you being somewhat of a traveling man out in the west, maybe you would have heard of them.”

“I tend to stick off the beaten path, as it were.”

“I see. Have you lived at all with the red man?”

“I’ve coexisted with the red man.”

“I know you said you hunted them, hunted them for the army somewhat. So I figured you understood them a bit.”

“A little. I suppose many of the things that I’ve learned came from them.”

“Are they truly as savage as men say?”

“Well, I suppose it depends on what men. Some of them can be quite savage. But only for reason. They’re not savages for the sake of being savages.”

“Well, surely they’re not as cultured as we are. We Christian folk.”

“Well, no sir. I would agree with you there. However, they don’t often do the horrible things to each other that we have done.”

“But surely they scalp, as I’ve heard.”

“They do. But that’s ... that’s just their way.”

More uncomfortable silence followed while Blair ate.

“Robert, tell me more of your adventures,” Dr. Heintz finally said to break the awful silence.

“How long have you got?” Blair asked.

“Most of the evening, I suppose, if you’d care to join me in the smoking room.”

“All right.”

The two men made their way back to their Pullman car and found the small smoking room empty. Dr. Heintz took out a pipe, loaded it and lit it, filling the air with the pleasant scent of expensive tobacco.

“The injuns smoke a lot of pipes,” Blair said.

“Do they?” Dr. Heintz said.

“They do.”

“Ah yes! ‘Smokum the peace pipe,’ yes?”

“Absolutely. They do it to see visions. Travel the spirit path, they call it.”

“Hogwash. Spirit path!”

“I wouldn’t know.”

They were still chatting when a piercing scream filled with horror echoed through the car.

“What the devil!?!” Dr. Heintz said.

The two men leapt to their feet burst out of the room. In the main part of the car, they saw a young woman in her bedclothes sprawled on the aisle floor, shrieking as she stared horrified at the berth beside her. The curtains of that bunk had been thrown back, and a man lie thrashing within, flailing wildly as if to ward off some demonic madman.

He fell out of the bunk, yet no assailant followed him – just a simple pocket knife, surrounded by an eerie blue glow. The knife rose into the air before their eyes and plunged deep into the man’s back! The woman continued to scream horribly as blood seeped onto her bedclothes. A soft, gurgling noise escaped the man’s mouth as he began to slump lifeless.

But then the man jerked up and staggered to his feet. Stiffly, he reached under his bunk and produced a large box with a handle. Like some hideous automaton, he smashed the box against the floor, causing small pieces of delicate machinery to fly out from the ruined item. After mindlessly crashing the box down onto the floor a few more times, the man gave a slight cough and collapsed face-first on the cabin floor. Only this time, he did not stir again.

“My God!” Dr. Heintz said.

Blair ran to the woman while Dr. Heintz ran to the man. He found him dead, the blade of the knife in the man’s heart. He should not have been able to stand up and smash the box. Blair found the girl crying and hysterical. He turned her away from the horrible scene.

People up and down the car were peering out of their berths. Many of them had watched the scene in horror. Then a man with a handlebar mustache appeared near the front of the car. He wore a nice black suit and approached the body. He leaned over it.

“What happened here?” he demanded.

“This fella here just ... fell out of his bunk,” Blair said weakly. “He was ... chased by a knife.”

The man glared at him.

“What?” he said. “What do you mean ‘chased by a knife?’”

“Ask him!” Blair said, pointing at Dr. Heintz. “He saw it.”

“Sir!” the man said, turning to the doctor. “What did you see, sir?”

“Uh ...” Heintz said. “Honestly sir, if I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes, I would not have believed it.”

“What was it?” the man asked. “What did you see?”

“The knife did fly from the berth after him. And struck him in the back.”

“Someone threw knife at him!”

“No sir. It seemed to float in mid-air and went right towards him as he ran.”

“Very suspicious-sounding. Very suspicious-sounding. Very suspicious-sounding.”

The man turned to the young woman.

“What about you, young lady?” he said. “What did you see? Did you see something?”

“She’s the one that screamed, sir,” Blair said.

“It was horrible,” the young woman said. “It was awful. I was sitting in the seat opposite Mr. Hammond and talking to him earlier this evening. He was talking to me. He’s a train telegrapher. He was telling me about his profession. I’m traveling with my sister Elaine and our cousin. They’re sitting ...”

She pointed to the berth across the aisle where a woman who resembled the girl was climbing down from the top bed. A young man watched from the lower.

“I had the top bunk and I fell out of it while I was trying to ... he was thrashing around underneath and I was trying to see what it was,” the girl went on. “And then ... and then ... and then the knife came out of nowhere and it was awful, it was horrible. He looked like he was struggling with somebody. But there was nobody there! There was just nobody there!”

“All right,” Blair said. “All right, miss. This is your sister? Go to your sister.”

The other woman took the young, hysterical girl in her arms. Dr. Heintz pulled the blanket from the dead man’s berth and covered the body.

“I’m the train spotter,” the man who had been interrogating them said. “I’ll get to the bottom of this! I’ll investigate this. I’ll investigate this right now. Yes. Yes, I will.”

“Sir, perhaps someone should fetch one of the porters,” Dr. Heintz said.

“Yes, I’ll go fetch the porter,” the man said. “No. I have to ask questions of these people and see what they saw.” He pointed to the doctor. “You sir, what did you see? Wait. Where were you when all this happened? When it began?”

“Sir, we need to fetch a porter and get this man out of here,” Dr. Heintz said again.

“He’s dead.”

“But the rest of the people here are not.”

“I will ask my questions first, sir. I will ask my questions first!”

“We were in the smoking room,” Blair said.

“You were in the smoking room, yes?” the spotter replied. “What were you doing in there?”

“Talking.”

“Very well. Hmmm. I noticed you have a knife on your belt sir!”

“I still have the knife on my belt; it’s not in the man’s back.”

“Very good.”

The train spotter turned to Dr. Heintz.

“Do you have a knife, sir?” he said to him.

“Well, yes sir, I do actually,” Dr. Heintz replied. “But it’s not one me, it’s in my bag.”

“A knife in your bag. Could you see if it’s still there? Perhaps that’s the murder weapon. Very suspicious. Very suspicious.”

Dr. Heintz pulled the blanket back and looked at the knife in the man’s back. It didn’t look like the one he owned, but a cheap pocket knife.

“I don’t have time for this,” he said. “I need to fetch a porter.”

“Is it your knife, sir?” the train spotter said.

“No, it is not, sir.”

“Hmm. Hmm. Well, can you show me your knife?”

Dr. Heintz sighed and retrieved the pocket knife from his bag. The train spotter looked it over and then handed it back to him.

“Very good,” he said. “Very good. I must ask these people questions!”

He began asking the same questions of the rest of the passengers: where they were when the murder happened, what they saw, and the like. He got consistent answers, though some people did not see the knife hit the man while others claimed they didn’t know what they saw. The train spotter was very insistent but some would not comment on what they saw or claimed they had not really seen what happened.

Meanwhile, Dr. Heintz found a porter and told him to get the conductor and some more porters so they could move the body to the baggage car. The conductor and porters soon arrived. The train spotter told them not to dislodge the knife as it was an important clue to the killer’s identity. Dr. Heintz and Mr. Blair escorted the porters and the body forward to the baggage car. When they arrived, Blair found his backpack and took his pistol and gun belt from it. He strapped the gun belt on and holstered his pistol.

They returned to their Pullman car and found the train spotter talking to the conductor. He advised that they should stop the train in Grafton, the next stop, so they could take on a new telegrapher. The conductor looked at his watch and compared it to his schedule, then told the other man that they should be there at 12:10 a.m., in a little more than half an hour. The train spotter seemed pleased with that.

“I will continue my questions,” the man said.

“Very well, Mr. Leecy,” the conductor said.

“You! You there! Child!” Mr. Leecy said, turning away from the man. “What did you see? Come here!”

The young woman was sitting in the top berth with her sister. The young man in the bottom berth watched them with some concern.

“That’s a bit bold, don’t you think?” Dr. Heintz said looking at Blair’s sidearm.

“I’m not going to get stabbed by some blue-glowing knife,” Blair replied.

“I’m sure there will be an explanation for this.”

“I’m sure there will be. In the meantime, I’m not getting stabbed by some blue-flowing knife.”

“Very well.”

“Somebody was murdered right here in front of us.”

“Yes, something peculiar did happen.”

“That’s not going to happen to me, that’s all I’m saying.”

Dr. Heintz went to talk to the girl. She seemed to have calmed down though there was still blood on her nightdress.

“Excuse me, my dear,” he said.

“Yes,” she said.

“May I ask your name?”

“Elise Stephens.”

The girl’s sister looked at the man suspiciously.

“Elise,” he said. “Were you just bunking with Mr. Hammond, I believe you said?”

“No!” Elise replied. “Goodness sakes, no! I was on the top bunk, he had the bottom.”

“Forgive me, were you sharing a berth with Mr. Hammond?”

“Yes, we sat and we were talking. He was telling me he was the telegrapher for the line and that he had his telegraph box with him. He seemed a very pleasant fellow and we had a nice conversation.”

Dr. Heintz turned to Mr. Blair.

“Do you think you could get the telegraph box before that fool gets hold of it?” he whispered.

“If you don’t think I’ll get into any trouble by that idiot,” Blair replied.

“No.

“All right.”

Blair gathered the broken parts of the box and its contents. Dr. Heintz turned back to the girl.

“Did you know Mr. Hammond very well?” he asked. “Did you meet him on the train?”

“No, we just met on the train,” she replied. “He seemed a very nice gentleman. He had the seat across from me so we struck up a conversation. He told me that he uses a special box in order to hook into the telegraph wire. He said it runs along the route of the train.”

“Indeed it does.”

“Well, my name, sir, is Geoffrey Leecy and I’m the train spotter on this train and I can ask any questions I want!” Leecy’s voice came across the car.

“Elise, where are you from?” Dr. Heintz asked the girl.

“Philadelphia,” she said. “I’m going home for the holidays with my cousin Alvin and this is my sister Elaine.”

Alvin nodded to the doctor.

“Indeed, my family is from Philadelphia as well,” Dr. Heintz said.

They made some small talk about the city for some time. Dr. Heintz could hear that dolt Leecy still questioning the other passengers as they talked. Then, in mid-sentence, the train spotter let out a little yelp, almost a squeal. Sparks and flashes of blue seemed to leap from his jacket and hovered in front of him.

Here we go! thought Blair.

Then they saw what had happened: some unseen force had pulled Leecy’s own gun form under his jacket and was pointing it at Leecy’s head! The man stood stock still, white as a sheet, visibly trembling as a drop of sweat worked its way down his nose. Blair drew his own revolver.

Dr. Heintz dashed for the floating pistol and tried to grab it, but tripped as he leapt and crashed into Leecy, sending both of them to the floor. The pistol lowered slightly, aiming down at the two of them; Dr. Heintz flinched. Blair lunged at the blue-glowing, floating pistol and grabbed it around the midsection, shoving his thumb under the hammer. He felt like he’d put his hand into a bucket of ice-cold water. With a click, the hammer came down on the finger and then the pistol became heavy in his hand. He cursed in pain and Dr. Heintz looked up.

Blair holstered his own pistol and tucked the leather loop down to hold it in place. Everyone else in the car was standing and hysterical. Ladies were crying and wailing. Men were shouting that the train must be stopped. Children were crying. The little girl that Blair had noticed earlier rolled her eyes and seemed more annoyed at the situation, though she looked around nervously.

Blair raised the train spotter’s pistol and fired it up into the roof. Silence filled the car for a moment.

“This isn’t helping,” Blair said quietly.

“That didn’t help either!” one man yelled at him.

The noise level started to rise again.

“We all just need to calm down!” the porter shouted. “We all just need to calm down!”

It didn’t help.

Dr. Heintz pulled himself off Leecy, who was gibbering quietly to himself.

“The gun!” the man said. “It tried to kill me! Oh my God! It, it tried to get me!”

“Leecy, are you all right?” Dr. Heintz said.

“I’m not all right! I’m not all right!”

Dr. Heintz slapped him smartly across the face.

“Pull yourself together, man!” he said.

Leecy grabbed the lapels of the doctor’s coat.

“There was nobody there!” he said over and over. “There was nobody there!”

“Leecy, I know,” Dr. Heintz said. “Let go of my coat.”

Blair, meanwhile, emptied the five bullets and the empty shell casing from Leecy’s pistol. Leecy stumbled to his feet and Dr. Heintz saw that he was shaking and sweating. He helped the man to a berth and the man sat down, putting his head in his hands, still muttering to himself. Blair handed the pistol and bullets to Dr. Heintz and the man tucked them in his jacket pocket.

Dr. Heintz sent the near-hysterical porter to find the conductor.

“Go stand by one of the doors,” Dr. Heintz said to Blair. Blair nodded and then unloaded the bullet that would be under the hammer of the pistol of his own pistol when it was next cocked.

“You might want to think about that if you load that piece,” he said.

Blair headed to the back of the car, telling people to get back into their seats. They ignored him or a few men blustered at him. Dr. Heintz moved towards the front of the car and ran into a conductor.

“What’s going on?” the man asked. “What is happening now? Mr. Leecy, what are you doing? What’s going on?”

“I don’t know!” Leecy wailed. “I don’t know any more!”

“We’ve had another incident,” Dr. Heintz said quietly to the man.

“I heard the gunshots,” the conductor said.

“I think it might be a wise decision to get some of these folks into other cars, if we can.”

“There’s no room to get them into other cars. This train is full to capacity. At least until we get to Grafton. Some people are leaving there.”

“By God, man! Something unusual is happening in this car. I want to make sure all of these people are safe!”

“Everyone needs to calm down!” the conductor called out to the people in the car. “Everything will be fine.

Leecy continued gibbering.

“Will you at least take Mr. Leecy to the dining car and get him a snifter of brandy?” Dr. Heintz said.

The conductor nodded and got Leecy to his feet, escorting him towards the front of the car. As he passed Dr. Heintz, the man patted the train spotter on his shoulder.

“It’ll be all right, Leecy,” he said. “Stiffen up, man.”

Leecy paid the man no mind as the conductor escorted him out of the car. Dr. Heintz moved through the car and tried to calm down the various people in the car successfully. He let people know that he was a doctor and he would figure out what was going on. One gentleman noted that his ankle had been bothering him.

“If you’re ever in Maryland,” Dr. Heintz said, handing the man his card.

The passengers had started to calm down again, finally, when screams and cries of alarm erupted from the car behind theirs. In an instant, the reason became apparent. The curtain s at the rear of the compartment were ripped open with a shower of blue sparks, and they could see the drawing-room door behind the curtain banging open and closed apparently of its own accord. The lower berths bucked with some unseen force and collapsed, while the upper berths bounced up and down. The curtains around the bunks opened and shut frantically, all the while suffused with that same blue glow. The force seemed to be moving forward through the car, throwing loose objects into the air, smashing personal belongings against the walls and ceiling, all amid the terrified cries of the other passengers. Seconds later, the curtain at the front of the car was torn open as well and the doors began to slam in the forward hallway. Soon the screaming began in the car ahead, the sound mingled with the terrified sobbing of the passengers.

After only a minute, the sobs and moans of the passengers desisted and the screams from rest of the train stopped. They could almost feel the air move as the passengers finally dared to breathe again. Women were crying. Some of the men were even crying. The little girl that Blair had seen earlier, seemingly indifferent to everything that had happened up to that point had tears rolling down her face.

“Mother, when is this going to stop?” she said. “I don’t want to ever ride on a train again.”

Dr. Heintz went to the berth and checked his medical bag. He found that some of the glass bottles within had broken. One of his scalpels was missing, seemingly flung from the bag. He saw it stuck into the wood of the wall right next to the little boy with the runny nose. The boy frowned mightily and stared at the scalpel which had only missed his head by inches. Dr. Heintz fetched it.

“Thank you for holding that for me, lad,” he said with feigned cheerfulness.

He looked at the bag.

“This was a gift,” he muttered.

Then, an inhuman shriek of metal pierced their ears. The train lurched forward, sending passengers sprawling in the aisles, and the steady rhythm of the wheels increased its tempo. Blair and Dr. Heintz managed to stay standing. The steam whistle bellowed forth a sustained note of terror as the train reached speeds which did not seem possible. Passengers cried out in panic, their gasps swallowed by the squeal of metal, a horrific wrenching noise, and a low rumbling that seemed to go on and on.

The train lurched suddenly, heaving passengers from their seat and the aisle. Both Dr. Heintz and Blair were thrown forward, unable to steel themselves against the imminent catastrophe.

* * *

It was strangely quiet. It took a moment for Dr. Heintz to realize that he was still alive. Others around him were beginning to move amidst the wreckage of the train and he realized he was not even badly hurt. He was lucky.

Everything seemed shrouded in eerie silence. The movements of others seemed soundless – even the flames engulfing the engine seemed to burn in silence, casting an ominous glow on the thick clouds overhead. Then, one sound reached his ears, reassuring him that he still had hearing: the howling of wolves at a great distance, almost like a heavenly choir.

Outside the wreckage of the train, the snow-cloaked mountains rose up, oblivious to their plight. The snow was falling hard, but towards the north he could barely make out a few lights glinting off snow on the mountainside, offering a hinted promise of warmth and comfort.

The Pullman car lay on its side, broken open like an egg. The heavy drifts of snow had cushioned the blow of the crash. The groans of the injured rose up around him.

“Get your bag, doc,” Blair called from somewhere in the darkness.

Dr. Heintz was amazed to find that he was still clutching his medical bag. He began to examine the other passengers as quickly as he could.

“Doc?” Blair called again. “Doc!”

“I’m over here!” Dr. Heintz called.

Blair lit a match but the wind immediately blew it out. He lit another, sheltering it with his hand. It lasted a few moments longer.

Miraculously, it didn’t appear that many people were hurt. The passengers started to gather from the various other cars and in their own, only one person had died. Blair tried to organize people, telling them to get clothing and boots or shoes on as best they could. Passengers helped each other and another man also tried to help organize. People had little more than bruises and bumps, though one man had a broken arm.

Of the 120 passengers on the entire train, only seven were found to have been killed in the crash. The engineers, firemen, the conductor, Leecy, and two of the porters had all been killed, leaving only eight surviving porters and a few other servants as the living railroad personnel. Leecy has been cut all over as if by broken crockery as if something happened in the place before the crash.

As they gathered everyone together, Blair looked towards the lights on the distant hillside and realized with a start that one of them seemed to be moving. A large shape plowed through the snow, and he saw that the moving light was part of the shadow. His blood began to pound in his ears as fear ran up his spine. He heard a jingling noise and the gentle crack of a whip, and he began to make out the shape of two horses pulling a sleigh. Walking behind the sleigh and its driver were a number of other shapes.

“Here comes help, everybody,” Blair called. “We’ll be all right. Where are we? In West Virginia, still?”

“Is anybody out there?” a man’s voice called from the sleigh.

“Yeah!” Blair called.

“We’re here!” Dr. Heintz said.

“There they are, men!” the voice said. “C’mon!”

A half dozen or so men bundled up against the cold with thick coats and hats appeared in the darkness. Scarves covered their faces. They started to distribute blankets to the passengers.

“Just like last year,” one of the rescue party said with a thick accent.

“West Virginia’d be my bet,” Blair said to Dr. Heintz. “Maybe Kentucky.”

“We can lead you back to Falls Run,” another local man said. “That’s the nearest place. It’s not far. It’s about a mile.”

“All right,” Blair said.

“Where did you men come from?” Dr. Heintz asked.

“From Falls Run,” another man said.

“We’ve got a lot of injured men and women. We’ve got children too.”

“We’ll help everybody the best we can,” another local man said.

The army of survivors trudged through the snow along the railroad tracks for perhaps a mile. Their feet were so cold and their eyelashes so caked with ice that many of them lost track of distance and time. Soon, the white monotony of the snow was broken by hulking shadows which they dimly recognized as houses. The men led them towards a pair of open doors from which light and warmth spilled out. A sign above the doors read “Mount of Olives Baptist Church.” A crew of women had already prepared some huge pots of steaming soup.

Folks moved about, bringing extra blankets and cots and setting them up around the fellowship hall. Despite the disaster, a festive atmosphere pervaded the room. The warmth of the church was a welcome respite from an otherwise harrowing experience. It was not long before someone again mentioned how odd it was that a train crashed in the same spot exactly one year earlier.

The soup was warm and the vegetables were still crunchy, as if it hadn’t cooked for very long. There was even a little meat in it as well. Passengers and townsfolk all pitched in to help those who were injured. Dr. Heintz moved through the room, trying to help any of the injured as best he could. He asked the women of the church for hot water, cotton cloth, and straight supports for splinting.

“Bobby, he needs some boards for splints,” one of the women said to another man. “You and T.J. go out and find something he can use.”

“Yes ma’am, we’ll do that,” the young man said.

He and another man left, returning with a few boards that would suffice. In the meantime, the women boiled water and fetched sheets.

Blair talked to some people in Pullman cars other than his own and asked them what had happened before the crash. The description that he got was almost identical to what had happened in their own car: the blue sparks, things flying, and such. One man hoped that the baggage car had not been terribly damaged as he had his violin in it. Another man noted that porters asked about the earlier gunfire and screams said there was nothing to worry about, but noted that the train would stop in Grafton.

Blair found a corner and someone shoved a bowl of soup into his hands.

Dr. Heintz asked about a local doctor but one of the townsfolk said they hadn’t sent for him.

“You may have to send for him yet,” Dr. Heintz said. “I’ve lost most of the medicines in my bag.”

He looked around.

“Where are we?” he asked one of the women.

“This is Falls Run, West Virginia,” she said. “We’re a mining community. We’re small but we’re proud.”

“About how far away are you from Keyser?”

“Keyser? Well, Keyser’s pretty far. We’re close to Grafton. You know where Grafton is?”

“No ma’am.”

“It’s on the line. It’s one of the stops. It’s a big town. That’s where I do my shopping. Except for the farmer’s market when they have the farmer’s market. They sometimes have the farmer’s market.”

“Thank you ma’am.”

“You’re welcome.”

The people of Falls Run were not fancy. Their clothing was threadbare and simple. The soup was tasty, however, and the locals were very friendly.

Blair looked around for Dr. Heintz and saw someone put a bowl of soup into the harassed physician’s hands. When the man looked around, Blair waved from his corner and the doctor came over and sat next to him.

The general murmur of conversation filled the church. A few people were crying. One little girl wailed that they were going to miss Christmas. The little girl from the train that Blair had noticed before sat with her family nearby, calmly reading a book while her brother slept on a blanket. Her parents held each other and stared at nothing.

As he ate, Dr. Heintz looked around at the locals who were in the place. A man nearby had a sweaty shirt on and he guessed that it might have been one of those from the rescue party. He recognized him as the man that the woman had called “Bobby” earlier.

“So, you said that a train crashed here the same time last year?” he asked the man.

“Yes sir,” the young man replied with a thick accent. “There was a train crashed here last year.”

“On the 23rd?”

“Yes sir. Well, I don’t remember rightly. It was around Christmas. It derailed. It was a snowstorm, kind o’ like this one coming down on us now. It derailed. There wa’n’t many people hurt. But we fetched ‘em up here and they had to stay here a couple of days ‘cause we was snowed in, couldn’t get out. They sent a train through, I believe, to pick ‘em all up.”

“I see. That’s curious.”

“Yeah. Strange, ain’t it? Seems real strange to me. Does that seem strange to you?”

“Yes, it does.”

“Might just be co-ink-i-dence.”

“It might.”

“I don’t know. I don’t know. Seems strange to me.”

“Perhaps someone should look into this part of the line at winter time.”

“Well, they always keep checking on the line. Most trains come through have big ol’ snow plow on front, big ol’ cow catcher, and push the snow aside. How fast were y’all going?”

“Perhaps a bit too fast.”

“That might be. I thought these boys knew the line better than that. But maybe they don’t. Maybe somebody new was on in the engine. Something like that.”

“It’s been an unusual train ride, sir.”

“Oh, really? I never been on a ride on a train.”

“I may never be again.”

“I can’t say I blame you.”

“All I can say is when men can fly, it will be much safer.”

* * *

They awoke on Wednesday, December 24, 1890, to find the town buried in several feet of snow. It continued to fall from the sky, though not as hard as during the night before. A crew of women arrived early in the morning to fix breakfast for the stranded passengers. One lady was trying to keep the church cleaned up. While they ate breakfast, a blonde man with blue eyes arrived. He greeted the passengers, introducing himself as David Wells, the town constable. He told everyone that the roads and rails were completely snowed in but a telegraph had been sent and, as soon as another train could get through, they would have the passengers on their way.

The festive atmosphere of the day before continued.

After he ate, Blair got his coat and hat, as well as the blanket he slept in the night before.

“I’m going to head back to the train,” he told Dr. Heintz. “Get my gear. Make sure my brother’s body is okay. It’s going to keep in the snow, but ...”

Dr. Heintz had lost both his overcoat and his silk top hat in the crash.

“Maybe we should take one or two of the men from the town, at least,” he suggested. “Maybe they can get us back there on their sleigh.”

“Yeah. Maybe.”

Dr. Heintz asked some of the women if someone from the town could take them back to the train to gather up things from the wreck. It was about 20 minutes later when a pair of men arrived. He thought they were both men who had been part of the rescue party last night. One of them asked if there were valuables there. Dr. Heintz said he wanted to gather people’s possessions and the man told him they could carry them back, but it was too deep for the sleigh.

“I don’t really have clothing suitable for traveling a mile out in to the snow, Robert,” Dr. Heintz said.

“Well, you want me to bring something back for you?” Blair said.

Dr. Heintz asked if either of the two men had winter gear he could borrow. They left to fetch some. While they waited, they heard the women of the village chatting with the passengers and spreading gossip. One woman noted that the Cutlers were a strange pair. She said they always seemed distracted when a body was talking to them, as if they had better things to do.

“Oh, don’t get me wrong,” the woman said, “they’re good people. Always in church, and Jenny must have brought every child in Falls Run into the world.”

Blair overheard a woman tell another that Luanne Fisher, the blacksmith’s daughter, was a girl of low morals.

The two men soon returned with some heavy coats, hats, and a pair of thick boots for Dr. Heintz, who had none of his own. The boots fit remarkably well.

They led them through the tiny town and down to the wreck site, about a mile away. En route they learned that the men were Rueben Turner, who had been driving the sleigh the night before, and Al Fisher. Fisher was a very large man. Both men chewed tobacco and they noticed numerous brown stains in the snow of Falls Run.

The baggage car was badly damaged. It had broken in half when it hit, like one might break a stick, and both ends had ended up with the broken end up. The baggage was all dumped into the bottom of each end of the car.

It took Blair a while to find the pine box. The lid, which had been nailed shut, had come off and his brother’s body had been flung from the coffin and lay in a pile of baggage. With the help of the villagers, he dragged the body out of the wreck and placed it in the snow. Then they moved out the coffin. He placed his brother’s body back.

“You want to throw some snow in there with him, sir?” one of the men asked.

“How warm’s it going to get today?” Blair asked.

“Not warm at all.”

“Then I don’t think we need to.”

“All right.”

Dr. Heintz found the small wooden crate that had contained the four Christmas presents he was travelling with in the other broken section of the baggage car. It took him some time to locate the four presents, which he recognized from the wrapping paper, for the most part. He found the box with the wooden toy he’d bought for his nephew. It didn’t sound like it was broken. However, when he found the china-headed doll he’d purchased for his niece, the box rattled nastily when he shook it. He found the package that held the jewelry box he’d purchased for his sister and it didn’t sound broken. It took some time to find the package for his brother-in-law but the wrapped book about military history seemed to be undamaged.

Blair found his pack, which had come open during the crash. It took him some time to find his scattered possessions, including an axe. He used the axe to nail his brother’s coffin shut as best he could, then returned to the broken baggage car to look for the rest of his items, including his Henry lever-action rifle. It took him a while to find the rifle, but it was still in the rifle case and the bullets were all there as well.

The two local men were told to look for coats, hats, gloves, blankets, and the like to take back to town.

Dr. Heintz returned to their Pullman car, which was filled with snow. He found his coat and his violin case under the collapsed lower berth. His silk hat was damaged, but not beyond repair. He also found the train spotter’s pistol, which he’d dropped during the crash. He picked it up and put it into the waistband of his pants. It was unloaded but it was very cold.

By the time they’d found what they were looking for, they were all very cold. They headed back to town, each with a load of clothes, coats, and blankets from the wreck.

“I’m sorry about your brother,” Dr. Heintz said. “But at least the coffin wasn’t damaged and neither was he.”

They walked in silence for a few minutes.

“What was your brother’s name?” Dr. Heintz said.

“Albert,” Blair replied.

They returned to town and felt nearly frozen by the time they arrived. In the daylight, the town was quaint, with rough buildings in a hollow going roughly north to south. A main road ran east to west just south of the town and a lower area that ran through the town probably indicated where a river or creek ran. They passed the Sleeping Wolf Bar and Grill on the south side and walked past a fine house with a sign out front indicating it was also the office of Dr. Korek. There was a small smithy on that same road and, not much further up, a small school house. A tailor and cobbler had signs outside their houses not far from the church. The rest of the houses were apparently residences. Some children were playing in the deep snow, throwing snowballs and building snowmen.

They returned to the church with the supplies. Passengers started to go through the clothing, first trying to find their own things and sometimes even giving their coats or blankets to each other. Small groups had formed amongst the passengers.

Blair asked Rueben if the town had a telegraph. He told the man they did and took him to the window, pointing down the dead end road.

“Right down at the end of the road,” he said. “That’s the mine office and they have a telegraph there.”

“Thank you,” Blair said.

“Matter of fact,” the man said, squinting as he looked out the window. “I can’t tell if there’s a light on there or not. Clyde might be in there. He fusses and fiddles.”

“If he’s not in there, where might he be found?”

“I don’t know. He lives right around the corner. He lives over there. Not next to the Sleeping Wolf but the one next to it.”

“All right. Thank you.”

He returned to Dr. Heintz.

“Want to get a message out,” he said.

“Indeed,” Dr. Heintz replied.

“I’m sure a lot of people are going to want to do that. Let’s go make sure that Clyde is ready for some extended business hours this afternoon.”

They walked down to the building. Over the door was a small sign that read “Zorex Coal Company” and they guessed that the building housed the administrative offices of the local coal company. When they went in, they found a desk on one side, a telegraph off to the other, and a door with a mirror upon it that led to the interior. A man came out of the back room wiping black stains off his hands onto what looked like a printer’s apron.

“Morning,” Blair said.

“Mornin’, how you doin’?” the man said. “I’m Clyde Johnsson.”

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Johnsson.”

“Nice to meet you too. You folks must be from the train wreck last night.”

“Yes sir.”

“Yep – that’s a terrible thing. Terrible thing. Glad no more people weren’t hurt. What can I do for you fellas? Here to read the newspaper? I’m going to write up a little story and put it in the newspaper.”

“Actually, we were hoping to get you to send a message on your telegraph machine.”

“All righty. Should I charge it to the railroad?”

“Yes,” Dr. Heintz said.

“Yes,” Blair repeated. “Absolutely. And I think there’s probably going to be quite a few people who want to have the use of your service today.”

“Yep,” Johnsson said. “Already had a few people come in this morning who wanted to send telegraphs to their loved ones.”

“I certainly would like to do so.”

“All righty.”

Blair sent a message to his mother that read: “Train Wreck Stop Unknown Delay Stop Albert Okay End.” He waited while Johnsson sent the message on to Cincinnati. Dr. Heintz asked if the railway had been informed of the accident and Johnsson said they had been.

“Somebody came down last night and sent something,” Johnsson told him.

“Someone from the railway?” Dr. Heintz asked.

“I guess. David Wells came. He’s the town constable. He was actually in here last night so we could send a message to the railway. But they’re not going to get through for a few days, until the weather lays off a little bit. So, the railway knows.”

“Did they send a response?” Blair asked.

“They acknowledged receipt of the telegraph,” Johnsson said. “I’m sure they’ll send a train as soon as they can.”

“I’d like to send a message to Cincinnati,” Dr. Heintz said.

His message read: “Train Accident Stop Okay Stop Snowed In West Va End.”

The man sent the message.

“This is your paper?” Blair said, picking up the one page paper the man had gestured at before.

“Yes sir,” Johnsson said. “Well, I call it a paper. It’s just about what’s happened in the area. This will get in.”

“How much for your paper?”

“It’s a penny.”

Blair bought two copies of The Falls Rundown. Johnsson told them that he put out the paper every week in his spare time. He noted that he had a printing press in the back room and he wrote up stories about things happening in the village.

“Mining town, huh?” Blair asked him.

“Yes sir,” Johnsson said. “Zorex Mining Company. Mr. Huggins is the company representative. He lives up in Grafton. I don’t think he’ll be coming in until this all blows over.”

“Where’s the mine?”

“North end of town, up the mountain up that way.”

“Coal?” Dr. Heintz asked.

“Yes sir.”

“Well, it’s an important business to the railway.”

“Yes sir. We got no general store or nothing like that. People go to Grafton to shop. But we got a couple of businesses here. Al Fisher’s got a smithy up there. Then there’s Peter Hood, he’s the tailor. His wife Ellen’s a seamstress. We got a schoolhouse and then there’s Bill Cutler, he’s the cobbler. He lives up there by the church too. His wife, Jenny, she’s a midwife. Probably delivered every baby in this town. We even got a doctor in town, Dr. Korek. But just between you and me, they say he’s an atheist.”

“Can’t have that,” Blair said.

“Yep yep yep, people aren’t too proud about that,” Johnsson said.

“I wouldn’t want any other than a man of God working on me if I was laid low.”

“Yep yep yep. Me neither. But I guess if I ain’t got much choice of who to take, I’ll take who’ll fix me up.”

“Korek,” Dr. Heintz said. “Doesn’t sound like it’s a West Virginia name. Is he from here?”

“No no, not really,” Johnsson said. “He’s from out of town. Been here about 10 years though. They have that big nice house up there. Indoor plumbing and everything. Has his own horse-drawn buggy. His house is up on the hill. There’s trees around it, but you can see it, especially this time of year when the leaves are off.”

“Well, thank you for your time,” Blair said.

“Of course,” Johnsson said. “Come back any time.”

“We’ll let the rest of the folks know that you’re here. That they can come see you about sending messages.”

The two men left the building and headed back to the church. There were lots of youngsters still outside playing in the snow.

Around noon, the folks of town had a covered-dish supper at the church, with enough food for everyone in town as well as the stranded passengers. They saw a lot of new faces, as well as faces that they recognized from the night before. Blair helped some of the local ladies to cook some of the food. ]]> Max_Writer http://www.penandpapergames.com/forums/entry.php/1751-Ravenloft-Masque-of-the-Red-Death-Falls-Run-Part-1 Ravenloft: Masque of the Red Death: Falls Run Part 2 http://www.penandpapergames.com/forums/entry.php/1750-Ravenloft-Masque-of-the-Red-Death-Falls-Run-Part-2 Thu, 16 Aug 2012 22:14:08 GMT Dr. Heintz opened up his violin case and checked his violin carefully as people started eating. He began to tune the violin carefully. ... Dr. Heintz opened up his violin case and checked his violin carefully as people started eating. He began to tune the violin carefully.

“Fiddle-player, huh?” a large, simple-looking man in overalls said loudly. “You gonna play somethin’ for us, Fiddle-player?”

“Maybe later,” Dr. Heintz said. “I need to get it tuned, sir.”

“What you gonna play us?” the man asked.

“Nothing right now. I’m getting it tuned.”

“Do you know ‘shoo fly?’ I like ‘shoo fly.’”

“No, I’m afraid I don’t.”

“Not at all?”

“No sir.”

“But can you play it?”

“Well, once I get this tuned, if you can whistle a bit of it, I can try.”

“Flies in the buttermilk, shoo fly shoo,” the young man started to sing badly. “Flies in the buttermilk, shoo fly shoo. Flies in the buttermilk, shoo fly shoo. Here’s the part I like. Skip to my Lou, my darling.”

He looked at Dr. Heintz expectantly.

“You sing very well,” the doctor said.

“I can sing,” the man said. “I sometimes sing. I sing in church every week.”

“Good for you.”

“I’m Zachary. Zachary Butler.”

“I’m Dr. Heintz.”

“Doctor Heintz,” Zachary said as if trying it on for size. “And you’re a fiddler.”

“Yes sir.”

“That’s good. That’s good.”

Then he turned and left the doctor, who guessed he might be mentally deficient.

Blair overheard the ladies talked to some of the woman passengers while they got the food ready. One woman noted that Paul Booth, Thelma’s husband, ran off last month with a singer at the church’s Thanksgiving fair, leaving her with five young children to take care of by herself, with no steady income. The woman said that the oldest son, Don, was only nine. She noted that the folks in town helped take care of her, but her people were in Martin’s Ferry, Ohio.

Dr. Heintz heard someone mention that they heard Dr. Korek was an atheist.

After he was done helping the women, Blair sat down in the corner and took out the harmonica that he’d kept in his pack. He played a little bit on it until a large and simple-looking man in overalls came over with an expectant look on his face.

“Oh,” the man said. “You play a mouth organ?”

“A harmonica,” Blair said. “I’ve been known to play a tune or two.”

“Keep playing! Can you play ‘shoo fly shoo’?”

Blair played a little on the harmonica though he was not familiar with the song. As soon as he played, the young man sang off key, not seeming to care that the notes coming from the harmonica were not the ones he was singing.

“Flies in the buttermilk, shoo fly shoo!”

“Uh, sorry, no. I don’t know that one,” Blair said.

“Flies in the buttermilk, shoo fly shoo!” the young man continued to sing, nodding encouragingly at Blair. Blair blew another note on the harmonica. “Yes! Flies in the buttermilk, shoo fly shoo. Skip to my Lou, my darling! That was it!”

He seemed ecstatic that there was a harmonica playing in the church.

Rueben Turner approached Dr. Heintz and chatted with him about his “fiddle.” The local man noted that he was a fiddle player too and that sometimes he played at the Sleeping Wolf and sometimes played at other village socials. Zachary Butler returned and told the doctor that the man in the corner, whom he recognized as Blair when the young man pointed at him, played the mouth organ and knew “Shoo Fly Shoo.” He was quite insistent that the other man could teach him how to play the song.

“I’ll ask him about that then,” Dr. Heintz said. “Thank you Zachary.”

Once the young man left, Rueben turned to him.

“Be careful of Zachary,” the local man said. “I’ve heard rumors that he’s a psychopath who would tear small children limb from limb if given half a chance. I’m just telling you what I heard.”

“Is he the cobbler’s son?” Dr. Heintz asked.

“No, he lives by himself. He’s crazy. He lives on the north side of town.”

“And you let him still live here? If that were the case, I’m sure that can’t be.”

“That’s just what I heard. That’s just what I heard. The cobbler is Bill Cutler. He and his wife Jenny, they have seven children. Their oldest is Doris, she’s 19.”

“Oh, Cutler!”

“Right. That’s Zachary Butler, not Cutler. Bill Cutler, he lives right here across the street.”

“Right, exactly. I think your telegraph man told us that.”

“Told you?”

“Told us that he lives across the street.”

“Oh, all right.”

Dr. Heintz put the violin away as he talked to Reuben. The small crowd of people who had gathered while he tuned the instrument went elsewhere. He returned to the corner where Blair was sitting.

The little girl was sitting not far from them, still reading Little Women.

Night came early that time of year and the wolves could be heard howling again by 5:30 p.m. The clouds occasionally parted to reveal the almost-full moon, though the snow continued to fall. Dinner was set up and served to the passengers as some townsfolk returned to the place.

After they ate, Dr. Heintz got his courage up and took his violin out once again. He played a lovely version of “Silent Night.” A few people joined in and sang. One woman began quietly to cry. Everyone else had fallen silent, the conversations in the room ending as they watched the doctor play.

Blair went to the bathroom to use the fancy indoor plumbing once again. He washed his hands in the sink and, as he looked up into the mirror over it, he noticed that the reflection in the mirror was not his own. It was the visage of a tall and thin young man, clean-cut and handsome, with sunken eyes and protruding cheekbones, his face contorted with grief. Blair felt himself filled with horror and then rage; he wanted to destroy the horror that he saw.

* * *

Dr. Heintz had just finished playing the song. Silence filled the hall. Then the little girl in the family near where he sat carefully put down her book and clapped politely. Dr. Heintz blushed and put the violin into his case as others started to clap as well. Then there was a sound of shattering glass from the back of the church. A moment later, Blair came out of the water closet, his hand bloody. He looked angry. Dr. Heintz quickly closed the case and moved to Blair.

“Robert! Robert!” he said. “Are you all right?”

“No,” Blair replied.

“What happened? Was it Zachary?”

“Who? No. It was the mirror. The mirror in the bathroom.”

A few of the passengers and ladies of the town were peeking into the bathroom.

“Did it break?” Dr. Heintz asked.

“Yeah it broke. I broke it.”

“Why did you break the mirror in the WC?”

“Because it wasn’t me.”

“Come again?”

“It wasn’t me.”

“Well, you just said that you broke it. Did someone else break it?”

“No, in the mirror.”

“Sit down. Sit down.”

“I don’t wanna sit down. You – you sit down.”

“I don’t need to sit down. You seem very distraught, Robert.”

“I am distraught.”

Blood was dripping off the man’s injured hand and onto the floor of the church. His fist was clenched.

“Robert, you’re bleeding,” Dr. Heintz said patiently. “We need to take care of that.”

Blair looked at him a moment.

“Come on,” Dr. Heintz said.

“Things ain’t right here,” Blair said.

“Come with me to my bag.”

“What?”

“My bag.”

“Why don’t you bring you bag here? Your bag’s portable, ain’t it?”

“So are you. You have two legs, man! Let’s go.”

“I ain’t goin’ anywhere!”

Dr. Heintz went to get his bag. Blair sat down, his back against the wall. He looked over and saw that the little girl who was reading was holding her book and just staring at him.

“What’re you looking at?” he said.

She rolled her eyes at the man and went back to her book.

“Don’t you cut yer eyes at me, missy!” Blair said to the little girl.

“Hmph,” she said. “Some people don’t know how to act in civilized company.”

She carefully turned the page to her book and went back to reading.

Dr. Heintz returned and tended to the man’s hand. He pulled out some glass shards and found that the wounds were not deep, just bloody. Blair started to wince as the doctor tended to him. His hand hadn’t hurt before but it was starting to hurt now. He flexed the fingers when Dr. Heintz told him to. The doctor didn’t think anything was broken so he bound up the wounds.

“I’ve had plenty worse, doc,” Blair said.

A few passengers asked what had happened, wondering if the mirror had somehow fallen or just broken.

“Here, let’s go see about getting this rinsed off in the bathroom,” Dr. Heintz said.

Blair looked at him like he was crazy.

“No,” he finally said.

“We don’t want this to get infected,” Dr. Heintz said.

“I ain’t goin’ in there.”

Dr. Heintz stared at the man, speechless. A couple of the local ladies had found a broom and were sweeping up the glass shards on the floor.

“All right,” Dr. Heintz said. “But if the fingers gangrene, you could lose the hands.”

“I’ve had plenty worse,” Blair said. “It’s just a couple cuts.”

Dr. Heintz got some warm water to clean the wounds and then wrapped the hand in bandages.

“Now, what was it that caused you to do this again?” he asked.

“I told you, it wasn’t me in the mirror,” Blair said quietly.

“Come again?”

“I was washing my hands and I looked up into the mirror, and it wasn’t me.”

“So, you saw someone standing behind you?”

“There wasn’t anyone behind me. The reflection in the mirror that should have been me, was not me. Some skinny fellow.”

“Are you sure you ...”

“Pretty sure.”

“Pretty tired, maybe you just mis-saw? We’ve been under a lot of stress.”

“Have you seen me scream or holler once since last night?”

“Robert, there’s nothing unmanly about it. That’s not what I meant.”

“I’m not saying there’s manliness in not screamin’ or hollerin’. But I ain’t one to get out of sorts too easy.”

He thought a moment.

“Scared me, is all,” he said.

“All right,” Dr. Heintz said. “All right.”

He stood up and went into the bathroom. The mirror had been removed and he searched the wall where it had hung to see if there was any kind of doorway or opening in the plaster wall. It was solid and without openings. The window lay across from the door while the sink was to the right and the toilet to the left.

When he returned to Blair, he noticed that someone had moved his violin. He had laid it in the case and closed the lid, but the lid was now open and the violin was standing upright. He laid it into the case, putting the bow away as well, and then closed the latched the case.

Blair thought he saw movement out of the corner of his eye. He noticed that his coat was askew. It was not where he remembered laying on the floor. He almost thought he had seen it move. He looked away and then quickly looked back at it, but it didn’t move. He sighed.

Dr. Heintz returned to the spot he’d placed his things and put down the violin case. He opened up his pocket watch to look at the time; it was 5:45 p.m. Then he noticed that, though no one was standing near him, he distinctly saw that the reflection in the glass was not of him. It was of tall and thin young man, clean-cut and handsome, with sunken eyes and protruding cheekbones, his face contorted with grief.

“What the deuce?” he said sharply, dropping the watch, which fell to the end of the chain and hung there.

As he pulled the watch up, he looked up and noticed that the little girl who was reading the book was staring at him. He looked at the watch again but did not see any strange reflection. He looked at the little girl once more and she watched him for a moment before she turned a page of Little Women and went back to her reading. He looked at the watch one last time and then tucked it into his vest pocket again.

“You handled that better than I did,” Blair said.

“Handled what?” Dr. Heintz asked.

“Whatever it is you just saw.”

“I just caught a reflection, I think, from someone else in the room.”

Blair looked around. There was no one else nearby.

“How do you know?” Dr. Heintz said.

“I just told you how I know,” Blair said. “I just told you what happened. What happened to me in the bathroom.”

“I think you’re right. Something is strange about this place.”

“Nothing’s been right since we left Baltimore.”

“We’ll have quite a Christmas story to tell every year from now on.”

“I ain’t tellin’ anybody this story, ever, for the rest of my life. They’ll lock me up in one of them sanitariums.”

“I didn’t say anyone would believe it.”

Townsfolk soon started to wander into the church. By 7:30 p.m., people had gotten out hymnals and were singing Christmas hymns and Christmas carols. The place was filled and it looked like everyone in town was there. A few faces they had seen that day were missing: Reuben Turner was not in the place. There also seemed to be a few passengers missing as well.

Dr. Heintz joined in with the singing. Zachary Butler was there. He sang very loudly and seemed to know all of the hymns by heart. Though he was not a good singer, he was enthusiastic.

Make joyful noise, Dr. Heintz thought. Aloud he said “Hymns to keep the spirits away, Robert, right?”

“I hope so,” Blair replied.

“A ... gaunt fellow. Attractive but gaunt.”

“Big cheekbones.”

“I wouldn’t exactly call them big, but he had a sunken expression.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Looked sad.”

“I ain’t for staying here any longer than I have to. I wish they’d hurry up with that train. That’d be a Christmas miracle.”

“Well then, we’ll have to pray for less snow.”

Blair just looked at the man. He looked around. There were no other mirrors in the area, but now that he was looking for it, there were many, many more reflective surfaces.

“Son of a *****,” he muttered to himself.

The windows, especially with it being dark outside, were nearly natural mirrors due to the light within. He found himself avoiding looking at anything with a reflective surface. He also noticed that things seemed to be moving around him. When he’d look, whatever object he had thought moved was not moving, but it was slightly out of place. He shook out his coat, went through the pockets looking for varmints. Then he folded up the coat and sat on it.

“You okay?” Dr. Heintz asked him.

“I think I might be going slightly crazy,” he said.

“Come again?”

“I think I might be going mad.”

Dr. Heintz noticed that the violin case was open again.

“Someone keeps tampering with my violin,” he whispered to Blair.

He latched the case once again.

“Someone keeps moving my coat,” Blair said.

“There are lots of people in here and it’s not as if it’s the most secure building,” Dr. Heintz said. “It could be drafty in here, or someone could have bumped this, or some of the townsfolk could want to see my violin.”

“And that was your reflection in your watch?”

“I don’t know what–! I don’t know what it was, Robert. But I’m not going to try to claim that it’s some sort of vision or madness. It’s more madness than some kind of spirit.”

“What about the blue sparks?”

Dr. Heintz looked at him.

“If I hadn’t grabbed that gun, what do you think would have happened?” Blair asked.

“Probably the same thing that happened to the first man,” Dr. Heintz said. “One of us would be dead.”

“Just so,” Blair said. “Well, if that’s the worst thing that happens over the next day or two, that my coat moves a little bit, that’s fine. Once I get to a warmer spot, I’ll burn it. Get a new coat. But ...”

“But this isn’t ... it can’t ...”

“Come on. Say it!”

Dr. Heintz thought it saw movement by the other man’s hip and noticed that the leather strap that held the pistol in the holster was no longer hooked. It was merely hanging over the weapon.

“Robert,” Dr. Heintz said. “Your pistol.”

Blair looked down, cursed lightly, and hooked the leather back over his pistol. He pulled on the pistol to make sure it wouldn’t slip loose. It didn’t. It was secure.

“But this is a church ...” Dr. Heintz started to say. Then he noticed that the leather loop that Blair had to struggle to get into place was once again free. “Your pistol’s unhooked again.”

Blair unloaded the pistol and hooked it in once again, putting his hand on it. He put the bullets in his pocket.

“Even if it were spirits, this is a holy place, a church,” Dr. Heintz said. “There couldn’t be ghosts or anything else in here. Could there?”

“Are you asking me?” Blair replied. “I don’t know. I don’t anything about ghosts.”

“I don’t either. I’m a doctor.”

“I don’t know a whole lot about holy places, to be downright honest with ya.”

“I don’t either. I am a doctor.”

“Something ain’t right.”

Dr. Heintz looked around. No one else in the place seemed to be unnerved or upset. He looked around the room carefully, but people seemed to just be trying to get into the Christmas spirit. He kept noticing that things were moved around him. One of his shoes was askew and he thought sure he had put them side by side. Blair also continued to notice things were moved, but only moved when he wasn’t looking at them.

No one was near them. Even the little girl with the book had joined her family in singing Christmas carols and hymns.

“Hey, doc,” Blair said.

“Yes,” Dr. Heintz said.

“If you were going crazy, would you know it? I mean, can you tell if you’re going crazy, or do you just, all of a sudden, you’re crazy? And do you know it if you’re crazy or do people just look at you and say ‘He’s crazy’ even though you think you’re not?”

“I’m not that kind of doctor. So, I don’t know.”

“Well, this must be what it feels like to start going crazy.”

“I’m starting to feel a little unhinged myself. Perhaps we’re just overwrought, Robert.”

“Unhinged and overwrought.”

“We’ve been a bit ... we’ve been a bit through traumatic experiences, indeed.”

“Murders, ghosts, train wrecks. Yep, I would count those as some of the most traumatic experiences one could possibly go through.”

“Perhaps.”

“They’re at least in the top 10.”

“I don’t know that I’m ranking them. If these shoes would just stay where they’re supposed to stay!”

“Yep. Next thing you know, you’re going to be punching your shoes.”

Blair got all of his things and took his backpack and made sure they were behind his back and out of his sight.

Things broke up about 9 p.m. The townsfolk headed out in small groups, many wishing each other or the passengers a Merry Christmas. The little girl returned to her family’s spot with her mother, father, and brother, and took up Little Women again. Blair glared at her and, as she opened up the book, she glanced in his direction. She stared at him for a moment, frowning.

“Hmph,” she said and went back to reading her book.

Her little brother fell into the blankets and went to sleep while her parents talked quietly to each other. The rest of the room was filled with a quiet murmur as people readied themselves to sleep. Most of the lights had been extinguished in the church and only a couple of lanterns burned in the bathrooms.

Blair covered himself up with his blanket. Dr. Heintz completely covered his head with his own blanket.

* * *

The men were abruptly woken by light pouring into the church. It was Thursday, December 25: Christmas Day. The same women who had been in the church the first night came in around 9 a.m. to prepare a massive egg breakfast for the passengers. There was also plenty of toasted bread and coffee.

Both Blair and Dr. Heintz still noticed things moving and Blair abruptly got up and left the church. He stomped out of the place and headed down to the telegraph office, intent on finding somewhere that strange things didn’t happen. When he opened the door, he found the place a mess. Clyde Johnsson was sitting at the table that held the remains of the telegraph. It looked like someone had smashed the instrument with a hammer.

“Howdy,” he said as Blair entered.

“What happened?” Blair asked.

“Somebody came in last night, smashed it up. It can be fixed but I’m going to need parts from Grafton.”

“Parts?”

“Yeah, but it’ll have to be after this weather’s passed.”

“I’ll be right back.”

Blair went back to the church. He found Dr. Heintz, still finishing up his breakfast and wishing the other passengers a Merry Christmas.

“Doc!” Blair called to the man.

He noticed the little girl look up from her book and he glared at her.

“Where’s that box?” he asked the man, lowering his voice. “With all of the broken stuff?”

“Oh, I assume that’s still at the train,” Dr. Heintz said.

“Oh you’re kidding me. I thought we brought that back.”

“I know. I’m sorry. Is it important? I mean, it was ruined.”

“Come with me. Get your coat.”

The doctor got the borrowed boots on and wrapped himself up in his coat and hat.

“I like your hat, doc,” Blair quipped.

“Yes, it is a little rumpled,” Dr. Heintz said. “Kind of like me now, I think.”

They left the church and returned to the telegraph office. Johnsson was still working on the damaged telegraph.

“Hello,” he said.

“What happened?” Dr. Heintz asked.

“I don’t know. Somebody came in last night. Must’ve just busted it up. Door was locked. Don’t know how he got in.”

“You said the door was locked?”

“When I came this morning, yeah. Locked it up. Don’t want anybody stealing my printing press.”

Blair and Dr. Heintz exchanged glances. The door opened again and Constable David Wells entered.

“Johnsson, somebody just came by and told me that somebody smashed up your telegraph,” he said.

“Yeah, I sent that Fisher boy down there to tell you,” Johnsson said. “That was 20 minutes ago. Somebody came in, broke in, must’ve, and busted up the telegraph.”

Wells looked it over.

“Can you fix it?” he asked.

“No, I have to get some parts in Grafton,” Johnsson said.

He told them what needed to be done but Wells interrupted him with a shake of his hand.

“Damn, this is as bad as last year,” he said.

“Bad as last year?” Blair said.

“Constable?” Dr. Heintz said.

“Yeah, as bad as last year,” Wells said. “Somebody went missing from the train that crashed here last year.”

“Somebody ... wait,” Blair said. “Strange enough, train crashed, same place, same time. But somebody went missing last year?”

“Yeah. Some reporter.”

“Were the telegraph machines smashed up last year?”

“No, the telegraph was fine last year. Some reporter was here, walking around town. Doris Cutler – he was talking with her. Then he vanished. They didn’t find out until they got to Cincinnati that he wasn’t on the train they took them up to Cincinnati on. I don’t know. Johnsson wrote about it in his ... newspaper.”

Johnsson beamed.

“Yep, something happens around here, I write about it,” he said. “Freedom of the press! You can’ put down–”

“I know Johnsson,” Wells said. “We had this discussion before.”

“Let’s take a walk to the train, doc,” Blair said.

“I’m just trying to tell you, you don’t have to write down everything that happens in this town.”

“Just a moment,” Dr. Heintz said.

“You got to write down everything!” Johnsson said. “That’s freedom of the press!”

“Alright,” Wells said.

“Constable?” Dr. Heintz said.

“Yes sir?” the man replied.

“May I have a word with you outside?” Dr. Heintz said.

“Sure,” Wells replied. “All right Johnsson, once you get it fixed ...get it fixed.”

The three men went outside.

“I’m Dr. Jacob Heintz,” Dr. Heintz said.

Wells shook his hand and gave the man his name.

“Constable Wells, are you aware of any peculiar happenings in your town?” Dr. Heintz said. “You ever had anything strange happen at the church? Odd sounds? Odd sightings?”

“No,” Wells said. “No. There was some people murdered last year.”

“Murdered? In the church?”

Constable Wells looked around and then lowered his voice.

“No, they weren’t murdered in the church,” he said. “There was some people killed last year. In order not to have a panic–”

“Before or after the train?” Blair asked.

“It was back in April of last year,” Wells said. “Well before the train came through. In order not to have a panic, I said it was a murder. It wasn’t. Some kind of animal. Ripped ‘em apart. Don’t say anything. I don’t want people to start panicking.”

“We heard wolves,” Blair said.

“Wolves can’t get open doors and get in people’s houses, can they?” Wells said.

“Are you certain it was an animal and not some person?” Dr. Heintz said.

“Yeah,” Wells said quietly. “You didn’t see these folks. They were ripped to pieces.”

“I hope you’ll forgive me but some of the townsfolk have muttered some rumors about one of your other town’s members: Zachary Butler?”

“Zachary Butler? He’s simple-minded, that’s all. People don’t like simple-minded folks around here. He’s in church every Sunday.”

“Well, they said he’s potentially dangerous.”

“No, Zachary Butler’s not dangerous. He couldn’t of done what happened to these people.”

“Where did this reporter go missing?”

“We don’t know. He was name was Gravits, I think. He was always asking questions. Mostly harmless ones, but ...”

“And this was after the train wreck?”

“Yeah. He was on the train when it wrecked. He was one of the people that came up to town, we brought ‘em in. He was always walking around town or in the woods. It’s like he couldn’t sit still for more’n an hour. A lot of people found that pretty amusing – most folks just sit around and stare if they have nothing better to do.”

“Walking around in the woods?” Blair asked.

“He was walking around, talking to people, asking questions,” Wells said.

“What kind of questions?”

“I don’t know. It was mostly harmless questions, stuff about ‘who goes where’ and ‘is there anybody that you see who acts suspicious.’ Everybody knows everybody around here. Nobody is suspicious of anybody. Doris Cutler, she’s the Cutler’s girl, she tried to tag along with him, apparently. So I asked her about it ‘cause when the train got to Cincinnati, he wasn’t on board. Nobody knew he wasn’t on board; it wasn’t like people took a headcount. The train came to pick up folks last year, everybody got on. Apparently he wasn’t on there. She told me, Doris told me that he was frustrated and angry because he was supposed to see his fiancé for Christmas. They didn’t get back by then. He also told her that he thought something fishy was going on around here, but he wouldn’t say anything more than that.”

He looked around.

“About them other people, the McCullens, who was murdered,” Wells went on. “That had nothing to do about this, but you asked me about strange things in the area and that’s the only thing that’s happened. Although, it wasn’t really a crime. The bodies were just mauled and mangled. It was like some huge, wild animal had gotten into their house. But the doors were locked. None of the windows were broken.”

“Was it just the two of them?” Dr. Heintz asked. “Did they have any children?”

“Oh yeah, they had children.”

“Were they all killed as well?”

“Everybody in that house was killed. There was Teddy McCullen; he was on the church board of trustees. There was Mary and they had five children.”

“This reporter: do you remember what he looked like?”

“I don’t know. Handsome, skinny fella.”

“Dark hair?”

The description of the man, as far as Wells could remember, was very close, if not identical to the man they’d seen.

“We never found any trace of him,” Wells said finally. “I figure he decided he wasn’t going to wait for the train. He either started walking, and if he walked away in something like this, he’s never coming back. Or, I don’t know what.”

“You haven’t had any more animal attacks since that one?” Dr. Heintz asked.

“No, especially not inside locked doors. And if you can figure out what did that, I’d appreciate it. But don’t tell anyone in town. I don’t want to start any more stories about animals walking through walls. I can’t explain it, but as long as people just think it was a murder ...”

“Did Dr. Korek inspect the bodies?”

“No. Nobody inspected the bodies but me. Nobody knows. I told Johnsson that they were murdered, their throats were slit. And I told him it was probably somebody passing through. Some vagrant or villain. I know and the police up in Grafton know. I don’t want these people to know because then you’re going to have people panicking.”

“Well, I see your point, Constable.”

“I’d appreciate your discretion in this matter.”

“Of course.”

“If you want to read about it, you can read ...” Wells said. Then he pointed at the telegraph office. “He keeps all his old, what he calls newspapers.”

“Thank you Constable,” Dr. Heintz said.

“You’re welcome,” Wells replied.

He headed off through the snow.

It was very cold and they’d been talking for a few minutes. Dr. Heintz was shaking.

“I think I am ...” Dr. Heintz said. “I don’t know. I’d like to go back to the church, but as the same time I’m not so sure. I’m cold. I hope that’s all it is. You said you wanted to go down to the train?”

“Maybe not right now,” Blair said. He was very cold too. “I thought maybe if we got that box of smashed up telegraph parts he could use those pieces to fix his.”

“That’s not a bad idea but that box was pretty badly smashed.”

“Why would someone want to smash up the telegraph unless they don’t want anybody outside this town to know what’s going on? How’d they get in?”

“It’s about keeping secrets.”

“Who’s a-keepin’ ‘em?”

“The constable for one. I mean, it would be easy – no offense – but it would be very easy to have a key to this place. Maybe someone could, is what I’m saying, get in, smash it, leave, and lock it back up.”

“Might be a question for Clyde, huh? Ask him if anybody else has a key? It’s warmer in there, anyway.”

“Sure. It’s worth asking.”

They went back inside the telegraph office and found Johnsson still fiddling with the broken telegraph.

“Sir, did you say there was more than one key?” Blair asked.

“Huh?” Johnsson replied. “No. Well, the company man’s got a key. But he lives in Grafton. Unless he walked all the way up here.”

“He’s the only one? Other than yourself?”

“Yes sir. Jack Huggins. He’s the only one. He’s got a key. I’ve got a key.”

“You think someone could have picked the lock?” Dr. Heintz said.

“Well, they must’ve,” Johnsson said. “Unless it was a ghost.”

Dr. Heintz laughed too loudly at that suggestion.

“A ghost!” the man said, still laughing.

“T’ain’t funny,” Blair muttered.

He thought Dr. Heintz laughter sounded very insincere. He’d also noticed that sometimes the broken telegraph pieces seemed to move when he was not looking at them.

“That’s the only way it could’ve been,” Johnsson said. “Unless, like you said, someone picked the lock. All the windows were latched. There’s three feet of snow out there.”

“Footprints?” Blair asked.

“Funny thing, I did not see any tracks in it,” Johnsson said.

“There you go.”

“So it must have happened early in the evening. Right after I left, must’ve happened. Maybe it was one of the kids.”

“What time did you leave?”

“Around five, five-thirty. When it got dark.”

“You remember that reporter much?” Dr. Heintz said. “From last year?”

“Last year?” Johnsson said.

“Yep,” Blair said.

“Yeah, that Gravits fellow?” Johnsson said. “Yeah, I wrote some stories about him. Right about this time last year. Yeah. I got all of the back issues if you want to look at them!”

He seemed quite excited about it.

“Sure,” Blair said. “Did you say he was asking a lot of questions?”

“Yeah, he was talking to everybody,” Johnsson said as he led them into the back room. “Wanting to know – nosing around. Here, c’mon.”

“What was he asking about?” Blair said.

He didn’t look at the mirror on the door to the back room.

Johnsson was looking through one of several wooden crates that were filled with paper. There was also a good-sized moveable-type press that he obviously used to make up his newspaper. A printer’s apron hung from one wall. Johnsson started to look through the crates and after a short time, produced two of the single-sheet newspapers.

The first one, which he told them was about the train crash, was dated Friday, December 27, 1889. It read:


B.&O. Crash Brings Christmas Guests to Falls Run

No one in our peaceful village is unaware of the railroad derailment which brought nearly two hundred travelers to stay in Falls run over the Christmas holiday. On Monday night, the westbound train from Baltimore struck a broken rail and plowed into a snowbank one mile south of town. Miraculously, no one aboard the train was seriously injured, even though several cars turned on their sides in the crash.

Church-goers rallied to prepare a meal for the passengers on the night of the crash. The town shared a holiday supper at the church on Christmas Eve. Hopes are that tonight or, at the latest, tomorrow, these good folks will be sped on their way to their homes and families.


The second was dated Friday, January 3, 1880, and read:


Missing Rail Passenger Stumps Constable Wells

All of us here in town are certain to remember Edward Gravits, a journalist among the nearly two hundred B.&O. train passengers who spent Christmas in Falls Run last week. Mr. Gravits brought himself to the attention of many in the village with his persistent questions. His apparent inability to ride out the snowstorm which held the passengers here for four days was regarded with amusement by many locals, irritation by others. Edward Gravits has been missing since the train arrived from Grafton to pick up the stranded passengers. It is believed that Mr. Gravits did not board the train.

Mr. Gravits’ fiancée, Miss Jane Carpenter of Cincinnati, wired the B.&O. offices in Baltimore last Saturday morning, when the replacement train arrived in Cincinnati without Gravits aboard. The railroad was unable to account for Mr. Gravits’ absence from the train
and wired Constable David Wells here in Falls Run to inquire. Constable Wells promised an investigation, and he has been busily asking questions in the week since ― to no avail. Constable Wells has turned up no clues as to the location of Mr. Gravits.

Naturally, anyone with information to offer that might help clear up this mystery is urged to contact Constable Wells with great haste.


“What do you think?” Johnsson asked. “Is it pretty well written?”

Blair hushed him and went back to reading, his mouth moving as he did so.

“That seems very unfortunate,” Dr. Heintz finally said.

“Yep, yep,” Johnsson said.

“Do you remember the man much? Do you remember what he looked like?”

The description that Johnsson gave was very similar to the strange, ghostly image that both men had seen.

“Thank you,” Dr. Heintz said, holding out the newspaper.

“Oh, you can keep it,” Johnsson said. “I have extra copies. You can keep yours too, sir.”

“Thank you,” Blair said weakly.

“Well, Clyde, good luck with the telegraph,” Dr. Heintz said.

“Once I get the parts I can fix it,” Johnsson said.

“I hate not to have any communication until the snow is out.”

“Well, it’s happened before. Lines down. Not like anybody’s getting murdered or nothin’.”

Dr. Heintz laughed loudly again.

“Of course,” he said through the forced laughed. “Murdered! This fellow! This fellow!”

Blair left the office and Dr. Heintz followed close behind, his laughter stopping abruptly. Dr. Heintz looked at the mirror and was pleasantly surprised to see only his own reflection there. However, on their way out of the outer office, they noticed what appeared to be a man, or the reflection of the man, in one of the panes of glass in the front of the building for just a moment. The person then slipped away. Dr. Heintz ran out the door to find that no one was there and the snow under the window was undisturbed.

Blair stopped about 10 feet from the front door of the building and went back to the window where he’d also seen the figure.

“C’mon!” he muttered to the glass. “C’mon!”

“Robert, we need to go,” Dr. Heintz said.

“Where are you?”

“Robert?”

Blair looked at the other man and spotted the gaunt, grief-stricken face of Edward Gravits in the man’s eyeglasses! He gaped at the man’s glasses and then the figure within them disappeared.

“Don’t go!” he said. “Where were you–”

“Robert, I’m right here,” Dr. Heintz said.

“Not you. Not you.”

Blair turned to look at the window again and then opened the door of the telegraph office and strode inside.

“Clyde!” he said.

“Yeah?” Johnsson said.

“Borrowing your mirror.”

“The mirror?”

Blair crossed the room, grabbed the mirror by the frame, and lifted it off its hook.

“I’ll bring it back to you,” Blair said, leaving.

“All right,” he heard Johnsson call before he left. “Don’t break it, please.”

“Can’t guarantee that,” Dr. Heintz muttered.

Blair tucked the mirror under his arm and then headed down the street, humming.

“Robert, are you ... you don’t seem well,” Dr. Heintz said, trying to keep up with the other man.

“Nope,” Blair replied, matter-of-factly. “Think I’m going crazy.”

“Would you like for me to hold on to your revolver?”

“Nope. Not loaded anyway. Wouldn’t do you any good.”

“What exactly are you planning on doing?”

“Going to try to talk to the dead feller.”

Blair led them back to the church and then went to the bathroom where he’d broken the mirror but found the door closed and latched. He knocked on it and then heard the toilet within flush. He heard the sound of running water for a moment and then the door opened.

“Hmph!” the little girl said as he left the room.

“Stupid kid,” he muttered as he entered the bathroom.

He set the mirror up on the sink, leaning up against the wall. Then he stared into it.

“Robert ... what are you doing?” Dr. Heintz asked from the doorway of the bathroom.

“Close the door,” Blair said.

“There’s not a lot of room – two of us can’t fit in here.”

“Okay, wait outside.”

Dr. Heintz looked at him for a moment and then very slowly closed the door. As the door closed, Blair looked back to the mirror and was shocked to see a man had been behind it, apparently, the entire time. It looked like Edward Gravits and the man glared at him, frowning. He felt a shiver run right down his spine.

“You’re that reporter fella, ain’t you?” Blair said, looking at the reflection.

The image in the mirror just stared at him.

“Can you nod or shake your head?”

The image didn’t move or speak.

“It’s not pleasant conversation. This is ... can you ...”

There was a light knocking at the door.

“Robert?” Dr. Heintz said.

“Really?” Blair called. “Talkin’ to the dead guy!”

He had not looked away from the image in the reflection.

“Are you dead?” he asked the figure there. “Are you the one moving stuff around?”

The image didn’t move.

“Do I have mud on my face? What’re you lookin’ at?”

The figure still did not speak.

“You’re not helping me. Look, I’m willing to help you with whatever it is that’s going on here. There’s obviously some ... something going on. And I’ll ... I’ll help you, if something’s been done against you when you were alive ... that was not right.”

There was another knock on the door and Dr. Heintz opened it very slowly.

“Wait! Now I can’t see him!” Blair said, pushing the door closed again.

The figure in the mirror was gone.

“Wait, Robert,” Dr. Heintz said from behind the closed door.

He pushed it back open.

“Robert, come out of the bathroom, please,” he said.

“He’s gone,” Blair said. “He was standing right there behind me.”

Dr. Heintz looked around the room.

“Oh, okay, you’re going to play ‘Mr. Doubty Doctor’ but ‘I didn’t see him in my watch yesterday,’” Blair said. “And ‘I haven’t seen my shoes moving around.’”

“Maybe seeing him in my watch last night is very different than saying that I’m trying to have a conversation with something in the mirror!” Dr. Heintz hissed. “You know what the sounds like, Robert?”

“I know exactly what that sounds like.”

Blair saw that the little girl was standing right behind Dr. Heintz.

“Get out of here!” he said to her. “Go read your book!”

She stood, unmoving.

“You’re talking to a ghost, aren’t you, mister?” she said, matter-of-factly to him.

“No!” Dr. Heintz said. “We’re not talking to a ghost.”

“No such thing as ghosts,” Blair said.

“That’s preposterous.”

“Hmph,” the little girl sniffed. “I heard you talking to that ghost that stabbed that man. I saw that knife. It moved by itself. And I saw the gun do the same thing. There’s a ghost around here and you’re talking to him. Hmph.”

“Ghosts don’t stab ...” Blair started to say to the little girl, who had turned and walked away. Then he looked at Dr. Heintz. “You think that he stabbed that man?”

“That was on the train,” Dr. Heintz said.

“Don’t know much about ghosts but are they limited that way?”

“I don’t know!”

“Well, you seemed to be kind of sure of yourself a second ago when you said ‘Aw, he couldn’t get on the train. Ghosts can’t get on trains.’ He could’ve gotten on back at the last stop for all way know. Ghosts walk around like you and me.”

“All right.”

“No, I don’t know that. I’m just saying that to make myself feel better.”

“Why don’t you sit down.”

“I think I need to sit down.”

“Get a cup of coffee.”

“Can I sit down and you get me a cup of coffee?”

“Of course.”

Blair went over to his spot and sat down, his back against the wall. He was not far from where the little girl had gone back to her book. Dr. Heintz brought him a cup of coffee as the little girl fussed at her brother, Daniel, calling him by name. The four-year-old wandered away.

“You wait here,” Dr. Heintz said to him. “I’ll be back. In just a bit.”

He left the church. As soon as he was gone, Blair put down the coffee and went over to the little girl. She looked up from her book.

“Look I don’t like you very much, little girl, and I know that you don’t like me, either,” he muttered to her. “You don’t think very much of me and I don’t think very much of you either, to be honest with you. But you saw something that night; now you tell me what it was that you saw. Have you seen that ghost since the train?”

“You’re a very rude man,” the little girl said.

“That’s fine.”

“That’s why I don’t like you.”

“That’s fine that you don’t like me.”

“Because you’re very rude.”

“I don’t like you either.”

“You’re like Daniel and he’s a snot-nosed, little brat.”

“I’m nothing like Daniel. He’s a little boy and I’m a grown man.”

“Hmm. Look the same to me.”

“You’re little brother doesn’t have a beard, does he?”

“He will someday.”

“Look at this, a full beard.”

“He tells me every day he’s going to grow a big beard like that big man on the train with the gun.”

“Did you see the ghost or not?”

“I saw the knife fly in the air with all that blue stuff around it.”

“I saw the same thing.”

“That’s a ghost. That’s what ghosts do. That’s what I’ve read.”

“Did you see the ghost?”

“Haven’t you ever read A Christmas Carol?”

“No. I have not.”

“Haven’t you ever read Washington Irving or Ambrose Bierce?”

“No. I have not.”

“That’s what they do. They come back and have their revenge upon people.”

“Did you see the ghost or not.”

“I saw blue sparks.”

“Since the train!”

“No. I haven’t seen anything since the train. But both of you have been acting very peculiar.”

“Have you seen anything in the mirror or the window, a reflection?”

“No. But I saw a knife kill a man with nothing holding it and I saw a gun floating in the air that your fellow saved Mr. Leery from.”

“You’re awfully smug and condescending for a girl who saw a knife kill a fella.”

“Some of us know how to compose ourselves in situations such as these.”

Blair jerked the book out of her hand, closed it, and put it on the floor.

“Find you place!” he said.

“You are very rude!” she replied.

He went back to his corner.

“You are very, very rude!” she said again.

She picked up the book and opened it to the front and started reading it from there.

* * * ]]> Max_Writer http://www.penandpapergames.com/forums/entry.php/1750-Ravenloft-Masque-of-the-Red-Death-Falls-Run-Part-2 Ravenloft: Masque of the Red Death: Falls Run Part 3 http://www.penandpapergames.com/forums/entry.php/1749-Ravenloft-Masque-of-the-Red-Death-Falls-Run-Part-3 Thu, 16 Aug 2012 22:09:57 GMT * * * Dr. Heintz went over to the house with the sign “Dr. Howard Korek” out front. He hoped to get some laudanum from... * * *

Dr. Heintz went over to the house with the sign “Dr. Howard Korek” out front. He hoped to get some laudanum from the man that he could administer to Blair to try to calm him down.

The front door opened into a foyer with a parlor to one side and an examination room to the other. A young woman was behind a small desk in the foyer. Steps went up next to a hallway.

“Good afternoon,” she said as the door opened. “Oh, you’re one of those passengers from the train. Can I help you?”

“Yes ma’am,” he replied. “My name is Dr. Heintz. I was one of the passengers on the train that wrecked, as you’ve said. I’m afraid that my kit was damaged.”

“Oh dear.”

“I lost some of my medicines. We have a couple of passengers that ... needless to say, they’re a little overwrought. I was looking to see if, perhaps, Dr. Korek had anything.”

“Well, let me ask. Dr. Heintz, did you say?”

“Yes, Dr. Jacob Heintz.”

She went into the parlor. Dr. Heintz peeked into the examination room from where he stood in the foyer. It looked neat and tidy with glass cabinets on the sides. He didn’t look at the glass carefully but guessed the man’s equipment and medicine were behind them.

She returned a minute later with a young man with dark hair.

“Howard Korek, sir,” he said as he shook Dr. Heintz’s hand. “Merry Christmas.”

He had a thick West Virginia accent.

“Jacob Heintz,” Dr. Heintz replied.

Dr. Korek invited him into the parlor and they sat down and talked about medicine for some time. Dr. Heintz learned that the Koreks had moved to Falls Run some years ago as the town needed a doctor. Both he and his wife had found that the place was quite quaint and the populace friendly. He was also interested in some of the medical journals that Dr. Heintz had read.

In the end, he gave Dr. Heintz a small bottle of laudanum as well as a bottle of iodine.

“Anything to help people in need,” he said. “Especially at this time of year.”

The doctor also apologized that the train’s passengers were stuck in Falls Run over the holidays, saying he felt awful about it. Dr. Heintz noted that it was a very fine town and any other time, other than a time of such a tragic experience, it would be quite nice.

“Yes, strange – two years in a row,” Dr. Korek said. “Train wrecks.”

“Yes,” Dr. Heintz said.

“Strange. Strange.”

“I’ve heard that there was another one last year.”

“Uh-huh. About this same time.”

“And I also heard someone went missing afterwards.”

“That’s what I heard too. Actually, I read it in Johnsson’s paper. Oh, what was his name?”

“Some reporter fellow, I believe.”

“That’s what I heard. He came by and he was asking me questions, too.”

“What was he asking questions about?”

“Just about different people in town. It was like he was looking for rumors about people.”

“Well, he is a reporter and isn’t that what they do?”

“I suppose so. Doris Cutler, she was hanging around with him too. I think she was just looking for trouble. She’s kind of a troublemaker from what I heard.”

“Doris Cutler?”

“Doris Cutler.”

“One of the local girls?”

“That’s Bill and Jenny’s daughter. Their oldest. She’s 19. Just rebelling against everything that she can.”

“Well, we were all there once.”

“That’s true. That’s true.”

They chatted a little about the Cutlers and Dr. Korek noted that Bill was a cobbler and his wife was a midwife. She helped deliver pretty much every baby born in the village.

“A lot of the locals trust her more than they trust me to deliver a baby,” he said. “I want the mother to be as comfortable as she can, so if they prefer a midwife, I advise them to have a midwife.”

They chatted a little more and he seemed like a nice fellow. Dr. Heintz guessed that the man was glad to have some conversation with another educated person.

In the end, he thanked the man and took his leave.

* * *

Blair went to the bathroom and retrieved the mirror. He lay it on the floor next to him and glanced at it every once in a while. Occasionally, it seemed like his things would move when he was not looking at them, or sometimes he caught the movement out of the corner of his eye. He occasionally muttered to the mirror.

“Quit movin’ stuff around!” he’d say, irritated. “If you’re trying to tell us something, you just come out and tell us! Gettin’ tired of this! Don’t want to play games!”

At one point, he looked down and was shocked to see a tall figure in the mirror, standing over him. The little girl had come over and was standing right by the mirror. He looked up at her.

“You are making quite a scene,” she said quietly. “This is not proper way to act.” She lowered her voice even more. “I’m not the only one who notices these things.”

“Go read your book!” Blair hissed at her.

“I will,” she replied. “I’m only trying to help you. If you’re going to sit in the corner–”

“I don’t like being talked down to!” he hissed back and stood up, towering over her.

She seemed unperturbed.

“If you’re going to act in such a manner, people are going to talk,” she whispered.

“What are they going to say?” he asked.

“They’re going to say ‘That man is crazy.’”

“That’s fine. I don’t care what those people think.”

“You should.”

“Why?”

“You just should. It’s proper.”

“Why is that? I don’t live amongst proper folks like you and your ma and your pa and your crazy little brother.”

“I can tell. My brother’s not crazy, he’s stupid. There’s a difference. And he’s snot-nosed and sometimes he smells very bad.”

Dr. Heintz had walked up behind the girl and laid a hand on her shoulder.

“My dear, why don’t you just return back to your bunk?” he said politely.

“I will,” she replied.

“Thank you very much.”

“Your friend might stop talking to mirrors.”

“Yes.”

As she turned and walked back to the blanket she sat on, Dr. Heintz set his hat down, picked up the mirror, and tucked it under his arm.

“Robert,” he said. “You do need to calm down. I know it’s hard to say, and it’s kind of hard to imagine, but we can’t disturb the other passengers. They’ve gone through a lot as well. Let’s not set them off. I do have another possible direction we could go. I don’t know if it will seem too forward or too suspicious, but several times we’ve heard mention that there is a young lady that accompanied this reporter.”

“Cutler girl,” Blair said.

“Yes. Doris Cutler. Maybe we could try to find out something from her or her family. They live right out here beside the church.”

“Sure. I’m not getting any answers from our impolite poltergeist.”

Dr. Heintz sat the mirror down on the floor, the reflecting side down. Blair glanced over at the little girl and saw her look at Dr. Heintz, roll her eyes, sigh, and went back to her reading.

“Wait a minute,” Blair said. “Here me out. That reporter fella, a year ago.

“Yes?” Dr. Heintz said.

“He was walking about asking a lot of questions.”

“Yes.”

“Now he’s trapped in a mirror, or trapped in a window, or trapped in your glasses, or your watch.”

Dr. Heintz frowned and carefully took off his glasses, examining them uncomfortably.

“He’s angry and he’s sad,” Blair went on. “He moves stuff around but he won’t talk or tell you why. We go poking around this town asking a bunch of questions, how do we know that next year, next train wreck that happens at Christmas time, some people aren’t going to come, aren’t going to see us in a mirror?”

“I simply just don’t believe that’s going to happen,” Dr. Heintz said.

The little girl sighed loudly.

“But you bring up a very good point,” he went on. “I guess we can’t just walk around town blatantly asking questions.”

“I’m not even sure if I want to know,” Blair said.

“I’m not sure I want to know either. I would like to get to Cincinnati.”

The little girl sighed again but continued with her reading.

“I’ll be honest with you, doc, I’m downright scared,” Blair said.

“My dear, do you have something else to contribute?” Dr. Heintz asked the girl.

She carefully put her bookmark into the book and closed it. She looked around carefully.

“Well, if this ghost of yours is talking to you two, or trying to show himself to you, he probably wants something from you, don’t you think?” she asked quietly.

“That’s why I had the mirror out!” Blair hissed at her. “That’s why I was asking questions but he wouldn’t talk to me!”

“Robert,” Dr. Heintz said quietly. “Robert. Robert.”

The little girl slowly turned to the man.

“Well, if your ghost wrecked the train and he doesn’t get his answers this year, what makes you think he won’t wreck the train next year in order to try to get someone else to help him?” she said calmly.

The two men looked at each other.

“How do you know so much about ghosts?” Dr. Heintz asked the girl.

“She reads books!” Blair hissed. “She reads lots of books about ghosts!”

She looked down her nose at the man and then nodded her head.

“I just read lots of books about everything,” she said.

“Well, my dear, how would you propose that we find out what this ghost wants from us?” Dr. Heintz asked her.

“I don’t know. Ghosts are all different.”

“They don’t talk in your books?” Blair asked.

“Some do,” she said. “Some come rattling chains. Some have flames on their heads.”

“Any of them rearrange footwear?”

“No. You must have a very silly ghost. Maybe he can’t talk.”

“She’s even talking down to the ghost.”

“I don’t talk down to anyone.”

“So, you think he can’t talk,” Dr. Heintz said.

“He’s obviously not a very nice person either if he stabbed the telegrapher and tried to shoot that silly man who asked all of those silly questions,” she went on.

“I was getting ready to shoot that silly man,” Blair muttered.

“Maybe there was another ghost,” Dr. Heintz said. “This person that we think is the ghost, if we’re right, was a reporter and he asked questions, that’s what he did. He wrote articles and sent telegraphs and so maybe there is some other ghost that is trying to stop this ghost.”

“That’s the smartest thing you’ve said all day!” Blair said. “Yeah. Why would a reporter smash up the telegraph machine? He wouldn’t do that.”

“Have you seen this other ghost in the mirror?” the little girl asked.

“Maybe he can’t show himself in the mirror. Maybe he’s one of those chain rattling ghosts. Maybe we just haven’t heard him yet.”

“Hmm.”

“No,” Dr. Heintz said to her. “No, we haven’t.”

“Then why would you think there’s another ghost?” she said. “It sounds like you’re speculating wildly.”

“It doesn’t make any sense,” Blair said. “It doesn’t make any sense for a dead reporter to go smashing up a telegraph machine.”

“You’re right, it is merely speculation,” Dr. Heintz said to the girl. “But ...”

“What just happened?” Blair asked, looking back and forth between the doctor and the little girl.

“But, as a doctor and as a man of science, you must occasionally propose hypotheses.”

“But they should have some basis in fact,” she said.

“No, you search to prove them. That’s the objective of the hypotheses.”

“But you speculate wildly, unlike ...” she nodded towards Blair. “... who says what he sees and what he hears. That’s the way to go about solving a mystery.”

She looked down at her book and turned the page.

“Oh Jo,” she said to the book.

“What just happened?” Blair said. “Did she just compliment me?”

“Sometimes in investigating, you have to make speculative leaps,” Dr. Heintz said to the girl.

“Hmph,” she replied. “Guessing wildly is what you mean.”

Blair grinned.

“Now you’re arguing with this little girl,” he said.

He got up and headed for the door. Then, thinking better of it, walked back, took her book, closed it, and threw it down on the floor again. Then he walked out of the building.

Dr. Heintz had also stood up.

“He is the rudest person I have ever seen in my life,” the little girl said. “He is worse than Daniel.”

She picked the book back up, opened the first page, and went back to her reading.

“He does have a certain ... swagger about him, doesn’t he?” Dr. Heintz said.

“If you’re wondering why a ghost is haunting you, you should try to find that out and stop it,” the girl said, not looking up from her book.

“That’s what we’re trying to do, my dear.”

“Hmph.”

“Then how would you go about finding that out?”

“Well, if it’s a ghost, he must have died here. So, you must find out who his killers were.”

“That’s very smart. Thank you.”

“I am very smart.”

Blair came back into the church and picked up the mirror.

“Forgot my mirror,” he said as he headed for the door.

“Miss,” Dr. Heintz said to the little girl.

“Doctor,” she replied.

He followed Blair out the doors of the church.

“Robert!” Dr. Heintz said as he tried to catch the other man. “Robert! Robert!”

Blair was walking back towards the telegraph office. He would hold up the mirror every few steps and move around, turning the mirror. Then he saw the figure within it again.

“Doc, c’mere!” he muttered

Blair had turned the mirror around and had his back to the telegraph office. The man was standing on the road that led out of the south side of the town, looking directly at Blair in the mirror.

“What?” Dr. Heintz said.

“C’mere!” Blair repeated. He didn’t take his eyes off the figure.

Dr. Heintz caught up to the man.

“Look over my shoulder!” Blair said.

The figure turned and walked out of sight, past the telegraph office. Blair looked around, a little confused by the mirror’s reflection of the area, but then realized where the specter had gone. Blair headed around the side of the telegraph office through the deep snow. When he got behind the building, Dr. Heintz close behind, he lifted up the mirror again.

“Don’t you think we should return that mirror to–” Dr. Heintz started to say.

“When we’re done with it!” Blair replied. “When we’re done with it. We need it.”

Dr. Heintz fumbled in his pocket for the laudanum.

Blair had moved the mirror around until he saw the figure again. This time he was standing in front of the bar and grill called The Sleeping Wolf. As Blair watched, the figure turned and went into the building.

“He went into the bar,” Blair muttered.

“What?”

“He went into the bar! That Sleeping Wolf. Are you seriously doubting me now?”

Dr. Heintz thought he had caught a glimpse of someone going into the bar in the mirror, but he wasn’t sure if it was the figure he’d seen in his watch or not. Blair headed over to the building, Dr. Heintz close behind. They entered.

Dim, flickering kerosene lamps barely held back the shadows in the spacious room. A couple men huddled at the bar, trying to stay warm by keeping close together and drinking far too much. Three tables were spread haphazardly around the floor, and a couple more men sat there, preferring cold isolation to warm socializing. A billiards table was set up near the right-hand wall, just below a window that did little to keep out the bitter wind. There was no fireplace or wood stove. It was cold. A door that probably led to a stairwell stood in the far wall and there were kitchen noises from downstairs as if others were in the basement. There was the smell of food in the place.

The short man behind the bar gave them a nod and they recognized a couple of passengers from the train. Blair held up the mirror and saw that his own reflection was replaced by the reflection of Gravits. When he looked up at Dr. Heintz, he saw that the dead man’s reflection was also in the doctor’s glasses.

“He’s all over the place in here!” Blair whispered.

As they looked around, they each realized that Gravits’ reflection was in every reflective surface in the place. They could clearly see him glaring out of a spoon that had been left on the nearest table, his features distorted by the curve of the metal. A few photographs on the walls had frames with glass on them: Edward Gravits was staring out of every one. Even the bottles behind the bar across the room looked like something was moving in their reflections. On one of the nearby tables, the gentleman drinking had laid his open pocket watch. They could make out Gravits’ features in the glass there as well.

“Oh God,” Dr. Heintz muttered.

Blair tucked the mirror under his arm. The other men in the bar were looking at them.

“I think we could use a drink!” Dr. Heintz said loudly.

He walked to a table, Blair trailing behind him. They sat down on two of the dirty chairs. Blair laid down the mirror on the table.

“Fellas, I’m only open ‘til lunchtime,” the bartender told them, loudly enough that all of the patrons would hear. “I’ll be back this afternoon but it’s Christmas Day.”

Dr. Heintz looked at his watch. It was 11:30.

Blair continued to look at the mirror. Gravits was always in a different place. Sometimes he was the reflection Blair saw instead of himself. Other times he was standing behind the man, looking at him over his shoulder. But he was always staring at Blair.

The bartender approached the men. He wore a very heavy coat and his gray hair had an unfashionable bowl cut which was rough around the edges. His dark eyes moved constantly. They recognized the man, who had been in the church, probably during lunchtime the day before. Neither of them remembered him being at the church the night before. They’d seen very little of him.

“Can I help you fellas?” he said. “We’re not doing any food ‘til after lunch today.”

“Not sure we’re going to be here after lunch today,” Blair muttered.

“I’m going to open her back up at two, as usual,” the man said. “I opened up this morning ‘cause a couple passengers last night said they could do with a Christmas morning drink.”

He looked over at the men sitting alone at the tables.

“You fellows look cold,” Blair said to them.

“Yep,” one of them said.

“That’s what this is for,” the other man said, holding up his drink.

“You know, alcohol only makes you feel like you’re getting warmer,” Blair said. “Actually, it thins your blood out. Makes you colder, quicker. Read that somewhere.”

“All right,” one of the other men muttered.

“Thank you,” another said.

“What you fellas want?” the bartender said. “We got some whiskey, some rye, and there’s some gin.”

“Whiskey please,” Blair said.

“You sir?” the man asked Dr. Heintz.

“That’s all that you have?” the doctor said.

“Yeah,” the man replied. “Well, we got some special stuff. You want some of that?”

“Whiskey’s fine.”

“They make it around here. You like enamel on your teeth, don’t you. You might not want to have that.”

The bartender returned with a couple small glasses of brown liquid.

“What’s your name, sir?” Dr. Heintz said.

“Cordingham,” the man said. “I own this place. Ron Cordingham.”

A huge, black cat leapt gracefully up onto the bar and sat there, staring at them.

“Holy-” Blair said. “Is that your cat?”

“Yep,” Cordingham replied. “That’s him.”

“Biggest cat I ever seen.”

“That’s Zody. Yeah, he’s big all right. He’s big.”

Cordingham wandered back over to the bar and cleaned glasses. He looked like he was getting ready to close up.

Dr. Heintz picked up his drink and saw the reflection of Edward Gravits in the liquid. Blair noticed him there as well.

“Sorry,” the latter said.

He drank down the drink. Dr. Heintz put his own drink down and Blair took it and drank it as well. The liquid burned on the way down. It was not as bad as he thought it would be.

“All right, what’s the plan?” Blair asked quietly.

“There was a plan?” Dr. Heintz replied.

“Yeah, I had a plan. To get here. Now I ... I don’t have a plan. We need a plan.”

“Indeed, we do. A plan would be nice.”

“Maybe we could ... get back in here after he closes up. Look around.”

Dr. Heintz looked around. There were four customers in the place who were dressed nicely and he guessed they were all passengers from the train. Two were sitting at the bar while two others sat at the two other tables in the room.

Cordingham wandered back over with a tray. He took the glasses.

“‘Nother?” he asked.

“Why not?” Dr. Heintz said. “So, Mr. Cordingham, are you from Falls Run originally? Born and raised?”

“Yes sir. Born and raised here my whole life. Started this place up to make some money. ‘Cause I need money.”

“I’m actually surprised from what I’ve heard of the Baptist faith; they’re not too keen on bars.”

“Nope.”

“Or dancing or-”

“God bless America.”

“You have a stove?” Blair suddenly asked.

“In the kitchen,” Cordingham said. “Downstairs.”

“Why’s it so cold in here?”

Cordingham shrugged.

“I mean, it’s freezing in here!” Blair said.

“I can’t make a profit if I’m having to burn coal, can I?” Cordingham said.

“I can’t imagine you get a whole lot of business. This place is freezing.”

“Alcohol’ll keep you warm.”

“So if you’ve lived here all your life, obviously you were here for the last train wreck,” Dr. Heintz said.

“Yep,” the man replied. “Yep, had some fellas come in have some drinks here. Great for business.”

“Great for business?”

“Well, there were people actually here. More people.”

“So, I understand that someone went missing actually, even after the passengers were supposed to have left.”

“Well, that’s what I heard.”

“At least that’s what I heard from ... oh what’s his name? The telegraph man.”

“Johnsson.”

“Yes.”

“He wrote something in the paper about it, about some fellow who didn’t show up.”

“He was going on and on about it.”

“Probably wandered off. Maybe decided he didn’t want to go back to Cincinnati. Or maybe he got off on another stop. Or maybe ... maybe ...”

“Maybe,” Blair said.

“Maybe,” Cordingham replied. “Maybe he didn’t want to get married.”

“Well, I suppose that is possible,” Dr. Heintz said.

“So he slipped away,” Cordingham went on. “Let me get your drinks.”

He returned a moment later with two more filled glasses. Blair pushed one towards Dr. Heintz and then drank his own. Cordingham went back to the bar. When Dr. Heintz looked down into the whiskey he could see Gravits’ ghostly reflection on both the surface of the liquid and the outside of the glass. It was somewhat unnerving.

“It’ll do you good, doc,” Blair said. “Knock it back. Trust me.”

Dr. Heintz closed his eyes and didn’t look as he downed the liquid. He coughed.

“Kind of hangs, doesn’t it?” Blair said.

“That’s ... an accurate description,” Dr. Heintz gasped.

“What we gonna do?”

“I have no idea. This person brought us here for some reason.”

“Why me? Why us?”

“I have no idea. As far as I know of, I’ve never had any interaction with spirits. Save for this kind.”

He gestured at the empty glass. He noticed that the reflection of Edward Gravits was still there.

“And so I have no idea why,” he said.

“Well I’ll tell you one thing, when you die, you become stupid because you can’t talk anybody anymore!” Blair muttered at the mirror.

The two passengers at the bar got up and left the place. The man at the table with the open watch ordered another drink.

“If I get killed and come back as a ghost, I’m going to find this guy and punch him right in his mouth!” Blair whispered to Dr. Heintz.

“Let’s plan on that not happening,” Dr. Heintz replied calmly. “I’d like to think that, unfortunately I have to assume that this person was not a believer or he would not be stuck in this limbo. He would’ve moved on if he could.”

“I think that that sounds like a right fine prospect, doc.”

“Indeed.”

“He ain’t moved on, he’s hauntin’ every window in this town, but only we can see him.”

“Not every window. He seems to be in this place, especially.”

“I wanna leave this town really bad. I wanna never see no ghosts again.”

“Neither do I.”

“But we’re stuck here.”

Dr. Heintz’s glass tipped over.

“That’s the best he can do,” Blair muttered. “Move your shoes. Move a drink.”

“It’s not the best he can do if the little girl was right,” Dr. Heintz said.

“I don’t think that was him. I don’t think that was him. Sorry. You were right. That wasn’t him on the train.”

Blair’s glass tipped over.

“Maybe that’s the way that he says that we’re wrong,” Dr. Heintz said.

Blair stood his glass back up. It started to slide slowly towards the man. Both men stared at it.

“All right!” Dr. Heintz said, standing up quickly. He looked at the bartender. “Thank you, Mr. ...”

“Cordingham,” the short bartender said.

“Cordingham!” Dr. Heintz repeated. “Robert!”

The glass had stopped moving when Dr. Heintz had stood. Blair sat, staring at it.

“Thank you,” Dr. Heintz said to the bartender.

“Yeah,” the man replied.

“Good drink.”

“Well thank you.”

The man called for last call. The man with the pocket watch picked it up and left. Blair picked up the mirror and he and Dr. Heintz also left the place. In the sun, he wondered if it had not been colder inside the building than it was outside in the snow.

The two men walked back to the telegraph office.

“Why’d you interrupt him when he was trying to talk?” Blair asked him.

“He wasn’t trying to talk,” Dr. Heintz said.

“He was trying to tell us something and you interrupted him. You jumped up and ran out.”

“Forgive me if I’m a bit unnerved by a sliding glass.”

“Of course, it’s very unnerving. I didn’t like it any more than you did, but we were making progress.”

“I’m not so certain that we were making progress. Come on.”

He looked at his pocket watch and saw that Gravits was not there. It was 11:45.

“We have 15 minutes,” he said.

“To do what?” Blair asked. “What’s the plan?”

“If we can suffer this cold, we can wait, perhaps in the back side of the telegraph office. We’re going to watch this bar when he closes up and find a way inside.”

“Cold out here.”

“Would you like to go inside the telegraph office?”

“I got a better idea. Follow me.”

He headed back towards the church.

“Now, if you insult that little girl again, I’m going to recommend that we move our berths,” Dr. Heintz said.

“No, I’m not going back up there to insult the little girl,” Blair muttered.

They entered the church, passing an old man from the train having a snowball fight with several of the local children outside. Dr. Heintz recognized the man as one he’d talked to since they’d come to Falls Run, a veteran of the Civil War. Blair put the mirror down in the corner where their things were. He wrapped his blanket around himself and then put his backpack over that. He picked up his Henry rifle.

“Does anyone need anything from the train?” he asked loudly.

A couple of people asked him to look for items and bring them back if he noticed them.

“I’m going to go check on my brother,” Blair said.

He looked at the little girl.

“Memorize that first page yet?” he quipped.

She looked up at him as he walked by.

“If you see ...” she started to say.

He stopped.

“If you see a plaid valise with a pink bow, I would appreciate if you could bring it back,” she said.

“Sure,” he said, not turning around. “C’mon doc.”

She closed the book and dropped it on the floor.

“You forgot to do that,” she said.

“Thank you for doing it for me,” he replied.

“You’re welcome.”

“Get a blanket, doc,” Blair said. “You’ll need it.”

Dr. Heintz got his own blanket. The two men, still cold, each had a cup of coffee before they headed out.

When they arrived at the telegraph office, they saw Cordingham closing the front door of the Sleeping Wolf. A woman and three children were with them, all of them bundled up. They walked up the street to the next house up the street and went in. Blair and Dr. Heintz crossed to the street and headed past the Sleeping Wolf.

They continued south to the road and then turned around and headed back, almost due south of the building, where it shielded them from the Cordingham house. They noticed that there was what looked like a cellar door on the south side of the bar. The snow around it had been trampled and it opened without resistance, though with a loud creak, when Blair pulled on it. He stopped immediately at the noise and then moved it very, very slowly to keep it from creaking.

Dark steps led down to a door below.

“We didn’t bring a light!” Dr. Heintz hissed.

“I got matches,” Blair said.

They crept down the steps, which creaked loudly under their feet. Dr. Heintz found a locked door at the bottom while Blair slowly closed the cellar door above. He came down the steps and put his shoulder to it. The wood of the frame splintered and the door fell open.

“Robert!” Dr. Heintz hissed.

The door opened up into a kitchen. In the light of Blair’s matches, they saw there were several unlit kerosene lanterns on the wall. Dr. Heintz lit one and trimmed the wick. A large iron stove stood to one side and steps led up to the right. A door stood in a niche on the wall to the left and a plain, blue blanket hung on the wall across the room. A sink with a water pump stood in one corner. It was very warm in the kitchen.

Blair went to the blanket and pulled it aside. A door stood behind it. He found it unlocked. He pushed it open.

A horrific form came into view. It must have been human once, but its dry skin was stretched tight over its bones, and a claw-like hand was extended towards Blair as its empty eye sockets seemed to leer in his direction. Both men were shocked by the visage. Looking more closely, however, they could see that the menacing figure was not actually moving, nor was it alive – it appeared to have been a stuffed, embalmed corpse. The man’s face must have been young in life, his features handsome – though it was hard to be sure when gazing at the gruesome mockery. His cheekbones were high and pronounced, his eyes deep-set, and his hair was long and unkempt. His naked body bore the horrible marks of burns and cuts, bloodless, but certainly painful and gory when they were inflicted.

It was the remains of Edward Gravits.

They moved into the room. Two heavy black iron candelabras flanked the embalmed corpse, and two more stood on the near side of the room, on either side of the door they entered. Beside a couch against one wall, a stuffed wolf stood eyeing them. Another couch rested on the opposite corner of the room, facing a massive iron safe. On top of the safe was a stack of cards, like playing cards but decorated with gruesome and occult imagery. Next to the pile were several scattered hands of cards, as if a group of people had been playing and had just laid them down. A rug adorned with a strange, twisted pattern covered the floor in the center of the room.

“Go fetch the sheriff,” Blair whispered.

“Constable,” Dr. Heintz said.

“Whichever.”

“Yes.”

“Go! Leave the lantern.”

“But ...”

Dr. Heintz put down the lantern. As he headed across the kitchen, he saw the large black sitting in the corner by the cellar door. It hissed at him and he stopped.

“What is that?” Blair whispered from inside the horrible room.

“It’s that cursed cat!” Dr. Heintz said.

He moved towards the cat, trying to get past it without approaching it. It howled at the man. Blair came out of the horrible abattoir and crossed the room, intent on kicking the creature. The cat slipped through the cellar door. Dr. Heintz looked at the dark steps beyond the door.

Blair lit another kerosene lamp and put it on the floor in the other room. Then he went to the cellar door and shined his own lantern within. There was no sign of the cat and he lowered himself slightly to see if it was under the steps. There were no risers behind the steps but he could see nothing in the darkness there.

“Go fetch the constable!” he hissed.

Dr. Heintz headed carefully up the stairs. He was halfway up when something raked across one of his boots. Blair saw the cat’s paw reach out and tear at the boot from under the steps. Dr. Heintz kicked the steps as he went up, then flung open the outer cellar door and fled the place, letting it slam shut behind him.

Blair realized he was standing next to a door in the niche. He’d noticed it before, but had focused on the blue blanket. In the aftermath of the horror they’d found in the other room, he’d completely forgotten there was another door in the room.

The cat howled from its hiding place under the cellar steps.

* * *

Dr. Heintz left the cellar and ran through the thick snow into the street. He headed north, planning on going to the telegraph office as he didn’t know where the constable lived. However, running down the road towards him was Cordingham. He had a shotgun in his hand.

“Mr. Cordingham!” Dr. Heintz said. “My companion and I were heading down towards the train and were wondering when’re you opening the bar again.”

“Why, it’s open right now,” Cordingham said, the shotgun not pointing exactly at the doctor. “Why don’t you come with me? We’ll have a drink. On the house.”

“Uh ... why don’t you just come with me?” Dr. Heintz said. “I need to speak to–”

“Why don’t you come with me?” Cordingham smiled, his voice low and somewhat menacing.

It was not a nice smile.

He glanced over his shoulder. The street was deserted.

“C’mon, let’s go,” he said.

“I ... I would like that,” Dr. Heintz said unconvincingly. “Very much. That would be quite nice.”

“That’s good,” Cordingham said. “That’s real good.”

He escorted the doctor to the front door of the establishment, watching him carefully as he unlocked the door.

“Go on,” he said, gesturing with the shotgun.

“Oh, I’m going!” Dr. Heintz said loudly.

They could both hear the cat howling in the basement below as Cordingham closed and locked the door behind them. Dr. Heintz saw that every reflection in the place, once again, had the image of Edward Gravits.

* * *

Blair frowned when he heard the front door of the bar open. He heard Dr. Heintz called out and then heard the front door close. He quickly slipped the backpack off his back and loaded his pistol as the cat howled loudly.

“I’ll take care of you soon!” Blair hissed at the horrible creature.

He grabbed his rifle.

* * *

“You just sit on down,” Cordingham said quietly, aiming the shotgun at the man and cocking both hammers.

“Oh, I will!” Dr. Heintz said loudly.

“I’ll get our drinks.”

“Excuse me, Mr. Cordingham, I’m a little uncomfortable with that shotgun.”

“I’m sorry,” Cordingham replied insincerely. “Maybe you could tell your friend to come up here and we could all get comfortable together.”

* * *

While Blair listened to the muted conversation above, the cat crept out and hissed at him.

“C’mere,” he whispered. “C’mere kitty. Here kitty, kitty, kitty.”

The cat hissed at him once again. Then it howled again. It sounded like it was trying to warn its master of his presence in the basement. He leveled his rifle at it and it ducked under the sink and out of sight.

* * *

“Don’t act like you don’t know–” Cordingham said.

“My friend is down at the train,” Dr. Heintz said.

“–he’s down in the cellar,” Cordingham went on. “Down in the cellar with Zody.” Then he whispered loudly: “He doesn’t want to be down there with him, though.”

“I ... I don’t know ... what you’re talking about, Mr. Cordingham.”

* * *

Blair, listening for creaking and trying to figure out where Cordingham was standing, had moved quietly into the horrible room with the stuffed corpse of Edward Gravits. The cat had gone completely quiet.

* * *

“Why don’t you tell him to come on up here?” Cordingham said. “Go on. Go on.”

“I ... I don’t know what you’re talking about, sir,” Dr. Heintz said.

“Go on. Call to him. Come on.”

“There’s no one else here!”

“Your snoopy friend’s here. You could’ve just walked away. Been the smart thing to do.”

* * *

Blair put his Winchester to his shoulder and aimed at the ceiling where he thought Cordingham was standing.

* * *

The cat howled in the basement somewhere below and Cordingham looked down. The nasty grin disappeared from his face as he looked down, the whites of his eyes showing. He screamed as the floor suddenly exploded, bullets flying up through the floorboards under his feet, cutting through the thin timber and sending splinters showering into the room.

Dr. Heintz turned and ran, leaping over the bar and landing behind it in a crouch. A moment later, he heard furniture crash in the room somewhere. Otherwise, it was quiet. He slid to the back corner of the room behind the bar, then took out the train spotter’s pistol and quickly shoved the six bullets into it.

* * *

In the basement, Blair looked up at the ceiling and took a couple of steps. He listened carefully for the cat but heard nothing. He glanced at the doorway and saw the evil creature crouched behind the kerosene lantern on the floor. It glared at the man, who considered shooting it anyway. Then he put his rifle in his left hand and walked towards the cat, drawing his pistol. The animal suddenly reared and knocked the kerosene lantern over. There was a tinkle of glass and he found himself in pitch blackness.

Blair continued out of the room into the kitchen beyond. A lone lantern glowed there. He pulled the door to the horrible room closed behind him. He moved towards the interior steps and pressed on the first one, which creaked loudly. Without actually going up the steps, he put his foot on the second and third steps just to make them creak as if someone was going up the steps.

Then he crossed the kitchen to the door near the basement door. It proved to be unlocked. He pushed it open with only a slight creak. Six rows of shelves lined the walls, all of them heavy with dry food and liquor bottles. A huge ice chest occupied most of the floor space in the place.

The cat yowled again.

* * *

Dr. Heintz heard someone chanting quietly in the room. It had to be Cordingham, somewhere in the direction of the front door. It was a low muttering in a language that he didn’t, for the most part, understand, though there seemed to be some Latin mixed in with the other phrases.

“You’re a devil-worshipper, Cordingham!” Dr. Heintz called out.

Then he quickly crawled to the other end of the bar where it opened into the room. Without exposing himself, he reached up over the bar and pulled the trigger. The revolver only clicked the first time and he realized he had loaded an empty shell along with the five other bullets. He worked the hammer and fired twice more, blindly, into the room. Wood splintered in the room, but the chanting continued.

He recognized some of the Latin. Cordingham was talking about “Sleep of the Gods” and “slumber” or something to that effect. The man suddenly stopped chanting.

* * *

Blair heard gunfire and thought he heard someone talking. Then he pounded up the cellar stairs as loudly as he could, and flung the outer cellar door open. He turned and leapt back down the steps, trying to miss the lowest step. His foot hit it before he landed on the cellar floor. He headed over to the interior steps and crept up the edges of those stairs. They still creaked and it seemed very loud to the man.

* * *

Dr. Heintz heard the outer cellar door crash open and hoped that Blair had gone to bring the constable. He thought that Cordingham had been saying a prayer to the devil or had been trying to scare him. He looked at the nearby liquor bottles and saw the ghostly figure within.

“Gravits, if you really wanted to help, you could help now!” he whispered as much to himself anyone. “Go and haunt him!”

* * *

Blair found that the door at the top of the steps was not locked. He pushed it open a crack and peered into the room. In the dim light of the bar he could see that one of the tables had been turned on its side, offering some cover from the direction of the bar. He saw no sign of Cordingham.

He poked the rifle through the crack and fired two shots in quick succession into the table. The cat gave a terrible howl that ended in an awful rattle below. He dropped prone, still aiming the rifle at the table.

“Give up Cordingham!” Dr. Heintz shouted before crawling to the corner again.

Blair fired twice more into the table. Then he burst up out of the doorway and fired four more times into the table as he ran to the bar and crouched behind it.

“Did you see him?” a voice whispered from the corner of the bar.

Blair gasped, the gun going off in his hand before he swung it towards the doctor. He hadn’t realized the man was also crouched behind the bar.

“Sorry!” Dr. Heintz whispered.

“You scared me!” Blair hissed.

He saw the pistol on the doctor’s hand.

“Is that thing loaded?” he whispered.

“Yes,” Dr. Heintz replied.

“He’s behind the table.”

“What table?”

There was a pounding on the front door. Blair peeked over the top of the bar, laying the rifle there and aiming into the room. He saw Cordingham lying prone behind the table.

“Open up in the name of the law!” a voice came from outside. It sounded like David Wells. “Put down your weapons and come out!”

Dr. Heintz put the pistol down on the top of the bar while Blair went to the body and kicked it. There was a lot of blood. The man had been shot in the head. Dr. Heintz walked towards the front door of the bar, avoiding the body. Blair went to the door but found it locked. A quick search of the body produced the key. Blair opened the door slowly and showed Constable Wells, right outside with a pistol in his hand, his rifle.

“Put it down,” the man told him.

“Yes sir,” Blair said, putting down the rifle.

“Everyone come out,” Wells said.

The two men came out.

“You just having some fun in there?” Wells asked.

“No sir,” Blair said. “We have some things to show you.”

They showed him the body of Cordingham and then took him down to the basement, where they showed him the room with the body of Edward Gravits. The man was horrified but recognized the corpse. In the middle of the room, the black cat lay dead on the floor.

“Cordingham did this?” Wells asked. “Cordingham killed him? My God, what did he do to him?”

He looked around the room.

“I still have to arrest you fellas,” he said.

“It’s not just that,” Dr. Heintz said. “Look at the black candles and the cards.”

“He was into some unwholesome things,” Blair said. “There’s more than one. You need to get the whole family.”

“We’ll talk to ‘em,” Wells said.

He took them back upstairs and collected Blair’s rifle.

* * *

Blair and Dr. Heintz were arrested, jailed in Grafton, and eventually tried. They were acquitted of all charges as the killing had been in self-defense. The members of the Cordingham family were questioned but none of them had ever entered the terrible hidden room in the basement of the Sleeping Wolf. According to their testimony, many of them didn’t know about the room, while his wife had been forbidden to enter the room. Cordingham was announced as the murderer of Edward Gravits.

The story was sensationalized in the regional press, reaching newspapers as far as Baltimore and Cincinnati. Blair and Dr. Heintz received a certain level of fame for their actions. The town of Falls Run sent them a goodwill offering of $300 in thanks for their work. There was some speculation in the papers that the other murder in Falls Run might also have been the work of Cordingham.

Dr. Heintz wondered who else was involved. He remembered there had been seven hands laid out on the safe.

* * *

Dr. Heintz read in the newspapers right after Christmas of 1891 that there had been another train wreck on the same spot on the Baltimore & Ohio Railway. The ghost of Edward Gravits had evidently not been laid to rest. ]]> Max_Writer http://www.penandpapergames.com/forums/entry.php/1749-Ravenloft-Masque-of-the-Red-Death-Falls-Run-Part-3 Star Wars Saga: SWTOR: Civil War on Ord Mantell 2012-03-17 CaesarCon http://www.penandpapergames.com/forums/entry.php/1704-Star-Wars-Saga-SWTOR-Civil-War-on-Ord-Mantell-2012-03-17-CaesarCon Mon, 26 Mar 2012 23:16:13 GMT Friday, March 23, 2012 (After playing the *Star Wars* Saga scenario “SWTOR: Civil War on Ord Mantell” Saturday afternoon at CaesarCon with... Friday, March 23, 2012

(After playing the Star Wars Saga scenario “SWTOR: Civil War on Ord Mantell” Saturday afternoon at CaesarCon with Scott Wakefield (GM), Aaron and Adam Frager, DJ Stevenson, and Chris and Xavier Sparks from 2 p.m. to 6:30 p.m.)

A long time ago in a galaxy far, far away....

STAR WARS

CIVIL WAR RAGES. CHAOS GRIPS THE GALACTIC REPUBLIC.

INFLUENTIAL STAR SYSTEMS BREAK AWAY FROM THE MILLENNIA-OLD ALLIANCE,

ANGERED OVER THE SENATE’S TREATY WITH THE SITH EMPIRE.

THE MOUNTAINOUS PLANES AND VOLCANIC ISLANDS OF ORD MANTELL ARE LITTERED

WITH THE RAVAGES OF THE RUTHLESS CIVIL WAR.

KNOWN FOR BEING A HAVEN FOR SMUGGLERS, PIRATES, AND BOUNTY HUNTERS,

THE LOCAL GOVERNMENT OF ORD MANTELL, UNDER THE SWAY OF CRIME SYNDICATES,

DECIDED IT WAS BETTER BUSINESS TO STAY LOYAL TO THE REPUBLIC.

NOT ALL THE PLANET’S POPULACE AGREED, HOWEVER,

AND A SEPARATIST MOVEMENT BEGAN AND QUICKLY

ESCALATED INTO AN ARMED CONFLICT.

THE REPUBLIC FORCES ARE FIGHTING THE ELUSIVE SEPARATISTS

WHO ARE CONDUCTING GUERILLA STYLE STRIKES AGAINST

BOTH MILITARY AND CIVILIAN TARGETS.

ADDING QUESTIONS TO AN ALREADY QUESTIONABLE SITUATION,

THE PLANET’S GOVERNMENT, THOUGH LOYAL TO THE REPUBLIC,

IS MERELY A PUPPET REGIME FOR UNDERWORLD CONCERNS.

STRATEGIC INFORMATION SERVICES (SIS) HAS BEEN TASKED WITH

UNCOVERING CORRUPTION IN THE GOVERNMENT AND MILITARY RANKS.

THEIR CURRENT TARGET, THE TRAITOR ONLY KNOWN AS BYNTIC,

HAS BEEN SELLING TACTICAL DATA AND ADVANCED EXPERIMENTAL

MEDICAL SUPPLIES TO THE ENEMY....

I am Alorn Loik, Miralukan Jedi.

I was born to a species that was no stranger to the force, a species born with “force sight” since we have no eyes. It was not uncommon for young Miralukans to become Jedi with their natural force sensitivity.

I was no exception.

I studied as a Jedi Initiate on Coruscant and would regularly spend time with another Initiate named Jorran Darklighter. We became fast friends.

When the Jedi Temple was invaded by Darth Malgus and his Sith Warriors, many Jedi defenders took up arms to meet the attack. As it reached further into the Temple, Jorran and I fought side by side to buy the other initiates time to escape.

It was a successful use of our lives, as we were both defeated by a Sith named Vulnas. We had rushed the Sith, but I found myself flying backwards after being hit by an arc of Force Lightning. The last thing I saw before passing out was the Sith stabbing Jorran in the face with his lightsaber. I awoke on a medical ship and learned that the Jedi Temple had been destroyed and that many Jedi had died, including Jorran, and had been buried in the rubble of the temple after it had collapsed.

Word of what had happened reached Kel Dor Jedi Master Rye’an and he took me under his wing as his Padawan. The Jedi Order soon relocated our headquarters to the ancestral Jedi homeworld of Tython, where my official Padawan training began. Master Rye’an and I aided the Republic for the next three years, specifically working with SIS (Republic Strategic Information Service) on special missions.

They had recently requested my help on such a mission to Ord Mantell.

The others in the SIS cell included Reoga D’an, a Bith Slicer; Tanal’sil, a Twi’lek thief; Sgt. Tenric Tavon, a human and part of the Republic Army; Greebus, a Rodian scout; and So Leet, a Cerean noble/doctor. We had been recruited to be part of an elite team with the primary mission of uncovering the identity of Byntic.

Ord Mantell had been colonized by Corellians over 9,000 years before. The planet became a staging point for Republic military operations on the outer rim. The world’s strategic value waned over the centuries. However, after a corrupt admiral sold off the fleet, the military all but abandoned the planet. It soon became a haven for smugglers, pirates, and bounty hunters. The crime syndicates still controlled it. Though contested during the war with the Sith Empire, things changed after the Treaty of Coruscant divided the galaxy between the Republic and the Sith. Though many star systems withdrew from the Republic, Ord Mantell’s governor decided it was better business to stay loyal. There had been a civil war there ever since. Marauders had fought a hit and run fight to drive the military off the planet. Over the last three years, separatist attacks had ravaged the planet and destabilized the corrupt government. Despite the difficult situation, Ord Mantell’s defenses were being bolstered. Crime syndicates, backed by local government, were bringing in potent black market technologies and the Republic was deploying its most elite forces.

The separatists were barely better than terrorists. They “recruited” youths starting at the age of 15, drugged them with stimulants, and sent them off to fight.

We met at the appointed time at one of the storage buildings in the warehouse district. Although still fortified, the district was separated by a duracrete gate that led into the area. A silver protocol droid approached us.

“I am C-63,” it said. “Humanoid cybernetic relations. I am trained in over six million military and paramilitary rules and regulations. I am here to escort you to the office where you will be meeting Lt. Drakkar.”

It took us to a back office and asked us to have a seat, telling us Lt. Drakkar would be with us momentarily.

“Thank you and have a pleasant day,” it said before it departed.

As we waited, we heard two voices speaking in the office beyond. One was deep and low. The other sounded like a woman.

“Lieutenant, I heard about Meesik,” the male voice said. “I’m sorry about the loss. Any information on what happened?”

“Major, thank you for condolences,” the woman’s voice said, “but you know I cannot share the specifics with you.”

“Hey, we are all on the same side here. I just wanted to make sure you’re okay and to let you know I’m here if you need me.”

“I can’t thank you enough. I’ll be okay. Antilles, don’t think I don’t respect your friendship, especially after what we went through on Kikiyunga. I just have a lot on my mind and am actually getting ready for a meeting.”

“Of course, of course. I actually must be leaving myself. I have a report I need to get to General Vander and then a meeting with Magistrate Anturis on what we need to do to better the lives of the civilians. I mean, we’re in the middle of a civil war, and all he can think about is when his next shipment of spice is coming in.”

“Now I don’t feel so bad about my deed, knowing I don’t have to deal with him.”

A few moments later, a woman with short brown hair and jade green eyes entered the room. She shut the door behind her and walked to the desk. She pushed a button, causing a light blue haze to cover the door.

“Noise dampener,” she said, looking at the door. “Don’t know who could be listening.”

“We were listening before,” I told her.

“Which is why,” she said. “No one can hear this conversation.”

She looked us over.

“Thank you for coming,” she went on. “You have all been chosen for your expertise and previous contributions to the SIS. As you all have heard in the initial report sent to you, we have a traitor in our midst that needs rooted out. More specifically, tactical data on our land-to-air turret access codes, troop movements, as well as caravan and shipment logs have been stolen and are getting into the hands of the separatists. We need to find out where the leak is coming from and put a stop to it. Secondary to finding the source of the leak is getting a critical shipment back. Among the items that have been stolen is a shipment of prototype fast flesh advanced medpacs. So Leet here is part of the medical team that helped develop the technology. It is critical that we get the prototypes back or years of research could be compromised.

“We finally did get a break in the case after I started putting small, indiscrete beacons in some of the supply crates and was able to trace some of the stolen goods to Salvage City, a scrap yard to the west of Fort Garnik. We did get some surveillance done on the scrap yard and did get a partial transmission sent to us.”

She typed on her desk computer and a holorecording appeared. From the perspective view, it was taken from behind the junk pile of a humanoid talking to a Zabrak in the distance. The view zoomed in to get a better view. There was also audio.

“I don’t understand why you always insist on me coming out here,” the cloaked humanoid said.

“Come now Byntic, communication channels can be compromised,” the Zabrak said. “I would hate to see you caught, which would mean a loss of information that would make us both rich. I take it you were able to acquire the shipment I arranged to have sent to you?”

“Yes, in fact Troddle’s already been playing with the prototypes and found fun alternative uses for them. He really is a mad scientist when it comes to his toys. Even for a Toydarian.”

“When can I–?”

Then the signal fizzled out.

“Unfortunately, a Bothan may have died to get us this information,” Lt. Drakkar said. “Meesik, one of my field agents, was the one who sent the transmission. We have not heard from him since.

“What we do know so far is that the masked humanoid goes by the name Byntic. He is the leak, working with Kazzeek Linleaf, a known information broker and part owner of the scrap yard known as Salvage City. The other part owner is Troddle, the Toydarian mentioned in the holovideo. Troddle runs the day-to-day business of the scrap yard, or at least he did until the separatists closed off the main access roads to it. Kazzeek uses the scrap yard for a front for information brokering, selling information to gangsters, smugglers, and pirates. The scrap yard is actually built on top of an underground processing factory which, before being closed off, was used to process and recycle all scrap being sent there.

“We believe that Kazeek is storing the stolen equipment in the factory itself before selling it off to the separatists. Kazeek is rumored to be paranoid and we are hoping that he has the data and information on the identity of Byntic on the security network.

“Even though the main road to the salvage yard is cut off by the separatists with particle cannon turrets, there is a cavern network that will bypass the main road and lead you close to the yard. You will still have to cross enemy lines and may have to engage in combat, but it’s the safest route.”

She typed on a keyboard and the fuzzy image of the scrap yard was replaced by a map of Avilatan Island. It showed the scrap yard, the capital, and the lands in between. It was also marked with the cavern network.

“What I need from you is to travel through the cave network located in this area,” she said, pointing to the map. “Travel through the caverns to the salvage yard and infiltrate. You need to find a way to access Kazeek’s secure network and find any information you can on his dealings with Byntic. If possible, you also need to find the shipment of fast flesh medpacs. Take as many as you can and destroy the rest. Troddle may have sentry droids guarding the yard that you will have to take out. You can bet Kazeek has some guards in the factory that you will have to take out before getting the stolen shipment.

“Officially, on the books, this will be considered a Cypress Squadron scout mission,” she went on, “and as such, will be under the direct command of Squad Leader Sergeant Tavon. Since we have high-ranking suspects within the garrison, you will have permission from General Vander himself to ignore direct commands from anyone outside of this room if it would otherwise compromise the mission.”

She looked us over.

“I’m willing to pay you all 500 credits each, up front, and 500 additional credits after the mission is done,” she said. “I will also offer a bonus to your payment if you uncover additional information. If you want more information on Kazeek, you should start in the cantina. A former slicer of his actually lives here in the warehouse district. He is a Duros named Frustum and may offer additional intelligence on his former employee. He will not talk about this with known associates of the military or SIS, but he may be willing to open up to a fellow smuggler or even slicer, given the right amount of credits or drink. Spiced Corellian ale is his favorite these days, I’ve heard.

“You can start in the morning if you like. It will likely be a four-hour walk to get to the caverns and another couple of hours to get through it. Get with C-6. He will give you your initial credits and point you in the right direction. If you need any equipment and supplies, he can also answer any questions about Avilatan Island and the surrounding villages if you are interested.”

We discussed a plan and in the end, it was decided to send Reoga D’an and Tanal’sil to the cantina to look for Frustum. I would follow them to merely act as back-up and keep an eye on them. The others would go their own ways as they were too well recognizable as being part of the Republic.

We spotted who I guessed was the Major Antilles near a spice den near the warehouse. He was talking to another man, obviously Magistrate Anturis. They were having a heated discussion and I could hear Anturis griping about the freeze on all unessential shipments coming in. He said that the citizens and refugees were getting restless. Major Antilles responded that the order came from the General himself and, until they put a stop to the separatists continuing to hack into and taking over the land-to-air turrets, the freeze was going to stay in place.

“We’re going to separate for a few hours,” Sgt. Tavon said to me after we left the vicinity of the arguing men. “I want you to just stick within earshot of them, just make sure you know what’s going on with them, and maintain communication with myself.”

“It will be done,” I said.

“We will hobnob with other people,” he told me.

“I will be following you two,” I told the Bith and the Twi’lek.

We separated and I followed them at some distance. They went to the cantina and I entered a minute later, finding a place in a booth in the corner. I saw that the other two were sitting at the bar. A Duros also sat at the bar next to an alien whose race I didn’t recognize. The creature had blue skin and a very long neck that tapered to a very small head. The bartender himself was a fat Trandoshan who looked like he had never missed a meal in his life. A Bith band played frivolous music in the corner.

The alien I didn’t recognize had been sitting next to the Duros and, as I sat down, he put coins on the bar and walked out. After thinking about it for a moment, I followed him. As I left, I saw Tanal’sil talking to the bartender and looking towards the door.

“What is that?” Tanal’sil asked the bartender.

“Who?” the fat Trandoshan replied.

“That,” Tanal’sil said, pointing at the creature just as it slipped out the door.

“Oh, that’s Fon Wui. He’s Kaminoan, that one. He’s one of the medical doctors here. He’s one of the ones working on some ... some, I don’t know what it is, some new medical technology.”

Then I was out the door. I followed the Kaminoan only a few dozen meters to a medical station. I loitered for a short while and reported in to Sgt. Tavon briefly, letting him know about the Kaminoan who seemed to be speaking to the Duros. I then returned to the cantina to take vigil watching over the others. By the time I returned, the Duros was walking out. I took a seat in the same booth once again.

Reoga D’an and Tanal’sil stayed in the cantina for another half hour before getting up and leaving. I waited several minutes before I followed them out, but could find no sign of them on the street. Though I searched my feelings, I could not locate them. Eventually I found them and we went back to our villas.

“We didn’t get a ton of information other than what we already know,” Tanal’sil told us once we were all assembled. “He’s taken out the main bridge leading to his facility and there’s rumors of a series of caverns that can get to the scrap yard. We knew that. One piece of information, or technology, that we acquired from him, is that he had a computer spike that will allow us to bypass the security systems a little easier.”

“That’s where you’ll come in?” Sgt. Tavon asked the Bith.

“Yeah,” Reoga D’an replied.

“Other than that, he didn’t seem to have too much information,” Tanal’sil went on. “He was just more upset about it.”

He also told us his main computer system was down in the buried factory and the only way down was in an elevator disguised as a shed in the scrap yard. Sgt. Tavon asked if the computer system was the next step we were supposed to deal with, but the two said that the files we needed should be there. Tanal’sil said that the true identity of Byntic should be on the system. We discussed it and Greebus pointed out that we should also be able to find the fast flesh medpacs in the place as well.

* * *

The next day we headed towards the cave entrance, Greebus on point. We had walked a couple of hours through the contested zone when we saw a barricade on the road. Sgt. Tavon had already given us orders that if we got involved in combat with the separatists, we would not shoot to kill, but would merely defend ourselves honorably. I agreed with his orders but said nothing.

The four men at the barricade did not seem to be alert. Trees surrounded the road on either side though it was grassy around the barricade. We stopped and discussed how to approach it.

“Blasters are set to stun,” Sgt. Tavon said. Then he quipped. “We’ll send the Jedi in. Negotiations. Aggressive.”

I told him I could act as a poor apple seller. But he said to wait and noted again that blasters should be set for stun.

“Do as you must,” I said. “I will distract them.”

“Can you discern their thoughts?” he asked me. “How hostile they are?”

I searched my feelings and sensed of aggression. It was not normal aggression and seemed to be of artificial origin, like a drug. They would not go down easy. I relayed that information to Sgt. Tavon. He asked if there was a relevance of saving one and I told him that there was none. He didn’t want to take lives. I noted that we didn’t have to kill them, but they did have to be put down. I didn’t sense that they would just open fire on anyone they saw, however.

In the end, Sgt. Tavon waited in the road, his rifle ready, while I headed towards the barricade, followed closely by Dr. So Leet. The others disappeared into the woods. Greebus had vanished even before I was done talking to the sergeant.

I walked up the road, fully exposed and with nothing in my hands. I could sense that the men wore helmets with some kind of visors which I guessed enhanced their vision. When we got to within about 30 meters, one of them patted another on the shoulder and then the two of them knelt behind the barricade and aimed their blaster rifles at us. I searched my feelings and sensed that they would not hesitate to fire if I continued to approach.

I stopped and raised my hands.

“What’s your reason for being on this road!” one of them called.

“I’m a lost stranger, sir,” I said.

It was true. I didn’t know where I was exactly.

“Who’s your friend?” he called. “I see someone down the road.”

“I cannot see that far,” I called.

“Stay there!” he yelled.

They conferred for a few moments and then two of them headed down the road towards us.

“Drop your weapons!” one of them called.

I looked down at my robes. I knew they couldn’t see my lightsaber. I placed my hands on my head.

“I’m talking to him,” the man said, indicating the doctor. “He’s got a gun holstered there. I see it.”

They disarmed the doctor and then aimed their blaster rifles at us.

“Follow us,” one of them said.

They took position on either side of us.

“May I remove my hands from my head?” I asked.

“No,” one said.

“Thank you,” I replied.

“Shut up, you’re going to get us shot!” Dr. So Leet muttered.

We continued to walk. When we were about 10 meters from the barricade, Dr. So Leet opened his mouth to say something.

“Shut up!” the guard said before he could even talk.

“Yes, do not disturb these gentlemen in their sacred duties!” I said to him.

“Keep walking,” the guard muttered at me.

“I will walk as fast as I can,” I said.

I leaned forward and leapt through the air, drawing and lighting my lightsaber as I flew. I landed lightly just behind the two men behind the barricade and swung my light saber, missing the man on one side by mere centimeters.

“I am a Jedi,” I said. “That is your only warning.”

I saw a flash from the place I’d left Sgt. Tavon and a blaster bolt struck the guard nearest Dr. So Leet. More blaster bolts flashed from the trees on either side and struck the same man, who fell to the ground. Dr. So Leet turned around, drew out a scalpel, and stabbed him! I had not realized he was filled with the Dark Side of the Force.

A blaster bolt from the right just missed the guard on my right. We both looked in that direction and I saw Tanal’sil standing by a tree. He suddenly pointed behind us and when we both looked away and then back, he was gone.

I waited to see if the two men would drop their weapons. The one to my right did so.

“Stay at your post!” the one to my left said.

He tensed and I swung at his weapon but missed. Then he fired a blaster bolt at me. I held out my hand and used the Force to negate the bolt altogether. I swung my lightsaber down again and cut his blaster rifle in half, close enough to his fingers to nearly scorch them.

“Will you surrender?” I calmly asked him.

The other guard near Dr. So Leet fired a shot at the doctor but missed him completely. He took out a grenade. A bolt from Sgt. Tavon struck the man in the chest. He fell to the ground without a sound.

“I found the stun switch!” Sgt. Tavon yelled from his perch 70 meters away.

The second guard near me dropped his worthless weapon as Reoga D’an appeared out of the woods and put his blaster to his head. I watched Dr. So Leet (or as I had been thinking of him: “Dr. Murder”) to make sure that he didn’t kill one of my prisoners.

The others searched the two bodies and stripped grenades from my prisoners. Reoga D’an and Sgt. Tavon took command of the men. They ended up with eight fragmentation grenades, which they divided between them. Tanal’sil dragged the two dead bodies off the road and hid them in the woods.

I heard Reoga D’an mutter to his friend “Man, this guy has the most judgmental stare I’ve ever seen.”

I assumed he was referring to my eyeless face.

“What do you want with us?” one of the prisoners asked. “You’re not going to kill us are you?”

Neither of them could have been more than 17 years old.

“They’re kids!” Greebus said.

Sgt. Tavon ordered them bound. Tanal’sil took a data pad off the man who’s blaster rifle I’d cut in half. I guessed he had been in command.

“What’s this?” Tanal’sil said to him.

“It’s a computer,” the man replied.

Tanal’sil looked over it. He learned that the guards were not due to be relieved for another three to four hours. The others used the guards’ own blaster rifles to stun them and we left them at the barricade. Sgt. Tavon took the power packs out of the blaster rifles for his own weapon. Tanal’sil also took their comlinks which the others distributed between them.

We continued towards the caves, Greebus taking the point again. Some 15 minutes later, Sgt. Tavon stopped as his stolen comlink crackled to life.

“Station 15, check in,” a voice came over it.

Nothing else happened.

After another half hour, we started to get into the mountains. Within an hour more, we arrived at the caverns. It took us about 10 minutes to find the cave network. I searched my feelings and realized that the danger of the caverns depending on our choices within.

Greebus took point again and the rest of followed him into the caverns. As we entered the musty cave, I could sense flickering light and steam coming from the cracks in the floor and walls. Some of the cracks were large enough for us to see magma flowing below. Coming from further in the cave were moans and echoes of what might have been rock bats or other natural creatures.

“We’re in a bad place,” Sgt. Tavon muttered.

We soon came to a fork that led left, right, and straight ahead. Greebus was there, waiting for us. To the right, the light seemed more intense. A faint fluttering came from the left. I searched my feelings and felt that going to the right might be safe. I also felt a presence of the Force in that same direction but no immediate danger there. I told Sgt. Tavon what I had learned.

Reoga D’an fiddled with the captured data pad.

Sgt. Tavon sent Greebus to the right. We followed closely behind. He returned moments later and told us that a savrip was in the room.

“Can it be reasoned with?” Sgt. Tavon asked.

“No, not really,” Greebus replied.

“Is it protecting anything in particular?”

“Looks like its lair.”

Mantellian savrips were native to Ord Mantell. They were intelligent enough to wear clothing but were not the brightest of beings. However, they could be very violent and were very large. They had hunched-over statures, leathery skin, snake-like heads, and arms long enough to drag on the ground. Savrips were sentient but primitive. Some of the things were known to be vicious and attack on sight.

“Nasty, mean, ready to attack us,” Greebus said. “Probably not the way we want to go.”

“Is it something that will be a hindrance or do we need to take it out?” Sgt. Tavon asked.

“You were saying that to the right could be safe?” Tanal’sil asked me.

“Yes,” I said. “It was ambiguous to the right but there was a force signature coming from that way.”

“That’s why I chose to go this way,” Sgt. Tavon said. “Could it just be a life force you were sensing?”

Searching my feelings, I realized that if I went without aggression, it should be fine. I told Sgt. Tavon that I would go talk to it.

“That’s something you’re willing to risk?” he asked.

“Depending upon your orders,” I said.

Greebus pointed out that any fight in the tunnel system could compromise our position. However, we had just entered and it was a good two hour walk to Salvage City.

“I’ll go talk to him,” I reiterated. Then to Sgt. Tavon: “With your permission.”

He followed me and I urged him not to aim any weapons at it.

I walked down the tunnel, my hands empty.

A larger cavern with light coming from a crater further in was at the end of the tunnel. Small animal bones were scattered about and the place smelled like the mix of cave animals and a sickly sweet smell that would make me nauseous if it were any stronger. There was an alcove in the wall of the cave near the magma pit with an animal skin hanging over it as cover.

When the savrip saw me, it roared and charged towards me. I stopped and stood my ground. It slowed when it approached me and then stood over me.

“Greetings,” I said in my own language, basic, and high galactic.

It roared in return.

“I can’t make out the dialect,” I said to the creature.

Another of savrip came out of the crack in the wall.

“Please!” it yelled. “Stop! Ragnar just protecting family!”

“We mean no harm,” I said calmly. “We are merely seeking–”

“Me,” the thing said, touching its chest. “Me is Girtha. Mate: Ragnar. He mean well but not so smart and have to fight first, talk after.”

“Ah, well there is no need–” I said.

“He thinks you with bad spirit,” she went on. “Even if I told him not.”

She looked at me.

“You have spirit in you,” she said. “But not bad like other.”

“Other?” I asked. “Is there another spirit?”

“Bad spirit came in cave,” she said. “I told Ragnar no fight. Made make no fight because I know bad spirit strong with stick like fire water.”

“We are merely looking for safe passage through this cave,” I told her. “If we find this bad spirit, we will eliminate it ... with all due prejudice.”

“He not come down this way but we see him go in cave,” she said. “We just here trying to raise family.”

Two little ones came out of the cave.

“This Felnook,” she said, gesturing at one and then the other. “This Freeklov.”

She looked at us again.

“Girtha forced out of tribe,” she went on. “They think me witch. But only good spirit, not like other bad spirit.”

I searched my feelings and found the female strong in the Force.

“Was ready to have baby, but Ragnar would not leave Girtha, even when I told him to stay,” she said. “Mate always like rock in head, but mate love and care for Girtha and little ones.”

“Very good for him,” I said sincerely. “Do you know a way through these caves to a place filled with rusted metal and damaged goods?”

“Passage further down that way,” she said. “May take many steps. Just keep going straight. No turning off other paths.”

“Thank you, Girtha,” I said. “I am in your debt and will destroy this evil one if I find him.”

I turned and motioned for the others to go back to the tunnel. I bowed to Girtha and then bowed to Ragnar. Then I turned and walked back to the tunnel, following the others.

We headed back into the tunnels, following the straight passage every time. An hour or so later, the tunnel curved and what little light there was faded to darkness. I could see easily and the ground felt like it was walking on mud. It didn’t smell like mud, but droppings of some kind. I looked more carefully around with the Force and found that we had walked into the lair of hundreds of rock bats.

“Stop,” I said very quietly. “There are bats all around us.”

Rock bats were harmless but in a large group might injure us. They lived off the calcium deposits in the rock of caves. As long as we were quiet, we should be safe.

We moved quietly into the area but then my foot went down into a deeper hole filled with droppings. It made enough noise to alert the bats who leapt from the walls and started to fly all around us. Behind me, Sgt. Tavon fell to the ground.

We soon moved through the area to safety.

Eventually the cave network opened about 200 yards from the edge of numerous piles of metallic junk. The crack that allowed our egress was well hidden in the rocks and barely noticeable from without. Near one of the piles of junk nearby was the body of a Bothan that was burned and clawed. I noticed he had a data recorder and bid one of the others to retrieve it. The body was about 100 yards from the building of the scrap yard.

The data pad proved to be damaged and Reoga D’an fiddled with it for a few minutes. Once he fixed it, it had about 10 seconds of fuzzy video, but no audio. It showed the perspective of the holorecorder falling to the ground and spinning around before stopping on a strange-looking dog of some kind. It had odd-looking skin but the camera had landed in a place where it recorded more of the things attacking and killing the Bothan. Then the recording started shaking as if the ground itself were moving under some great weight. A vast shadow appeared on one side and then the image went blank.

I searched my feelings but could only feel danger all around us.

Moments later, a metallic growling came from around the mounds of debris. Three dogs appeared and, though they looked like animals, when they growled, they sounded synthetic.

The others opened fire on the things. Sparks flew from the creatures as they died under the barrage.

We moved into the salvage yard and soon saw two Jawas working in a scrap pile. In the doorway of a nearby shop was a Toydarian, yelling at the other creatures to find more droid motivators. Then they looked our way. The Jawas ran towards the shop entrance where the Toydarian stood.

I leapt up and over the corner of a nearby building, landing in the open door of the shop as they fled. Behind me, something mechanical lifted up. Using the force, I could see a huge creature made of scrap metal. It was a quadruped droid of immense size.

The Jawas fled around me and into the bunker. As the huge droid lurched towards the others, a burst of automatic blaster fire came from outside. Then there was a blast that sounded like liquid fire, I guessed coming from the huge droid. I lit my lightsaber and charged the Toydarian, brandishing the weapon and holding the end of the blade mere centimeters from his face.

“Stand down and deactivate that droid,” I said to him.

There was a shout from outside and then the sound of a grenade exploding. More blaster fire came from outside.

“Shut it down!” I said more firmly.

“Can I go to my computer, there?” the Toydarian asked.

“Uh-huh,” I said, nodding. “No tricks.”

I followed him to the computer.

“You two, don’t move,” I said to the Jawas.

More blaster fire, both individual shots and burst fire, come from outside. The Toydarian continued to type into the computer as I watched him carefully. It looked like he was putting in terminate commands of some kind. Then there was a loud crash from outside.

“I told you I would do it!” he said.

I looked to the Jawas. They were still standing nearby.

“Dr. Troddle, I presume,” I said to him.

“Ha!” he said. “Who told you I was a doctor?”

“Troddle, I presume,” I said.

Tanal’sil ran into the room.

“Is everyone alive?” I asked.

He nodded.

“What do you want to know?” Toddle said.

“Nothing I can’t find,” Reoga D’an said, sliding in front of Troddle’s computer. “How do we get to the factory?”

“Elevators.”

“Which one?”

“Is it trapped?” I asked.

“Which one would you use, if you’re going down there?” Reoga D’an said to him.

“Because you’re going down there,” I said. “Are there any dangers down there? Any guards?”

“Not anymore,” Troddle said.

He told us that Kazeek had left with the guards.

“Where is he?” I asked.

“As far as I know, he’s in the volcano stronghold,” he said.

We took Troddle and the Jawas down the elevator to the processing factory. There were no guards. He told us where to find the fast flesh medpacs and we loaded up with all we could carry, destroying the rest. Reoga D’an found the laboratory and got to work with the spike he and Tanal’sil had gotten the day before, slicing the computer system. Tanal’sil watched the prisoners. I monitored cameras from the control room.

Reoga D’an spent the better part of an hour and got a great deal of information from the computers. He learned that Byntic was Magistrate Anturis. He also found plans to frame Major Antilles and Kazeek’s ties with the Sith. He also found information on payments from Darth Vulnas to a volcano base for a base of operations for the separatists. It also mentioned more on Sith operations on the planet. There was also mention of a Darth Veldarin who was, in reality, Jorran Darklighter!

Jorran Darklighter was not dead. He was a Sith.

It also mentioned a Caine Solo of House Solo. There was also information on Havoc Squadron with notes that they were going to deflect to the Sith.

It took him longer to find out where they were getting the information on the turret codes, but after another hour, he downloaded encrypted directories containing blueprints of the volcano stronghold itself, access codes to the turrets protecting the stronghold, and access codes that were being used to hack into the Republic turrets.

Then he formatted the entire computer, erasing everything.

We made our way back to the warehouse district and gave the information to Lt. Drakkar. Major Antilles was about to be arrested, but the information we brought showed his innocence. Havoc Squadron had just been deployed but did not respond to radio signals. It had been assumed that they had been wiped out, but the new information indicated that they had probably defected.

We were paid for the job, though it was not necessary. In addition, we each received 2,000 credits. ]]> Max_Writer http://www.penandpapergames.com/forums/entry.php/1704-Star-Wars-Saga-SWTOR-Civil-War-on-Ord-Mantell-2012-03-17-CaesarCon <![CDATA["Walking Dead" D20 Modern 2012-03-17 CaesarCon]]> http://www.penandpapergames.com/forums/entry.php/1703-quot-Walking-Dead-quot-D20-Modern-2012-03-17-CaesarCon Mon, 26 Mar 2012 21:51:54 GMT Thursday, March 22, 2012 (After playing the *D20 Modern* scenario “The Walking Dead” Saturday morning at CaesarCon with Steve Walkup (GM),... Thursday, March 22, 2012

(After playing the D20 Modern scenario “The Walking Dead” Saturday morning at CaesarCon with Steve Walkup (GM), Scott Wakefield, Angie Walkup, DJ Stevenson, Rick Snyder, and Neal Gribble from 9 a.m. to 1 p.m.)

My name is Milton McGuire, but most folks know me more for my stand up comedy under the name of Shaggy McGuire. I was not great at the craft but I made a decent living. I had always hoped for a television or movie deal, or even an audition for Saturday Night Live, but never got that far. At least I hadn’t gotten that far before the end of the world. I did have one HBO special in 2008 but nothing had come of it.

Sometime in the spring of 2012, and I can’t even remember exactly when at this point, everything fell apart. Zombies appeared all over the country and started attacking people. Civilization collapsed, just like in all of the movies and television shows. It was the end of the world as we knew.

And I felt fine.

Okay – not really.

But, a couple of months after it all went down, I hooked up with a small group of survivors and we had managed to get a convoy together. I had found a 1968 Volkswagen Microbus in mint condition in a mansion in Kentucky. It was lime green with flowers painted on the sides in true 1960s fashion. In the same abandoned place had also been a huge store of formerly illegal drugs and supplies, as well as hundreds of Playboy magazines. I had fled with everything I could carry and found the others only a short time later. I had kept the garbage bag full of pot and the shoebox of rolling paper. I had also raided a police station in southern Ohio and gotten a Glock 77, a Beretta 12-guage shotgun, and even a concealable vest that I wore over my green t-shirt. I also kept a tire iron close.

Riding in the microbus with me was Joey Lawrence, who had told me he was a pawn shop owner. He also had a shotgun and a pistol.

We followed a girl named Maize, who told us she was a college student and pronounced her name May-zee. She was driving a 1999 Honda Civic. Riding with her was Todd Schlachter, who always told me to call him T-Bone. He was our leader and was x-military or something. He had a computer too.

Behind us on, of all things, a motorcycle with a sidecar, were Sam Jones, a factory worker, and Frank Edwards, who had been a cop before it had all hit the fan. Frank was pretty stupid but a nice guy. He wore a bicycle helmet and swimming goggles “for protection.”

We were heading towards northwest Ohio that July.

The world was in chaos. For an unknown reason, the recently dead had risen and were walking. Their sole purpose seemed to be to attack and kill all living things. We six survivors were looking for a safe haven and T-Bone had found an emergency broadcast that stated that Stony Ridge, Ohio, was that safe haven. He told us that the military had set up a base in the town and put up walls to protect the population. He had figured out where the town was and suggested we go there. It was as good a plan as any and we figured we should stick together and try to find the place.

According to T-Bone’s GPS, we were only 20 miles or so from Stony Ridge when smoke started coming out from under the hood of Maize’s Civic. Joey and I were also smoking, coincidentally, having just lit up a joint to share between us. She stopped the vehicle carefully.

“Whoa, they must have gotten some of my stash, man,” I quipped.

T-Bone was out of the vehicle before it stopped, his AK-47 in his hands. I stopped behind them and rolled down the window. Quite a bit of smoke came out of our vehicle as well, though it was much better smoke.

“Hey Milton,” T-Bone said.

“Dude, be cool!” I hissed. “Be cool, Dude!”

He had been one of the few people that appreciated my comedy before the fall.

“Hey,” he said.

“What’s going on?” I asked.

“You been drinking?” he asked me.

“Where are the tools!?!” Maize yelled as she put the hood up.

“The beer’s all warm, man,” I told him. “I haven’t been drinking.”

Smoke poured out of the front of the Civic as Maize looked over the engine. Frank went to the car and looked it over while I opened the door of the microbus and got out with my shotgun. I climbed to the roof of the bus to give me a good line of sight over the whole area.

After the three talked, T-Bone looked back at us.

“Anybody gotta piss?” he said.

“No, but I’m getting hungry,” I said to him.

Then I thought I saw one of the walking dead.

“Zombie!” I screamed, pointing my shotgun that way. I looked more carefully. “Oh, no, that’s a tree, man. Never mind.”

The others pointed out a sign down the road. It read “Stony Ridge Church of our Savior.” Something was scrawled under that but I couldn’t make it out. Not far past the road was a nice-looking little white house.

It’s a trap, I thought.

“Well, there’s a sign,” Maize said. “We can go to the house, maybe. Grab our supplies. No use in taking the car.”

“What’s the sign say?” I said, squinting.

“It says survivors enter here and be safe,” T-Bone said.

“It’s a trap, man,” I replied.

They looked at me like I was crazy.

“When I was a kid, I used to play this game called Dungeons and Dragons,” I said. “That is a trap if I ever saw one, man.”

“Are you still playing?” T-Bone asked me.

I looked at him sheepishly.

“Well, we got some dice in the car,” I mumbled. “Me and Joey, sometimes we roll on the dashboard. I’ve been running a pretty kick-ass game of Hackmaster, actually.”

“These are not the droids you’re looking for,” T-Bone quipped.

“No, I’m not playing right now!”

“You sure?”

“Are we going to sit here and fight about it or are we going to grab some supplies and go?” Maize asked.

“Well, we could all pile in the microbus and motorcycle and just drive over there,” I said.

“Shouldn’t we send somebody in to check them out first?” Joey asked.

“Like a cop,” I said.

“You volunteering?” Maize asked Joey.

“What?” Joey said.

“Do you understand the words that are coming out of my mouth?” Maize said, barely enunciating.

“What?” Joey said again.

“That’s funny, man!” I said, pointing at Maize.

“Frank! Stay here,” T-Bone said. “Watch. Zombies: kill.”

I again suggested driving.

“Everyone just stay here,” he said.

“All right,” I said.

“Why should he be the only one that’s safe?” Sam muttered. “I say we all go.”

Joey was trying to get Maize to take a hit off the joint as T-Bone headed up the road to the house. He walked around the house and then waved at us. Then he walked back to where we waited. He told us that we’d take the cars but move them so they were facing out for a quick escape.

I got the VW microbus started and eased it forward until it touched the Civic. Then I gave it a little gas and pushed the Civic up the road to the farmhouse. I could also see that there was a barn and what appeared to be a church a ways behind the house. When I got there, I made sure that the microbus was pointing back towards the road and pocketed the keys.

T-Bone told Frank to do a perimeter sweep of the back of the house. I noticed that the curtains of all the windows looked like they were pulled. There was a cemetery behind the house near the barn as well, but I couldn’t tell if the tombstones were all knocked over. I suspected they were.

“Hey, can you guys tell if the tombstones have all been tipped over?” I asked. “Do the dead come back after you bury them? Man, I have no idea what’s going on ...”

Neither Maize or T-Bone thought that the interred dead came back.

“You don’t know that, man,” Joey muttered. “You can’t be sure.”

“What if this is the first place where the dead come back after they’re buried?” I asked. “You know, we were playing D&D one time, and there was this graveyard, and ...”

Frank stopped and listened to our conversation.

“There might be some pot back there,” he said pointing towards the back of the house.

“No, don’t be messing with me, man,” I said. “Are you a cop? You gotta tell me. Wait. It doesn’t matter anymore.”

Frank and Maize went around the back of the house and returned to report that there was no back door. That seemed very strange. The house was fairly new; it couldn’t have been more than 15 years old.

“Hey T-Bone,” Sam said. “What if somebody does live here? We go busting in–”

“We’re not busting in without making somebody aware,” T-Bone said.

“Right. Because, I’m sure they’re packing just like we are.”

“Well, they heard us coming, man,” I said. “They heard us coming. My VW is not that quiet.”

“I bet the zombies are hiding, man,” Joey said.

“Do they do that?”

“I don’t know.”

The others had gone to the porch and T-Bone knocked solidly on the front door. It creaked open. It hadn’t been latched or locked. It was dark inside.

“Dude, there’s no back door?” I asked.

“There’s no back door,” Maize said.

“Who makes a house with no back door? That’s weird. Isn’t that weird, there’s no back door? That seems weird to me.”

“Cavemen,” Sam said.

“What?”

“Cavemen don’t have back doors.”

“They live in caves, not houses. It doesn’t make any sense, man. Nobody builds a house without two doors. Was there a cellar door or something?”

Maize shook her head.

Frank followed T-Bone to the front door. Maize and Sam moved to the porch while Joey, still smoking the joint, and I stood out in the grass in front of the house. I was still perplexed by the lack of a back door.

“United States Marines!” I heard T-Bone yell from just inside the house. “Gunnery Sergeant Todd Schlachter, United States Marines. If there are any civilians in here, please respond.”

“Schlachter,” I whispered to Joey and giggled.

“I am entering the house!” T-Bone said, pushing the door all the way open.

I glanced to the upstairs windows but the curtains didn’t move.

T-Bone said something to Frank and then the two of them carefully entered the house as well.

“Ma’am,” I heard T-Bone call out.

Joey handed me the joint and I took a hit.

“They’re going in,” I whispered to him. “I haven’t heard gun flower yet, flowers yet, fire yet.”

I pulled a warm Mountain Dew out of my pocket. I popped it open and took a sip.

“I’m going in!” Sam yelled.

“Wasn’t that guy a factory worker?” I asked Joey as Sam headed for the door. “Didn’t he work for Honda?”

“I ... think,” Joey said uncertainly.

“We’ll ask him if he comes out of there alive,” I said. “Damn. I could go for a hotdog.”

“Nachos sound good.”

“Oh, nachos. We gotta find a Circle K.”

He looked towards the house.

“What’s taking the water so long?” he said.

A shot came from inside the house. It sounded like a handgun.

“Whoa!” I said.

Maize pumped her shotgun.

“Shut up boys,” she said.

She moved onto the porch, looking towards the door.

I looked around, just in case anything popped up from the nearby ditch or tall grass, but didn’t see any zombies.

“****! ****! ****!” I muttered under my breath. “Game over, man! Game over!”

Another shot came from the house.

“Let’s get in the bus and get out of here!” I whispered to Joey.

“Game over!” he said.

Another shot, this one louder, came from inside the house.

Joey ran to the front door and peeked in.

“What’s going on?” he called.

I followed him. I didn’t want to die out there alone. I stopped on the front porch. There was a window on the wall to the side and I stopped and looked in. Despite the boards nailed over the window on the inside of the house, I could see dead eyes looking out at me. I could hear a muted thumping against the wall.

“Zombies!” I said, my voice suddenly going high-pitched. “Zombies in there! Zombies! Zombies right there! It’s right there! Zombies!”

I aimed my gun at the window but didn’t fire. I kept squeaking as I tried to warn them.

“Damn it!” I said, my voice normal again. “I lost my buzz!”

Frank appeared at the front door. I backed away, still pointing my shotgun at the window.

“Zombies!” I said in as loud a high-pitched whisper as I could. “Zombies in the window!”

I looked at Frank.

“Somebody shoot that thing, man!” I whispered.

“I was gonna,” he replied.

Everyone but Joey headed into the house. I moved closer to the window and the thing started to hit the wall harder. I backed away again.

“Hey guys,” I said. “Hey guys! Hey guys? Hurry the **** up, ‘cause I’ve got it distracted and quick kill that God damned thing before it comes through the window!”

Moments later, I saw zombie turn and then a flash of a blade. I ran to the microbus and made sure the windows were closed and nothing was in it. While I’d been distracting the thing in the window, I’d had a terrible urge to make sure our getaway was secure. I left it unlocked as zombies couldn’t manipulate doorknobs, but made sure it was closed up. I told Joey what I’d done when I got back. Then I moved to the front door.

“Hey!” I whispered. “Hey guys! Hey guys!”

“Yes, Shaggy?” I heard T-Bone say from the dark.

“Is it clear?” I called.

“Um ...”

“Should we come in yet?”

“You should probably stay outside just a little bit longer.”

“Okay.”

“Just in case.”

I moved away from the door and could hear them talking within. Joey and I kept a close look out.

“Dude,” he said to me a few seconds later. “I think that cop fell.”

I shrugged and took a better grip on “Mr. Shotty,” my shotgun.

Sam appeared at the doorway after Joey took a leak on the side of the house. He told us the place was all clear and I took another look around.

“I’ll get the van,” I said.

I backed the microbus right up to the front porch.

“Man, it stinks in here,” I said upon finally entering the house. “Smells like somebody died.”

The house was fairly nice with a living room and kitchen adjoining an office and that downstairs bedroom where I’d seen the zombie through the window. There was a bathroom connected to the bedroom and a pantry that gave access to a crawlspace where there were some batteries. Upstairs were several bedrooms. A few zombies they’d finished off were laying on the floor downstairs.

I called kitchen and Joey and I started emptying canned goods out of the cupboards. There was beer in the cupboards though there was no water in the taps. I covered my mouth and nose before I opened up the refrigerator.

“We got electricity, man,” I said to Joey as the cool air hit me. “Check the light switch.”

The light worked too and Sam said he’d go check the fuse box. I took out one of the ice-cold beers and popped it open.

“Dude!” I said. “Dude! Cold beer! Cold beer!”

I sipped the ice-cold beer.

“Oh, there’s Mountain Dew too!” I said.

There was over a case of various brands of beers and the Miller Lite I’d picked wasn’t the best of it, but tasted good going down. Joey got a beer and chugged it. I offered Maize a beer or a pop. There was even some bottled water. I closed the fridge and looked in the freezer. There was some frozen meat and some other frozen food as well. I looked under the kitchen sink but the pipes there were fine. Joey and I kept pulling out canned food and putting it on the kitchen counters.

“Who knows electricity?” T-Bone asked. “Anybody?”

“A little bit,” Sam said. “Did a little maintenance.”

“Take somebody, go through the house,” T-Bone said, taking charge. “Find out if the electricity’s coming from the outside or if self-supported. If there’s a natural gas generator. Find out what’s going on.”

He turned to Frank.

“You and I are going to go out and scout the property,” T-Bone went on. “We’re going to go about 300 foot all the way around, make sure there’s no surprises in any other buildings.”

“We found beer and pop and bottled water,” I told him.

“Save one for me,” he said.

“There’s a lot,” I said. “There’s like a case.”

I spotted a couple of bottles of Guinness in the fridge as well.

“Should we keep watch upstairs?” I asked.

He suggested two of us go upstairs and look through the windows all around constantly. I nodded to Joey and we headed upstairs, going around the dead body at the foot of the steps. It didn’t smell nearly as bad up there. I found a portable radio, CD player, and hundreds of CDs. I ignored the CDs for the moment and got the radio on and scanned the channels once through to see if it picked up anything. All I heard was an emergency broadcast channel with a broadcast about safety in Stony Ridge. I turned it back off.

Maize had found a diary and read it. She later told us that the home had been owned by Tom Shepherd, a minister of some kind. I got a look at it later. It read:

May 1 – The world has fallen into chaos. A disease of unknown origin is spreading across the land. Major cities are starting to fall and God’s final judgment is finally upon us. My flock and I wait for the rapture to be near our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. We pray that day will come soon.

Rapture has not taken us yet. We wait patiently. Margaret, my beloved wife, said God spoke to her and said we must prepare the others for the journey. We must convert the unbelievers.

The unbelievers and their wicked ways have brought this curse upon the world and we must cleanse the Earth. Only the wicked are returning from the dead.

May 15 – The conversions are not going as planned. We are helping people come to Christ, but they must be giving false proclamations to our Lord Jesus Christ because on their death, they are still returning. We must, as a congregation, work ever diligently to convert the unbelievers.

May 20 – My beloved Margaret has fallen ill. She’s complaining of tightness in her chest and I pray that God heals her.

May 21 – I write this with a heavy heart. My beloved wife of 25 years has passed to be with God. I will miss her greatly, but she is with the Lord and when he calls me home, I will be with her.

Later that evening – My wife, the purest soul on the planet, was an unbeliever. At her memorial, she rose and attacked me. Her bite was physically painful but touched me to my soul. If she was an unbeliever, who else among us is wicked? I must cleanse my congregation this very evening. Then I’ll move on to spread the word through my actions rid the world of wickedness.

She also found a Colt 1911 semi-automatic pistol as well.

Sam found a pump though it was burned out. T-Bone and Frank found a windmill near the woods on the southwest corner of the property. It was connected to a generator and was just enough to power the house a little bit. They also found a fountain in the middle of the cemetery, probably from a natural spring.

T-Bone wanted to get some water from the fountain, both for the car and for us, purifying it by boiling or putting some bleach into it. They got some buckets and headed back for the fountains with Maize. Sam went, alone, to the pump house. Joey and I kept watch from the second floor of the house.

We talked as we watched.

“This beer is good,” he said to me. “Hey, do you ... do you think that chick likes me.”

“Yeah, definitely,” I said. “Definitely. She’s got the hots for you. That’s why she glared at you that time.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“That’s how you can tell. You know how she calls you cocksucker? I think that’s a, like, term of endearment.”

“Yeah?”

I nodded.

At one point, I heard a gun fire outside so I ran to the back window and could see Frank, T-Bone, and Maize near a standing zombie without a head. Another zombie shambled nearby. They had probably been fighting them for some time but I felt it important to make sure they knew what was going on. I pulled open the window and leaned out.

“Hey guys, there’s zombies!” I yelled. “Look out!”

I saw Frank shoot the other one and it fell to the ground. The headless one was still just standing there.

Joey and I moved to the other windows, looking for movement from any direction. There was none. The things were drawn to noise, especially gunfire, so I was worried, but there was a good chance that the nearest zombies were miles away.

They came back to the house and called us down to talk. Sam had found a schematic showing a generator in the barn, as well as spare parts. The others returned to the house and took an inventory of everything we’d found so far. Maize said she thought we should search the barn and the chapel. T-Bone was for taking inventory of what was in the house and then getting out of the place. He pointed out that the dead were actually coming out of the ground.

“Who knows where he’s got more buried,” he said. “We don’t know anything. I want to finish inventorying the house–“

“Electricity!” I interrupted. “And water.”

Sam noted that in addition to the generators, a manifest showed that the barn had 200 gallons of gasoline, ammunition, and a plethora of other useful items that the churchies had stockpiled against the coming apocalypse. Frank guessed that there might be an old hand pump out there as well. Sam pointed out that if there was a generator, we could take it with us as the next place we stopped might not have it.

“Dude!” I said as they kept talking. “Dude!”

I said it over and over until someone finally looked at me.

“I forgot what I was going to say now ...” I said. “Oh! We should just stay here. It’s out in the middle of nowhere. We’ve got a good field of fire in every direction. There’s a killing field around the house with no trees to block us. As long as the electricity holds out, and the water, this might be a good place to hole up for a couple of weeks. We’re in the middle of nowhere; zombies should be pretty rare out there.”

“Zombies get weaker as we go too,” Frank said. “They run out of material.”

“I’m just saying,” I said. “You’re in command, general, but ...”

“Continue taking inventory in the house,” he suddenly said. “I’m going to take a 15 minute break.”

He headed for the front ground-floor bedroom with his laptop and equipment. He shut the door behind him. I got a beer out of the fridge and took it in to him, not saying anything. When he returned, he told us we were about 15 miles from Stony Ridge, Ohio, according to his GPS. He had found no communication nearby, however. He also told us that the broadcast for Stony Ridge was still the same. I asked if Maize had gotten the water for her car and she said she hadn’t.

Sam said if we were going to be there even for a little while, he was going to fix some fresh food for lunch. It was the best meal I’d had in a long time.

Maize noted that the diary didn’t say how many had survived and said there could have been 10 or there could have been 30. T-Bone guessed it was less than 30.

“By how crazy this guy sounds, it’s probably on the lesser side,” Joey said.

“That depends,” T-Bone said.

“It is Ohio, man,” I put in.

“Crazy people look like gods when the world’s going wrong,” T-Bone went on.

He was flipping a coin.

I told them I found a lot of CDs upstairs, but I hadn’t looked through them yet. T-Bone asked how far the perimeter had extended and then made plans to look through the chapel and then the barn.

“I’m only taking volunteers,” he said. “Frank and one other.”

He wanted one person to continue watching from the second floor of the house and another and keep an eye on the barn doors.

“That accounts for two,” he said, looking at Joey and me. “Three of us are going to go into the chapel.”

I noted that it would be easier if someone could get to the roof of the house and Sam said he’d try. I said if someone was on the roof itself, they could see all the way around. Sam was confident that he could get up there.

“Zombies can’t climb, man,” I noted. “So we can pull off the boards on the second floor.”

T-Bone sent me to the barn to keep an eye on the main barn doors with Joey to help me out. T-Bone, Frank, and Maize headed for the chapel. It had a bell tower and broken windows with bullet holes in them, visible even from the barn, though it was 200 yards away. The sign over the door said “Stony Ridge Church of the Savior” but it had a big reddish-brown “x” over it, as if someone had cut their hand and just smeared the blood on.

They conferred at the door and then Frank and T-Bone advanced, pushing them open. They looked into the place and Frank stepped into the doorway. T-Bone put his AK-47 to his shoulder and fired into the place. I heard another gunshot from within and guessed it was Frank.

“Guys!” I called. “Watch out for zombies in there!”

“Move away from the building!” T-Bone said. “Straight back!”

Maize backed away from the chapel. T-Bone fired again and backed away from the entrance.

“Don’t bring ‘em out here, man!” I shouted.

Zombies came out of the chapel, following Frank closely. However, the steps were badly strangely designed and the zombies fell down them. One looked like he had something in his hands.

“Bet that’s that preacher-guy, man!” I said to Joey. “Bet that’s that preacher-guy!”

I squinted but could see no better.

“Is that a sandwich in his hands?” I asked. “That looks like a sandwich. Man, I’m hungry again.”

One of the zombies’ heads burst and it fell. A moment later, the crack of a rifle came from the house. I looked at my shotgun.

“Was that me?” I asked.

Maize fired at one of the things and it didn’t get back up. T-Bone was yelling something I couldn’t make out. Then he shot the last of the things, gunning it down.

“Whew,” I said. “That was close.”

They headed into the building and after a short while, they came out, waving their arms. They returned to us and T-Bone took them for a walk around the property, leaving us to watch the barn while they checked the perimeter to make sure there weren’t any more creeping up on us in the grass. I looked at my shotgun.

They walked back over to the house first, going around it. Then they walked back to the barn. It looked like it was an old dairy barn and had whitewashed siding and large doors in the front. Another door was on one side and the door to the hayloft slowly banged in the wind. It had a steel roof with rust starting to show through. T-Bone looked over at the house and waved. I saw Sam, still on the roof, wave back. Then T-Bone turned to us.

“We’ve got you guys for close range,” he said. “Your job is not to come and save anybody, just early warning. If you see something, let us know.”

He turned to Maize and Frank.

“I guess the three of us will go in,” he said, asking each of them if they were up for a volunteer job.

They were.

“Why don’t you go in the side door, man?” I said.

“I want to secure the side door and open the front,” T-Bone said. “Because we’ve got coverage from him.”

He pointed over his shoulder at the house.

“But if you open the front door and there are a lot of zombies, they might mob you,” I said.

I had also noticed that there was a bar on the side door on the outside.

We walked around the barn quietly but heard nothing. When we got to the front, Frank recommended creating a diversion, by banging on the back side of the barn.

“Frank, I knew there was a reason we kept you around,” T-Bond quipped.

“Knock?” I asked.

“We’re not going to knock until we’re sure of what we’re going to do.”

“Knock.”

“I like the plan. Who’s the least baked of you two?”

I looked at Joey.

“Who’s the sharpest?” T-Bone said.

We played rock/paper/scissors for it, not very successfully. We tied with paper the first time. Then, I won.

“I guess I’m the least baked,” I told the man.

“Yeah!” Joey said. “That’s it!”

“You’re the least baked,” T-Bone said to me. “You’re going to be the bait on this side of the barn. You’re the one who’s just going to bring ‘em that way.”

“I going to bring ‘em that way,” I said, heading for the side door. “Yoo-hoo, zombies! Yoo-hoo Zombies!”

I whistled.

“I want you to be on this corner,” T-Bone told Joey.

“When do you want me to start?” I asked. Then I whispered it. “When do you want me to start?”

“I think you did,” he replied.

I shrugged my shoulders and went to the door, tapping on it with the stock of my shotgun.

“Oh, my flesh is so succulent and tasty to zombies,” I said without any real passion. “I hope there are none around here.”

“Help! Help!” a voice shrieked from the inside of the barn. “I’m stuck in here!”

It shocked me quite badly.

“Oh my God, they’re all around me!” the voice said.

I looked at Joey. There was white all around his eyes.

“Zombies aren’t supposed to talk!” he said.

“They’re talking!” I yelled. “They’re talking! I’m freaking out!”

The screams continued.

“Frank, we’re going in!” I heard T-Bone shout.

“Are you okay?” I said to the door carefully.

“Start pounding on the wall!” T-Bone called.

“Should I just shoot through the wall, man?” I asked.

“I do not want you shooting anything!” he called.

I started banging on the wall next to the door.

“We’re coming to help you!” I called. “And I’m banging on the wall!”

There was banging on the wall and then on the door. The bar started to bend as the door rattled in the frame.

“Oh! The door’s moving!” I called out, moving away from it. “This is not my job, man. This is not my job, man. Hello?”

“Oh my God!” the voice from within yelled. “Help me!”

“If you’re a zombie, then ... we’re not helping you!” I called back.

I backed up about 30 feet from the door, aiming my shotgun at it.

“Shaggy!” I heard T-Bone yell. “Duck!”

I dropped to one knee and hoped it was low enough.

I heard his AK-47 go off. Then I heard a shotgun blast. Then the door on the side of the barn burst open and three zombies lumbered out.

“Oh shit!” I yelled.

They headed right for me and I fired my shotgun, aiming too high and blowing a hole in the side of the barn. I screamed as the creature rushed me.

“They’re on me!” I screamed. “General! You failed me!”

Joey fired his handgun at the zombies but missed them too. One of them turned towards him and rushed him.

There was more shooting from inside the barn.

“He’s trying to kiss me, man!” Joey yelled. “This ain’t cool! This ain’t cool!”

“Don’t touch me!” I screamed as three of them came at me and I tried to hold them off with the shotgun. “Don’t touch me.”

One of them bit me, but bit into my shoulder and only met the resistance of the concealable vest I wore over my t-shirt. If it had not been for that, I would have been bit. Instead, I turned and ran like a little *****, fleeing for my life. I was able to look over my shoulder to see one of them grab Joey and bit him in the shoulder.

“No!” I screamed.

“You mother****er piece of shit!” I heard Joey yell.

There was a gunshot and I looked back again to see him shoot the zombie in the head. The thing didn’t go down though.

“Run!” Joey yelled. “I’m gone! I’ll keep ‘em distracted!”

The thing continued to tear into him. He screamed and fired again, then moved away from the horrible thing.

More shooting came from within the barn. The head of one of the zombies still following me suddenly exploded. A moment later, I heard a gunshot from the house. Sam had taken one out.

I headed back towards Joey, though I didn’t get too close to the zombie. He fired into the thing again and it finally fell.

More gunfire came from within the barn. Moments later, Frank appeared by the side of the barn. The last zombie was killed and I ran to Joey, practically crying.

“I’m bleeding here, man!” he muttered.

There was a lot of blood.

“Doctor!” I shouted. “We need a doctor! Maybe the marijuana will protect him!”

I knew that zombie bites sometimes got infected and those who were bitten often became zombies. I wasn’t sure it happened every time, though.

“I’m getting all woozy, here, man!” he said.

Maize ran out of the barn and started to help him but she was doing it all wrong.

“You can’t tourniquet a man’s throat!” I said, pushing her out of the way.

I managed to stop the bleeding but Joey was looking really bad.

“Quick, tie his hands!” I said. “Tie his hands!”

I was still unsure if he would turn into a zombie.

T-Bone headed for the house while the cries for help continued from the barn.

“Let me pull your teeth out in case you turn into a zombie, okay?” I said to Joey.

The shouting was becoming more and more insistent.

“Okay, we’re coming, man!” I called.

I waved at Sam to come from the house.

The barn stunk inside and it was an abattoir. There were crosses hanging high on the walls, all of them holding a crucified person. The man who was shouting was in the middle against the far wall with a couple of zombies crucified not far from him. Instruments of torture lay around the barn. It must have been how the preacher was going to purify his flock.

Maize and I got Joey into the place and leaned him against the wall near the main doors. It looked like someone had beaten her about the head and shoulders. She sat down next to Joey.

“I’m Sergeant Oscar Goldman!” the man in camouflage on the cross said. “I’ve not been bit!”

Frank went over and lowered his cross down with the ropes tied to it.

“Oh my God, thank you,” the soldier gasped. “Thank you. I’m with the 7th Air Cav. Our helicopter crashed a couple days ago. Get me off this thing!”

Joey’s face looked red and he was sweating as if he was feverish. I reloaded the shotgun shell I’d fired. I went to Joey, lit up a joint, and put it carefully in his mouth. Then I moved away from him.

“Are you feverish?” I asked.

“I don’t feel so hot right now,” she said. “I’m okay. I’m okay.”

“Please, please,” Sgt. Goldman said again. “I’m part of the 7th Air Cav. Our helicopter crashed.”

“How long have you been up there?” Frank asked.

“I don’t know,” Sgt. Goldman said. “They’ve been dead for at least three days. They all came in one night, sat in a circle, drank something, it looked like beer, then they just passed out in that circle, and then they just died.”

Sam arrived and I told him that Joey had gotten bit.

“Just drinking beer?” Frank said.

“They sat in a circle and drank some beer,” he said.

“Did you drink it?”

“No. They were trying to convert me. I’m Jewish.”

I looked around for a crowbar and finally found one, then used it and a piece of two by four to lever the spikes out of the man’s hands.

“They tortured me for days,” he said.

“How do you feel after all that beer you guys drank?” Frank asked me.

“I only had one!” I said. “And that was like an hour ago. What did he say about the beer?”

“The beer was poisoned. They drank poisoned beer, his whole crew did, and they were turned into zombies. How many of you guys had beer?”

“I had a beer. So did the general.”

“And Joey,” Sam said.

“Wouldn’t that be great for somebody who’s trying to trap sinners with beer?” Frank said.

“Dick,” I said of the preacher.

I felt all right and told the others that I did. I wondered if there were some pills involved.

The sergeant went on, telling us that they would bring people in, torture them to death, and convert them to Christians.

“They said it was the unbelievers’ fault,” he said. “They’re psycho! Psycho!”

He showed us a little Star of David that he wore around his neck.

“They told me if I took it off, they’d end my suffering,” he said. “I told them I wouldn’t take it off.”

Joey was looking worse.

I questioned Sgt. Goldman about the beer and he was unsure if it was poisoned, just that the people had all sat in a circle drinking beer, had all passed out, and then woke up an hour later as zombies. I noted that it had been more than an hour since I’d drank the beer.

He asked for water and I lit a joint and handed it to him.

“Ain’t nobody here to arrest me,” he said.

“Watch this guy,” Frank said to me.

Frank checked on Maize and Joey. Joey had passed out and was breathing heavily. Then Frank blew his head off with his shotgun. I noticed that Joey kept breathing for a few moments after Frank had shot him in the head. Sam leapt back and Maize crawled away from the dead man. I heard the death rattle.

“Double tap!” I said. “Double tap!”

Sam drew his gun and aimed it at Frank.

“He’d been bit,” Frank said.

“Double tap!” I said again. “Double tap! Double tap!”

“Okay,” Frank said.

He blew the rest of Joey’s head off.

Frank took Sam aside and I heard him tell the man to watch Maize because she didn’t look good. Maize told him if she went bad, she didn’t want to see it coming.

“Like that guy, over there,” she said, pointing at Joey’s corpse.

“I’m uneasy with zombies up on that cross,” Sam said.

“Me too,” I said.

I found kid’s wagon and helped Sgt. Goldman into it, then moved him out of the barn. Frank and I lowered the two crucifixes with the zombies and, once they were down, we used the 1911 to blow their heads off execution-style as they were still stuck on the cross. We also found gasoline and everything else Sam had said would be there in a side room.

I asked Sgt. Goldman again how he’d gotten there.

“I was a part of the 7th Air Cav and our helicopter crashed,” he said. “We got attacked by zombies and we held them off for a couple of days. My sergeant’s been hurt.”

“How bad a crash?” I asked.

“The weapons are salvageable but I can’t carry them by myself.”

“Are you a mechanic? Can you fix the helicopter?”

“No. But there’s some survivors that can barely move. I was going to find some help and I stumbled across this church and they found out that I was Jewish and they pushed me for days. They were nice to me, though. If you were a Satanist or if you weren’t of Jehovah ... they treated me nicely compared to some of the other people.”

Sam suggested setting the barn on fire and when I noted it would draw zombies, I pointed out that there was running water and electricity.

“This is the best place we’ve found yet, ain’t it?” I asked. “I mean, we should at least stay here for a while.”

“Stony Ridge,” he said.

“It’s only 15 miles up the road. We can drive up there in half an hour. We got tons of gasoline; we can’t take it with us. We got soldiers, if we can rescue ‘em, that’s people that can help us out who are heavily armed. This could become, like, better than Stony Ridge.”

I didn’t push the issue but threw it out there and Sam eventually agreed.

We decided to make the house our own and planned to rescue the soldiers the next day. We’d scout out Stony Ridge sometime after that. ]]> Max_Writer http://www.penandpapergames.com/forums/entry.php/1703-quot-Walking-Dead-quot-D20-Modern-2012-03-17-CaesarCon Bughunters: Unnatural Selection 2012-03-16 CaesarCon http://www.penandpapergames.com/forums/entry.php/1702-Bughunters-Unnatural-Selection-2012-03-16-CaesarCon Mon, 26 Mar 2012 19:46:31 GMT Tuesday, March 20, 2012 (After playing the *Bughunters* scenario “Unnatural Selection” by Lester W. Smith from Polyhedron Magazine # 96 Friday at... Tuesday, March 20, 2012

(After playing the Bughunters scenario “Unnatural Selection” by Lester W. Smith from Polyhedron Magazine # 96 Friday at CaesarCon with Adam Frager, Neil, Steve Walkup, and Rick Snyder from 7 p.m. to 11 p.m.)

In its first attempts at colonizing the stars, United Terra discovered that the galaxy hosted horrible dangers. But given the incredible distances involved, the extent of those dangers remained unknown. In a growing effort to gain better information of Sol’s galactic neighborhood, United Terra decided to pepper the stars in Sol’s vicinity with a virtual shotgun blast of colony ships. Whereas Terra’s initial colonies were sent out in colonizer ships – huge, lumbering vessels carrying great contingents of colonists, incredible arrays of equipment, several years worth of supplies, and entire companies of synthetic human troops for protection – the colonies of the new effort were being sent in lightly loaded modified combat landers carrying just half a hundred colonists, minimal prefab buildings, barely enough supplies for six months of survival, and a mere squad of low-ranking United Terra Reconnaissance and Peacekeeping Force (UTRPF) troops. Nor did the ships remain with the colonists; rather they paused just long enough to offload their contents before returning to Terra. Other smaller ships were sent to resupply the colony on a semi-annual basis.

The synthetic humans were relatively new as well. Vat-grown clones of human volunteers, specially modified to serve as starships crews, combat teams, and general troubleshooters for the human race, they were all part of UTRPF and superior than humans in many ways. They had been physically enhanced to react more quickly, to keep moving longer, and to endure more punishment in battle. Mentally, they were able to withstand the psychological stresses of hyperspace travel, a situation that disoriented normal humans sometimes to the point of madness. Synths were not just clones, but also got recordings of the brain structures of their donors. Thus, they were not allowed on Earth except in very controlled circumstances. They had the intelligence and memories of their donors as well, and they knew it.

Six brand-new UTRPF (utter-puff) troopers were quartered at UTRPF’s training facilities on Stargate station. Stargate hovered roughly between the Earth and the Moon, at LaGrange point 5 to be exact, and contained a civilian population of nearly 100,000 people. Roughly one-fifth of the station’s ring was taken up by the UTRPF HQ and training grounds.

PFC Jackson was the ranking synth in the group. His donor background was an infantry lieutenant with the U.S. Army, giving him more military expertise than would be expected of a private. He was armed with an assault rifle (with grenade launcher), several hand grenades of various type, and body armor.

Private Two Fisk was the lowest ranking member of the squad and got most of the crappy jobs. His donor had been a factory worker and from him, Fisk had inherited a natural skill with various electronic, computer, and mechanical repair. He was also armed with an assault rifle and grenade launcher, hand grenades, and body armor.

Private Two Boomer was listed as the heavy weapons expert in the group and his donor had also been a factory worker. In addition to his heavy pistol, he was responsible for a grenade launcher, a flame thrower, and had the typical body armor. He liked the big weapons and the big explosions. His motto was “Shoot before you see the whites of their eyes!” He was a little miffed that Jackson was the squad leader, having only one week of seniority over Boomer.

Flatline was the group’s radio operator and also a Private Two. His donor had been an office clerk but the recording was 46% patchy. It wasn’t easy making do with only half a set of memories, but his donor had died during the trauma of undergoing a mental recording for his cloned brain. He was quiet about his donor’s past and carried only a heavy pistol. He tended to follow Jackson around.

Doc Martin was the squad’s medic and also a Private Two. His donor background was a chemistry professor who had been very intelligent. He got along well with Boomer and the two joked constantly. He was armed with an assault rifle. Finally, Runningwolf was the squad’s scout, also a Private Two, and armed with a heavy pistol and a laser sniper rifle. His donor had been wealthy but there was a 6% error of the mental recording. He seemed very serious.

It was a Monday morning, August 25, 2132, at 0430 hours.

The synths had finished their period of basic training some weeks before, and each completed their individual occupational training on Friday. According to tradition, they should have received weekend passes immediately thereafter, then been allowed some R&R time in Stargate’s civilian quarter. Instead, they had received orders to report to the Marines’ Third Brigade, Echo Company, where they were assembled as Squad B of Second Platoon. Saturday and Sunday found them putting in long hours at the mission simulators. They ran through an array of different tasks, from tracking a tiger-analogue through steaming jungles to rescuing avalanche victims on a mountainside.

On Monday, they had been assigned to a real mission. PFC Jackson had just finished reading their mission orders aloud: They were to accompany a group of 50 new colonists to the second world orbiting 61 Cygni A. The trip would be aboard a lightly loaded modified combat lander. It was carrying only a half-load of colonists and supplies, enough material for six months of survival. During flight, the 30 synners’ berths would be occupied only by the six synths and a starship crew of three.

The pilot of the ship was listed as Star Lieutenant Myers; the copilot and navigator was Chief Warrant Officer Stratton; and the engineer was Warrant Officer Briggs. They were to obey the aerospace synths orders explicitly while aboard ship. On the ground, they would answer to Mayor Heinz Reiter in all issues not specifically military. PFC Jackson would be the final authority in such matters and Reiter would defer to Jackson’s expertise. Jackson was also told that Reiter had more ammunition that could be released to the marines if he chose. The tour of duty on the planet was six months. At the end of that period, a supply ship was set to arrive. The captain of that ship would have the authorization to decide whether to extend their stay or to bring them back depending upon the colony’s condition.

The ship was set to leave in 59 minutes from docking bay 37. It took about them 15 minutes to pack and another 10 minutes to travel to the docking bay.

The modified combat lander was waiting for them. Like all Terran ships, it was not pretty and, though new, looked like it was on the verge of falling apart. Modular in design, all UTRPF ships had a similar look about them. This one was long and gangly though not as long as a standard combat lander. It appeared to be short one of the Transport modules, which were usually used for transport of either goods or personnel, and it had the addition of a smaller transport module that was probably where the stasis pods were being kept. A small scout ship was attached to the bottom of the transport.

Jackson, in the few minutes that he had before they were off, got information on the 61 Cygni system, the planet they were going to, and even a cargo manifest. The system was 11.43 light years from Sol and consisted of a K5 and a K7 star orbiting each other. The planet itself was listed as having a gravity of .978 g, four satellites, 89% land area covered in lush jungles, a year of 391 days, and a day of 31 hours. According to the report from the UTRPF Survey of July 3-6, 2131, the planet was covered with lush jungles, small seas, and numerous rivers and lakes. There were negligible life forms on the planets and the largest herbivores were equivalent in size to a gazelle and only aggressive when threatened. The largest carnivore was the size and shape of a badger. The report included a photo of the planet and an illustration of the “gazelle” as described by the survey, which was signed by Gunnery Sergeant Jolly.

Once aboard ship, they were led to the sleeper modules by Engineer Briggs, a skinny synth with short-cropped hair. He then rushed back towards the drive section. There were five sleeper modules, each with six bunks. The first had been taken by the starship crew. The marines were assigned to the fourth. The others echoed emptily.

The marines were still stowing the last of their gear when the intercom pinged and the pilot’s voice rang out:

“Launch in 90 seconds. Launch in 90 seconds. Everyone buckle in.”

Ninety seconds later, the ship dropped away from the Stargate. Then there was a growing thrust of acceleration from the drives at the rear and they were off towards the stars.

“We’re now in Isler Space,” the pilot’s voice came over the intercom. “You may ... do whatever you want.”

“Stop cleaning the gun,” Flatline said to Boomer.

They unstrapped themselves and stood up. The gravity field of the ship felt much like the one on Stargate Station. Fisk suggested they look over the ship and they headed aft. Flatline was depressed because they were moving faster than radio waves and he knew his equipment was useless.

They found the crew module, where they would spend the next several months eating and showering, and then the transport module that held the stasis pods. The larger transport module behind it was empty of interior walls but filled with seed containers, prefab housing, supplies, and even a couple of small ATVs for the colony’s use. Everything would be coming out of the transport module when they reached 61 Cygni A 2. The airlock door that connected the scout to the lander was there as well, though it was locked with a security lock.

They investigated the drive section, but Briggs ran them out fairly quickly.

Over time, they got to know the starship crew, though they seemed distant to the marines. Only Briggs seemed to have any time to deal with them, and even that was a bit rushed and strained. Flatline spent the time working on homing signals to connect to the ATVs or that could be used by the colonists as locator beacons. He plundered some of the less necessary electronics that were going to the planet for the parts. Boomer and Doc Martin spent all of their time together. Jackson often checked on the stasis pods.

The first month slipped by without incident, then the second month, then the third, the fourth, the fifth, the sixth, the seventh, the eighth ...

Halfway through the 13th month, all of the ship’s power suddenly went off! Light, heat, air circulation, even gravity all died unexpectedly. Immediately, dim red emergency lights came on, and a claxon blared through the ship. Most of the marines saw Briggs come flying down from the direction of the first sleeper, heading towards the drive section. There was a panicked look on his face.

Jackson, in the sleeper module, watched as the pods shut down, one by one. Then Briggs came crashing through the room and sideswiped Jackson on the way through.

“God damn it!” Briggs shouted. “Get out of my way!”

He continued on through, closely followed by Boomer, who was armed with a heavy pistol, and Flatline shortly after. Jackson followed the three men.

They found Briggs in the drive section. When they asked, he told them that the drives had shut down for no apparent reason, and with it every system aboard the ship, including the stasis pods. He said he was trying to reboot the main drives. It was 10 minutes before the main drive was online again. After that, he rebooted the central computer and the stasis pods.

“What’s the best thing we can do to help?” Flatline asked him power came back up.

“Go check the stasis pods,” he said. “See if the colonists are okay.”

They returned to the stasis transport module and found that two of the stasis pods were reading that their contents had expired. John Archer, who was listed as a 23-year-old male from the United States with the profession of cook had died. The colony cat, a three-year-old calico named Persephone, had also died during the power outage. However, the three pods full of livestock embryos were fine.

Jackson went up to the cockpit.

“Lt. Myers, this is Jackson,” he said over the intercom. “I’m checking on your condition. Is everything okay in there?”

“Yeah, yeah,” came the reply. “Hold on.”

A few seconds later the door opened up.

“Yeah, we’re fine,” the agitated Myers said.

“You have any idea what happened?” Jackson asked.

“No. No. The drives just stopped working. You’ll have to ask Briggs. I’ll be getting a full report from him once he gets back up here.”

“All right. If you hear of anything, just keep me informed.”

“Did we lose anybody?”

“We lost two.”

“God damn it.”

“The cat and somebody else.”

“The cat?”

“John Archer,” Fisk said.

“John Archer,” Myers replied. “What was he? Was he important?”

“Cook,” Flatline said.

“The cook?” Myers asked.

“We lost the cook,” Fisk said.

“Well, it could have been worse I guess,” Myers said. “We could have lost somebody important. That sucks, I guess. Okay. Well, turn his pod back on, keep him frozen. The colonists can decide what to do with him. If Briggs finds out anything ... sometimes these things just ...”

He gestured at the hull of the ship and Jackson nodded knowingly.

Several hours later, Briggs admitted that he was not sure exactly what happened. All he could point to was the possibility of a glitch in the system. There was nothing specifically wrong with the drives but it could happen again. Boomer brought up the question of whether it could have been sabotage. Briggs noted it was possible and Boomer said it could have been programmed to wait until they were out 13 months before activating. Jackson asked if he was good with computers and Flatline wanted to see what Briggs had done to bring the ship back up. The engineer told him he rebooted the entire system and took Flatline back to show him how. He reiterated that he didn’t think it was radiation and if it was sabotage, it would have to have been a pretty intricate program to do what it had done. He admitted that he didn’t completely understand the Isler Drive, noting that he knew how to service it but didn’t know all the physics behind it.

“I don’t know what happened, but I hope it doesn’t happen again,” Briggs said. “I’m going to keep a closer eye on it.”

It was good enough for Myers.

Stratton told Boomer to be careful about the gun he was carrying.

“I was hoping to repel some boarders,” Boomer said. “But, not this time.”

“No, we don’t want any boarders!” Stratton said. “Wait to you get planet side. I’m sure you’ll have plenty of things to kill.”

The next two months passed uneventfully.

The journey was over after 463 days. The marines were standing at a viewport, looking down at a very green world with stripes of cloud. Once orbit was established, Stratton came looking for them.

“Grab your gear and come along with me,” he said. “We’re going to find a suitable landing spot.”

They geared up and followed the copilot back through the ship to the cargo module where the airlock to the scout stood open. Stratton climbed in and took the pilot’s seat. He gestured for Jackson to take the co-pilot’s seat. The rest of them had to stand in the drive corridor, clutching at straps that hung from the ceiling.

“Somebody close that airlock so we don’t all die,” Stratton said.

Boomer reached up and closed the airlock, dogging the hatch, and getting a green light. Stratton powered up the scout.

“Okay, is everybody ready?” he asked.

“Uh ...” Jackson said.

“Let’s do this!” Boomer shouted.

“Okay, three,” Stratton said, sounding like he was doing a countdown.

He reached forward and pressed a button. The scout fell away from the combat lander and dropped towards the planet’s surface as Boomer let out a “Woo-hoo!” The planet got large very quickly and Boomer chanted “Faster! Faster!” The ship dropped down to treetop level and then Stratton set the vessel to skimming just above the trees as Boomer hooted. The ride was rough.

After an hour or so of that, Stratton dropped the ship into an open meadow and landed.

“Let’s take a look,” Stratton said.

“Woo-hoo! Let’s earn our pay!” Boomer said.

He pulled up the lower airlock door and jumped out, dropping about six feet to the soft surface below. Jackson followed, pushing a button that extended the ladder and climbing down. The others followed with Stratton exiting last, a handgun in his hand.

Flatline immediately set up a field radio and contacted the ship. He found no interference and no other radio traffic. The others spread out until Stratton walked over to Jackson and talked to him briefly about the site. The warrant officer pointed out that the clearing was too small and not flat enough to land the starship. He noted that the trees would have to be cut back on each side to make room for the colony’s prefab buildings. He said that they would have to keep looking and Jackson asked if he wanted to do it in the ship or by foot. Stratton suggested the ship and they loaded back up. Boomer was the last one on.

“Sometimes I like it that you’re this crazy,” Flatline said as he climbed into the scout.

They took off, Boomer hooting, and continued looking for a site. The tree-hugging, heart-stopping flight continued for the rest of the day. Finally, near nightfall, Stratton put down in a larger clearing, some 200 meters in diameter. The marines headed out to scout the perimeter. The trees there looked almost like pine trees but they had reddish-bluish palms instead of needles hanging down.

Boomer noticed a rank odor blowing in from the trees near his position and a stealthy but heavy rustling among the trees.

“Something’s coming!” he shouted.

He chambered a grenade in his grenade launcher.

“Lock and load, baby!” he shouted.

“Check that trigger finger, Boomer!” Jackson called. “Let’s leave this planet mostly intact.”

He never lets me have any fun, Boomer thought.

The marines headed over towards Boomer’s side of the clearing.

“Doc, stay behind me!” Boomer yelled.

“What do you see, Boomer?” Jackson called.

“I don’t see nothin’ but I smell it and I hear it!” Boomer said.

Jackson headed that way while Stratton ran for the ship.

“Boomer, we can only synth once!” Flatline yelled.

As the marines grouped together, Jackson aiming towards the area as he approached, something leapt out of the underbrush. It looked something like a badger but was as large as a bear. It made a terrible squealing and screaming noise as it went for Boomer, slashing the man with one huge claw and tearing through his body armor. Jackson fired a burst from his assault rifle a moment later but aimed too low and struck Boomer in the back. Doc, standing near the man, jerked to one side as his friend got hit.

Oops, Jackson thought.

Across the clearing, Flatline turned, saw the thing, knelt, and fired a HEJA (High-Explosive Jet-Assisted) bullet from his heavy pistol. The bullet struck the thing in the side and seemed to tear a large piece of its flesh away.

“I’m getting it from both sides!” Boomer yelled.

He fired a flechette burst from his grenade launcher into the alien, ripping through it and tearing more of its flesh away. Nearby, Fisk moved closer to the forest to get a better angle on the thing. He had switched his assault rifle to auto fire, filling the air around the alien with bullets but not hitting it with any. The rifle had gotten away from him and he did more damage to the trees than the thing.

“Guess I got to do all the work again!” Boomer shouted.

“Hey! I hit it!” Flatline yelled back.

“You need to die, boy!” Boomer yelled at the thing, firing another bunch of flechettes at the thing.

More of it was ripped away but its wounds were closing up with no visible effect. The flesh itself seemed to cover the parts that were damaged, but wasn’t filling it out. As parts were ripped away, it seemed to be losing body mass.

“Why won’t you die!?!” Boomer yelled.

Flatline, still kneeling 20 yards away, fired another aimed shot at the thing, blasting away more of its flesh with another HEJA bullet. With that, the thing turned and bounded into the forest.

“Run, you coward!” Boomer yelled.

“Come back here with my bullet!” Flatline yelled.

But the thing was gone, having disappeared into the undergrowth.

“Doc, check on Boomer!” Jackson shouted. “Boomer, what’s your condition?”

“Come back here you son of a *****!” Boomer shouted towards the trees.

“All right,” Jackson said. “Normal.”

“Trigger stuck,” Fisk muttered, looking at his assault rifle.

Boomer pulled out the flechette magazine and replaced it with a magazine of 40mm grenades. He fired a shot upwards and they watched it arc over the forest. There was an explosion in the distance.

“Who shot me!?!” Boomer yelled, turning.

“Sorry,” Jackson said.

“Did you fail weapons training or something?” Boomer said.

“I guess after 15 months, I’m a bit rusty,” Jackson said.

“So’s my trigger,” Fisk said.

“You stay beside me from now on,” Boomer said.

“C’mon Boomer, you can’t expect us all to be like you,” Flatline said.

“I’m just saying, he is the leader, he should be able to shoot. He’s supposed to set the standard. He is the leader.”

“Just hold still,” Doc said to Boomer.

Doc Martin opened up the medkit and was seeing to Boomer’s wounds. He paid special attention to the wounds the alien creature had given him. Boomer moved away from the woods and stripped his body armor off. It looked like the tears in the front didn’t damage the armor beyond use. Out of curiosity, he looked at the grouping of bullets that were in the back of the body armor. They were very tight, almost as if Jackson had been aiming at him.

I’ll keep that in mind, he thought.

They got samples from the fleshy alien chunks on the ground. Jackson took Flatline and walked the perimeter but didn’t smell or see any sign of the creature. They noticed the large tracks where the thing had fled the clearing. Boomer recommended that they not colonize that area though Jackson pointed out that there could be areas that were worse. It would actually be Myers’ decision.

They boarded the scout again and headed back up to the combat lander. After some discussion, Myers decided that, despite the alien creature, it was the best location for the colony.

When morning came to the clearing below, Myers gently landed the starship and Briggs began decanting the colonists from the stasis pods. It was left to the marines to protect the clearing’s perimeter until all the cargo was off-loaded and the colony’s electric fence could be erected. Colony Leader Heinz Reiter was not at all happy to learn of the marines’ tussle with the giant badger-thing or of the death of John Archer.

“We scared it off,” Boomer told the man. “It ain’t coming back anytime soon.”

“I’m hoping zat is so,” Reiter, a German man, said. “You vill make sure that this is so. Yah?”

“We’ll do our job, you do yours,” Jackson told him.

“That is vhat ve must do, our jobs,” Reiter said. “Yah.”

By nightfall, everything had been unloaded, the fence was up, and the outer shell of the city hall building had been assembled directly in the center of the clearing, providing a place for the colonists to lay out their sleeping bags. A makeshift tent had been put up outside for the marines with cots and equipment. The three-meter tall electric fence with razor wire over the top stood about 25 meters from the edge of the clearing, making their compound about 150 meters across.

Stratton, Myers, and Briggs wished them all luck and then went back into the starship. The vessel lifted off into the night’s sky, leaving them to their own devices.

They were on their own for six months with 49 colonists and the colony dog.

The marines kept alternating two-man group on watch at night. They also walked the perimeter during the days and scouted out the area in groups of at least four. There was little more that they could do to defend the compound. They met with the colony peacekeeper, a Vietnamese man named Binh Huang. The colony had a few technicians and a few scientists, but the bulk of the colonists were there to simply work. Boomer was especially interested in the 22-year-old Paula Mozombite from Bolivia, a very attractive woman.

Some of the colonists seemed somewhat standoffish though most of them were friendly enough. Reiter was more assertive but seemed to understand the chain of command in the colony. He wanted daily verbal reports from Jackson and he had one of the other colonists typing up the reports on a portable computer. The only medical personnel the colony had were a Hong Kong-born physician named Huy Lee; an Egyptian dentist named Odi Qadir; Hannah Scholotz, a German Nurse; Frieda Smith, a veterinarian from the United States; and Rafael Valdez, a Mexican paramedic.

The bodies of John Archer and the colony cat, Persephone, were buried on one side of the compound, their names carved on two pieces of metal.

Flatline actually found a notebook and started to keep track of their routines and what was done in the colony.

They were busy. Sometimes the marines escorted scientists out of the compound to examine plant and animal life, or geologists who were digging in the ground. One of the colonists, Matthew Foley, was a lumberjack from Canada and took work crews out to clear some of the trees nearest the electric fence. The lumber proved to be useable and actually produced an aromatic and harmless smoke when burned.

On one of their patrols outside the compound, they found the partially devoured carcasses of local creatures. It looked like some of those gazelle-creatures. Boomer, who knew something about xenological theory, examined the bodies and found that they not only had claw marks but also deep puncture wounds, as if by long fangs. The badger thing they had fought earlier had not had long fangs. That same afternoon, they found another carcass and in that creature found that the puncture wounds were surrounded by necrotic tissues, as if from a strong poison. They made sure to mark the locations so that the scientists could return to examine the carcasses. That required another escort.

Security relaxed a little as the quiet continued. Small crews left the compound, not always with marine escort. Foley took more crews out to cut more trees and scientists occasionally headed out, usually within view of the compound, to test the local flora and fauna.

The days passed without incident. About a week after the starship left, they heard a scream from the opposite side of the compound and a man came stumbling from the edge of the woods, holding bloodied hands over his face. Jackson called for a medic and Boomer headed over to the entrance of the compound and drew his heavy pistol. The colony doctor appeared and ran to the man, examining him. Jackson looked over the doctor’s shoulder as he worked.

The man had several bloody but shallow claw marks across his face.

“What did this to you?” Jackson asked. “And it is coming?”

“I was-a taking my dog for a walk-a out in da woods,” the man said in a strong Italian accent, “when something, it looked-a like a squirrel or something-a, attacked me. It just-a came at me and attacked me. I think Butch ran after it-a. It was-a that way!”

He pointed out of the compound.

“Who was with you again?” Jackson asked.

“Butch,” the man replied. “My dog. The dog, he ran-a off after the squirrel thing. I don’t-a know where he is.”

Jackson got the marines together. They left Doc Martin and Runningwolf in the compound while the rest geared up and headed into the woods. Boomer argued that they should take Doc Martin but Jackson decided against it.

“It’s a vicious squirrel,” Jackson said. “If four grown men can’t take care of it ...”

Flatline had looked for a face shield of some kind but the only welder’s mask he could find was in be used.

They headed into the jungle and soon found the path the man had taken. They eventually found a nest of mashed and dead baby squirrel-things at the base of a bush. Nearby lay a stick with a bloody end. It looked like the colonist had been smashing them.

Jackson called for Butch and the others whistled and called for the dog for a few minutes but there was no sign of it. Jackson had the marines pick up some of the things and he took the stick back as well. When they returned, everything looked normal at the colony. Doc told them that Dr. Lee had taken the Italian man to the city hall.

Jackson went in search of Huang, the peace keeper. He found him after a short search and showed him what they had found and told him what he thought happened. When he noted that it looked like the man had bludgeoned the creatures to death, Huang asked if he knew the man’s name. Boomer pointed out that he was with the doctor.

“I’ll go ask him,” Huang said.

They learned that the man’s name was Marco Santora. He was a broker from Italy and, after constable Huang talked to him, he was ordered to talk to Alexander Vernon, a psychologist from the United States and the colony’s counselor. Huang mentioned to Jackson later that it might have been possible that the man had some psychological anomaly that the psych exam had missed.

After a couple of hours, the dog came wandering back into camp. Tongue lolling and tail wagging, it trotted across the clearing towards the town hall. When it arrived there, it reached up with one front paw, grasped the front door handle, opened the door, and slipped inside.

A woman screamed.

The marines all ran to the town hall where more screams and cries for help were erupting. They burst into the place to find a horrible creature within. It looked like the dog but it was standing on its hind legs and had expanded upwards and outwards. Insect-like legs had burst out of the thing and at its feet was a woman. It swung a single, horrible appendage at another man and slashed him wide open. Some of the colonists were frozen with fear while others screamed and ran around, trying to find places to hide.

The thing looked down at the woman at its feet who was trying to crawl away. It leapt onto her and sunk its fangs into her torso. She screamed and then started to have seizures, her body jerking on the floor.

Boomer fired the heavy pistol in his hand even as Fisk fired his assault rifle from the hip. Boomer’s HEJA rounds tore into the thing, as did the assault rifle bullets. The flesh was torn away but the wounds closed up with apparently no effect on the creature other than it was losing body mass.

Jackson dropped to one knee and fired his own assault rifle. Several bullets struck the horrible creature which looked less and less like a dog as the bullets struck it. Most of them actually bounced off the creature’s fur, however. The last bullet struck the horrible thing solidly.

Flatline rushed the thing, shouting “We’re here to protect the humans!”

Then he shot the thing in the face three times with his heavy pistol, hitting it with the first and third bullet. The terrible thing had ducked out of the way of the second. Boomer fired over the man’s head, striking it once more though two of his bullets went wide, one of them smashing through one of the windows in the town hall. Fisk moved to one side to give himself a better shot and opened up with his assault rifle again. Two bullets struck the thing, though not solidly, and two of them bounced off the thing’s fur.

The horrible thing rushed across the room and leapt out of one of the broken windows. Jackson ran to the window and saw that the thing had gone to all fours and was rushing towards the fence. People were running from the thing and trying to get away. He fired a burst at the thing and the bullets struck it, ripping pieces off. It now looked like it was just skin and bones, but it was still moving fast.

“What the hell is that!?!” Runningwolf yelled from somewhere near the gate.

Boomer moved to the window next to Jackson and aimed carefully, firing his last pistol bullet. It struck the thing and though it stumbled, it did not fall.

“Damn it!” he yelled and continued to pull the trigger on the empty weapon.

Flatline came up behind the two synths and practically climbed over them, launching himself out of the window by grabbing their shoulders and flinging himself out of the window. He tucked as he landed and rolled to his feet, then ran after the horrible creature.

Fisk, meanwhile, had run out the front of the town hall.

“Turn on the fence!” he shouted. “Turn on the fence!”

Runningwolf looked at the man, nodded, and then ran to the gatehouse. He rushed in the door and disappeared inside. Moments later, the generator next to the gatehouse roared to life.

Jackson leapt clumsily out of the window and landed on the ground outside, then ran after Flatline. They both saw that, just as the generator started, the thing changed course, no longer running directly at the fence but still moving away from the marines. It was almost as if it knew that the generator was powering the fence. There was no cover in the area where the thing was, however.

When it got close to the fence, it went to ground and just seemed to melt into the soil.

Boomer tried to climb out of the window but the flamethrower tank caught the edge and he fell.

Flatline ran to the spot where the creature had disappeared. He could see the clawprints and even where it vanished, but there was no sign of it. Fisk came running around the side of the town hall. Jackson also ran to the spot, yelling for Runningwolf to lock down the gate and the gatehouse. He was pleased to hear the clang of the magnetic clamps on the gate. When they examined the spot, they saw where the claw prints ended and a tiny bit of slime on the ground as well. Boomer got out his flamethrower and, with a push of a button, lit the pilot light.

“Stand aside!” he said.

Jackson backed off and Boomer lit the area up. He blasted it for over a minute, emptying one of his tanks.

“You son of a *****!” he yelled. “You aren’t getting away from me!”

When the fuel ran out, he took out a cigar and lit it off the pilot light.

“Squad leader, I don’t know if that fence is doing us any good,” Flatline said.

They discussed how effective the fence was against the creature. Then they checked on the wounded with some talk of quarantining them. Boomer and Flatline were ordered to do a perimeter check. Jackson went to examine the gatehouse. Flatline was worried that the thing could make itself look like anyone but Boomer pointed out that they hadn’t heard it talk. Flatline wanted to make up some kind of sign, but then he remembered that there were transponders in their helmets.

They learned that Anh Jiang was the woman who had been killed. She had been a meteorologist from North Korea. The man who had been killed was Alexander Vernon, the colony counselor and psychologist.

Reiter came out of the town hall and found Jackson. He was very distraught.

“Vhat is it?” he said. “Vhat are we going to do about it?”

“We’re going to find it and kill it,” Jackson replied.

“Vhat happened? Did you kill it?”

“Still working on that.”

“I need a report. I need to know vhat’s going on!”

“All in due time, sir. We’re still working on it.”

“All right. All right. Just let me know as soon as you know.”

Some colonists who had been outside of the compound eventually returned. Jackson made sure that the gatehouse was closed up tight and posted Runningwolf to keep an eye on it. He also looked in on Marco Santora but found the man convalescing nicely. He questioned constable Huang about the man and learned that he had questioned Santora but the Italian was sticking with his story of self defense, though Huang didn’t really believe it. Jackson asked that Santora be quarantined and Huang had no problem with it; he feared that Santora’s pointless violence might be the sign of some deeper problems.

Fisk found the scientists whom they had given the poisoned carcasses to. Fiona Duncan, a Scottish chemist, and Maya Teller, an Israeli biologist, both agreed that the poison was some kind of neurotoxin. It was a very complex formula and they had thus far been unable to make an anti-venom, though if they could get more of the toxin, it would help. When Jackson suggested they try to get the venom from one of the victims, they said they would try.

The colonists buried their dead and the colony chaplain, Bejune Kettani from Botswana, led a short service.

Jackson also issued orders that if anyone saw the St. Bernard to shoot it.

“I don’t care if it’s real or fake,” he said.

They discussed the creature and wondered if the thing had to physically digest its victims to take on their shape. He noted that with their equipment and communicators on their helmet arrays, they would know if one of them was real. There was talk of armbands and Boomer and Doc Martin went out to look for the dog and found only its remains a kilometer away. It had been devoured almost completely.

Jackson made a report of the entire incident to Reiter. The man was willing to get Boomer another filled flamethrower tank as well. They also decided not to let anyone outside the compound for a few days.

When some of the scientists who had been out of the compound returned, Jackson was sent for.

“What is going on?” one of them asked.

“There was an attack,” Jackson said.

“Let us in, then,” one of them said.

He looked over them and the ATV they had taken with them carefully. The two women were Kriti Pillai, a botanist from India, and Nazeera Gul, a Qatar biochemist. They had gone out to get samples and had brought back some sample packets on the sides of the ATV. They looked normal, if nervous. Jackson eventually let them in.

Patrols around the compound actually found numerous tracks and trails around the compound. However, they didn’t appear to be well-used trails. Boomer, in particular, went looking for the thing’s den without luck. He reported to Jackson and told him what they’d found.

“That thing’s been scouting us,” he said. “I’ve been following the tracks. It comes in different points on the perimeter. It’s been scouting. It’s been watching. It’s definitely intelligent, not just some dumb animal.”

They discussed how it had gotten past the fence, Jackson worried about the possibility of it getting back into the compound. They worried about how intelligent the thing might be as well and Jackson brought up the fact that it went directly to the town hall when it had invaded the compound before. Jackson had interviewed the survivors of the attack and learned that the thing had moved to the nearest person to the door and attacked them as claws and additional legs had burst out of it. Witnesses reported that the thing had been very efficient in its attacks and when it had bit the woman, it had immediately moved away, as though confident that the poison would finish her off. He shared his findings with the others.

Flatline, meanwhile, was working on a tiny tracking device set into a dart for a tranquilizer gun. He’d learned the colony had one air-propelled rifle for that very purpose. He worked through the day but didn’t complete the tracking device. He felt like he needed more room.

They continued with the two-man night watches and those on watch seemed to hear large movement in the woods. It was no different from other nights, but now they had something more to fear in the dark. Nothing attacked the compound, however.

The next morning dawned overcast. It rained lightly and the marines met in their tent mid-morning. Jackson recommended turning the fence off during the day as it hadn’t stopped the thing from getting in or out. Flatline told him about the tracking beacon in the tranquilizer darts he’d been working on but noted that it wasn’t quite ready yet. Jackson approved and told him to keep working on it. Flatline told him he needed elbow room and more place to work so they commandeered one of the prefab workshops for the day.

Boomer and Fisk headed out to scout around the compound and found a place where tracks seemed to start out of nowhere. They followed the fresh tracks but they merely led a half-kilometer and then vanished again. Jackson had wondered, at one point, if the thing could fly.

“Let’s get out of here,” Fisk said.

When they met at midday, they discussed the possibility of booby traps, tripwires, or mines. Flatline noted that he hoped the thing didn’t have a whole family. However, he had finished the tranquilizer gun transponder and showed the others. It was built with the radio in the tip and he’d fixed the dart so that it could easily break away after fired. He hoped that the tip would embed itself deeply enough into the thing that, even if the rest were broken off, the transponder would still be lodged in the creature. He had only had time to make one and it was fairly rugged. It still needed a little work but he guessed he would have it completely done in the next couple of hours.

Jackson went to talk to Reiter and tried to get a feel for the man. He also talked to other colonists to make sure that he was not acting any different than he had been. He feared that the man might be the thing in disguise but had nothing to base that on.

Flatline informed Jackson a couple of hours after midday that the transponder was ready. They discussed who should use the tranquilizer gun and it eventually fell to Jackson. They also discussed the fact that nothing happened until the broker went out and killed the squirrel-things. Jackson wondered if the compound was close to the creature’s home and maybe they should look for it. He had gotten a download of the rough maps that the colonists had made. At one spot two kilometers northeast of the compound was a place where some of the colonists had found what appeared to be a group of narrow burrows in a cleared area.

In the end, he decided to leave Doc Martin and Runningwolf to guard the compound while the rest of them went to investigate the burrows. Jackson carried the tranquilizer gun though he had it slung on his back and kept his assault rifle ready.

Near the burrows, they found tracks similar to the ones they had found in the compound. The burrows themselves looked almost like little sinkholes less than a meter in diameter. There were a dozen of them.

Boomer walked over to one of the burrows and tossed a smoke grenade in, backing quickly away. Flatline had his pistol ready as he knelt nearby. Smoke came out of the burrow he had flung it in and from some of the nearby holes as well. They guessed that some of the burrows connected and thought it possible that all of them were, but the smoke wasn’t going far enough for them to tell.

Nothing came out of any of the burrows after the smoke had been laid down.

They carefully examined the tracks. They looked, for the most part, like the same creature, though some of them were narrower and seemed to resemble the tracks that they had followed inside the compound. They discussed setting up snares or traps in the area as well. Jackson worried that there might be a whole herd of the horrors in the place.

“Who’s our skinniest guy?” Boomer asked while looking at the holes.

It was actually Flatline but Jackson ordered Fisk to scout the burrows. The squad leader went over and tossed several glow sticks into various holes. He also ordered someone to tie a nylon line to the man’s foot, just in case they had to drag him out of there. Boomer gave the man his heavy pistol and they picked one of the nearby burrows. Fisk crawled into it, pistol in one hand and stun grenade in the other.

I knew this was coming, Fisk thought as he crawled into the darkness.

Moments after Fisk disappeared into the burrow, the creature lunged out of the ground near Jackson. Boomer was faster, however, and lit the area up with his flamethrower, nearly roasting Jackson in the process. Jackson flung himself to one side as the burst of fire caught the horror and it lit up.

“Burn, mother****er! Burn!” Boomer shouted. Then he looked at Jackson. “We’re even!”

The bug, still aflame, seemed to melt into the ground. Flatline and Jackson looked around, trying to find it. Jackson put his assault rifle on his shoulder and took out the tranquilizer rifle.

There was no sign of the thing.

* * *

Fisk had only been crawling in the burrows for 15 or 20 seconds when he heard shouts from above. He had only moved a little ways into the burrow but had reached a place where the tunnel met another in a y-branch. He was unnerved by how tight the tunnel was and the constant dirt that fell down from the ceiling. He’d also noticed some slime in the place.

The fork had one path that went downwards and another that headed back up. He could even see light up the second branch and so started crawling back towards the surface.

Then he heard something behind him and looked over his shoulder. Behind him lay one of the glowsticks and in the strange, green light, he saw something seep out of the wall and completely block the tunnel. It looked like it was made of all claws and fangs.

It moved towards him, covering the glowstick and filling the tunnel with darkness.

“Shit!” he screamed.

He crawled faster towards the light.

* * *

The others turned as Fisk’s head and shoulders burst out of another burrow.

“It’s behind me!” he screamed.

Boomer ran to the man, Flatline right behind him. The latter grabbed Fisk by the belt and jerked him out of the hole.

“Suck on this!” Boomer shouted.

He shoved the end of the flamethrower into the hole and pulled the trigger. Flames burst from the edge of the hole and there was a squeal. Then he fell back as the thing catapulted out of the hole, completely ablaze. It stumbled only a few feet before it fell, brightly burning. Boomer helped it along with another burst from the flamethrower and, after a few minutes, there was nothing much left but some long, slim bones with bits of burnt meat upon them.

“That’s what you get for fishing with the right bait,” Fisk quipped.

They took the remains of the thing back to the colony and it was examined. The scientists started testing it and found it unlike anything they’d ever seen.

The next few weeks were very quiet.

The scientists finally finished their testing and their best guess was that the alien was some kind of creature that adapted with uncanny and amazing speed. The basic DNA was different from other life forms on the planet, however. They guessed that, somehow, the creature was not from that world at all. Jackson wondered if it had anything to do with previous colonies but it was unlike anything on Earth. Additionally, 61 Cygni A 2 had not yet been colonized.

Boomer wondered aloud if it might be the survivor of an alien spacecraft.

They didn’t see any more of the things over the next six months. They were unsure if the thing was the only creature of its kind on the planet, in the area, or just the only one that noticed the colony.

　 ]]> Max_Writer http://www.penandpapergames.com/forums/entry.php/1702-Bughunters-Unnatural-Selection-2012-03-16-CaesarCon Dark Sun: Revised and Expanded: Mystery of the Ancients 2012-02-04 http://www.penandpapergames.com/forums/entry.php/1692-Dark-Sun-Revised-and-Expanded-Mystery-of-the-Ancients-2012-02-04 Wed, 08 Feb 2012 00:24:03 GMT Saturday, February 4, 2012

(After playing the Dark Sun Revised and Expanded (2nd Edition AD&D) scenario “Mystery of the Ancients” Friday in High Point with Jeff Smith, and Ken Woody, Steve Turner, and Erik Huffine from 8 p.m. to 11 p.m.)

A group of four adventurers awoke in the city of Tyr in the Year of Desert’s Fury in the 190th King’s Age, also known as Free Year 11 in the free city. They had been in Tyr for some months and their funds were running low. The four had fallen in together and found that they were not bad companions, and so had found shelter together in the city of Tyr.

Orin was a half-giant warrior who stood over 11 feet tall and weighed more than 1500 pounds. His weapons were as large as he, and included a giant-sized datchi club, an arena weapon with a five-foot-long head made of dried insect hive and embedded with teeth and claws attached to a three-foot-long bone handle; a lotulis, crescent blades with barbed spikes near the points mounted at either end of a long shaft; and a sling. He wore little more than hide armor and carried a great shield, the latter constructed of layers of hardened leather stretched over a bone frame.

Ran Ger was a human ranger who carried a longbow; a master’s whip made of leather with a carved bone handle inlaid with decorative elements; three cahulaks, each consisting of a pair of four-bladed bone heads tied to either end of a 12-foot length of rope; and five alhulaks, each consisting of a five-foot length of rope with a four-bladed grappling hook at one end, the other end being secured to a two-foot-long handle. He wore leather armor.

Varthir Markorum was an elf with disheveled hair. A preserver by trade, he wore no armor and carried only a staff to defend himself with. However, he also was well-versed in the use of magic. His heart was as black as night.

Aeoleus was a half-elf druid who wore studded leather armor and carried a small shield for protection. He used a composite short bow and carried a spear, but his most prized possession was a ceramic flute. He rarely spoke.

With the advent of the great earthquake, other things had changed on Athas. Great rainstorms roared in from the Silt Sea and laid waste to various parts of the land, sometimes destroying whole villages. Other things had also inspired panic. The dragon of Athas had recently been killed, though such rumor was met with skepticism and then elation by Tyr’s citizens, resulting in a minor riot which started when five dwarf herders and their half-giant companion decided that the return of Durgonis was imminent. Though the dwarf-god Drugonis had few followers in those days, those who kept the faith were fervently devoted. Hordes of monsters frightened out of the mountains by the continuing tremors had flooded the valley in search of stable ground. This, in turn, had caused those who lived in the client villages surrounding the city to seek shelter within the city gates.

The four had been in Tyr when the great earthquake struck. Though the city was not destroyed, streets, buildings, and other structures had been damaged by the quake and continued aftershocks. Rumors persisted of some great opening to the lands to the west and a great thri-kreen empire that would soon attack the tablelands.

The recent earthquake hadn’t changed Tyr very much though. The crowds were still as thick as ock’n on a mekillot, and the chaos of freedom still reverberated off every wall. There were signs that the disaster touched the Free City, however. Cracks decorated buildings and walls, and a few structures had collapsed entirely. There were also more refugees than before – people from the client villages who had sought safety behind the city walls. The fugitives had the look of poverty about them, for they hadn’t been able to find work within the city, nor had they mustered the courage to return to their lives in the villages.

The four had decided to spend the morning at their favorite tavern. Vendors were everywhere in the city streets, hawking their wares and trying to get passers-by to sample them. There was everything from fruits and vegetables to clothing and exotic trinkets from faraway lands. As they passed one particularly burley street hawker who stood beside a cart that overflowed with bizarre items that defied identification, he called to Ran.

“You aren’t thinking of passing my cart by without even giving it a look, are you, my friend?” called the human man with the flowing beard and a bald, sun-burned head. “Where else can you find genuine tools and lucky charms from the forests of the Ringing Mountains? This lucky dart, for example, was crafted by a halfling maiden with feathers from a kes’trekel. I have lots of things you need. Take a look. My prices are exceedingly reasonable. Have you hard coin or something to trade?”

Ran looked at the man.

“Sure,” he said. “I have hard coin or something to trade.”

“Always like to hear that,” the man said. “Come look at my wares.”

“Do you have a moment?” he asked the others.

“Well, they can all look!” the merchant said. “Even the half-giant.”

“You sure about that?”

“Even though he may not find anything to his liking. Little hats. Little hats.”

“I’m giving you a chance. If you want him to come over, he’ll come over.”

“I’ve got charms to ward off earthquakes. Polished stones to repel undead!”

He also had tools of the trade and a various assortment of items. He claimed he got everything from the Forest Ridge.

“How, exactly, do your earthquake warding charms work?” Varthir asked.

“They protect you,” the man said. “If you get caught in an earthquake, it won’t kill you.”

The elf seemed doubtful.

“Only five ceramic pieces,” the merchant went on.

“What a deal,” the elf said dryly.

“It is a great deal!” the merchant said.

Ran said he would merely hide under Orin but the merchant asked what would happen if the giant tripped. Ran assured him that the giant would not trip as he had a pocketful of earthquake warding stones.

The only item that stood out amongst the man’s wares, however, was a halfling dagger made of bone and carved with runes that none of them recognized. Ran picked it up and looked over the weapon more closely. There was probably some tooling on it at one point but it appeared to have been worn down with repeated sharpening.

“How much do you want for this?” Ran asked.

“Why, this rare piece was a rare find indeed,” the merchant said. “It’s not often you find halfling daggers made of bone like this. They like to use wooden weapons, don’t they? So, I’m asking a mere pittance, a mere eight silver coins. And that’s a bargain.”

Ran offered the man a pound of raisins, which the merchant refused.

“You insult me sir,” he said. “Look at the craftsmanship on this blade. I would not be surprised if it was enchanted.”

Ran tried to show off the juiciness of his raisins, but the man was not interested. He demanded a real offer as opposed to a joke. Ran offered him five pounds of raisins, which he called a tiny portion of the dagger’s value. He noted that he would have to offer at least 50 pounds of raisins for him to even consider it. Ran noted that he didn’t usually carry around 50 pounds of raisins. The man nodded towards Orin.

“I’m telling you, eight silver is cheap for an enchanted weapon,” the merchant said.

“Enchanted with what?” Varthir asked.

“Only the halflings could tell you for sure,” the man said.

“It’s not very useful then,” Varthir said. “You should be selling it for half price. You don’t even know what it does.”

“Half price? Are you trying to break me?”

“No, I’m trying to be reasonable.”

“Do you know what it took to get this out of the Ringing Mountains?”

Ran offered the man 10 ceramic pieces and he told the ranger he was killing him. However, he lowered the price to 75 ceramic pieces.

“It could be cursed,” Varthir suggested.

“Halflings don’t curse things like this!” the merchant said.

“How do you know?” the elf asked.

“Look at the age on this,” the merchant said. “It could go back to the green age!”

The elf looked doubtful.

“Maybe even further than that,” the merchant went on.

Varthir said that he doubted the man even knew any halflings.

“I know a few halflings,” the man said.

“Really?” Varthir replied.

“They can be really nice when they’re not trying to bite you,” the man said.

“Of course,” Varthir said dryly.

“Have they spent any time not trying to bite you?” Ran asked.

“If you get them drunk enough,” the merchant admitted. “Fermented erdlu milk.”

Ran noted that the use of fermented fruit juice would do the same thing, holding up his bag of raisins again.

“In any case, it’s still a valuable item,” the merchant said.

“How do you know?” Varthir persisted. “How do you know it’s not cursed?”

“Look at it,” the merchant said.

“Look at my life,” the merchant said. “I have a great life. If it was cursed, wouldn’t that curse have fallen on me by now?”

“I don’t know, you need earthquake protection charms,” Varthir said. “It doesn’t speak well.”

“No, I don’t,” the man said. “That’s why I sell them!”

“How do they make those, by the way?” Varthir asked.

“It’s a very complicated process,” the merchant said. “I don’t know, exactly, how they make them.”

“Who would ‘they’ be?”

“They live in a far away, exotic, distant land.”

“A far away land plagued by earthquakes?”

“Some say water is common there!”

“Hmm. Yeah, right. Apparently, so are earthquakes.”

“Maybe that’s why they are exporting them. Because they don’t need them.”

“Could be.”

Orin looked over the wares without touching anything.

“Well, I have found your story amusing,” Ran said to the merchant. “So much so, that I’m willing to offer you 20 ceramics and a pound of raisins.”

The merchant looked pained.

“You should make him pay you for making you stand here and listen to that drivel!” Varthir said.

“But my friend, it’s not drivel!” the merchant said. “I may be able to come down to ... six and a half silver.”

“How about you pay us six and a half silver, we don’t tell the halflings that you stole one of their knives?” Varthir said. “Or you can just give us the knife and then we won’t tell anybody.”

“If you wish to go to the mountains and talk to the halflings, you are free to do so,” the merchant said.

“Maybe I know them,” Varthir said.

“I highly doubt a ragged elf would know many halflings,” the merchant said.

Varthir sighed.

“He could be right,” he muttered. “But then again, he could be wrong.”

“He did get the ragged part down,” Ran quipped.

“Come, we’ve wasted enough time,” Orin said. “Let’s go to the drinking.”

Ran again offered 20 ceramic coins and a pound of raisins. The merchant would not go lower, however.

“Let’s go,” Orin said again. “I am buying today.”

“Done!” Ran said.

They left the merchant.

On the way to the tavern, they passed through an alley. The ragged crowd that filled it consisted of destitute men, women and children who appeared as hungry and thirsty as they were dusty and weary. Normally, such a crowd would press towards them, begging for a bit or two with sad eyes and outstretched palms. That didn’t happen that day, however. Instead, a gang of street toughs rampaged through the refugees. One brought a bone club down on the head of a man trying to protect his family. Another slapped a young girl as he scooped the lone bit out of her begging bowl. The toughs taunted an elderly fellow, laughing as they pushed him to the ground. Apparently, they gained as much amusement from their acts as they did items of worth.

“Orin,” Ran said.

“We’re about to stop this,” Orin simply said.

“Orin, twist that one’s head off,” Ran suggested.

Orin drew his datchi club and strode forward.

“Stop!” he yelled.

The toughs all turned his way. At first they looked alarmed, but then some of them grinned at each other. The largest of them, probably the leader, laughed.

“One half-giant?” he called. “Bring it! Get him!”

He moved back while several of the toughs drew bone clubs and moved towards Orin. Ran had pulled his bow from his back and fitted an arrow into it, shooting at one of the men who approached Orin. The arrow missed but actually struck another of the toughs approaching. The man he’d hit howled in pain. Ran cursed and then fitted another arrow and fired it at the same man he’d missed before. He missed him again, but struck the man he’d already shot yet again. The man cursed.

Varthir leaned against the wall of the alley and watched. He didn’t want to get involved. Aeoleus also merely stood there, leaning on his spear and watching the battle.

Ran fired another shot at the man in the front, hitting him but not, apparently hurting him. He fired another arrow that missed his target again, but struck that same man in the second rank.

“He really hates Hak!” someone yelled.

“Kill ‘em!” the leader yelled. “Kill ‘em all!”

Orin growled over his shoulder at Ran and then slashed at one of the men threatening him. Only one of the men fighting Orin was able to hurt the half-giant, and then only a little bit.

“We’re not going to get any action,” one of the toughs furthest away called. “Our men are going to kill them so quick.”

The man Ran had hit with several arrows rushed him, screaming profanities and curses at the ranger. He struck Ran a telling blow. Another of the toughs joined the angry man and struck the ranger as well.

Then Aeoleus said words of power and gestured at Ran, blowing air out of his mouth. Swirling wind surrounded Ran and the men who were attacking him. Then one of them seemed to move slowly against the wind and froze in place, his bone club held over his head. The other man didn’t seem to notice.

“Hey! That half-elf’s casting spells!” one of the toughs not yet engaged in combat yelled.

One of the toughs injured Orin but the half-half giant held the other two off effortlessly.

“We’re going to take out a half-giant!” yelled the man who had landed the blow.

Two men charged through the battle, avoiding both the half-giant and the ranger, and headed for Aeoleus. Ran dropped his bow and drew his alhulak, swinging it ineffectively at the man with three arrows still stuck in him.

“You don’t do this very much, do you?” the man said to him conversationally.

Orin dropped his datchi club and drew his lotulis, bringing it down on the man who had cut him with devastating effect. The man screamed and fled the battle, running back towards the leader, who stood watching the entire battle. Orin tried to slash at the man but just missed him.

“Get back in there, you wus!” the leader shouted at him.

“Hey you!” one of the man who charged Aeoleus shouted. “You want to cast spells? See how you cast with a club in your face!”

Both of the men struck the priest with their bone clubs, but he was only slightly injured. Orin easily parried the blows of the men who were still fighting him. Ran was again injured by the man who he’d shot several times. He was beginning to wonder about the wisdom of shooting the man. Ran’s blow bounced off the man’s armor but then he slashed the man across the chest, cutting through his leather and opening a deep wound. Orin swung his lotulis around and struck both of the men he faced, hurting them both badly.

The leader swaggered to Orin, drawing his weapon.

“Now you’ll see the master at work,” he muttered.

One of his men struck Orin as he did so and then the leader swung his own datchi club at the half-giant, missing him completely. Ran was also injured again.

Varthir had drawn a bit of kank rind from his pouch. He muttered words of power and flicked his fingers gently. The rind disappeared and suddenly, one of the men slipped and fell. He tried, unsuccessfully, to get to his feet several times without luck. The other man had stepped out of the area that the grease spell had affected.

Aeoleus shook the cloth that covered his steel spearhead loose and then tried to stab the man he faced.

“Back away boys,” Orin said, “your boss wants to play.”

The two men looked at each other and then obligingly took a step back. The half-giant brought his datchi club down on the leader, hurting him badly. He looked surprised and shocked at the blood that spewed out of his mangled shoulder. Behind the half-giant, Ran finally cut down the man filled with arrows.

The man Aeoleus faced struck him a glancing blow even as his friend slipped and fell again. Varthir moved around behind Aeoleus and then starting striking the man who kept slipping with his staff.

“Who are you!?!” the man screamed at him. “Who are you!?!”

Ran ran towards Aeoleus, slashing the throat of the frozen man and taking off his head on the way. Blood sprayed all over the ranger.

The leader of the toughs had only struck Orin a blow on his armor. The giant looked down at him with disdain.

“You shouldn’t hit people who can’t hit back,” he growled.

He tore into the leader with his lotulis, skewering the man and lifting him over his head. The man’s legs and arms went straight out as he gasped and then died. Blood poured down over the half-giant and then he tossed the body away.

“They killed Ged!” one of the toughs screamed.

All of the toughs fled. The one trapped in the slippery area slipped and fell again, even as he tried to get away. Aeoleus stabbed the man who’d fought him even as Ran slashed at him with his alhulak. The man screamed and limped away, barely able to walk. The two men who had been fighting Orin fled as well. Only the man trapped in the greased area was unable to get away. Varthir continued to beat the man with his staff. Ran joined the man and cut into him. They finished off the man, beating him to death.

Aeoleus dismissed the spell that still held the dead body of one of the toughs in place. The corpse fell next to the dead man’s head. He wrapped the metal head of his spear back up.

The alley was deserted. The refugees had fled as soon as the fight had started. They quickly searched the bodies and found half a dozen ceramic bits. There was some discussion of hacking off the legs of their assailants and making more bone clubs out of their femurs, but Ran complained that he had two that were already made.

“There are 10 more right here,” Varthir said.

“You go make them, and I’ll sell them,” Ran told him.

“Help me carry the bodies. I can’t carry all of them.”

“I can’t either. I let them beat on me.”

“We can probably find a butcher around here somewhere who’s not too scrupulous about where he gets his meat from.”

“Well, ask him - he’ll carry the bodies. We’ll sell the bodies for meat.”

“Chop their heads off so they can’t be identified.”

“There’s only one with his head chopped off.”

In the end, they continued on their way towards the tavern, passing through a more affluent part of town.

“Did you hear?” Aeoleus heard someone say. “The Council has called for volunteers to find a path through the Ringing Mountains to the Hinterlands. They say that there are settlements to trade with on the other side, and that Tyr needs new allies now more than ever. Are you going to sign up?”

It was only shortly later that they spotted an official-looking man coming down the street. He stopped on the corner of an intersection, drew forward a scroll, and read from it.

“Let the word go forth!” he said. “The Council of Advisers needs able-bodied adventurers for a special mission. This trial is not without danger, but a healthy purse is included for those willing to provide this service to the Free City.

“We have recently received visitors from the west. It seems that villages we never knew existed lie on the other side of the Ringing Mountains, past the Forest Ridge and well into the Hinterlands beyond. These villages are populated by civilized pterrans who sincerely desire to establish trade routes between our communities. Unfortunately, the path the pterrans took was sealed by another of the tremors that have followed in the wake of the Great Earthquake. A new path must be forged, and for that we need brave people willing to make the trip and then return with a detailed map of the route.

“For this great service, the Council offers two pieces of silver to each member of the party upon acceptance of the mission. Upon the party’s successful return, an additional silver piece will be paid to each member of the party for every month or portion thereof that the trip there and back lasted.

“The Council needs you. The Free City needs you. Come to the Council Hall and offer your services immediately.”

He rolled up his scroll and he headed down the street.

Ran guessed that it would probably take them at least 10 months to do the job. Someone nearby said something about it being a pterran trick and that the creatures were bloodthirsty killers.

“How do we know these traders are any different?” the man asked.

A young male elf called out to Ran.

“I bet you toughs could handle the job,” he said. “You look mean enough to wrestle a tribe of braxats to me. So, what do you say? Are you going to accept the Council’s offer? I think you’d be fools not to. But that’s only an honest elf’s opinion.”

“How much will you give me for a club?” Ran asked him.

“I don’t know,” the elf replied. “What do you want for it? I do like fine clubs.”

“What’s the value of a club?” Ran asked Orin quietly.

“To some people, a lot,” Orin muttered. “To those without a club, it’s worth more than to those who have two.”

Orin noticed an elf girl had walked right up behind Ran, snatched his money pouch, and then walked away.

“One moment,” Orin said.

He lunged at the elf girl, who fled at the speed that only elves go.

“Well, no thanks,” the male elf said, backing away.

“Stop!” Orin said to him. “Stop him!”

Orin lunged at the man, grabbing him by the left arm and twisting it behind the elf.

“No!” the elf yelled. “Let me go! Let me go!”

“His friend stole your wallet,” Orin calmly said to Ran.

Varthir moved his own money pouch to a more secure position.

“No!” the elf screamed. “This half-giant’s going to kill me!”

He drew his bone sword and tried, ineffectually, to stab at the half-giant who stood behind him. The sword was deflected by Orin’s armor.

“Stop,” the half-giant said.

Ran grabbed the man’s sword arm and then Orin spun the elf around and slammed him into a nearby wall several times.

“Stop,” Orin said.

“Get off me!” the elf screamed. “Get off me!”

Ran got the elf’s sword from him as he struggled.

“Okay!” the elf said. “I give up! I give up! I give up!”

Ran slammed his club into the elf’s head. The elf started shrieking.

“I’m being killed!” he screamed. “They’re murderers!”

“Would shut up already?” Ran said.

“Where did your friend go?” Orin asked.

“I don’t know!” the elf screamed.

“You shouldn’t have robbed me,” Ran said.

“I didn’t rob you!” the elf said. “I was just trying to buy a club from you!”

“Where did your friend go?” Orin asked again.

“It hits really well,” the elf muttered to Ran.

“Where. Did. Your. Friend. Go?” Orin asked again, twisting the elf’s arm.

“She’s probably at the safe house,” he said.

“Take us there,” Orin said.

“I don’t wanna,” the elf whimpered. “But don’t hit me anymore and I will.”

The elf told them where to go. He would have led them but Orin wouldn’t let him down. He led them from the Merchant District through the Noble Quarter to the Warrens, not taking them through the Elven Market. As he walked, Ran managed to sell the clubs and the bone long sword while they were en route. He only got about eight ceramic pieces.

A long way to make up 83, Ran thought.

He had searched the elf but found nothing on him aside from his leather armor.

“Where’s she at?” Orin asked the elf again.

“I’m taking you there, but we were just trying to get money because we were hungry,” the elf said. “We came from the outlying areas and didn’t have any money. We’re poor.”

“But yet you could afford to buy a bone sword? I think your priorities are a little bit off.”

“That was my father’s. He gave that to me. It was my only possession.”

“Well, it now belongs to Achmed,” Ran said.

Orin shook the elf as they walked.

He eventually led them to a run-down shack that Orin guessed he could push over with one hand. He used the elf to open the door, shoving him into the wood.

“Teryra!” the elf called. “Teryra! They’re going to kill me! Give him his money back! The bloody guy! Are you here? Please, elements, be here.”

The door scraped open under the pressure Orin exerted on the elf. He called out the girl’s name again but there was no reply from the hovel. The elf started crying.

There was no one in the shack, which was composed of merely a front and back room and a door in the back. The sandstone walls had only a few windows that were covered with torn cloth. A couple of waterskins hung on the wall near a ceramic jug with a wide stopper. Some dried meat also hung on the wall.

“You got any money in here?” Ran asked.

“No!” the elf said. Then he seemed to think better of it. “Okay. Over there!”

He nodded towards the fire pit on one side of the front room. It sat beneath a small hole in the ceiling.

Varthir walked over and scraped around in the ashes with his staff but found nothing. Ran looked under the reed mats in the back room but there was nothing there either.

“It’s buried underneath,” the elf said. “Under the ground.”

Ran looked angry.

“If I get ash all over me and I don’t find the ceramic pieces, it’s really going to go bad,” Ran said.

“They’re under there,” the elf said. “There’s not much, though.”

“There better be 83,” Ran said.

“There’s maybe a dozen,” the elf said.

Aeoleus went to the back door of the hovel and waited there in the shadows. Varthir took the waterskins from the wall.

Ran dug up a small sack with 18 ceramic pieces.

“What’s that divided by four?” Varthir asked.

“Not enough,” Aeoleus said.

“We’re just here to return his money,” Orin said, nodding at Ran.

“His money’s not here,” Varthir noted. “It’s with the elf girl and she ran off.”

“This will be a down payment,” Orin said. “She only owes now ...”

Math was not his strong suit.

“I’ll have his share,” Varthir said, pointing at Ran. “We’ll split it three ways.”

“No. You don’t understand.”

“I understand perfectly. You’re dividing your share. We can split it three ways.”

“No. There’s no shares. We’re just reclaiming the money he lost.”

“That’s all we want,” Ran said.

He tucked the pouch into his belt.

“He now owes us 65 ceramic pieces,” Orin said.

“You have 65 ceramic pieces somewhere?” Ran asked the elf.

“No,” the creature replied. “You sold the sword. Didn’t you make some money there?”

“Yeah, eight,” Ran said.

Orin did the math.

“Sixty Two,” he finally said.

“I need 62 more ceramic pieces from you,” Ran said.

“I don’t have it,” the elf said.

“Too bad they abolished slavery,” Varthir said. “We could sell him.”

“Let’s go find it,” Orin said.

“I could make bone clubs out of your shins,” Ran said.

“Let’s go find your girlfriend,” Orin said.

“Actually, he can,” Ran continued, pointing at Varthir.

“Okay, she likes to go to a tavern that serves cactus wine,” the elf said.

“Let’s hope she’s not spent too much,” Orin said. “Lead the way.”

“Okay, I’ll try to find it,” the elf said.

“You’d better try real hard,” Ran said.

He led them back through the Noble Quarter back to the Merchant District.

“You’re really going to make us carry you all over the city looking for her?” Ran asked at one point.

“I don’t have any more money!” the elf replied. “You got it all.”

“All right,” Ran said. “If I were you I’d let him make clubs out of your shins.”

“You see, the only mistake you made was–” Varthir said.

“Getting caught?” the elf replied.

“–picking the two most single-minded people in the city to steal from,” Varthir continued, ignoring the interruption.

“Yeah, that was a mistake,” the elf replied.

“It was a big mistake,” Varthir said. “You realize you’re going to pay for this all day.”

“I did not realize this when I saw them,” the elf replied. “Or I would not have done it.”

“Perhaps you should consider a new profession,” Aeoleus said.

“Maybe,” Varthir agreed.

“It’s good that you feel remorse,” Orin growled. “Now lead the way.”

“You don’t need to hire an entrepreneur, do you?” the elf asked.

“If you know of one,” Orin said.

“A legless entrepreneur is not of much use to us,” Ran said.

“True,” the elf replied.

“Lead the way,” Orin said again.

Later, as they passed near the tavern they regularly frequented, Ran glared at the elf.

“You know, all we were going to do was buy some cactus wine,” he said. “And now you’ve gone and screwed up our entire morning. You’ve slowed down our entire drinking for the day.”

“I know of a good place to drink,” the elf said.

“You don’t understand,” Ran said. “You’ve slowed down our drinking for the day and now, here we are, having to rip your arms off.”

The elf cried out in pain as Orin tightened his grip.

Ran spotted an elf girl.

“Is that her?” he asked, pointing.

Orin recognized the girl, who spotted them just about that time. She cursed, turned, and ran down the street.

“You should tell her to stop,” Orin said to the elf.

“Teryra! Teryra!” the elf screamed. “They’re going to kill me! They’re going to kill me! They’re going to cut off my legs!”

The girl didn’t even slow down.

“Damned *****!” the elf muttered.

Orin lurched to a run and headed after the girl. Ran took off after him.

Aeoleus turned to Varthir.

“Cactus wine?” he asked.

The elf nodded and they turned and walked to the tavern they regularly frequented only a few doors down.

* * *

Orin used his elf prisoner to knock people out of the way as he barreled down the street. Ran tried to fight the crowd as well, at first, but then merely fell in behind the half-giant and ran behind him.

“Move out of my way!” Orin bellowed.

They continued to crash through the crowd. People yelled at them and some folks even threw things at the two after they crashed by. The elf girl looked over her shoulder. She looked scared. She probably hadn’t expected the two to keep up with her. She pulled out a small money pouch from her vest.

“If you throw it, I will chase you down and I will kill you!” Ran yelled.

They could now hear people were chasing them down the street, still yelling at them. Some old woman whose cart they had knocked over had thrown broken crockery at them but they could still hear her voice behind them, as if she, too, were running after them.

Teryra yelled something and tossed the money bag at a child with a topknot who was standing on the side of the street, poking a dead thing that lay there. He looked up as soon as she yelled and tried to catch the pouch but it fell through his hands to the ground.

Orin skidded to a stop near the child. Ran continued chasing the elf girl.

The child had picked up the money pouch and looked confused. The half-giant looked down at him.

“That doesn’t belong to you,” Orin said.

The child looked at him defiantly.

“Who’s it belong to?” he said.

“My friend who is chasing after that thief,” Orin said.

“How much will you give me for it?”

“Hand it over first and I’ll give you money for it.”

“No! My brother tries the same thing.”

Orin reached down and picked up the child by the topknot. With a cry, the child dropped the pouch. Orin put him back down.

“How much are you going to give me for it!” the child said.

Orin counted out five ceramic pieces and dropped them on the ground in front of the child.

“Thank you!” the little boy said.

He collected his ceramic pieces and went back to poking the dead thing on the ground. Orin, meanwhile, turned to the crowd that had stopped mere yards from him.

“You, half-giant!” one man yelled. “You can’t just tear through the city like that, you know! What’s the matter with you!?!”

“We were going after a thief,” Orin replied.

“Well, just throw something at her!” another man said. “Like that elf you got.”

“I didn’t want to throw him,” Orin said. “I just caught him. Why throw him back?”

“You smashed up my cart!” the wiry old woman shrieked at him. She had a piece of broken crockery in each hand.

“How much damage did we cause?” Orin asked.

“I sell these for a bit each and you destroyed at least 20 of them!” the old woman said.

Orin dropped the elf and dug five ceramic pieces out of the pouch, handing it to the old woman.

“Here’s five,” the half-giant said. He gestured at the elf. “And he will stay and help you clean it up.”

He looked down at the elf.

“Won’t you?” he said.

“Yes,” the elf said.

“Hey! What about my cart?” another man said.

Many of the crowd were dispersing, apparently having second thoughts about being angry with a half-giant for shoving them out of the way in the street.

“Where’s your cart?” Orin asked the man.

The man pointed back up the street to a cart, toppled on its side, that had fruit upon it. Some of the fruit was lying in the street while some of it had gotten smashed by the fallen cart. The man demanded five ceramic pieces for the damage.

“I’m a free citizen,” he said. “You can’t just push us around!”

“They were honest with their expectations and money,” Orin said. “You are overcharging. You can still sell that fruit. Here is three.”

He handed over three ceramic pieces.

“Fine!” the man said.

He turned and stalked away.

Orin headed back for the tavern.

* * *

Ran continued to chase the elf girl, somehow closing the distance between them. The girl looked over her shoulder and she ducked into an alley. When Ran arrived at the end of the dark, narrow alley, the girl had stopped some 15 feet from the street. She had turned back towards him and was breathing heavily. She glared at him.

Ran, fearing an ambush, looked around himself carefully.

“You got your money!” she said. “Leave me alone!”

“You still owe me,” he replied.

“What do I owe you? You got plenty of good exercise.”

She slowly backed away. Ran drew out one of his cahulaks.

“Take another step and I put this between your eyes,” he said.

“Well, what do you want then?” she asked.

“My money.”

“Back there with that kid.”

“I told you not to drop it.”

“You were going to kill me anyway.”

“No, I said I’d kill you if you dropped it.”

“You were going to kill me anyway. Look at you! You’re a killer! I can see it in your eyes. Not to mention all the blood all over you.”

“What about your friend? You obviously don’t like him or you would have come back with the money.”

She just glared at him.

“Give me my money,” he said again.

“It’s back there in the street with that kid,” she said.

“Well then give me the like amount in value.”

She gestured to herself. All she wore was leather armor, a loincloth, and sandals. A bone long sword was tucked into her belt.

“Drop the long sword,” he said.

She glared at him.

“Do it,” he said.

She drew the weapon, held it at arm’s length, and dropped it to the ground.

“By the next time I find you, and I’ll find you again, you’d better have the rest of my money,” he said.

She just glared at him without speaking.

“I can find anyone and anything,” he went on.

She continued to glare at him.

“Now, git,” he said.

She backed away until she reached a corner of the alley and then bolted out of sight. Ran waited for the ambush that never came. He was certain he would be attacked when he went forward to get the long sword, but nothing happened. He tucked it into his belt.

He headed back to the tavern, using a different route than the one that he had taken.

* * *

Orin arrived at the tavern after only a short time. Varthir and Aeoleus were sitting at their regular table and Orin sat down on the huge cushion on the corner that he always sat on. He called for a mug.

“That was tiring,” he said.

He dropped eight ceramic coins onto the table.

“And I have a big thirst now,” he went on.

He dropped the small pouch that jingled of ceramic on the table as well.

“What’s that?” Varthir asked.

“That’s Ran’s money pouch,” Orin said.

“You got it?”

“She dropped it.”

“Do me a favor. Hold onto it for a minute. Just don’t say anything about it. C’mon, just play along.”

Orin picked up the pouch and stuck it into his own, larger pouch.

Ran arrived a few moments later.

“Thanks for the help,” Ran said as he sat down at their table.

“I don’t run through the streets chasing after elves,” Varthir said.

“You are an elf!”

“Which is why I don’t do it. Did you get your money back?”

“No.”

“Another reason why I don’t do it.”

“Because you don’t get your money back?”

“Right.”

“I lost about 80 ceramic.”

Ran noticed, for the first time, the six ceramic coins that lay on the table.

“We can get a lot of food for six ceramics,” Varthir said.

He had slipped two of the coins into his hand when no one was looking.

Orin frowned. Ran laid a bone long sword on the table.

Kai, the wench that usually served them, arrived at the table again. She looked over the bloody group and asked if they wanted the usual. When they nodded, she left, returning a few moments later with a pitcher of cactus wine, a cup for Ran, and a bucket for Orin. She also had a boiled erdlu egg and some roasted erdlu meat on a platter.

“How much more meat could we get for the coins?” Varthir asked as the girl picked up a single ceramic piece.

Varthir slid another coin towards Kai. She took the coins and left.

“What did you do with the kid?” Ran asked Orin about the child the girl had thrown his pouch to.

“I couldn’t hurt the kid,” Orin said.

“Did you get the money?”

“You probably spent just as much money with the sweat of chasing her down,” Varthir said.

“At least I got her,” Ran said.

“Then where is she?”

“She didn’t have any money. All she had was this sword.”

“You let her go!?!”

He looked at the man, amazed.

“Okay,” he said.

Kai returned with two more platters of roasted erdlu meat.

“He caught an elf?” Aeoleus said.

“My guess is she just gave up or she ran out of road,” Varthir said.

“Perhaps her wind was not strong,” Aeoleus said.

“More meat,” Kai said as she put down two more platters of roast erdlu.

The table creaked under the weight of the now five platters of meat.

“This whole story has taken on a surreal feeling,” Ran said.

“Giant,” Kai said. “Don’t break another table.”

“Well, I’ll pay for anything I have to,” Orin said, taking out Ran’s money pouch and dropping it on the table.

“Wait,” Varthir said. “Where’d you get that?”

“The little boy gave it to me,” Orin said.

“That’s party treasure,” Varthir said. “We should divide it between us.”

“More meat,” Kai said as she put down yet another platter.

“How much is in there?” Varthir asked.

“You want more erdlu eggs?” Kai asked.

“We’re good,” Varthir said.

“That’s less than half the money you gave me,” she replied.

He glared at her and she left.

There was some talk of the money. Aeoleus, bored at the joke, took out his pipe. It was a ceramic device that was shaped like a ring, a hole in one end for the mouth and a hole in the other where the music came out. He covered the holes in either side with his fingers and began to play a tune. He played very well.

“Thank you,” Ran finally said to Orin.

Orin suggested giving the girl back the ceramic pieces he’d found in their home.

“If I could find her,” the ranger said.

“If you hadn’t let her go, you wouldn’t have to go find her,” Varthir said.

“We will go find her.”

“I’m not going to go find her. It’s too hot. If she’s smart, she’ll be gone and never be found again. If she’s not smart, and we find her, than she’s not interesting enough to find. Because she’s stupid.”

“She’s pretty.”

“More wine,” Kai said as she put four more carafes on the table.

She left again.

There were still four ceramic coins on the table. Orin started to look around suspiciously but Varthir pointed out how much food and drink were on the table.

“Kai!” the half-giant called.

“What?” she said.

“How much was the meat?”

“What?”

“How much was the meat?”

“Each platter was a bit!”

There were five platters on the table, as well as five carafes of wine, and the boiled erdlu egg.

“Okay, that’s two,” the giant said.

“No, it’s not,” the elf replied. Then he lowered his voice and whispered that the girl had obviously given them more food than she should have.

“I’ll take those four and put them in front of me,” the half-giant said. “Just to make sure no one steals them.”

He took the coins as Varthir noted that Tyr was full of thieves.

“Apparently only the elves,” Ran said.

“Not necessarily,” Varthir said.

“They’re just the ones that get caught,” Orin said.

“If you chase them through half the city,” Ran said.

“More wine,” Kai said, putting three more carafes on the table.

Varthir told her that was enough.

“What about the rest of the money?” she asked.

“You can bring us our change any time,” Varthir said.

She glared at the elf and then walked away.

“She’s going to knife you,” Ran said.

“That’s okay,” the elf replied. “It’s a small knife.”

The girl had already threatened Varthir once with the knife, pressing it into the small of his back one night, which rubbing his chest with the other hand and telling him he was so fine she would hate to damage him.

“Well, it’s getting boring here,” Orin said.

“No, we have to eat all of this,” Varthir said.

“I mean the town in general,” Orin said.

“Well, apparently, there is a job where we can hire out our services and I’m thinking it’s at least a 10-month job,” Ran went on.

Kai put five ceramic bits on the table.

“Keep it,” Orin said.

She sighed again, glared at all of them, and took the money. A mournful, descending note came out of Aeoleus’ pipe.

“That would be 10 silver,” Ran pointed out, ignoring the serving girl as he always did.

“Eleven, because it’s two up front,” Orin said.

“I figured it would cost us two to walk to–”

“Walking’s free,” Varthir said.

“Buying the supplies–” Ran started to say.

“You can pay me the two,” Varthir said. “For your walk.”

“Buying the supplies that we’re going to need for getting from here to yonder,” Ran finally finished.

“What supplies do we need to get from here to yonder? Could you actually point to yonder for me please.”

The ranger pointed.

“You sure yonder’s not that way?” Varthir said, pointing in another direction. “Yonder’s a pretty vague term.”

“Well, we’re supposed to get to the other side of the rift,” Ran said.

“That’s more specific. It’s not so much of a generalization.”

“We have to go through the halfling-infested jungle and find the city of peaceful traders. We’re going to need tanned hides to draw a map, food, and water.”

“Why do we get 10 silver?”

“It’s a silver a month and it’s at least 10 months.”

“I’m not walking for 10 months.”

“No, we’re not going to walk for 10 months.”

“We’re going to walk for a week and relax for nine months,” Orin said.

“And then walk back,” Ran said. “Making it 10 months. Giving us 10 silver.”

“Provided that we survive the cannibals,” Aeoleus said.

“There is that,” Varthir said.

“But, see, I, by far, am the most scrawny in this crew, so I was thinking, you’re the long meat,” Ran said to Varthir.

“That’s what she said,” the elf quipped.

“Maybe we rest tonight and tomorrow morning go in and see what they offer us,” Orin said.

Just then, four burley men wearing badges of Tyr entered the tavern. They looked around a moment and then walked to the table.

“Gentlemen, sit,” Orin said.

“Are you the ones that thrashed those thugs in the alley?” one man asked.

“Yes,” Orin said.

“And attacked the thieves?”

“Yes.”

“Rikus would like to extend a personal invitation to the Council Chamber for you to compete for the mission outside of Tyr.”

“Could we wait until after breakfast?” Ran asked.

“Of course,” the man said. “I wouldn’t wait too long though. You might miss out on this opportunity.”

The men turned and left.

“Kai?” Varthir called.

The girl came over. He asked for something to carry the meat away in.

“I hate you so much,” she muttered.

“You do not,” he replied.

She walked away and returned with a large, wicker basket. He thanked her and she returned with a smaller, wicker basket that had six separate compartments, each large enough for a carafe of wine. They loaded up the food and drink and headed out of the tavern. Varthir sold some of the meat on the way and they ate the rest of the meat and drank the rest of the wine as they walked to the palace.

The Council chambers were located in the Golden Tower. When they arrived, they were directed to the meeting hall of the OverCouncil. There, they met with three members of the Council: the mul gladiator Rikus, the half-elf preserver Sadira, and the dwarf warrior Gar Bonehammer. The mission was fairly simple to outline but, they admitted, potentially impossible to complete. The Council wanted to set up a trade route between the pterran village of Lost Scale and the city-state of Tyr. To do that, someone had to find a route that could be used over and over again. The route needed to be direct and easy to negotiate so that cargo could be transported as expeditiously as possible. The group would take the pterran trader Ptellacc along on the mission. A secondary mission was to find the lost members of Ptellacc’s original expedition, but they were told they shouldn’t go out of their way to do it over the original goal. As part of the mission, the group was to make a map of the route from Tyr to Lost Scale, noting all relative landmarks and dangers so that future travelers could prepare themselves for the trip. Additionally, the map would be used by whichever merchant house, presumably House Vorden, got the contract to maintain the trade route so that it could set up outposts and forts at various locations.

The Council had narrowed down the mission to two groups. Their own group was one. To obtain the mission contract, they had to win a simple three-part contest against the other group. The other band featured a burley collection of warriors, a psionicist, a cleric, and a rogue. The contest would consist of a test of strength, a test of psionics, and a test of skill.

“Can I get sewn up first?” Ran asked.

“Rub some dirt in it and shut up,” Varthir said.

“There is a cleric in your party,” Rikus said.

“But he doesn’t actually heal anybody,” Ran said.

“He healed me once,” Varthir said.

“Words are wind,” Aeoleus said. “You must speak to be healed. You know that Ran.”

“I would be healed,” Orin said.

Aeoleus spoke magical words and blew a fragrant powder at the half-giant. Some of his wounds magically healed.

“Would you please heal me?” Ran asked.

The priest cast his spell on the man, though not many of his wounds healed.

“That’s what happens when you don’t ask very sincerely,” Varthir noted.

Ran thought about just killing the other group, and suggested it to his friends. Varthir countered by suggesting all of the warriors get into a big pit and fight to the death; whoever came out would rejoin him and Aeoleus and go. Orin put his hand on Ran’s shoulder.

“I wish you good health,” he said.

He tried to use his own psionic powers to transfer some of his own life to the man. Nothing happened, however.

Rikus, Sadira, and Gar Bonehammer oversaw the competitions and asked them to break into groups for the competition. For each competition, each side could assign at least one person and at most three persons.

The Test of Strength saw Orin, Ran, and Aeoleus against a big mul, a woman, and a man from the other team. It was a simple tug of war and each team received one end of a giant-hair rope. The test only lasted a few minutes with the three opposing warriors eventually pulling the rope further than they did. The other team won the first test.

The Test of Psionics put Orin, Ran, and Varthir against the other group’s psionicist and one of their warriors. Gar Bonehammer produced an obsidian egg carved from the smoothest, blackest glass. He noted that the egg had been prepared to react to mental ability and placed it on a line drawn in the floor, telling them that the test was of psionic strength, not power. He motioned for each group to stand 10 feet away and then will the egg to move towards their opponents. Whoever could move it closest to their opponent would be the winner.

“Let me clarify this,” Varthir said. “Whomever gets the egg closest to the other team wins?”

“It’s not about using psionic powers,” Gar reminded him. “But psionic strength.”

Varthir cast invisibility, then crossed to the egg, picked it up, dropped it in front of the other team and returned to his group. He turned visible again.

“We won,” he said.

“No,” Rikus said. “You must move it without touching it.”

“That wasn’t stated,” Varthir said. “You said it was a battle of the brains. I outsmarted the other team.”

“It isn’t about who is the smartest, but who has the most power,” Rikus went on. “We’re sending the best that we can. No.”

When told, those in each group stared at the egg. It rolled towards them a couple of feet, then back in their opponent’s direction, over the line and within five feet of them. It rolled two feet towards them again and then back almost to their opponents, finally rolling past them. Orin, Ran, and Varthir were declared them the winners.

The final test was the Test of Skill. That test consisted of each team working to complete a puzzle in the shortest time possible. Each team was given a set of carefully balanced blocks which they were then expected to discern the shape hidden within and the order in which to lay them, and then pile them in the proper order. Orin, Ran, and Varthir would be competing against the rogue and cleric of the other team.

Orin, Ran, and Varthir started off slowly, Orin dropping the blocks immediately. However, the other team ended up dropping their blocks when they were nearly finished and had to start all over. In the time that it took them to try to reset the blocks, Orin, Ran, and Varthir were able to finish their structure.

They received the contract to take the pterran ambassador and seek the route to Lost Scale. ]]> Max_Writer http://www.penandpapergames.com/forums/entry.php/1692-Dark-Sun-Revised-and-Expanded-Mystery-of-the-Ancients-2012-02-04 Aliens Adventure Game: Forced Entry 2 (Part 1): 2012-01-30 http://www.penandpapergames.com/forums/entry.php/1691-Aliens-Adventure-Game-Forced-Entry-2-(Part-1)-2012-01-30 Tue, 07 Feb 2012 16:49:05 GMT Monday, January 30, 2012 (After playing the conclusion of the _Aliens Adventure Game_ scenario “Forced Entry” by Roman J. Andron from Challenge... Monday, January 30, 2012

(After playing the conclusion of the Aliens Adventure Game scenario “Forced Entry” by Roman J. Andron from Challenge Magazine #62 with Steve Turner and Erik Huffine Friday from 9 p.m. to 1 a.m. in High Point. Continuation of game session from July 30, 2010)

Lt. Smith and Pvt. Kemps left engineering to go secure the dropship. Once they left, MkVenner told Anderson and Henson to get ready to head down to the cargo hold to retrieve a crate to transport the eggs.

Lt. Smith kept in constant communication, noting when they were on level three and when they approached the airlock.

“Entering the airlock,” Lt. Smith said. “Oh shit!”

Kemps grunted.

“One’s–!” Smith shouted.

There as a slapping noise that they recognized over the radio as the sound of pulse rifle recoil against an environmental suit. Then there was the sound of a short struggle and a snapping noise. Smith screamed.

“Son of a–!” Kemps shouted.

He yelled again and they heard a tearing noise and a brief rush of air before everything went silent over the radio. The entire episode had lasted less than four seconds.

Pvt. Henson’s eyes went wide. Pvt. Anderson also looked unnerved and Coombs looked at the two techs nervously. It was the first time Corporal McVenner had seen the man look out of sorts. Pvt. Simmons tightened his grip on his pulse rifle. Then Corporal McVenner ordered Anderson and Henson to stay in the engine room and guard Coombs and the techs.

“If they so much as flinch, ventilate ‘em,” he said.

“Wait,” Coombs said. “Hold on just a moment.”

“Shut up!” McVenner said to him. “Stay here. We’ll be back.”

He turned to Simmons.

“Let’s go,” he said.

The two of them left engineering, heading for the tube that led to Deck 3.

“Oh god ...” a voice came over the radio.

“Lieutenant?” Simmons asked.

“Sir?” McVenner asked.

“I don’t know,” Smith’s voice crackled over the radio, heavy with static. “It’s ... it’s ... no light ... leaking air ...”

“Sir! Sit tight!” Simmons said. “We’re on our way!”

They headed down the tube double time while still staying alert to their surroundings, practically back to back walking from the knees down. The tube and the corridors that connected to it were only partially lit by damaged lights. The door at the end of the corridor that they knew led to the main passage on Deck 3 was closed.

“Keep your eyes open Simmons,” McVenner said.

“You don’t have to tell me twice,” Simmons replied.

“Keep your eyes open Simmons,” McVenner quipped.

Simmons rolled his eyes.

When they reached the door, they saw that there were green lights on the controls next to it. McVenner moved to the right and pushed the button. The door slid open soundlessly.

“Corporal, sealing this door?” Simmons said.

“No,” McVenner said to him. “We might need it to retreat.”

“Yeah, but, I mean, could these things get through?” Simmons went on. “We don’t know if they can get through doors or not.”

“They can get through anywhere they want to,” McVenner replied.

“Son of a *****,” Simmons muttered. Then “Yes sir.”

Just as he said it, a large, black shape passed the door at speed, apparently flying through the air. It was moving aft, towards the cargo bay. He jerked his pulse rifle up, aiming it toward the door.

“We’ve got movement!” he said.

McVenner’s eyes went wide and he went down to one knee, bringing his pulse rifle up. Simmons moved closer behind him and pointed toward the aft end of the corridor. McVenner leaned out into the passageway, looking forward. Simmons followed suit and leaned out, looking aft. McVenner spotted several small, floating spheres in the air near the airlock access passage. Simmons saw some kind of barbed tail disappear into the open door to the dark cargo bay.

“It went into the cargo bay corporal!” Simmons said.

“Shit! Shit! Shit!” McVenner said.

“I saw a ... a tail?” Simmons went on.

McVenner headed into the passageway, closely followed by Simmons. The corporal moved forward and the private followed him, back-to-back, covering all sections of the corridor. As they approached the door that opened into the corridor to the airlock, they guessed the dark red blobs floating in the air were drops of blood. One of them struck McVenner’s helmet and splattered against it, clinging to the surface and partially obstructing his view. He wiped it off.

“Yeah, don’t move,” they heard Henson say over the radio. “At all.”

After a moment, his voice came over the radio again.

“No, I’m not going onto a private channel,” he said.

McVenner and Simmons reached the intersection of the two airlock corridors. McVenner looked down the starboard corridor and saw that it was dark except at the very end, where a flickering light came from around the corner of the intact airlock. The interior door was open and he could see the green lights of the control panel on their side of the airlock, the only light in the darkened corridor.

He reached back and patted Simmons’ shoulder and they moved down the airlock passage back-to-back. It was a long corridor and it felt like they were moving very slowly down it, their only illumination their helmet lights.

The radio crackled with static again.

“They got me up against a wall ...” Lt. Smith’s voice gasped. “I don’t know what it’s doing ...”

“Sir! Tell us where you are!” McVenner said.

“I can’t see,” Smith replied. “It’s pitch black ...”

“Cargo hold!” both Simmons and McVenner said at the same time.

They headed back down the black corridor. They had only made it about halfway to the airlock but headed back with more speed. Simmons saw that the other airlock passageway door gaped open and he thought he saw movement far down the darkened corridor. When they reached the main passage, McVenner crossed and pushed the button and it closed. He closed the door to the starboard airlock passage as well.

Then the two men made their way aft, closing the door to the tube to Deck 2 as they passed it. The other doors, two of which led to crew quarters and the third marked “Rescue Pod,” were already closed.

The door to the cargo bay was open and looked into a small, dark foyer with another open door beyond it. The cargo bay was dark. As they approached it, Simmons started calling out their range in yards.

“Control panel’s fragged,” Simmons, facing aft, said.

“Stop at the doorway private,” McVenner said.

“Roger that,” Simmons replied.

He stopped when he got to the doorway, the lights on his helmet doing little to dispel the clinging darkness in the foyer. The light fixture in the small room had been smashed and shattered glass and frozen mercury from the fluorescent lights floated in the air.

“Are we entering, corporal?” Simmons asked.

“You know it,” McVenner replied.

Simmons took out a flare, broke it, and it burst into life, the small device providing its own oxygen-fed flame. He tossed it gently into the room. It floated slowly straight across the foyer and into the cargo hold beyond. McVenner, meanwhile, had turned to cover the passage behind them. They followed the reddish light into the foyer.

“Two more, Simmons,” McVenner said. “Two more. Left and right.”

Simmons took out another flare and lit it, carefully tossing it down the alley between the wall and the first pallet of cargo containers to his right. Then he sent a third to his left. The red glow from the flares gave the place a strange, hellish look. They all seemed to be moving away from them at a great pace, though it could not have been faster than a man walking.

McVenner took out two of his own flares and lit them, sending them up at about a 45 degree angle and at about a 90 degree angle from one another. These burned blue and made strange shadows where their light and the red light came together.

The two men waited in the foyer, intently watching the first flare that Simmons had tossed into the room. It floated faster than the rest and struck the resin-covered wall of the huge cargo hold, not far from one of the dead men they’d spotted earlier. He appeared to have been mutating into some kind of round, puckered alien substance that looked almost like a flower with an overly fat stem when they found him. The shadows of the flare made the dead man seem to turn to look at them.

“Yeah, I said don’t move, buddy!” they heard over the radio.

“Henson!” McVenner said. “Cap a lid on it. I want radio silence.”

“Sorry Corp,” Henson replied.

“Sir, give us an indication,” McVenner went on. “Where are you?”

There was a crackle of static.

“We’re going to get you out, sir, but we need you to show us where you are,” McVenner went on. “Can you see the light, sir?”

“It’s all red,” Lt. Smith said. “I see red.”

“He’s in here,” Simmons said.

“I’m having trouble breathing,” Smith went on.

“Keep it together, sir,” McVenner said. “If we can find you, we can patch up your suit. We just need to know where you are.”

“I’m up against the wall,” Smith mumbled. “With the ... there’s a ... there’s a ... I tried to get it with the knife ... there’s a tear ... I think there’s a tear ...”

“Sir, are you surrounded by goo or just regular wall?” McVenner asked.

The radio crackled with static.

“I can’t see anything ...” Smith mumbled. “There’s light off to my left. This looks like ... Hell ...”

McVenner looked at Simmons and then pointed up with his thumb. McVenner jumped hard enough to disengage his magboots, heading up towards the ceiling of the cargo bay, aiming for a spot about five meters from the near wall. Simmons also jumped but he followed the wall, going nearly straight up towards the ceiling. McVenner spun over as he reached the spots and bumped into ceiling some 20 meters above. Unfortunately, the main engine core, which ran along the roof of the cargo bay to the engine housing on the back of the vessel, now separated them.

However, with the light from the flares, they could see a figure about 10 meters up the far wall connected to the resin there. They saw no sign of the alien.

McVenner turned himself over and clamped his magboots to the ceiling.

“Simmons, let’s go get him!” he said. “Cover our six. Let’s go get him.”

“Corporal, just flip it!” Simmons said. “Just flip. Zero-G training.”

* * *

Simmons flipped over and his magboots connected with the ceiling. Now, instead of being at the top of the cargo bay, he was on the floor again. It was momentarily disorienting but nothing he hadn’t been trained for. He made his way across the engine core and spotted McVenner on the other side.

McVenner launched himself from the ceiling and flew towards the Lieutenant as Simmons walked that way, continuing to look around, keeping an eye on McVenner and trying to look back at the cargo bay entrance, now far above him, at the same time. McVenner spun, mid-flight, to orient himself with the floor once again. He struck the wall near the lieutenant and quickly examined the man, finding a small hole about two centimeters across on the chest of his suit. Smith no longer had his pulse rifle and was webbed to the wall with resin that looked fresher than that already coating the wall.

“A light,” Smith muttered. “I see a light.”

McVenner glanced back over his shoulder and could see Simmons’ helmet lights near the ceiling. The man continued to make his way across the vast cargo bay.

“All right Simmons, cover me,” McVenner said. “I’ve got to try to patch this suit. Then we’ve got to get him out of here.”

“I’m on you,” Simmons replied.

“Keep your eyes peeled up there, buddy,” McVenner said.

He slung his pulse rifle and took out the patch kit from his suit. He pulled apart one of the patches, pressing it over the hole. The lieutenant looked very pale and barely seemed conscious but, even as he watched, seemed to come around. Then McVenner started to pull at the resin, tearing it away from the wall and the lieutenant.

“Hang on, sir,” McVenner said.

A little color had come back into Smith’s face and his hand suddenly slapped down to his right side, drawing his side arm. McVenner looked behind him.

“Simmons!” Lt. Smith screamed in a crackle of static.

McVenner saw the muzzle flash from the M4A3 pistol well before it pointed anywhere near Simmons. As his helmet light came around, in the hellish light from the red flares, he could see one of the aliens moving on all fours behind Simmons, rushing him.

“Simmons!” McVenner shouted. “Kick off now!”

Simmons kicked off the ceiling with a jerk, flying towards the wall near McVenner and Lt. Smith. The alien continued to gallop along the ceiling towards his last position. McVenner slipped his pulse rifle from his shoulder, aimed at the horrible thing, and fired a burst. The rifle slapped against his arm and a spark burst near the alien but one of the bullets struck it in the leg, though it didn’t seem to slow it at all.

Simmons had rolled in the air and struck the wall with his feet, his magboots activating. The wall now seemed to be the floor and the alien seemed to be climbing down a high wall ahead of him. He fired at the thing, as did McVenner, and sparks struck the engine housing. Some of the bullets struck the thing in the leg again and it looked like the leg broke and then hung uselessly off the thing. Its mouth opened in a silent scream.

As McVenner stopped firing and attempted to steady his aim, the alien leapt off the engine housing, propelling itself back towards the door to the cargo bay. Simmons fired again, holding his pulse rifle at his hip. Bullets struck the cargo bay ceiling but none of them struck the alien. As it floated at an angle towards the floor, McVenner fired again without luck. Simmons fired at the horror as well but also missed.

McVenner launched himself straight out from the wall.

“What are you doing!?!” Simmons shouted.

“I’m not letting another of these bastards get away!” McVenner yelled back.

As he floated across the cargo bay, he aimed at the thing that was quickly floating towards the pallets on the floor.

* * *

Simmons, meanwhile, headed towards Lt. Smith.

“Lieutenant! Lieutenant!” Simmons called. “You okay?”

Lt. Smith waved his firearm in the general direction of the alien.

“Who’s that?” he said over the crackling radio. “Who’s that?”

“Simmons, sir!” Simmons replied. “Simmons!”

He reached the officer and started to look him over. He spotted the patch that McVenner had placed on his chest. He looked over his shoulder just as the alien reached one of the pallets on the floor.

“Lieutenant! Lieutenant! Put the side arm down!” he said. “We’ve got to get out of here!”

Smith continued to struggle against the stuff that was holding him to the wall.

* * *

At the alien reached the pallet, McVenner fired a burst from his pulse rifle but without apparent affect, though he thought he saw at least one of the bullets strike the thing in the leg again. He continued to fire as the thing scuttled over the side of one of the cargo containers. He thought one of the bullets had struck the alien in the lower body and saw that the thing’s lower legs both seemed to stop moving. Then he lost sight of it.

“****!” he screamed as he realized that he was floating towards the thing.

“What’s going on!?!” Henson’s voice came over his headset.

“Clear the channel!” McVenner screamed.

The pulse rifle’s recoil had only knocked him off course a little and, as he looked for the creature, he saw it appear in the main alley between the containers. It was pulling itself with two arms, the legs trailing uselessly behind. He fired another burst at the thing and he saw sparks all around it as it dragged itself into the darkness of the foyer and vanished from sight.

McVenner struck the far wall of the cargo bay solidly. He grunted and shook his head.

“Corp! Corp!” Simmons called.

“I’m good,” McVenner replied. “I hit the wall.”

He got his magboots on the wall and then headed down to the floor of the cargo bay, moving to the doorway of the foyer, his pulse rifle ready. As his helmet light struck the foyer, the alien lunged down at McVenner from where it was crouched near the ceiling inside, grabbing his right arm with a single long, spindly hand. He screamed and instinctively fired his pulse rifle, the bullets striking the alien in one of the dead legs, the arm that the thing held him with, and its tail, which had risen up over its head but not flopped uselessly behind it. It jerked McVenner into the foyer, using its other arm to hold onto the pipes above. The man’s head slamming into the upper part of the doorway and he felt himself lose consciousness.

* * *

Simmons saw the flash of the pulse rifle and then McVenner jerked into the foyer.

“Corporal! Corporal!” he shouted.

There was no answer.

“Lieutenant, I’ve got to go check on the corporal!” he said.

“Go!” Lt. Smith said.

Simmons kicked off from the wall, aiming at the foyer doorway as Lt. Smith tore at the resin that held him to the wall. Simmons’ aim was off and he spun, his boots striking the wall near the foyer doorway. He raced down the wall as quickly as he could and headed for the foyer.

* * *

McVenner awoke and glanced around. The alien still had him by the right arm but was dragging him down the corridor, pulling itself along the wall with its other arm. Its bloody legs and tail hung uselessly behind him, though it didn’t seem to slow the horrible thing significantly. McVenner was surprised that the strong acid that seemed to make up the thing’s blood hadn’t gotten on him. The thing was holding him low, far below where the occasional drop of acid fell into the vacuum. The two were moving down the wide main passage that ran nearly the length of Deck 3, heading away from the cargo hold.

His pulse rifle was gone.

“It’s pulling me down the main corridor,” he muttered.

“I’m coming!” Simmons replied. “I’m coming!”

McVenner very slowly moved his left arm down to get to his side arm.

* * *

Simmons got to the foyer door and saw the crippled alien dragging McVenner’s limp body down the corridor near the ceiling. They were about 40 feet from him and about a quarter of a way down the main passageway.

“It’s taking me to the stairwell,” he heard McVenner say. “We’re moving towards the stairwell.”

“I’m behind you!” Simmons said. “I’m behind you!”

He headed into the main passageway.

“Tell me when to shoot!” he said.

“Shoot it!” McVenner replied.

“I don’t want to hit you, corp!”

“I don’t want to disappear in the stairwell! Shoot it!”

Simmons put his pulse rifle to his shoulder, aimed at the creature for what felt like a long time, and fired when he saw McVenner raise his side arm in his left hand and point it at the thing. The bullets tore into the alien’s lower body and it convulsed and let loose of McVenner. The corporal fired his side arm, using the recoil to get to the floor and away from the thing. He quickly examined his suit but found no breaches.

The unmoving alien continued to float down the passageway towards the stairwell.

“Corp! Hal! You okay?” Simmons called.

As soon as McVenner’s magboots had him safely connected to the floor, he headed back to Simmons as quickly as he could.

“Get your rifle!” Simmons said, gesturing to the pulse rifle that was moving lazily down the passageway.

Then he swung around and moved back into the foyer, looking into the cargo hold.

“Lieutenant!” he said. “Lieutenant!”

“I’m here,” Lt. Smith replied. “I’m here.”

Simmons saw that the lieutenant was free of the resin-covered wall and making his way back towards him. A moment later, McVenner was at Simmons’ side.

“Corp! Lieutenant! We got a situation up here in engineering!” Henson’s voice came over the radio. “Something’s trying to get in!”

“Son of a *****,” Simmons muttered.

“And I think it’s going to!” Henson said.

“Shit,” McVenner muttered. “Shit!”

He thought a moment.

“Maintain discipline, Henson,” he said. “You and Anderson set up overlapping fields of fire. Cover the doorway from where it’s going to break in. Anything comes through, hose it down. We’ll be up there in a minute.”

“Corporal,” Coombs’ voice came over the radio.

“What do you want, Coombs?” McVenner asked.

“Would gravity be of assistance to you?” Coombs calms said. “I have two men who are not doing anything who could be working on getting gravity back. If you so desire.”

“No, I want them sitting tight,” McVenner said.

Simmons moved back into the cargo bay proper as the lieutenant floated down towards the middle alley. He landed nearby and moved to the foyer as Simmons reached over to the control on the wall and fingered the switch. One by one, several fluorescent lights flickered to life. Some were damaged and those nearest the alien, resin-covered wall did not work, but the rest lit the cargo bay.

Lieutenant Smith reached the other two men.

“You okay sir?” Simmons asked.

“No,” the man replied distinctly.

“All right, sir, stick with us,” McVenner said. “We’re headed back to engineering. Henson?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Henson replied. He sounded anxious.

“I need you to tell me what entryway this thing’s trying to get in,” McVenner said.

“Uh ... uh ... the same one you left from,” Henson said. “But it stopped. I don’t know where it is!”

“Don’t–” McVenner said.

“Is it in the vents again?” Henson said shakily. “Is it in the vents again?”

“I don’t know, Henson,” McVenner said. “Just ... keep your cool.”

“Let’s get to the rescue pods and get the hell out of here!”

“Shut up, Henson, and clear the channel.”

He heard an indistinct whimpering from the radio.

The three men headed back to the corridor that led to the tube to Deck 2, McVenner in the lead. As they moved, Lt. Smith told them that one of the things was near the airlock and it grabbed him. He’d tried to use his knife, but it stabbed him with its tail and bit his helmet, destroying his helmet lights. He mentioned that the creatures had some kind of retractable second set of jaws in their mouths. He knew it grabbed at Kemps but didn’t see him after that, suggesting that the man might still be in the airlock. He said all he knew was that when he awoke, he was being dragged through the darkness.

They told him they’d killed one of the creatures in the cargo bay.

They made it to the open area near main engineering without any encounters. To their left was the closed door that led to the stairs directly to the bridge. To the right was the door to engineering, which had been battered by something with great strength. The door was dented and warped. The controls next to it were smashed.

A dark corridor was on the far wall that led to cargo handling control. Anything could have been lurking in the darkness there.

“Henson, Anderson,” McVenner said.

“Yeah,” Henson replied.

“We’re trying to come through the door,” McVenner said. “Do not fire.”

“All right,” Henson replied.

Lt. Smith worked the manual override on the door and was able to get it about halfway open before it got stuck. It was enough and he squeezed through the door. Simmons and McVenner looked at each other.

“You first, sir,” Simmons said.

McVenner looked at the man.

“All right, Simmons,” he said.

He ducked through the door. Simmons followed him, moving backwards and saw that there were green lights on the control inside the door. As he reached for the control, he saw movement in the room without.

“Movement!” he shrieked as he slammed the button.

The alien moved with a sickening grace and speed, rushing at the door on all fours as it slid closed just before the creature could get to Simmons. He saw the door buckle under the ungodly strength of the creature as it fought to get in. Simmons backed away from the door, his pulse rifle at ready.
]]> Max_Writer http://www.penandpapergames.com/forums/entry.php/1691-Aliens-Adventure-Game-Forced-Entry-2-(Part-1)-2012-01-30 Aliens Adventure Game: Forced Entry 2 (Part2): 2012-01-30 http://www.penandpapergames.com/forums/entry.php/1690-Aliens-Adventure-Game-Forced-Entry-2-(Part2)-2012-01-30 Tue, 07 Feb 2012 16:48:05 GMT Coombs and the two technicians stood on one side while Henson and Anderson stood on the other in places where they had overlapping fields of fire but... Coombs and the two technicians stood on one side while Henson and Anderson stood on the other in places where they had overlapping fields of fire but also where Henson had a clear line of sight on the corporate civilians.

The door stopped shaking.

“What are we going to do, Lieutenant?” Henson asked.

“I don’t know,” Lt. Smith said. “I’m not thinking straight right now. I think that thing poisoned me.”

“Poison?” Simmons said.

“Take a seat, sir,” McVenner said. “Take a breather.”

“Everything’s just ... soupy,” Lt. Smith said, moving to a corner of the room.

McVenner kept an eye on Coombs and his men.

“Hey Corp,” Simmons said.

He gestured at his helmet. McVenner nodded and went to the secure channel. Lt. Smith fiddled with his helmet too.

“I don’t want to spook Henson or Anderson, but that’s the only way out,” Simmons said, nodding at the main door.

“Yeah,” McVenner replied. “We’ll have to deal with that thing. There’s four of us. We should be able to get it before it gets in the room.”

“We did a great job of it last time.”

“There’s definitely too much space.”

“I say we don’t get separated, you know?”

“You made your point.”

“Actually, I’m more worried about is what the lieutenant told us. They were heading to the airlock, you know?”

“Yeah?”

“One of those things was inside the airlock. What’s on the other side of the airlock?”

“Yeah, our only way out of here. There’s only one left though, yeah? From what we figured? Last one’s out there, right?”

“Far as we know.”

“So, we deal with that one, we’re free. Free and clear.”

“How do we know they don’t have more of the crewmembers somewhere else?”

“Guess we don’t.”

“And what happened to the one that started all this mess in the first place?”

“Don’t know. Look man, I’m half tempted to open that door and blow that thing to hell. There’s four of us!”

“Probably not out there anymore.”

“Lieutenant’s got his side arm.”

“You see how these things work. They’re not stupid. They’re not that stupid. This thing’s not sitting out in the hallway, waiting to get shot. It’s run off somewhere. It’s going to ambush us. Again.”

“I don’t know. It came running at you pretty quick.”

“Yeah. Cause I’m like the zebra.”

“So, go open the door.”

Simmons looked at him.

“That’s a joke, private,” McVenner said.

“I didn’t say I was a gullible zebra,” Simmons replied. “I’m like the gazelle, you know? And it’s like the lion, waiting to pounce on me.”

“We’re going to have to deal with that thing.”

“All right. As much as I hate to say, we’ve got to figure out real quick ...”

“I’ve half a mind to turn around right now and blow those eggs to hell.”

There was a crackle of static.

“Can you hear me?” Lt. Smith’s voice crackled across their channel.

“Yeah lieutenant,” Simmons said.

“Damned radio’s damaged,” Lt. Smith said, static distorting his voice. “I don’t think I can do the secondary ... comm ...”

His voice came and went.

“You’re breaking up pretty bad, sir,” McVenner told him.

Smith clicked off their channel.

“We still don’t know about Kemps,” Simmons said.

“There’s been no sign of Kemps,” McVenner said.

“Yeah, but if the Ell-Tee’s okay, Kemps is probably okay too.”

“Maybe.”

“And what about Brobski? I didn’t see him in the cargo bay. We could go check it out. We could go check the cargo bay, maybe.”

Simmons looked at the lieutenant.

“They don’t pay me enough to make decisions like this,” McVenner said.

Simmons suggested that they could let the civilians carry the weird pods that Coombs wanted taken back to the Mendez. He noted he was not going to touch the stupid things.

“If they want to take them, they can get them,” he said.

“I’m not going to let them take these things back to Earth, man,” McVenner said. “You saw what just one of those things did here.”

“This whole things FUBAR,” Simmons said. “It’s your call.”

McVenner motioned to his radio control and the two switched back over to the open channel.

“You two,” he said to the technicians. “Get gravity back on.”

They looked at Coombs.

“Do it,” he said.

The two men got to work.

“It’s going to take a while,” one of them said. “About a half an hour.”

“We’re missing some guys,” Simmons said. “You want to take the time to address the situation here? I could take a scout team to go look for Kemps and Brobski.”

“Who you going to take with you? Anderson? Henson?” McVenner asked.

“I figured I’d take both of them,” Simmons replied. “You can hole up here.”

“That’s not a good idea,” McVenner said.

“We still need to transport these,” Coombs said, gesturing towards the fleshy things on the floor.

“We’re not transporting anything until the immediate, hostile situation’s been dealt with,” McVenner told him.

“Very well,” Coombs said. “How do you intend to deal with it?”

“Well, it would sure be nice if we could use the other eight guys on the ship to come over here and lend some firepower to us,” McVenner growled. “That’d be wonderful.”

“No, that’s your job,” Coombs said. “Corporal.”

“Well, I got four live bodies left, sir.”

“And how many of those things are there?”

“You tell us,” Simmons said.

“Yeah,” McVenner said. “Maybe one. Maybe more.”

“They all look alike,” Simmons said.

“Can you not handle one?” Coombs asked. “Minus your lieutenant. He looks pretty badly beaten up.”

“Four of us?” McVenner said with a sigh. “Maybe.”

“There you go,” Coombs said. “Then we can transport these back to the Mendez and go home.”

“Have you been in touch with the pilot in the dropship?” Simmons asked.

“Yes,” Coombs said. “Yes, I have.”

“Is still okay?”

“Uh-huh. He’s fine. He’s sealed up nice and tight.”

Simmons switched back over to the private channel and McVenner followed suit. They saw Lt. Smith touch his helmet as well but, after a thick crackle of static, he touched the radio control on his suit again. The static stopped.

“You think we could get back to Mendez on one of those little lifeboats?” McVenner asked.

“Yeah,” Simmons said.

McVenner asked Simmons about the rocket launchers in the security locker near the bridge. Simmons told him there were probably a half-dozen rocket launchers and a crate of rocket magazines.

“This is a little extreme,” McVenner admitted.

“I’m all about extreme,” Simmons said.

“All right, we go EVA with all of the explosives we can get out of that weapon’s locker. We go strap all that crap to the dropship and blow it to hell. Waste the eggs. Waste Coombs. Waste the two technicians. Get the rest of the team, get aboard the lifeboat, get back to Mendez with some kind of cooked up story about how everybody got killed. We’re the only survivors. We get on the Mendez and we go home.”

Simmons looked at him.

“You know, corp, that’s pretty extreme,” he said slowly.

“I told you it was extreme,” McVenner said. “Or, if it makes you feel better, we take the two techs with us.”

“No, I really don’t give a damn,” Simmons said. “I was just saying it’s extreme. But, yeah, I’m good for that.

They switched back to the open channel.

“Sir?” McVenner said.

“Yeah,” Lt. Smith answered.

“You okay to stay here with Anderson?” McVenner asked. “Keep an eye on these guys?”

Lt. Smith nodded.

“All right, we’re going to take Henson with us to the weapon’s locker,” McVenner said. “Get something with a little more punch to deal with this bug.”

“Good idea,” Lt. Smith said.

“You got Anderson,” McVenner went on. “He’s got a little more level head.”

“Hey!” Henson said.

“Shut up, man!” McVenner said.

“What are you talking about?” Henson said. “I got plenty a level head.”

“Check your ammo, Henson,” McVenner said.

“I checked my ammo,” Henson said. “I’m full. Corporal.”

“Good, you’re going to need it,” McVenner said. “You’re with us.”

“Better than being crammed in this hole with these things,” Henson said, gesturing at the pods.

“Shut up Hennie,” Simmons said.

They went to the door to engineering.

“All right, everybody, weapons hot,” McVenner said.

“Hell yeah, they’re hot!” Henson said, double checking the safety on his pulse rifle.

“Henson, look, all joking aside, we don’t need anybody to be a hero,” Simmons said to the man. “You’re a marine. You remember your training.”

“I will,” Henson said.

“Not going to let any of us eat it,” Simmons went on. “We’re making it out of here, you got me?”

“Damn right, Simmons,” Henson said.

After making sure there was a clear line of sight from Henson, crouched in the narrow passage, and Simmons, who stood behind him, McVenner pressed the button to open the door. The heavy portal slid halfway open before it jammed. There was nothing in the chamber beyond though there were long deep scratches in the walls near the door and in the door itself, as well imprints in the solid steel where the thing had tried to bash its way through. A panel floated in the air nearby. A careful check of the room proved it empty.

“Henson, don’t forget to check up,” Simmons said. “They can climb on the walls. They can do all kinds of stuff.”

“Man, I hate these freaking things,” Henson muttered.

“You have no idea kid,” Simmons said.

“Where we going?” Henson asked.

“We’re going to the weapon’s locker,” McVenner said.

“Oh yeah!” Henson said.

They crossed the room outside of engineering, Henson on the right, McVenner in the center, and Simmons on the left. When they reached the black opening that led to cargo handling control, Henson kept his rifle pointed at it as they passed and turned to cover their flank as they made their way across the room. When they reached the open door that led to the passageway to Deck 3, Simmons touched the switch and the door closed.

They reached the door to the vertical shaft to the bridge and McVenner opened it to reveal the narrow, stairwell-filled shaft. McVenner took point, Simmons gestured for Henson to follow, and he brought up the rear, moving backwards and closing the door behind him.

McVenner stuck his head up through the opening to the bridge but, aside from the floating body, saw nothing moving. All of the other doors were closed and none of the lights were functioning, though some light spilled into the room from the various panels and controls. They policed the room but found nothing living within.

They made their way carefully to the security locker and took a single rocket launcher, which Henson was ordered to carry, much to his delight.

“This place is pretty tight,” Henson said, looking around. “Isn’t it going to do us as much damage as anyone else if we fire it off in here?”

“You’re not going to pull that trigger unless it’s at max range,” McVenner said. “You’re the first shot.”

“Shouldn’t I have my pulse rifle and not ... the missile launcher unless it gets to max range?” Henson asked again. “The places in here are pretty tight.”

“Yeah, look, we’ll have our rifles up and ready, okay?” McVenner said. “If we spot that thing far off, you take a shot at it with that tube. Clear?”

“All right,” Henson said.

Simmons and McVenner took charge of the weightless crate of rocket magazines, though McVenner hooked one to his suit. The three men then proceeded down the stairwell to Deck 2 and then down the tube to Deck 3 to the main passageway there. They could still see what looked like movement at the forward end where the alien’s acidic blood was still eating away at the main stairwell where they’d found two of the things.

They moved to the door to the port airlock and opened it. They moved down the long, black corridor to the wrecked airlock, McVenner pushing the body of Staff Sergeant Reynolds out into space. They could see planet JS-AC03 below them.

“Corp?” Henson said nervously. “Where the hell are we going?”

McVenner switched over to a secure channel and Henson and Simmons followed suit.

“Where are we going?” Henson said again.

“We’re going to destroy the dropship, Henson,” McVenner said.

“What?”

“We’re going to go blow the dropship to Hell,” McVenner said. “Then we’re going to come back in here, we’re going to waste Coombs–”

“Good, I hate that guy.”

“Maybe waste the two technicians, then jump into one of the lifeboats, and head back to the Mendez.”

“Okay, works for me. Why didn’t we just shoot our way out the windows on the bridge?”

“Because we don’t want them to know what’s going on yet.”

“Okay. So I get to shoot the dropship with this thing, huh?” Henson said, hefting the rocket launcher.

“No, we’re not going to shoot the dropship with that thing,” McVenner said. “Not yet. We’ve got to strap all of the remaining cartridges somewhere vulnerable on the dropship. Then you can shoot it from some safe distance.”

“Works for me. I just want to shoot something.”

“You a good shot?”

“I never fired one of these things before in my life. How hard could it be?”

They briefly talked about using a grenade instead of the rocket launcher, as none of them had any experience with the latter. Henson tried to convince McVenner he could do it but the corporal said they’d decide when they got there. McVenner told Henson to maintain radio silence while they were outside the ship, noting that if he didn’t, he’d yank his comm cord right out of his helmet.

“Fine,” Henson said. “Damn, corp. I’ll keep my mouth shut.”

As soon as they switched back to an open channel, they heard the lieutenant.

“McVenner,” he said.

“Sir?”

“They’re going to turn the gravity back on so make sure you’re on a floor somewhere,” Lt. Smith said.

“Absolutely,” McVenner said.

The three men quickly exited the ship, McVenner leading them under the vessel to the starboard side.

“Sure is tight in these tight corridors,” Henson said very casually at one point.

McVenner glared at the man and then shook his head.

They switched to the secure channel again and McVenner ordered Henson to stay on the secure channel. As they made their way under the ship, McVenner often switched back to the unsecured channel to listen. When they were about halfway to where they planned to set the explosives, he heard Coombs voice calling his name.

“What do you need, Coombs?” he asked.

“McVenner!” Coombs said again. “They found it! Brick found it! The damned thing’s on the dropship! It’s trying to get in the canopy! You need to get over to the dropship right now and kill it!”

“It’s outside the ship?”

“It’s outside the ship! The damned thing can survive in vacuum!”

McVenner shook his head, screaming silently to himself. He switched to the secure channel where Simmons and Henson were.

“Change of plan, guys,” he said. “The thing’s on the outside of the dropship trying to rip its way into the canopy.”

Henson turned around and faced them.

“Here’s your chance!” McVenner said to him. “Let’s go! Let’s go! If we could just blow that thing off the canopy, it won’t have anything to push off of. It will just float away. It’ll be like shooting a duck in a barrel.”

“Fish! Fish!” Simmons said.

“Whatever!” McVenner replied.

They all switched back to the unsecured channel and heard the pilot, Jackson Brick, screaming.

“It’s tearing at the canopy!” he yelled. “It’s going to get in here. I don’t have a vac suit on! I don’t have a vac suit on! Get somebody in here right now!”

There was a whooshing noise and nothing else came over the radio.

The three men made their way to the spot where the dropship connected to the Walbran. Back on the secure channel, McVenner had them carefully place the crate of missiles against the underside of the airlock and then the three moved away to the main structure of the ship some 40 feet away. It gave them a place where they could fire the rocket and then shelter themselves from the explosion.

When they switched back to the open frequency, Henson piped up.

“Everything is in place for our ambush of the alien,” he said, rather woodenly.

McVenner shook his head again.

“What happened to the drop ship?” Coombs asked. “Have you found Brick? Did you get to the dropship yet?”

“Clear the channel,” McVenner simply said.

He had the other two grab his belt and told them if he didn’t move fast enough to pull him back. Then he took the rocket launcher from the disappointed Henson and put it on his shoulder. He aimed for several seconds and pulled the trigger, turning as the other two men pulled him away from the edge.

There was a bright flash and they felt the vibration of an explosion through the ship’s hull. Then there were several more flashes and the hull under them shivered and shook. In one unnerving moment, McVenner was surprised to see a rocket shell trailing smoke tumble right over their position. Henson must have seen it too because he made loud, breathy noises.

The damaged drop ship plummeted slowly away from the Walbran followed closely by the mangled remains of a body in an environmental suit. As the dropship fell away from them, something black skittered out of the shattered canopy and then launched itself at the Walbran.

“Omigod! Kill it! Kill it!” Henson said, unslinging his pulse rifle.

Simmons also filled his hand with his own rifle. The thing seemed to have leapt right at them.

Henson opened fire on the thing while Simmons aimed his pulse rifle and McVenner lifted the rocket launcher and aimed as well.

“It’s coming right at us!” Henson cried, still firing madly. “Oh God!”

One of his bullets finally struck the thing in the leg which didn’t seem to hurt it at all.

When it was within 15 feet of the three men, McVenner finally fired the rocket launcher. The rocket struck the alien in the hips, smashing into it and passing straight through the thing, ripping a large hole in it. The alien began to cartwheel over and over, but the rocket had robbed it of its forward momentum and it spun there, moving slowly away from Walbran.

Simmons and Henson opened fire on the thing, the latter screaming into his radio. The alien was struck with bullets in the chest, arm, skull, tail, and lower body. Its arms and head stopped moving completely but Henson kept firing.

“Yeah!” he cried. “Yeah! You ain’t so tough now, are you, you son of a *****! Yeah, keep floating away from me!”

“Henson! Check your fire!” McVenner said.

“Yeah! Yeah!”

“Check your fire, private!”

Henson finally stopped firing and looked at his pulse rifle.

“Whoa, I only have four shots left,” he mumbled before replacing the magazine.

They switched back to the main channel. There was some confusion on the line.

“What happened?” Lt. Smith said. “What happened with the drop ship? We felt something.”

“We had some complications out here, sir,” McVenner said.

“Go on.”

“The pilot must have panicked. I don’t know what he did but the dropship’s wasted.”

“What!?!” Coombs broke in.

“And has separated from the main ship,” Simmons put in. “From the Walbran, sir. Drifting away.”

“It’s done,” McVenner said. “Pilot’s dead.”

“Son of a *****,” Coombs muttered.

“We got the thing, though,” Simmons said.

“We’re going to have to get to the bridge and contact the Mendez,” Coombs said. “They can send the second dropship.”

“Need you to stay in engineering for the time being, Coombs,” McVenner said.

“Fine,” Coombs replied. “Get her as soon as you can.”

“We’re going to risk a second pilot?” Simmons said.

“We’re headed your way,” McVenner said.

“Corporal,” Coombs said.

“Yes?” McVenner replied.

“What’s the status of the starboard airlock?” Coombs asked.

“Uh ... I believe it’s drifting away with the dropship,” McVenner said.

“We can always do an EVA for the second dropship,” Coombs said. “Thank you corporal.”

The three men made their way into the starboard airlock but found that the interior door was still intact and jammed shut. They ended up having to leave the starboard airlock and cross the ship to the port airlock once again. They made their way back to engineering without meeting any resistance.

They entered engineering. Lt. Smith was still in the corner and Simmons went to check on him. McVenner lowered his pulse rifle at Coombs and fired a burst, killing the man. The two technicians started screaming.

“Get away from the eggs,” McVenner said, then started to count down from three.

The techs and Anderson fled and McVenner fired on the four pods, blowing them to pieces. One of the things inside managed to leap free of the eggs but did not move very well in the vacuum. Henson started firing almost immediately as well and they dealt with the pods and their inhabitants in short order. Anderson pointed his own pulse rifle at the technicians.

Once there was order in the room again, they could hear one of the technicians praying quietly to himself. The other one looked very frightened.

“You guys are techs, right?” Simmons said.

“Yes sir,” West replied.

“Which means you’re smart, right?”

“Which answer’s not going to get me Coombsed?”

“The smart one.”

“Yeah, yeah. We’re smart. We got gravity back on.”

“Yes, you did. So, that also means you know when to keep your damned mouth shut, right?”

“Yep! All the time. Too bad one of those things got Coombs!”

“It’s terrible.”

“Bad situation all around.”

They took the two technicians to the cargo bay and searched it one more time for Brobski without any luck. Then they did a full sweep of the ship and found Brobski’s corpse in the crew quarters. It looked like his suit had been ripped open, exposing him to vacuum. They took him with them.

Then they went to one of the rescue pods and launched it towards the Mendez, contacting the corporate frigate on the emergency radio. They docked with the ship and told the crew of the Mendez that one of the things got Coombs and the cargo had all been destroyed. McVenner also claimed the bridge was destroyed, so they could not contact the Mendez from there either.

“Let’s just get out of this system,” Henson said, putting his arms around the two technicians. “Hey, Hennison. West. How about I help you get ready for hypersleep? How about that?”

“Okay ...” West said.

Henson escorted them to the hypersleep chamber.

“Good job, Henson,” McVenner muttered to himself. “You’re not so much of a waste as I thought you were.”

Soon, all of the marines were also in hypersleep, heading back to Aerodyne.
]]> Max_Writer http://www.penandpapergames.com/forums/entry.php/1690-Aliens-Adventure-Game-Forced-Entry-2-(Part2)-2012-01-30 Aliens Adventure Game: Forced Entry 1 (Part 0 - Intro): 2010-07-30 http://www.penandpapergames.com/forums/entry.php/1689-Aliens-Adventure-Game-Forced-Entry-1-(Part-0-Intro)-2010-07-30 Wed, 01 Feb 2012 16:47:30 GMT I finally was able to run a second game of Aliens and finish up where we left off in July 2010. As it was so long ago, I'm first publishing the last game for easy reference. The new entry should be up within the week.


Saturday, July 31, 2010

(After playing the Aliens Adventure Game scenario “Forced Entry” by Roman J. Andron from Challenge Magazine #62 with Steve Turner and Erik Huffine Friday from 8 p.m. to 2 a.m.)

On October 14, 2179, a small squad of U.S. Colonial Marines had been summoned to the offices of General Arthur Simms at the marine base on the planet Aerodyne in the Borodino Sector. Aerodyne was originally called Chalmer 3 but renamed when Aerodyne Corporation established its headquarters there. It had been terraformed and was a cold planet with a thin but breathable atmosphere and vast open steppes swept by constant winds. There was little water on the world but the population of over 23 million was self-sufficient and led a fairly comfortable life.

The Borodino Sector had not been developed by any one corporation, unlike the other sectors. It had been begun by a Corporation called Borodino which went bankrupt generations before. Since that time, dozens of corporations had tried their luck in the area and many fortunes had been made exploring the sector.

Corporal Harold “Hal” MkVenner was a very handsome, solid man of 24 who had been in the Colonial Marines for about five years. He had mostly served on off-world garrisons though he had, for 12 months, been part of a tactical team stationed on earth a year before. He had received a commendation and been promoted during his last tour of duty

Private Andrew Simmons was neither as handsome nor as solid as MkVenner, but rumor had it that he had received an exceptional education prior to entering the corps. The private had a checkered past, being court-martialed after his first tour of duty with the Marines but, for some reason, not being drummed out of the service or receiving a dishonorable discharge. He had followed that first year with tours on a corporate raid strike team, corporate extradition strike team, had done some off-world security, and even been part of a hot patrol. He had earned a service ribbon during his second year of service and been part of a group award his third year.

In charge of the squad was Lieutenant Oliver Smith, a motivated young man of 20 who had only been in the service for two years, leading corporate investigation strike teams his first year and serving in the military police on Earth during his second year. He was a combat officer and, though it was against protocol, suited up and went into combat with his men rather than stay in the safety of an APC or bunker. He also had the annoying habit of calling MkVenner “McVeety.”

Corporal Leo Brobski was a good-looking and perceptive young man of 20. He had served two years in the Marines, receiving a service ribbon and a promotion after his first year on a strike patrol hot team. He’d been assigned to off-world garrison duty for the last year. Brobski was proudly Jewish and enjoyed chess.

Wilson Kemps was a black man with the agility of a tightrope walker. He was from the colony world of Argos in the Micor Sector and had been in the corps for five years, mostly serving with strike teams, either on patrols, hot patrols, or dealing with a colonial revolt on Lobo. He was 25 years old and an excellent card player.

Private Michael Anderson was a Marine Auxiliary who specialized in starship repair. He had served six years in the service, working with the military police on Earth the first year but spending the next four years on various off-world garrisons. He had spent the first year of his second tour in the marines on a strike team hot patrol and earned a service ribbon by the end of that year.

Finally, Private Mark Henson was a young man straight out of basic training. He was nervous but quite willing to learn whatever he could from the more experienced Marines.

The entire squad had been together since September, training in the frozen wastes of Aerodyne and waiting for an assignment.

General Simms told them they were needed for a covert mission and he wanted volunteers. Lt. Smith told him that his men were ready for a mission.

“We are trying to get some dirt on a Hyperdyne executive named Winston Coombs,” Simms said. “We have some information that he’s involved in some illegal activities.”

He pressed a button on his desk and a video monitor clicked on, showing a picture of a good-looking man in a corporate suit. The photo was obviously taken candidly; Coombs looked like he was reaching down to open a transport door.

“Coombs is hiring mercenaries for a mission,” General Simms went on. “He’s paying the standard mercenary fees. Your cover is a typical mercenary squad. Go in, get any dirt on him you can. This is not to be confrontational unless it is in self-defense. He is a very important executive at Hyperdyne but is also involved in some highly illegal and probably dangerous things.”

He talked primarily to the lieutenant, telling him they’d be put up at one of the local hotels and given a small stipend to cover expenses there. He also gave a packet to the lieutenant.

“Mc … MkVenner,” Lt. Smith said after they left the office. “Simmons. I want you to check up on this.”

He gave MkVenner a piece of paper with the address of a safe house that doubled as a mercenary bar in the bad part of town.

“Side arms only,” he told them. “Find out what they need and bring word back.”

The safe house and bar had a gaudy neon sign over the door that read “Smashed Face.” The neon formed a picture of a man with his tongue hanging out getting his face smashed with a beer mug. Small circles around the head made it look like the face was already drunk. Most of the patrons of the place were scruffy and scared. They paid no attention to the two men, preferring to watch the video feeds mounted on the ceiling showing sports programming. Everyone in the bar was armed, usually with pistols but sometimes with knives or clubs. The men were rough and showed signs of old injuries and scars on their faces and heads. One man had a chunk of hair apparently ripped out of his head.

Both men bellied up to the bar. MkVenner got a beer and Simmons ordered scotch. The latter seemed to surprise the bartender but, after looking under the bar for a few moments, he pulled out a dusty bottle and poured the man a drink, neat. Simmons opted to purchase the bottle and was surprised when he found it cost 20 credits. He was more pleasantly surprised to find that the scotch was actually very good and the date on the bottle dated it at over 30 years old.

After about 15 minutes, MkVenner got another beer and asked the bartender who he could talk to about finding work. The man looked at his carefully.

“You got any specific work you’re looking for?” he asked.

“Yeah,” MkVenner replied. “Me and my buddy are out for hire.”

“Okay,” the bartender replied. “You looking for anyone in particular?”

“We heard from another friend of ours that there’s some big shot executive has some space rock that he’s sending out teams to.”

“You got a name?”

“What was his name?” MkVenner turned to Simmons. “You remember? Toombs? Coombs? Is that right?”

The bartender pointed towards a slatted canvas curtain over a doorway into the back of the place.

“Coombs?” he said. “He’s in the back.”

“Oh yeah?” MkVenner said.

“Yep.”

“All right. You got any tips? Give me an edge?”

“He’s a corporate exec. Just kiss his ass, you’ll be fine. That’s what they like.”

MkVenner dropped a couple more credits on the bar and picked up his beer.

“I wouldn’t take my drink,” the bartender said to him. “I’ll keep an eye on it for you.”

MkVenner looked at him and then drank down the contents of the mug. The bartender shrugged and took the glass, dropping it in a sink behind the bar. He reached over and took Simmons’ bottle of scotch.

“It’ll be safe right here buddy,” he said. “I’ll recognize your face.”

They went to the back of the bar and found a man standing on either side of the slatted canvas curtain.

“He in there?” MkVenner asked one of them.

“Who?” the man replied.

“Whoever we’re supposed to talk to, to deal with this Coombs guy.”

The man just pointed at the curtain with one thumb and the two marines went through. They found a small, dirty office with a fan slowly revolving overhead. They recognized the man behind the desk as Coombs. He asked them if they were for work and when MkVenner said they were, for their credentials. After looking over them and typing something into a small computer, he asked if was just the two of them.

“Five more,” MkVenner said.

“Any officers?” Coombs asked.

“Ex-officer,” MkVenner said.

“Whatever. I can offer you employment with standard contract rates.”

The pay rate for each of them was more than 10 times what they made in the Colonial Marines. Coombs said he needed information on the rest of the men and if they were up to spec, they’d leave in the morning. He handed back MkVenner and Simmons’ paperwork and two pieces of paper came out of the side of the computer: mercenary contracts for each of the men. It was a standard mercenary boilerplate noting that the mercenaries would provide their own equipment and any damages they did to Hyperdyne equipment would be deducted from their pay. MkVenner tossed it over his shoulder.

“What’s the op man?” he said. “This is all irrelevant until you tell us what we’re doing.”

“I need …” Coombs started to say. He looked around. “I can tell you at the port facility. I don’t want to speak here.”

“Where else can we talk then?” MkVenner asked. “Because my team and I don’t go in blind.”

“That’s fine. But we can meet at the port facility, I can give you the mission stats, and you can decide then and there if you’ll sign that piece of paper.”

“Fair enough.”

He gave them the address of the port facility and told them to meet him there at 6 a.m. They left, Simmons getting his bottle on the way out, and returned to the hotel to tell the lieutenant and the rest of the men.

* * *
]]> Max_Writer http://www.penandpapergames.com/forums/entry.php/1689-Aliens-Adventure-Game-Forced-Entry-1-(Part-0-Intro)-2010-07-30 Aliens Adventure Game: Forced Entry 1 (Part 1): 2010-07-30 http://www.penandpapergames.com/forums/entry.php/1688-Aliens-Adventure-Game-Forced-Entry-1-(Part-1)-2010-07-30 Wed, 01 Feb 2012 16:46:15 GMT I finally was able to run a second game of Aliens and finish up where we left off in July 2010. As it was so long ago, I'm first publishing the last game for easy reference. The new entry should be up within the week.



* * *


It was about the equivalent of Oct. 15, 2179, when they all went to the port facility. They found the small office Coombs was working out of and he examined their credentials. He seemed very satisfied.

“I need a striker team to recover a Hyperdyne cargo vessel, the Walbran, taken over by pirates,” he said. “Any pirates on board the Walbran are to be terminated with extreme prejudice.”

“Does that include any other teams that are left over that you’ve sent out?” MkVenner asked.

“We haven’t sent out any other teams,” the executive replied coolly. “We’ve just located the ship. It’s approximately two jumps from here, heading down the line. I’ve got a corporate frigate waiting with a crew and a backup team.”

“Backup team?”

Coombs just nodded.

“All right,” MkVenner went on. “What’s the operation for them? When do they come in?”

“The operation for them is, if you fail, they come in,” Coombs said. “Any other questions?”

He printed out contracts as MkVenner told him he didn’t want to see any of the backup team but Coombs assured him he would only see a few technicians and himself.

“I’m going to be on board to see this thing through,” he said.

He checked their armament and was impressed that they were carrying pulse rifles. They had also brought a crate of extra ammo and grenades.

He led them to a drop ship on the tarmac, which took them up to the waiting corporate frigate Mendez. Compared to a Colonial Marine frigate, it was more modern and of improved construction to the older and less efficient military vessels. When they got aboard, they were given a schematic of the Walbran, a three-decked cargo ship with a large hold. Coombs told them the ship was carrying a cargo of electronics and had a crew of 20. The standard light freighter had been found in the system JS-AC03.

The system was not on the main maps but they soon learned it was one of the uninhabited systems about four jumps, or 20 light years, from Aerodyne. Such systems were scattered between colony worlds, mining worlds, and garrison systems allowing a stopping place for ships going through hyperspace to recharge their engines. They usually had a station to provide limited assistance to crippled ships. Otherwise, the system was completely uninhabited. The next planet in the sector was the world of Acheron, another 20 light years beyond JS-AC03.

In addition to their own strike team, the ship’s company consisted of Coombs, five technicians, a corporate strike team equal in size to their own, and five ship’s crewmen. No one except Coombs would have anything to do with them and they heard some of the corporate strike team members refer to them as “mercenary scum.”

They were all soon placed in the hypersleep capsules.


* * *


It only felt like a few moments later when MkVenner was awakened from hypersleep. He learned it had actually been only a day and they were at JS-AC03. He and Simmons were the first ones woken and Coombs met with them and suggested that the two of them should be able to handle the entire situation. MkVenner’s response to that was the middle finger.

“Who else do you want awakened?” Coombs asked. “Who else is necessary? Because we don’t want to spend more money than we have to.”

“Look, you don’t drag my guys out here and then leave half of them asleep in a hypersleep capsule,” MkVenner said. “That ain’t gonna cut it.”

“Very well,” Coombs said.

“You can afford this ship,” MkVenner went on. “You can afford to pay a few credits to five guys.”

The technicians got the rest of the men awakened and they assembled in the mess hall. Coombs told them that they had little trouble locating the Walbran. It was in a decaying orbit around the jump system planet near the unmanned space station.

“The tactical responder was only transmitting intermittently,” he said.

He activated a monitor that showed an exterior view of the Walbran. The rear of the ship was boxlike with a narrower and sleeker section attached to the front.

“I hate tugs,” MkVenner grumbled.

“It’s a light freighter actually,” Coombs said. “We were able to move the Mendez into a salvaging position. Everyone is going to have to don spacesuits. We’ll use the dropship.”

“Does the Walbran have atmo?” MkVenner asked.

“We don’t know yet,” Coombs admitted. “We’ll have to do an inspection.”

“How long ago did this thing get hit?” Simmons asked.

“It was hijacked about a week ago,” Coombs said.

“No response on comms?” MkVenner asked.

“No,” Coombs said.

“How do you know it was pirates?” Simmons asked.

“Who else would have hijacked it?” was Coombs answer.

“Why would they just leave it in a decaying orbit?” MkVenner asked.

“Well, perhaps the crew managed to fight them off,” Coombs replied. “We don’t know. That’s why we have to examine the ship.”

He looked them over.

“I’m going over and we’ll be taking three technicians,” he said. “Suit up everybody.”

The entire team suited up with spacesuits over their armor. Coombs, three silent technicians, and a single pilot also suited up. The names on the technicians’ suits were Riley, West, and Hennison. Simmons told them to stay in the back and MkVenner looked them over carefully but noted that neither the technicians nor Coombs were armed.

As they entered the dropship, Coombs reminded the men once again that if there were pirates, some damage was to be expected if they confronted them. However, excessive damage would be deducted from their contract amounts. MkVenner clarified that it was only excessive damage they caused and not pre-existing damage.

“No,” Coombs assured him. “Of course not. We’re a corporation. We don’t cheat people.”

They climbed aboard the dropship and strapped in as the large doors closed. Both Private Kemps and Private MkVenner had motion trackers and Lt. Smith and Pvt. Anderson carried first aid kits. Anderson also carried a portable welder, as did Kemps, in addition to their combat loads.

They all felt the ship drop away from the Mendez and the pilot reported over the intercom that they were heading for the ship. A few minutes later the intercom crackled again.

“It looks like we’ve got a problem,” the voice said. “Port airlock seems to be breached. Looks like extensive damage.”

“Helmets on!” MkVenner said.

Everyone got their helmets on. The technicians looked at Coombs and the man nodded so they also sealed their suits. The marines checked their equipment.

“What is your recommendation Lieutenant?” Coombs asked over the helmet radio.

“We’re coming around to the starboard airlock,” the voice of the pilot crackled over their helmet radios. “Starboard airlock appears to be intact.”

“Is there an umbilical?” MkVenner asked.

“We have the ability to connect with the airlock,” Coombs said.

Simmons was sitting next to Pvt. Henson. He reached over and touched the locking mechanism on the helmet. The young man didn’t seem to notice.

“Henson, you don’t latch that thing, it sucks it right off into space, it won’t do you a damned bit of good,” Pvt. Simmons said.

“I latched it Simmons. See, look,” Henson said, reaching for the helmet. It came off in his hands. “Aw shit!”

He latched the helmet.

“Okay, it’s latched now,” he said.

Simmons smacked him in the back of the helmet.

“Yeah, it sure it,” he said.

“Is that how you check?” Henson said.

“It is for me,” Simmons replied.

Henson reached over and smacked the back of Simmons’ helmet.

“Checking yours sir!” he said.

Simmons wasn’t sure if Henson were lying or not. A couple of the other men laughed and started smacking the back of each other’s helmets. One of the technicians, meanwhile, vented the atmosphere in the cabin.

“We’re about to couple,” the voice of the pilot crackled over their helmet radios. “Hang on.”

There was a loud metal noise and the cabin jerked slightly.

“We have attached,” the voice said.

MkVenner slapped his release and carefully stood up. He activated his magboots and crossed the cabin as the others released themselves from their straps. He turned and caught Lt. Smith’s eyes.

“Standard deployment?” he asked.

“Yes,” was Smith’s answer.

“Simmons and I will breach,” MkVenner said. “Take a standard deployment. Kemps, I want you up there with the motion detector as soon as we secure.”

“Roger,” Kemps said.

One of the technicians opened the dropship door to reveal the door of the ship’s airlock. MkVenner tried to manipulate the controls but found they weren’t working. There was no power to the panel at all and he cracked it open and cranked open the airlock. It was completely empty and there was no atmosphere within. MkVenner and Simmons entered the airlock but found the panels there were dead as well. An emergency light flickered erratically.

Coombs pushed his way forward and entered the airlock as well.

“Not a good idea sir,” MkVenner said.

“I don’t send my people anywhere that I wouldn’t go,” Coombs said smugly.

“Let us at least secure the perimeter first sir,” MkVenner said. “You’re not armed and no use to me right now sir. Please.”

“I’m still in charge of this mission,” Coombs replied.

“All right,” MkVenner said.

Simmons cranked the outer door shut and then they got to work on the interior door. As it opened, there was no outrush of air, no sound, nothing. The ship had no atmosphere. As soon as MkVenner realized it, he cranked open the airlock door to the dropship.

“What have we got there Corporal?” Lt. Smith asked.

“Zero atmo,” MkVenner replied.

Simmons crouched by the inner door and watched down a long, dark corridor beyond.

“Corp, we got no gravity in here either,” Simmons said over the radio.

“Roger that,” MkVenner replied.

He warned Coombs to stay behind them and out of the line of fire.

“That is fine Corporal,” Coombs replied. “You gentlemen need to locate the bridge and maybe examine the other airlock. Riley, West, Hennison, try to bring up ship’s power, life support, and gravitational systems.”

“Bridge,” MkVenner muttered.

“Unless everyone else was in space suits, I can’t see there being anyone else here alive,” Simmons said.

“Listen up team,” MkVenner said. “Simmons and I are going to take point. I’d like Lt. Smith and Brobski in the rear guard. Henson and Kemps, keep your eyes on the corridors we’re passing. Henson, please make sure your safety’s off.”

“My safety is …” Henson replied. Then he fiddled with his pulse rifle. “Yes sir.”

The ship was very dark and utterly quiet without atmosphere. The helmet lights didn’t give much illumination. Once they were all out of the airlock, MkVenner ordered it sealed again and Lt. Smith and Cpl. Brobski secured both doors. They traveled down the long corridor to a central passage, where the technicians left them for the tube to deck two.

“Where are you geeks going?” Simmons said.

“They’ve got their orders,” Coombs said. “They’re to get power, gravity, and life support back online.”

“They are?” MkVenner said.

“That was my order,” Coombs said.

“They are?” MkVenner said again.

“Yes,” Coombs said.

“All right,” MkVenner said. “It’s your call.”

The technicians had stopped but then got to work on the door that led to the tube to deck two.

“This is bullshit,” Simmons muttered.

“You men are paid to protect us, not to think,” Coombs said.

“Let’s keep it tight,” MkVenner said.

“We can’t protect what we can’t keep an eye on … sir,” Simmons said. “We haven’t secured this ship yet … sir. So we don’t really know what they’re walking in to … sir!”

“The ship is completely in vacuum,” Coombs said. “I think you were right when you said nobody’s probably alive here.”

“Yeah but we don’t ****ing know that do we?” Simmons said.

“Just do your job,” Coombs calmly replied.

“Easy Simmons,” MkVenner said.

They passed several closed doors and noted signs of a firefight before they came to a steep set of stairs leading upwards; the only noise was the sound of their own breaths in their helmets. The steep steps had a railing and went up to a landing and then up again to the deck one.

The stairs opened onto deck one in a dark hypersleep chamber with twenty hypersleep pods. The room had a modular floor design of simple meter-wide square grates dropped on alloy pipes. It looked like a military design, as did the hypersleep pods. All of them were open except for one and they could see that the glass on that chamber was either broken or melted. All four doors in the room were closed.

They filed into the room and spread out into fire team patterns, covering the entire room initially but narrowing their field of fire. MkVenner motioned to two of the men to cover the other doors. Then he moved to the hypersleep pod, shining his light on it and examining it more carefully.

The glass of the pod appeared to be melted and the interior was covered in frozen blood. A man’s body with his chest torn open was strapped in the pod. His eyes were closed and his face was at peace.

MkVenner called Anderson over and Coombs followed him.

“What’s this glass made of?” MkVenner asked Anderson. “Would a flamer do that?”

“Uh …” Anderson answered, looking more closely at the pod. “Maybe. There’d be signs of burns though.”

“What the hell would do that?”

“Uh … acid? That’s the only thing I could think of. Some kind of strong industrial acid.”

“That’s the captain,” Coombs said.

“Was the captain,” Simmons said.

“Was the captain,” Coombs said.

“I wonder what happened to him?” MkVenner said.

They looked at the body for a moment.

“What could have done that?” MkVenner said. “It looks like he exploded. Explosive decompression maybe?”

Anderson tried to activate the hatch on the hypersleep pod without luck.

“No, that’s not explosive decompression,” he said. “I don’t know.”

Simmons noted that from the spread pattern of the blood, it looked like it had happened when the ship’s gravity was still functioning. Anderson said that explosive decompression didn’t do the kind of damage that the man had suffered. He guessed that the man had died while still in hypersleep. Simmons pointed out that the hole in the pod was right over the man’s head though there was no damage to the man’s face. He further noted that what killed him looked like it had burst out of his lower chest.

“I can’t think of a single weapon that would cause damage like that,” MkVenner said. “Unless he was shot in the back, which, obviously, he wasn’t.”

Anderson and Simmons manually opened the hyperspace pod. They found the dead body was strapped in for transit and, aside from the hole in his chest, was untouched. Simmons examined the body and the bloody hole carefully. It was unlike anything he’d ever seen before. It was definitely not an entry wound.

MkVenner suggested checking the other pods for signs of blood or violence but found they were untouched.

“Hey Hal,” Simmons said.

“Mr. Coombs, we’ve found something in engineering,” the voice of one of the technicians came over the radio. “I think you’re going to want to see this.”

“Go to a secure channel,” Coombs said.

He touched the neck of his suit and they could see him talking but couldn’t hear him.

“What the hell?” Simmons said.

“This is bullshit,” MkVenner said, looking at Coombs.

“Hey Hal, check this out man,” Simmons said. MkVenner crossed the room to him. “This isn’t an entry wound. Look at this.”

“I can see it’s not an entry wound,” MkVenner said.

“The ribs exploded out,” Simmons said. “Whatever it is, it exploded out of him.”

“Like a bomb?” Lt. Smith said.

“If one was surgically implanted then, yeah,” MkVenner said. “Smaller yield explosive device I guess. But wouldn’t there be powder burns?”

Simmons looked at the wound more closely but didn’t see any powder burns.

“It doesn’t look like an explosion,” he said.

“All right, pack it in crew,” MkVenner said. “Simmons, we’ll come back to this later. Let’s get some power and some gravity in this ship. I hate zero-gee.”

“Damn it, they just said they found something in engineering,” Simmons replied. “Shit, I’m not going to go to the bridge.”’

“That’s engineering man,” MkVenner said. “That’s down a deck. Anyway, medlab’s on this level man. We’ll take him to medlab once we get power on. You’ll have a whole kit over there to take care of him, do whatever you need to do.”

“He’s dead; what the **** am I going to do with him?”

“I don’t know. You said you wanted to poke around his chest. I thought maybe you could do it with some sharper tools. Lay him out on the table. Quit grousing and let’s get to it. C’mon people, let’s move like we’ve got a purpose here.”

“Right,” Lt. Smith said. “Henson and Kemps, why don’t you take the body to the medlab; we’ll leave it there for now. The rest of us will proceed to the bridge.”

“Roger that,” MkVenner said.

There was a click as Coombs touched his helmet neck again and turned his helmet radio over to the open channel again. MkVenner stared at him and Coombs met his stare. Simmons looked back and forth between the two of them and then shook his head.

“Let’s just go,” MkVenner said. “Brobski, quit mouth breathing.”

“That’s Anderson man,” Brobski said.

“Hey, shut up!” Anderson replied.

“Smith, I want to go to engineering,” Coombs said. “Give me one of your men.”

“Fine,” Lt. Smith said. “Brobski, go with him.”

“Sir, with all due respect, we still haven’t secured the ship,” Simmons said.

“That’s why I’m sending someone with him Simmons,” Lt. Smith replied.

“Sir, we shouldn’t be separating,” Simmons said.

“Brobski, take him down there and come right back,” Lt. Smith said.

The two men left the others.

“Hey Brobski,” MkVenner said to the man as they parted.

“Yeah, what do you want?” Brobski replied.

“Keep your shit wired tight,” MkVenner said.

“Always is,” Brobski replied. “I’m a Jew. We know how to keep things tight.”

The others used the manual override to open a door that led to a narrow hall. The door at the end, also without power, opened onto the bridge.

The bridge looked like it had also been struck by a firefight. Displays flickered erratically, making a ghostly strobe effect and illuminating a bullet-torn body floating there. Its wounds formed brilliant red icicles, suggesting that his death had come soon before depressurization.

“Here we go,” MkVenner said. “Contacts.”

“Shit,” Lt. Smith said.

As they moved carefully into the room, they saw that a large number of consoles were electronic warfare equipment. They looked like they were added to the bridge after the ship was built.

Simmons made a hand motion for a private conversation. MkVenner switched over and Lt. Smith nodded and did the same. Anderson signed to them that he would stay on the open frequency.

“These look like military combat controls,” Simmons said.

“Yeah, that’s combat,” MkVenner said.

“What?” Lt. Smith said.

“I thought this was a freighter,” Simmons said.

“That’s what Coombs said,” Lt. Smith replied. “A light freighter. That’s what it looks like.”

“Consoles say different Ell-Tee,” MkVenner said.

MkVenner glanced up at the glass ports that looked out into space. They were all intact and showed no signs of damage.

“So, uh, where are we leaking atmo from?” Simmons asked him.

“We didn’t check out the damaged airlock,” MkVenner said.

“Damn it,” Simmons said.

MkVenner switched back over to the general frequency, as did the others.

“Anderson, see if you can’t get power back to these consoles so we can run a diagnostic and find out what’s wrong with this ship,” he said.

“Roger on that,” Anderson said. “Kemps and Henson said they found something in medlab. They said something was in a stasis chamber.”

“They reporting hostile contact?” MkVenner asked him.

“No,” Anderson replied. “Just said something weird there.”

“Henson, Kemps, get back to the bridge please,” MkVenner said.

“Yeah yeah yeah,” Kemps said.

“We’ll check out medlab later,” MkVenner said.

Simmons examined the body and found that it had a patch that read “Penrose” on the coveralls. He had apparently been killed by automatic weapons fire.

“We’ve got Penrose here on the bridge,” he said.

“Deceased,” MkVenner said.

“This is Coombs,” they heard a voice on the radio. “Penrose was second in command.”

“Well, he’s not anymore,” Simmons said. “Second one dead is what we’ve got.”

“Promotions all around,” MkVenner said.

“That’s not funny,” Coombs said. “I’ll be up directly.”

“Anybody pick up any other contacts?” MkVenner called out. “Any other dead bodies? Copsicles floating around?”

“Negative,” they heard Kemps say.

“Negative,” came Henson’s voice.

“So, while we’re up here …” Simmons said.

“Hey Brobski!” MkVenner said.

“Yeah,” Brobski’s voice came back.

“You already made it past the airlocks?”

“I don’t know what the hell was going on in engineering.”

“Are you there yet?” Simmons asked.

“Yeah, I’m on my way back,” Brobski said.

“What the hell did you see?” Simmons said.

“I didn’t see much,” Brobski said. He sounded like of shaky. “I don’t know. I don’t know.”

“What the ****?” Simmons said.

“Stop off and take a look at the port airlock on your way up,” MkVenner said. “Give me an assessment on the damage there please.”

“All right,” Brobski said. “Yes Corporal.”

Anderson was still working on the computers when they saw light flash in the open doorway they’d come from. Kemps and Henson joined them on the bridge.

“Sir, I’m going to check out the security locker,” Simmons said to Lt. Smith.

“Yeah,” Smith said, looking over Anderson’s shoulder.

“Kemps, you’re with me,” Simmons said.

“Right,” Kemps replied.

They manually opened the door from the bridge that led to the security locker and headed into the darkness. Meanwhile, MkVenner signaled to Henson to get on a secure channel and both men switched over.

“Tell me what you saw in medlab,” he asked the private.

“Uh … it was just weird,” Henson replied. “There was an electronic stasis jar. You know, the kind they use for specimens? It was on the floor. It was broken. So it must have broken before the gravity went out.”

“Well, yeah,” MkVenner said.

“It was a little one,” Henson went on.

He held out his hands to indicate something about two and a half feet tall by a foot wide or so.

“Just didn’t expect to see it,” he said.

“Anything else?” MkVenner asked.

“No, it’s pretty quiet in there,” Henson said. “Well, it’s quite everywhere.”

“You’re a brilliant guy Henson,” MkVenner said.

They both switched back over to the open frequency.


* * *


Pvt. Simmons and Pvt. Kemps went down the dark corridor. It turned to the left and they manhandled the heavy hatch to the security locker open in a silence only filled by the sound of their own breathing. When they got into the room, they found it packed. There were sentry guns, rocket launchers, and vials and tubes marked with symbols that indicated various kinds of nerve gas. There were a few crates marked with heavy infantry weapons but they’d been opened and were empty.

“Ah yeah,” Simmons said. “Now we’re talking.”

“Holy shit!” Kemps said.

“So … Lieutenant,” Simmons said.

“Yeah,” the lieutenant’s voice came back over the radio. “Smith here.”

“We have some extremely fine equipment that this vessel is carrying,” Simmons said.

“Okay,” Lt. Smith replied. Then he said slowly: “Well … uh … as mercenaries, we’re under corporate contract and cannot loot.”

Simmons took one of the canisters marked nerve gas.

“Let’s get the hell back,” he said to Kemps.


* * *


Another voice came over the channel.

“Brobski here,” it said. “Holy shit!”

“What have you got Brobski?” MkVenner asked.

“Uh … somebody blew up this airlock,” Brobski replied shakily. “I’m seeing high explosive blast burns, numerous bullet holes in the walls … uh … there’s a body here. Name on the uniform is Reynolds. Um … God, the walls are painted with frozen blood! She’s in a suit. She’s in a space suit, but it’s ripped to shreds. There’s some weird … there’s some stuff on the walls and ceiling corners. It looks like … honeycomb or something.”

“What?” MkVenner said.

“It’s all over this area, this part of the ship’s open to space,” Brobski went on. “Looks like somebody set off a bomb that blew off both airlock doors.”

“All right, get back up to the bridge,” MkVenner said.

“Okay,” Brobski replied. “This is freaking me out.”

“Double time it trooper!” MkVenner said.

“Yeah,” Brobski said. “Yeah.”

Then he started mumbling under his breath in Hebrew. It was about a minute later that they heard his voice again.

“Oh shit!” he screamed.

“Brobski?” MkVenner said. “Brobski!”

“What’s going on Corp?” Simmons voice said.

“Clear the channel!” MkVenner snapped. Then: “Brobski, report.”

There was no reply.

Simmons and Kemps appeared in the doorway to the bridge.

“Uh, lieutenant?” Anderson said. “I’ve got the captain’s log.”

He was sitting at a console that he had gotten working. Lt. Smith made the hand signal for a closed channel.

“What was that?” Coombs voice came over the line.

Then they all clicked over to the secure channel.

“Ell-Tee, you want to stay here with Anderson?” MkVenner said. “I’m going to take Simmons and Kemps. We’re going to go find Brobski.”

“Hey Ell-Tee, Corp, I got something real quick,” Simmons said.

“Stow it right now,” MkVenner replied.

“No, you got to see this, man,” Simmons said.

“Brobski’s in trouble, man.”

“Shit. We got gas. We got gas.”

“There was a hypersleep pod breach,” Anderson said. “That’s why the ship stopped here. The mate makes the final entries. He suggests the crew is disloyal and does not want to transfer Ashgrate to Hyperdyne. Doesn’t say what that means. There’s a voice file here too.”

“Corp, Ell-Tee, you should see the security locker,” Simmons said. “We’ve got sentry guns–”

“Did you get it on your helmet cam?” MkVenner asked.

“Yeah,” Simmons said.

“Then we got it,” MkVenner said. “Hide this canister somewhere. We’ve got to go find Brobski now.”

Simmons shoved it towards Anderson.

“I’ve got the voice log if anyone wants to hear it,” Anderson said.

“Private channel broadcast it, but we are heading out. Now,” MkVenner said.

“Okay,” Anderson said. “Broadcasting. Sounds like a woman.”

He had had hooked his suit to the console and patched through the audio file even as MkVenner, Simmons, and Kemps had left the bridge, heading for the stairwell back down to level three.

“This is Staff Sergeant Susan Reynolds,” a woman’s voice said. “I… I killed Penrose. He was working against us the entire time. Probably working for―Hyperdyne.”

“It’s garbled,” Anderson said. “Broken up.”

“Things killed Jenkins with a single blow,” the recording went on. “The rest of the crew’s dead as well. God knows what Hyperdyne wants these things for, sending in Walbran―Exeter―two ships. These things’re too―there go the electronics again―failing―they must have shut them off. My only hope is that those things can’t―vacuum. End …”

“That’s it,” Anderson said. “That’s the whole thing. Do you want to hear it again?”

MkVenner said he did and Anderson played the thing again as the three men stopped in the Hypersleep chamber to listen more closely.

“Just like a woman, always worried about vacuuming,” Simmons quipped.

No one laughed.

They continued into the stairwell that led down to level three, MkVenner on point, Simmons second, and Kemps bringing up the rear. As MkVenner reached the bottom of the shaft and Simmons had reached the landing just above him, Kemps let out a shriek.

“What the hell is that!?!” he screamed.

The other two men spun around and saw that something huge was reaching out of an open panel and had grabbed Kemps’ right leg with long black claws. It was trying to drag Kemps into the duct.

“What the hell man!” MkVenner screamed.

Simmons had a good view of the thing’s arm, shoulder, and huge, sloped head without eyes. At first, he thought it was some kind of space suit. Then he saw that the thing had metal teeth, its mouth pulled back in a horrible grin.

“**** that!” Simmons yelled.

The creature reached out with another black claw and grabbed at Kemp’s left leg. He screamed as it squeezed his leg in the space suit and jerked on the right leg. Then the man’s entire body went limp.

“Simmons! Grab him!” MkVenner yelled. All he’d seen was a black shape that looked like a big man in a space suit with a huge, black helmet.

There was a flash from his pulse rifle as he fired a burst at the creature hanging out of the duct. There was no sound in the vacuum of space but sparks flew as the bullets struck the walls of the shaft a few inches from the thing. Screaming the man’s name, Simmons let go of his pulse rifle, leapt forward, and grabbed Kemps as the horrible thing dragged the man into the duct. He managed to grab the man by his helmet and tried to hang on but felt himself being dragged after Kemps.

MkVenner leapt up the stairs as Simmons leaned halfway into the duct and hooked Kemps around the upper chest. Kemps was almost entirely within the access duct as MkVenner shoved the pulse rifle into the shaft, practically laying it on Kemps’ chest, and pulled the trigger. Simmons was almost blinded by the blast but, illuminated by the muzzle flash, he clearly saw the thing holding Kemps. It seemed to fill the duct and was topped by a horrible, eyeless, grinning face. It was struck in the skull, the jaw, and the arm, jerking back as vital fluids spurted out. The thing’s blood sprayed outward as Simmons put a foot against the wall and dragged Kemps out of the duct and into the stairwell. A haze filled the duct and several drops of the alien blood floated out into the stairwell. Where they struck the railing or the wall, they ate through it like a highly concentrated molecular acid.

“What the ****!?!” MkVenner said. “Get him out of there! Get him out of there!”

“Kemps! Kemps! Kemps!” Simmons shouted.

“What is going on!?!” they heard Smith’s voice over the radio.

“Contact! Contact!” MkVenner screamed. “Stairwell! Stairwell!”

“I think you got it!” Simmons said. “I think you got it!”

MkVenner looked into the duct and finally saw the thing clearly. It was obviously dead, with an entry wound in the skull. He noticed movement around it and for a moment thought that tiny creatures were crawling in the duct. Then he realized that where the thing’s blood had struck, it was dissolving, filling the duct with a sickly haze.

“What’s going on down there!?!” Smith said again.

“Up the stairwell!” MkVenner shouted. “Up the stairwell!”

Simmons looked over Kemps but didn’t find any broken bones on the man’s legs. His suit integrity didn’t appear to be compromised or torn and he saw green lights in the man’s helmet. He guessed that the man had passed out from the shock of the pain from the thing squeezing his leg like a hydraulic press.

“What the **** is this thing!?!” MkVenner shouted, still looking into the duct.

“I think he’s okay!” Simmons said. “Suit’s okay!”

“Get him up the stairs!” MkVenner said.

“What is going on down there!?!” Lt. Smith said.

“Grab my rifle!” Simmons said. “Grab my rifle!”

MkVenner grabbed the straps for the two floating pulse rifle with his left hand as he backed up the stairs after Simmons, who dragged Kemps still form. He kept his own pulse rifle trained on the duct.

“Did you get it?” Simmons said. “Did you get it?”

“It ain’t moving!” MkVenner replied.

“What the hell was that thing?”

“I don’t know! Let’s get the hell out of here!”

“Did you see the size of that thing?”

They returned to the bridge as quickly as possible and found Anderson still working on the controls while Lt. Smith and Henson had weapons ready and were watching both the other doors to the room and the hatch that led below.

“Corporal, what happened?” Lt. Smith said.

“Sir, I don’t know,” MkVenner replied. “I don’t know what the hell that thing was.”

“All right, calm down,” Smith replied. “Calm down.”

“It was huge.”

“What?”

“It was huge. It came out of a hole in the ventilation system, grabbed Kemps. Just … man, I never heard him scream like that. He went out. He was out cold man. This thing started pulling him into the hole. Simmons grabbed him and couldn’t hold onto him. I shot it. I think it’s dead.”

“It about pulled me in the hole,” Simmons said.

“I think it’s dead,” MkVenner said again. “I don’t know. I think it’s dead.”

“What did it look like?” Lt. Smith asked.

“It was big and it was black!” Simmons said. “It had teeth! What do you want me to say!?!”

“I want a description private,” Lt. Smith said. “It wasn’t a person, then? Wait a minute, it had teeth?”

“It’s not human,” MkVenner said.

“Well it was …” Simmons muttered.

“How could …?” Lt. Smith said. “We’re in vacuum.”

“I don’t know sir,” MkVenner said. “I don’t know.”

“It had two arms and … I guess it had two legs,” Simmons said. “But it had two arms.”

They looked at each other for a moment.

“We got to get the hell out of here,” MkVenner said.

“So, we have a xenomorph on board,” Lt. Smith said. “But it’s dead.”

“I hope so,” MkVenner said. “I shot it in the face. I assume it’s dead.”

“It wasn’t moving,” Simmons said. “Oh! But, I don’t know if this is even possible, but after he shot it, the damned shaft started dissolving.”

“Blood,” MkVenner said. “This thing’s blood was eating through the metal like … gasoline through Styrofoam.”

“Like acid?” Lt. Smith asked.

“Yeah,” MkVenner said.

“What the hell?” Lt. Smith said. “Okay, I’m going to go back on the general frequency.”

A desperate screaming came over the radio as soon as they switched over.

“Get it off!” the voice shrieked. “Get it off!”

Then there was a hissing noise and the screaming stopped almost immediately.

“Is that Brobski?” Simmons said.

“This is Lt. Smith!” Smith said.

“Who was that?” Simmons said again. “Brobski?”

“Everyone sound off!” Smith said. “Everyone sound off!”

“No way man!” MkVenner said. “One of those things got Brobski and no one was around? He’s dead; he’s gone man!” ]]> Max_Writer http://www.penandpapergames.com/forums/entry.php/1688-Aliens-Adventure-Game-Forced-Entry-1-(Part-1)-2010-07-30 Aliens Adventure Game: Forced Entry 1 (Part 2): 2010-07-30 http://www.penandpapergames.com/forums/entry.php/1687-Aliens-Adventure-Game-Forced-Entry-1-(Part-2)-2010-07-30 Wed, 01 Feb 2012 16:43:14 GMT I finally was able to run a second game of Aliens and finish up where we left off in July 2010. As it was so long ago, I'm first publishing the last game for easy reference. The new entry should be up within the week.

“This is Coombs,” the man’s calm voice said. “I’m in engineering. I have two technicians here. I sent one of the men to go check out the cargo bay. He started screaming. We called for you. Where were you?”

“You sent him off alone!?!” Simmons said.

“There was valuable cargo in the cargo bay that I needed examined,” Coombs said. “The ship is dead and empty.”

“No, it’s not dead and empty sir,” MkVenner said. “There’s … what’d you say … xenomorphs?”

“We’ve got something on this ship–” Simmons started to say.

“Xenomorphs,” Lt. Smith confirmed.

“Those things … if there’s more than one, we’re in deep shit,” MkVenner muttered.

“Riley, please respond,” Coombs voice said.

“It sounded like … it sounded like his suit was compromised,” another voice said.

“Shut up West,” Coombs calmly said. “Riley, respond.”

Only silence answered.

“Riley, respond,” Coombs said again.

Nothing.

“Lieutenant, I need you to send a couple of men into the cargo bay to try to find out what happened to Mr. Riley,” Coombs said.

“**** that man!” Simmons said. “No way!”

“**** that sir!” MkVenner said.

“No way!” Simmons said again.

“Not with only two of us!” MkVenner said.

“Then send three,” Coombs calmly said.

“Coombs, you didn’t see this thing!” Simmons said.

“I understand that,” Coombs said. “You’re also heavily armed. Please do your job.”

“Lieutenant, this thing almost killed Kemps in no time flat,” Simmons said. “It’s going to tear us to pieces.”

Lt. Smith signaled them to switch to the private channel and MkVenner did so. Smith pointed out that though they had the nerve gas, they still needed more information on Coombs. MkVenner told him if he wanted dirt to follow him to engineering. He nodded and they switched back to the open channel.


* * *


Simmons listened on the open channel.

“Riley?” Coombs voice came over the radio. “Riley? Respond.”

There was no response.

“You two secure these samples,” the man said.


* * *


“All right marines, let’s move out,” Lt. Smith said once he was back on the open channel.

“Sir!” MkVenner said, shaking his head.

He hoped Coombs hadn’t picked up the word “marine” in the transmission.

“Form up on McVeety,” Lt. Smith.

“MkVenner sir,” the other man said.

“I mean MkVenner,” Smith said. “You’ve got point.”

As MkVenner started to lead them out of the bridge, Lt. Smith stopped him. He asked if he’d fired any rounds and then told the man to reload his weapon. Kemps was coming around and was in a great deal of pain.

“What the hell was that?” he said.

“Dude, Kemps, man! Are you okay?” Simmons asked him.

MkVenner unslung Kemps’ rifle from his shoulder and floated it across the room to him. Simmons caught it and asked him how he felt. He said it felt like his leg had been in a vice.

“What the hell happened?” he asked. “Was that a piece of machinery?”

“Dude, you don’t want to ****ing know,” Simmons told him.

“Can you walk?” MkVenner asked him.

“I don’t know,” he said. “We’re in zero-g. I’ll manage.”

“Get up on your feet then,” MkVenner said. “Make sure your safety’s off.”

“My safety hasn’t been on since we got here,” Kemps said.

MkVenner motioned for the man to switch over to a private frequency and he did so, as did Simmons.

“You said there was something in the security locker?” MkVenner said.

“Yeah, some serious shit in the security locker,” Simmons answered.

“Let’s go,” MkVenner said.

“Kemps?” Simmons said.

“Yeah, yeah,” Kemps said. “There’s sentry guns.”

“Rocket launchers,” Simmons said.

“Nothing we can really use at close range though,” Kemps said. “There’s gas.”

“They took the smart guns,” Simmons said. “Looked like they had pulse rifles.”

“Ammo for the pulse rifles?” MkVenner said. “I’m going to the security locker.”

He and Simmons went to the security locker and returned with magazines and bullets that they distributed amongst the marines. Everyone made sure they had two more extra magazines.

“I tell you what, I think Coombs can kiss Riley’s ass goodbye,” Simmons said to MkVenner over the private frequency as they loaded up.

“We’ve got to find Brobski,” MkVenner said.

“Absolutely,” Simmons replied. “You know what I say? I say ef these frigging engineers. We’ve got to find our Jew-boy and we’ve got to find him now.”

MkVenner nodded.

Wanting to show the lieutenant the alien, MkVenner led them through the hypersleep chamber to the shaft that led to deck three. On the way, Lt. Smith had them switch over to a private channel and reminded them that they needed to find dirt on Coombs. Simmons replied that the thing would be some.

“You’re not going to believe the size of this thing,” MkVenner told him.

They switched back to an open frequency as they reached the shaft.

“Corporal,” Simmons said.

“Go for corporal,” MkVenner replied.

“Hold up,” Simmons said. “Pop a flare.”

MkVenner took out one of his flares, broke it, and it burst into life, the small device providing its own oxygen-fed flame. He nudged it into the shaft, which it lit in a bluish light. It struck the wall of the stairwell and headed downward at an angle. For just a moment, MkVenner, wired tight, thought the saw a shadow move at the bottom of the shaft.

Simmons noticed that the door to the medlab was still open, darkness deep within the hall there. The hypersleep pods reminded him of coffins and all of them were draped in darkness. He backed after the others, watching the open doorway to the bridge.

Kemps followed MkVenner into the stairwell. MkVenner gestured for the man to wait in the doorway and then put one of his magboots to the wall and pivoted himself to stand on the wall, moving to the opening and covering it from above. He leaned his head very carefully over, Kemps covering him, and finally the light from his helmet penetrated the disintegrated air duct within.

The thing was gone.

“**** me,” MkVenner said.

“What is it man?” Simmons said. “What is it?”

“It’s gone man,” MkVenner said.

“I thought you killed that thing!”

“I shot it in the face. It’s gone man. It’s gone!”

MkVenner carefully moved around the wall and got back on the steps again. He motioned for the lieutenant to move into the shaft and Smith did so while MkVenner covered it.

“Hey Hal,” Simmons called.

“What?” MkVenner replied.

“Didn’t we catch this thing on video?”

“Yeah, we can’t access the helmet until we get back.”

“Shit.”

MkVenner motioned for Kemps to enter the shaft and move down the stairwell. He motioned for Kemps to watch the stairwell while he watched the air duct.

“Lt. Smith,” Coombs voice came over the channel. “Have you investigated the cargo bay yet?”

“We’re en route,” Lt. Smith replied.

Kemps moved down almost to the landing between level one and level three and kept an eye on the open doorway at the bottom. Anderson and Henson also moved into the shaft while Simmons waiting in the doorway to the top. Then MkVenner signaled for Lt. Smith to go to a secure channel and they both switched over.

“See?” MkVenner said, shining his helmet light into the air duct.

Lt. Smith looked into the shaft. Irregular holes pockmarked the duct and MkVenner pointed out the places where the thing had bled out. Smith looked very concerned and a little unnerved.

“I shot it point-blank in the face,” MkVenner said.

Then they noticed the rest of the marines looking up.


* * *


Simmons was standing in the doorway of the shaft, watching the hypersleep chamber, when something launched itself out of the dark doorway that led to the corridor to the bridge. For just a moment, he thought it was some kind of ballistic projectile. Then he saw it had arms and legs and realized it was one of the things.

“****!” he yelled.

He fired a burst from his pulse rifle and saw the thing jerk as the bullets glanced off the lower body and arm of the thing, sending more of the acid blood outward and into the hypersleep chamber. The thing struck him solidly and grabbed him, knocking both of them into the shaft. Simmons found himself face to face with the horrible metal teeth and felt the thing squeezing his chest.


* * *


The rest of the marines looked up as Simmons crashed into the shaft, the alien holding him as both floated across the top of the shaft amidst a cloud of the alien blood. The creature was huge with a massive eyeless head. It was completely black and almost had a mechanical look to its insect-like frame. Great, black tubes grew from the thing’s back.

MkVenner switched back over to the general frequency and heard Simmons cursing and screaming as the thing gripped at his head. Then Simmons went limp in the thing’s grasp. The two struck the wall of the shaft and the thing turned, its legs slapping against the wall uselessly as if they were not working.

“Watch the blood!” MkVenner screamed.

“What’s going on up there?” Coombs said over the radio.

“I’ll save you Simmons!” Henson screamed.

There was a flash from his pulse rifle as he fired a burst. The 10mm rounds flashed again as they struck the top of the shaft near the creature.

“Check your fire!” MkVenner yelled as he aimed at the thing. “Check your fire!”

The thing struggled in the air and then tucked Simmons under one arm. It grabbed at the ceiling and started to pull itself towards the door to the hypersleep chamber again.

MkVenner fired at the thing, the muzzle of his pulse rifle flashing silently in the vacuum. Bullets struck the thing in the head and legs, the head shot only a glance and the other shots sending more of the acid blood into the air. Then everyone else opened fire as well, only Anderson and MkVenner’s bursts actually striking the thing in the in the chest, legs, and lower body. It jerked at the bullets struck it and let loose of Simmons, the two floating apart with a cloud of the thing’s blood spreading out between them.

“Get out of the shaft!” Lt. Smith said. “Get out of the shaft now!”

MkVenner reached back and put a hand on Kemps as he saw that the mass of the tiny droplets of blood were between them and the rest of the marines. Lt. Smith and Pvt. Anderson headed back up the steps at speed. Pvt. Henson bent at the knees and leapt upwards, his feet leaving the metal steps. He stopped himself with one hand when he reached the ceiling, reached over and grabbed the incapacitated Simmons, and then pulled him towards the open door to the hypersleep chamber as the others made their way into the doorway.

Little blobs of the acid blood were expelling smoke as they struck the railing, steps, walls, and ceiling of the shaft. The area was filling with a whitish haze.

Cpl. MkVenner and Pvt. Kemps headed down the shaft and into the main passageway on deck three. They were not far from the airlocks, the last place they’d heard from Brobski. MkVenner could also see that the far door in the long passage was open. He knew it led to the cargo bay.


* * *


Simmons came too and was in pain but couldn’t feel any broken bones. Anderson looked him over briefly but his suit had not lost its integrity. Miraculously, none of them had been touched by the alien’s acid blood.

“Lieutenant, what is going on?” Coombs voice came over the radio. “Have you sent some men down to check out the cargo bay?”


* * *


“Coombs,” MkVenner said, very calmly, “when we get a chance, we’ll go check out the cargo bay. We’ve got hostiles all over us. Our team’s been split. We might have a man down. Just give us a minute.”

“Very well,” Coombs replied.

MkVenner and Kemps held their position, looking down towards the two open doors that led to the airlocks on either side of the ship.

“Hey, corporal, can we close this door behind us?” Kemps muttered.

“To the stairwell?” MkVenner replied.

“Where that blood … acid stuff is,” Kemps said.

He was watching the stairwell very carefully.

“Hold tight Kemps,” MkVenner said.


* * *


Simmons led the other group back through the bridge, where they found that the floating body of Penrose was missing.

“Don’t forget, the thing came from this direction,” Simmons said.

“Seal off the stairwell,” MkVenner’s voice came over the radio. “We’re going to seal off the doors down here. Talk to me Simmons. Where are you?”

“Uh … we’re getting ready to head down the passage to deck two,” Simmons said.

They headed down the stairwell from the bridge to deck two and found themselves in an open chamber with a single open door in the opposite wall that led to engineering and a dark passage to the left. The door to the right was closed and they knew it led to the tube to deck three.

“Where’s Coombs?” Simmons said. “Coombs?”

“Coombs here,” the voice replied.

“Where are you?” Simmons asked.

“We are in engineering,” Coombs replied. “Where are you?”

“Doors are open, yeah?”

“Yes … we opened them to get to engineering. Where are you? Are you at engineering?”

“Yeah, we’re on level two.”

“I need a couple of men in here.”

“Oh, you’re going to get a couple of ****ing men.”

“Pardon me?”

Simmons looked at Lt. Smith.

“Mr. Coombs, we have to pick up the rest of the squad,” Smith said.

“They are investigating the cargo bay,” Coombs replied. “While they investigate the cargo bay, I need a couple of men. I’ve got something I need transferred back to the dropship.”

“We’ll get there as soon as possible,” Lt. Smith said.

“Aren’t you right outside the door to engineering?” Coombs asked.

Smith looked at Simmons and then touched the switch to the private frequency. Simmons did as well.

“Let’s go,” Simmons said to him.

He took the lead and motioned to Anderson and Henson to follow him. Henson covered the rear.


* * *


“Lieutenant? Lieutenant?” Coombs voice came over the radio.

MkVenner rolled his eyes and guessed Lt. Smith had switched to the other frequency.


* * *


When they reached the other end of the tube, Lt. Smith switched his frequency over again. Coombs called for him over and over but he didn’t answer the man.

“Anderson,” MkVenner’s voice came over the radio. “Anderson.”

“Yeah,” Anderson said. “We’re almost there.”

“If there was any power, are there any emergency bulkheads that could be dropped to seal off these airlock tubes?” MkVenner asked.

“Might be able to rig something,” Anderson replied. “We’d have to weld it shut. We’d have to weld one of the doors to the … you mean to the damaged airlock?”

“Yeah.”

“We’d have to weld it shut. Make it air tight. Might take a little while.”

MkVenner saw lights in the passage and then movement as the lieutenant entered the passage from a corridor on his right. He slapped Kemps, who was just finishing manually closing the door to the stairwell. Kemps spun around with a shout.

“Easy easy easy bro,” MkVenner said. Then: “Lieutenant.”

“I have a visual on you corporal,” Lt. Smith replied.

“Eyes on please,” MkVenner said. “We’re moving to you.”

He and Kemps moved down the passage towards the far end.

“Lieutenant, I need some men in engineering,” Coombs voice came again. “And have you checked out the cargo bay yet?”

“We are en route,” Lt. Smith replied.

As they reached the open passages that led to the airlocks, Kemps and MkVenner slowed and covered both of them as they moved past. MkVenner was on the right, on the side with the damaged airlock, and as he looked down it, he thought at first it was pitch black. Then he realized he could see stars far down the passage.

“Holy shit!” he said.

Something sometimes blocked the stars, as if it were floating down there.

“Ell-Tee, can you move your team down here?” MkVenner asked.

“Holy shit!” Kemps said. “How can these things live in vacuum man? How can they survive?”

“Stop, Kemps,” MkVenner said.

Kemps continued to mumble under his breath and MkVenner turned to see him looking the other way. As he continued to babble incoherently, MkVenner slapped him in the back of the helmet.

“Get a hold of yourself,” he said.

Lt. Smith and the others moved to meet them in the middle of the passage.

“Does anyone have a motion tracker?” Simmons said.

“They don’t work in vacuum,” MkVenner said.

MkVenner said they had to check out the destroyed airlock. He pointed out that something was floating down there and Brobski had disappeared down there.

“What … what … what?” Kemps said.

He seemed to be coming unglued.

“Don’t you remember what Brobski said?” Simmons said. “The lady, the lady that was on the recording, she was down here, that the whole hatch had been blown off, so it’s probably her body floating around.”

“Well, it could be,” MkVenner said. “But it could be Brobski’s body.”

“Shit,” Simmons said.

“If there’s any chance he’s alive, I want to go get him,” MkVenner said. “We don’t leave our people behind.”

Simmons looked down the passage which looked a kilometer long. In actuality, he guessed it was closer to forty meters down to the airlock. He drew out a flare, broke it so it lit, and tossed it down the corridor. Then he looked back into the passage.

Everyone was watching all around, helmets and pulse rifles constantly pivoting, though they also kept glancing down the corridor to the destroyed airlock. As the flare reached the end of the corridor, they could see the damage, even at that distance. There were bullet holes and explosive blast burns in the walls, floor, and ceiling. As the flare got to the end, they could see a body floating there. The flare actually bumped into the body in a corporate spacesuit. Icicles of blood spread out from the wounds like red quills and the walls were painted in frozen blood. The suit was torn and shredded. There were also unusual resin secretions around some of the wall and ceiling corners, almost taking the shape of oversized black honeycombs.

“What the hell is that?” MkVenner whispered.

He asked Anderson if there was anything they might be able to salvage off the ship that they could weld over the intersection and seal it up. Anderson answered that he guessed they could salvage enough to close the door there. It might not form the perfect seal but it would be a start. He said once power and life support were back on, they could find any leaks and seal them. He said it might be easier to seal it at the airlock at the other end, however.

“Let’s go check this damned cargo bay,” MkVenner muttered.

“Yes lieutenant, please go check the cargo bay,” Coombs’ voice came over the radio.

“Give me pirates any day,” Simmons muttered.

They moved down the corridor to the open door of the cargo bay and shined their lights within. A short corridor led to another open door. The cargo bay beyond was vast and obviously encompassed the entire aft section of the ship. The main drive apparently went right through the cargo bay and the huge room actually encompassed it. Pallets were stacked throughout the bay with large crates atop them, the entirety of them secured to the deck. Each metal crate had a bill of lading with a bar code and a printed manifest. MkVenner tore one of the plastic bills of lading off and kept it.

The cargo formed lanes that crisscrossed the cargo bay and as they moved to the aft of the bay, some 100 meters away, they spotted more of the strange resin honeycomb. Near the back, they saw actual columns of the stuff, reaching almost to the ceiling and covering several of the pallets of crates. Simmons groaned when he saw it.

“That can’t … that can’t be part of the ship, right?” he said.

“It’s organic,” MkVenner said.

“Is that blood?” Henson muttered. “It’s blood over there. I see blood.”

“Where?” Simmons said.

Henson pointed to the left and they carefully moved to the spot. There was blood on the floor and splashed on some of the crates. There were also a few torn bits of space suit.

“Coombs,” MkVenner said.

“Yes,” Coombs replied.

“What was the name of the man you sent to the cargo bay?” MkVenner asked.

“Riley,” Coombs replied.

“I don’t think Riley’s coming back.”

“Damn it. What’s down there?”

“Bunch of alien shit, I don’t know.”

“Why don’t you bring your sorry ass down here and check it out?” Simmons said. “Maybe you can tell us.”

“I’ll be down once I get an escort,” Coombs replied.

They looked at the organic material across the bay.

“What do you think Simmons?” MkVenner said.

“I don’t think you want to know what I think,” Simmons said. “What are you asking Corp? Do I want to go check it out or what? **** no. But, I mean, it’s what we’re here for.”

“All right, pull it in,” MkVenner said. “Keep it tight. All your firing lanes cleared.”

They approached the strange resin secretions and saw that connected to the resin were what appeared to be two bodies. They were obviously dead but the bottom half of each appeared to have changed or mutated into some kind of round, puckered alien substance that looked almost like a flower with an overly fat stem. With the changes of their skin and hair, the men appeared to have almost been mutated into the strange roundish alien thing that they were sticking out of.

“What!?!” MkVenner said. “What the ****?”

“What the hell?” Simmons said. “What the hell!?! I mean, what the hell!?!”

“What’s going on down there?” Coombs voice came over the radio.

“Clear the channel,” MkVenner said.

He looked at the two corpses and what they were becoming.

“What I wouldn’t give for a flame unit right now,” he said.

“I’m for getting back to the dropship and blowing the hell out of this thing,” Simmons said.

“Yeah, well, while we’re wishing, let’s just make ourselves back on Earth,” MkVenner said. “Kicking back, drinking tea, and eating chips.”

“Give me a beer and I’ll agree with you,” Simmons said.

He looked at the resin encrusting the walls.

“This stuff, it looks like some kind of organic material,” he said.

“We can’t just leave those guys there like that,” MkVenner said.

“What?” Simmons said. “Corp, in all fairness, they’re gone. We haven’t grabbed bodies from anywhere else.”

MkVenner looked more closely at the bodies but didn’t recognize them. They appeared to have been in good shape and were well muscled, with military style clothing and haircuts.

“I can tell you one thing,” Simmons said. “Neither one of these guys is Riley.”

“Does either one of those guys look like typical corporate deep-spacers to you?” MkVenner asked.

“Oh yeah,” Simmons said. “Absolutely.”

“Something’s starting to stink around here.”

“I still need some help in engineering,” Coombs’ calm voice broke in. “I have some items I need moved at which point, we can return to the ship.”

MkVenner nodded to Simmons and switched over to the private frequency. Simmons clicked over, as did Lt. Smith.

“So, I’m thinking, what kind of item is this that he’s wanting to move?” Simmons said.

“I don’t know. I don’t know,” MkVenner said. “We’ve got a whole cargo bay full of high tech electronic shit.”

“Is it?”

“We’ve got combat consoles up on the bridge. We’ve got a medical bay with what Henson and Kemps say has stasis containers in there. We’ve got these two jarhead assholes hanging up on a wall.”

“Yeah. Those ain’t civilian anything, we know that. I’m thinking we crack open one of these cases.”

“Yeah, I agree with that.”

They opened up one of the metal crates and found that it was, indeed full of electronics just as the bill of lading said. That surprised both of them.

“Damn, I could have sworn …” Simmons said. “Well, you and Ell-Tee are in charge. I don’t like being down here. We’ve got one guy dead already. I don’t know if it was one of the ones that came after us or another of them.”

“Let’s get the **** out of here,” MkVenner said.

“Hey wait, I just had a thought,” Simmons said. “Okay, so, Henson and Anderson found some kind of specimen container in the medbay.”

“Empty,” MkVenner said.

“Yeah, empty,” Simmons said. “What if that was how big it was? We’ve seen these things fit into a pretty tight hatch. What if what Coombs wants us to move is one of these damned things?”

He looked at the other two.

“I mean, we’re not here for what he thinks we’re here for in the first place,” he went on.

“No,” MkVenner said. “No, this is a cover up. I don’t know man. I never heard of anything like this. I mean, it can live in a vacuum so … we can’t know for sure if these things attached themselves to the ship when they found it or where they came from but I just can’t see these things floating around in the void. They had to have come from the ship or, wait a minute–”

“Anderson might be able to tell where the ship came from,” Lt. Smith said.

“The recording of the staff sergeant,” MkVenner said. “Didn’t she say there were two other ships?”

“She said something about two ships,” Lt. Smith said. “I don’t remember.”

“Yeah yeah, two ships, it was broken up but it was in there,” Simmons said.

“She said something about two ships,” MkVenner said. “We need to hear that recording again.”

“Damn, we’d have to get back to the bridge then,” Simmons said.

“Aw …” Lt. Smith replied.

“Have our mission parameters changed yet sir?” MkVenner asked Smith. “We catch Coombs with his hands wrist deep in this pie, what can we do?”

“Well, something bad happened here, I’m not even sure what,” Lt. Smith said. “We need to find how Coombs is connected with this.”

“Well, he’s covering up pretty hard,” MkVenner said.

“He seems pretty ****ing calm for a civvie,” Simmons said.

“If we go up there to move whatever he’s talking about moving and it turns out to be some more of these damned things, is that enough clearance to deal with it?” MkVenner said.

“Oh yeah,” Lt. Smith said.

“And then we can get the hell out of here?” MkVenner said.

“Yeah,” Smith said. “Hopefully. He’s got a whole crew on his ship though. That’s the problem.”

“Ef those guys man,” MkVenner said. “After fighting these things, I’d be happy to face a couple of yahoos with a gun. We’d better switch over and get back up there to see what the hell he needs moved.”

They switched back to the open frequency.

“Hey, lieutenant,” Kemps said. “Coombs wants to talk to you.”

“Lieutenant, are you back with us?” Coombs voice came over the headset.

“Ah … yeah,” Lt. Smith said.

“West has gotten ship’s power back on,” Coombs said.

“Not down here,” MkVenner said.

“Well, it’s possible the lights weren’t on down in the cargo bay,” Coombs said. “Gravitational systems are still … we’re working on that.”

“We’re coming up,” MkVenner said.

They left the cargo bay and saw lights in the main corridor of the third deck though many of them had been damaged and destroyed apparently. They could more easily see signs of combat and bullet holes in the area. They headed back up to the second deck and found that doors were now closed in their path though they opened with a press of a button.

When they got to engineering, they found more of the strange resin there. Two large resin columns covered two consoles, also covered in resin. Four people were encased in each column and the six men and two women were all terribly mutilated and burned, as well as frozen in vacuum. All were well-muscled and wore military style clothing and haircuts. One of them had an old Colonial Marine tattoo. Three of them had large, gaping holes in their chests as if something had burst out of them.

“What the ****!?!” Simmons said.

“Yes, we found the remains of the crew apparently,” Coombs said.

“You didn’t feel it important to tell us this shit when you found it?” MkVenner said.

“Well, they were dead,” Coombs said.

“So are we if we don’t get the hell off this ship,” MkVenner said.

There were also four oblong, leathery orbs on the deck. They were closed but reminded them of the things the men were changing into in the cargo bay.

“What the hell is this shit Coombs?” MkVenner said.

The bodies that did not have chest wounds were nearer the strange, oblong growths and appeared to be blue in the face and the lips. They had probably died from asphyxiation when the atmosphere had been vented from the ship.

“So, lieutenant, corporal, can you guys count like I can?” Simmons said, eyeing the bodies with the chest wounds.

“If this thing is adding up the way it looks, yeah,” MkVenner said.

“I’m going to take a guess that the previous crew didn’t ice any of these things,” Simmons said. “So I’m going to bank on the fact that there’s at least two more.”

“Two,” MkVenner said.

He looked at the corporate executive.

“All right Coombs, where is this precious cargo that you want us to transfer for you?” he said.

He pointed at the oblong, fleshy things on the ground.

“That’s what I thought you were going to say,” MkVenner said.

“To hell with that, man!” Simmons said. “I mean to hell with that!”

“Have you seen one of these things full-sized?” MkVenner said.

“One of what things?” Coombs said.

“Oh please!” Simmons said. “Cut the shit! Yeah, you’ve seen these things!”

Coombs looked at them.

“There is a substantial bonus for every one in your group upon returning,” Coombs said.

“How big of a bonus?” Simmons asked.

“More than ten times what you were offered each,” Coombs said.

“Twenty-two grand?” MkVenner said. “Really? That’s like a weekend in Vegas!”

“Hyperdyne has substantial interest in the Weyland-Yutani find,” Coombs said. He looked them over. “Your contracts can be renegotiated to your favor. But these need to be returned to the Mendez.”

“Lieutenant?” Simmons said.

Lt. Smith looked around the engine room.

“Coombs, what the hell is Ashgrate?” he said.

That surprised both Simmons and MkVenner.

“What?” Coombs said.

“Ashgrate,” Lt. Smith repeated. “What is Ashgrate?”

Coombs looked them all over.

“It is unimportant,” Coombs said. “We need to move this cargo.”

“If you want us to move this cargo, it’s important,” Simmons said.

“Gentlemen, I hope you will keep in mind that you are in my employ,” Coombs said. “As are the pilot of the dropship and the captain of the Mendez.”

“I hope you remember that … all of the rest of us are carrying the ****ing guns,” Simmons replied.

“As are men on the Mendez,” Coombs slowly said. “If you’d like to stay on this ship, then do whatever you wish. Kill West. Kill Hennison. Kill me. But if you do, I can guarantee, as we are still in communication with the pilot, than none of you will get off this ship and back onto the Mendez. The Walbran is in a decaying orbit. It’s got several days, but eventually it’s going to crash into that planetoid. I have offered you compensation. I don’t find this any less distasteful than any of you. But we must salvage what we can so that these people’s lives were not lost in vain. These are all Hyperdyne employees. Their families will be justly compensated.”

“All right then, here’s the new deal,” MkVenner said. “I want full disclosure and I want full disclosure now or I’m not taking another step in any direction that you want me to. Neither does the rest of my team.”

Coombs looked at him.

“I can give you that once we reach the Mendez and you have signed non-disclosure forms,” he said.

“Let me tell you right now, I ain’t picking that ****ing thing up until I know what it is, what comes out of it, what it does, what it came from, how the hell you know about it, how the hell you got a hold of it, and how this whole ****ing fiasco went down,” MkVenner said. “Or I’ll pull the trigger and blow away your multimillion dollar eggs right here, buddy.”

“You don’t want to do that,” Coombs said quietly.

MkVenner lowered the muzzle of his pulse rifle and pointed it at the things on the floor.

“Lieutenant, please get your men under control,” Coombs said.

Simmons also aimed his pulse rifle at the things.

“Yeah man,” he said.

“Wait, wait, let’s not be rash gentlemen,” Coombs said. “These are … from what I can piece together, Weyland-Yutani has been investigating a new potential biological weapon. These are apparently all that’s left. The creatures that you fought, elsewhere in the ship, are somehow related to these eggs.”

“Biological weapon?” Simmons said.

“Damned good one too,” MkVenner said.

“Yes,” Coombs said slowly. “That’s all I can tell you.”

“Biological weapons don’t crawl around in an air shaft and reach in and grab people and rip them to pieces,” Simmons said.

“These do,” MkVenner replied. “It’s all you can or will tell us?”

“It’s all I can tell you,” Coombs said.

He was watching the two men very carefully.

“Do it,” Kemps whispered. “Do it man.”

“So what’s Ashgrate?” Simmons asked.

Coombs looked at him over the rifle barrel.

“One of the specimens was recovered and was in transport to Hyperdyne, codename: Ashgrate,” he said. “It was in a stasis tube.”

“Where is it now?” MkVenner said.

“I do not know,” Coombs replied. “I’ve not had a chance to look at any of the ship’s logs yet.”

“Yeah, well, we found some kind of specimen,” Simmons said. “Well, we didn’t. Henson and Kemps found some kind of specimen tube up in the medbay.”

“It was empty,” MkVenner said.

“Empty,” Simmons echoed him.

“Apparently it escaped,” Coombs said.

“Yeah, you ****ing think?” Simmons said.

“Gentlemen, as I’ve said, my only assumption is that it escaped and … somehow attacked the captain,” Coombs said.

“Wait a minute, wait a minute, wait a minute, wait a minute,” MkVenner said quickly. “Henson, how big did you say that tube was that you found? The specimen container?”

“It was a regular stasis tube,” Henson said. He held out his hands to indicate something about two feet wide and maybe three feet tall. “Yeah, it was good-sized.”

“That big black ****ing thing that attacked us in the stairwell couldn’t fit in one of those, could it?” MkVenner asked.

Henson shook his head.

“So something else came out of that,” MkVenner went on. “What bit a hole in the captain’s sleep couch? What, it crawled inside of him and then busted out of his chest as something different?”

“Nah, that’s weird,” Henson said.

“Where did these come from Coombs?” MkVenner asked.

“Uh … they were picked up on a Weyland-Yutani base,” Coombs replied.

“What?” MkVenner said. “What base?”

“It was a … uh …” Coombs said.

“This isn’t Weyland-Yutani-controlled space,” MkVenner said.

“It’s controlled by several different corporations.”

“Where is this base?”

“It is … the planet is called Acheron.”

MkVenner and Simmons were looking over the eggs. Both noticed how similar they were to the things in the cargo bay. These were somewhat translucent, however. They could see that there was something inside each of them.

“Gentlemen, if we return these, we would all become very wealthy,” Coombs said.

Simmons and MkVenner looked at each other.

“Where are you taking them?” MkVenner asked.

“They are to be returned to Hyperdyne,” Coombs said.

“Where’s Hyperdyne?” MkVenner said. “I know it’s a company, but …”

“They will be taken to one of Hyperdyne’s scientific research laboratories and studied,” Coombs said. “What was in the cargo bay?”

“Dead men,” MkVenner said. “Two dead guys. They looked like two dead marines actually. Kind of like that guy right up there.”

“Those are Hyperdyne employees,” Coombs said. “Everyone aboard the ship was. Now, will you please stop pointing guns at those?”

“Not yet.”

“Gentlemen, I’m sure that we can come to some equitable agreement. As you have said, you think that there are more of these creatures on board.”

“At least two.”

“It would behoove us to get off of this ship.”

“Well, actually, so far, you and your engineering team haven’t done a damned thing except feed these ****ers from what I can tell.”

“Feed them?”

“Whatever. One of your guys wandered off into the cargo bay and he’s dead somewhere.”

“He went down–”

“It’s just you and these two.”

“We lost Brobski too,” Simmons said.

“Yeah, we lost a good man up here,” MkVenner said.

“I’m sorry,” Coombs said. “But it will all be in vain if we don’t take these back.”

They all looked at each other. Only the sound of their breath in their helmets filled the silence.

“Anderson, Kemps, Henson, keep an eye on this stuff,” Simmons said. “Lieutenant. Corporal.”

Simmons, MkVenner, and Lt. Smith all switched over to the private frequency.

“So, what the hell are we gonna do?” Simmons asked.

“I ain’t picking one of those ****ing things up, I can tell you that,” MkVenner said.

“He’s got us over a barrel,” Lt. Smith said.

“Are you kidding me?” Simmons said. “We could arrest this guy!”

“And do what?” MkVenner said.

“Shove one of these eggs so far up his ass it pops out his head!” Simmons said.

“The problem is, the Mendez is under his control,” Lt. Smith said.

“Without him, we’re not leaving,” MkVenner said. “If we’re going to do anything, we can’t do it until we get back aboard the Mendez. And, until we control the Mendez.”

They realized they could get to the space station and wait out there for help if they needed to. They could get to it with the dropship, but they still had to get control of the dropship for that. None of their men were pilots.

“Can you imagine if they get a hold of one of these things though?” Simmons said. “I know he’s got us over a barrel, but if someone gets a hold of one of these things and figures out how to make it turn into one of those big black things?”

“We’re screwed men,” MkVenner said. “We just got kicked all the way down to the bottom of the food chain.”

“I saw that thing up close, and I mean up close,” Simmons said.

“All right,” MkVenner said. “We send Smith and Kemps to secure the dropship. We call it recon. Their true task is to get onboard, draw weapons on the crew, keep them locked down, keep them on that dropship waiting for us. We take Coombs, his two techies, and however we can package these ****ing things up. We take them to the dropship. All right, when we get to the dropship, we ditch Coombs, we ditch techie boys, we leave them on board with these ****ing things, we haul ass to the station. We drop a few surprises for the assholes who stay on the ship. We frag this whole ****ing place.”

“Yeah man!” Simmons said. “Yeah!”

“Let’s ghost these assholes,” MkVenner said.

“Alright, I can do that,” Simmons said.

They went back to open frequency and MkVenner said he wanted Smith and Kemps to make sure they had a clear route to get the cargo to the dropship. He also said he wanted to find something to carry the things and Simmons suggested the crates in the cargo hold.

Lt. Smith and Pvt. Kemps left engineering to go secure the dropship. Once they left, MkVenner sent Anderson and Henson down to the cargo hold to retrieve a crate to transport the eggs. Those two men left as well.

Lt. Smith kept in constant communication, noting when they were on level three and when they approached the airlock.

“Entering the airlock,” Lt. Smith said. “Oh shit!” ]]> Max_Writer http://www.penandpapergames.com/forums/entry.php/1687-Aliens-Adventure-Game-Forced-Entry-1-(Part-2)-2010-07-30 Gary Gygax Tribute Game: Keep on the Borderlands - March 8, 2008 http://www.penandpapergames.com/forums/entry.php/1679-Gary-Gygax-Tribute-Game-Keep-on-the-Borderlands-March-8-2008 Tue, 03 Jan 2012 19:59:24 GMT On March 8, 2008, I ran a game to memorialize Gary Gygax. We played Advanced Dungeons and Dragons; I ran the Keep on the Borderlands. A chair was set... On March 8, 2008, I ran a game to memorialize Gary Gygax. We played Advanced Dungeons and Dragons; I ran the Keep on the Borderlands. A chair was set aside for Gary at the head of the table. We toasted him with scotch after that game. The man has touched so many lives. I've only now gotten around to fixing it so it can be online.

A photo of the game table is here: http://maxwriter.deviantart.com/art/...ygax-194539194


Monday, March 10, 2008

(After playing 1st Edition AD&D in Bryan Saturday from 4 p.m. to 8 p.m. with Scott Allen, Adam, and Kim: The Keep on the Borderlands.)

The realm of mankind was narrow and constricted. Always the forces of chaos pressed upon its borders, seeking to enslave its populace, rape its riches, and steal its treasure. If it were not for a stout few, many in the Realm would indeed fall prey to the evil which surrounded them. Yet there were always certain exceptional and brave members of humanity, as well as similar individuals among its allies – dwarves, elves, and halflings – who rose above the common level and joined the battle to stave off the darkness which would otherwise overwhelm the land. Bold adventurers from the Realm set off for the Borderlands to seek their fortune. It was those adventurers who, provided they survived the challenge, carried the battle to the enemy. Such adventurers met the forces of Chaos in a testing ground where only the fittest would return to relate the tale. Here, those individuals would become skilled in their profession, be it fighter or magic-user, cleric or thief. They would be tried in the fire of combat – those who returned, hardened and more fit. True, some few who did survive the process would turn from Law and good to serve the masters of Chaos, but most would remain faithful and ready to fight chaos wherever it threatened to infect the Realm.

The three who came down the road that fateful day were indeed members of that exceptional class, adventures who had journeyed to the Keep on the Borderlands in search of fame and fortune. Of course, they were inexperienced, but they had their skills and hearts that cried out for adventure. They had it in them to become great, but they still had to gain experience and knowledge and greater skill. There was much to learn but they were willing and eager to be about it! Each of them had come with everything which they could possibly be given to help them. But now they had to fend for themselves; their fate was in their hands, for better or worse.

Ahead, up the winding road, atop a sheer-walled mount of stone, loomed the great Keep. There, at one of civilization’s strongholds between good lands and bad, they would base themselves and equip themselves for forays against the wicked monsters who lurked in the wilds. Somewhere nearby, amid the dark forests and tangled fens, were the Caves of Chaos, where fell creatures lay in wait. All this they knew, but before they dared adventure into such regions, they had become acquainted with each other, for each of their lives would depend upon the ability of the others to cooperate against the common foe.

They had introduced themselves when they found themselves together on the road some days before.

The largest of them was a tall man in chain mail who carried a shield with a lightning bolt upon it. He had close-trimmed red hair on his head but not his chin or lip and his eyes were a steely-blue. He was a man thick with muscles and not an ounce of fat upon him. On either hip was a throwing hammer and at his neck was a symbol of a hammer. Basch Zr’Phylus had introduced himself to the others as a cleric of Thor, the thunder god.

He had heard of the Caves of Chaos and it was rumored that the bugbears in the upper caves were afraid of dwarves. He had hoped to meet a dwarf on the road but luck had not been with him.

The other man in the small party was short and skinny with brown hair and green eyes. He wore leather armor and carried a round, wooden shield. A scimitar hung from his belt and mistletoe hung from his neck. He wore rough clothing, this druid, this child of the woods, this nature nurturer, who was called Nacian Horrormain.

He had also heard the Caves of Chaos but what he had learned was that a powerful magic-user would destroy any invaders of the caves.

Finally, a lithe and willowy half-elven woman also walked with the two men. She had short brown hair and bright green eyes. A long sword was upon her hip and a light crossbow over her back. A fighter, she knew how to use all of her weapons well. She also wore leather armor and carried a small, round, metal shield. She had told the others her name was Bailey Kneadadog.

She, too, had heard rumors of the Caves of Chaos. She had been told that an ogre sometimes helped the cave dwellers. She was ready to test her mettle against such a horrible creature.

The three had introduced themselves on the roadway and decided that they would adventure together. Fate seemed to have decreed that they were to become an adventurous band who would pass through many harrowing experiences together on the path that led to greatness.

They had traveled many days, leaving the Realm and entering into the wilder area of the Borderlands. Farms and towns had become less frequent and travelers few. The road had climbed higher as they entered the forested and mountainous country. When they had seen the keep, they had taken the side road that led to it.

They moved up a narrow, rocky track. A sheer wall of natural stone was on their left, the path falling away to a steep cliff on the right. There was a small widening ahead, where the main gate to the keep was. The blue-clad men-at-arms who guarded the entrance shouted at them to give their names and state their business. All along the wall, they saw curious faces peeing down at them – eager to welcome new champions of Law but ready with crossbow and pole arm to give another sort of welcome to enemies.

When all three of the travelers had given their names and told their professions, and Basch had called them the “Champions of Thunder,” the drawbridge was lowered and the portcullis raised. Two plate-mail clad men-at-arms carrying pole arms approached the three adventurers, telling them to put any weapons away and come with them. They led them through the gatehouse and into a courtyard beyond.

They stopped in the courtyard when another man in plate mail, this one carrying a shield and armed with a long sword, bid them to halt. Next to the man was another who wore robes and had a great book. Flanking the two were two more men-at-arms in plate mail. The corporal took their names and the scribe wrote them all down in his book. The armored man asked if they were merchants and when they claimed they weren’t, he waved them through, allowing them to finally enter the keep proper.

They walked south past stable and warehouse with parapets atop their roofs, then turned to follow the way westward. A taller smithy stood in the cobblestone street and they could hear the men working within. They passed by two low buildings with wooden placards over the doors. The first read “Provisioner” and the second “Trader.” They were well-provisioned and so walked past them and the houses that lined the other side of the street.

Some of the folks in the keep gave them strange looks but most simply ignored the adventurers.

They finally came to another courtyard, this one with a large, gushing fountain in the center of the square. Two more buildings opened into the Fountain Square. Over one door was a sign that proclaimed it to be the “Traveler’s Inn” while a simple sign over the other listed it as simply a “Tavern.”

Their throats were dusty and dry from the road so they opted to enter the tavern first. The smell of cooked meat, bread, and other good food greeted them as they entered the room and they found that in the early morning, they were alone except for a man in robes who sat at a far table, seemingly lost in deep thought. A man stood near several casks stacked up by the far wall and over him was a sign that listed the prices of food and drink in the place.

The prices were quite high.

A mug of ale or a glass of wine cost an electrum piece, according to the posting, though small beer or bark tea was only a silver coin. The honey mead was a gold piece for a mug. The tavern had a decent variety of food with bread being only a copper coin a slice and pudding, soup, or fruit only a silver coin for a bowl. Both the stew and the hot pie were an electrum piece while the roast fowl coast a gold coin and the roast joint cost two gold coins.

The three sat down and called for ale. The barkeep asked if they would be buying him a pint as well and after a moment, Basch smiled and said “Of course!” The man filled four mugs and brought them over, sitting down with them and drinking his ale. When they asked him what he had heard of the Caves of Chaos, he told them that an ogre sometimes helped the cave dwellers.

“I heard that too,” Bailey said.

“I heard the bugbears in the upper caves were afraid of dwarves,” Basch said.

“Well, I heard that a powerful magic-user would destroy any invaders of the caves,” Nacian replied.

“What is your name good sirrah?” Basch asked the barkeep.

“Bob,” the man replied, finishing his pint and licking his lips.

“Have you heard any other tales of the caves?” Nacian asked.

“Depends,” the barkeep replied. “I have a powerful thirst and prefer honey mead to ale.”

The three looked at each other and then ordered another round, asking Bob to get himself some honey mead as well and continue to drink with them. Over the course of the next few minutes, they learned from Bob that there were hordes of tiny dog-men in the lower caves and that tribes of different creatures lived in the different caves. They also learned that the caves lay somewhere to the east in the wilderness and that the lower caves held the lesser creatures while the higher caves were filled with all sorts of terrible beasts.

“Peter might know more,” Bob said, pointing to the man in robes at another table. “He’s a traveling priest who has been here a few weeks. You might want to ask him.”

He told them that the priest was a likable fellow though his acolytes had taken a vow of silence and never spoke. Those two were strange and unnerving, he said.

The man at the other table appeared to be deep in thought or perhaps prayer. An empty mug and a plate that had been cleaned of food sat before him. Basch thanked the barkeep and the three adventurers walked over to the priest. Basch apologized if he was interrupting the man’s prayer but asked if he could talk to him. The priest opened his eyes and smiled, telling the man he was just enjoying the feeling of the filling breakfast he’d just eaten. He bid them to sit down and join him.

They learned that he had come to the borderlands to fight evil. He said he had stopped over at the keep to talk theology with learned people and convert any who wished to know the gods. When Basch asked what god he worshipped, the man merely held out his hands and told them “All of the gods of Law.” Unfortunately, he didn’t know much of the Caves of Chaos that they hadn’t already heard.

They ended up having a meal with the man. Bailey ordered the stew and more ale while Basch had hot pie and soup. Nacian got the roast joint and found it quite delicious and filling.

They went to the inn next door and got rooms, each of them finding themselves in a small room with a bed with straw tick mattress, tiny table, and a candle. Each of their rooms had a narrow window that looked out onto other courtyards in the keep. They learned from the innkeeper that there was also a loan bank in the town, as well as a chapel.

Nacian told the others he wanted to go into the woods to commune with nature for an hour or so. He bid them good day and told them he would return but Basch turned to Bailey when he had left.

“We’d better go after him and see that he doesn’t get into trouble,” he told the girl.

She nodded and they followed behind, leaving the keep and lounging in the grass while the man tended to some trees at the edge of the forest. Nacian was used to such treatment. Basch had done the same thing on the road and the druid had decided it didn’t matter.

They returned to the keep and then went to the great inner gatehouse. They could see that it was like a small fort. The southern portion was only about 15 feet high and had a battlement running around the top. The rear portion was 30 feet tall with battlements. Arrow slits were in the southern section and along the walls of the 20-foot wide, 10-foot high passage that sloped upwards towards the inner courtyard. The open heavy gates appeared to be double-bound with iron and were spiked. There were two guards in the gateway.

Basch told the guards on duty there that they were noteworthy adventurers who wished to see the castellan. The guard asked their names but didn’t recognize any of them. He told them the castellan was a very busy man but he would pass on the word that they wanted to speak to him.

They had passed the large chapel on the way to the gatehouse and so entered that large building. The building had a peaked roof two stories tall and the interior was one large room. The altar was at the eastern end under a great stained-glass window that was some 20 feet high and eight feet wide. An offering box was secured atop a heavy pedestal in the southeast corner and steps went down in the northwest corner. Soon after they entered, a young man in robes came up the steps and approached them. They learned he was an acolyte and he fetched the Curate for them.

The man seemed somewhat dour but chatted with them.

“Beware of treachery from within the party,” he told them. “Often there are traitors amongst those who enter the Caves of Chaos.”

They talked to him for some time and he also told them he didn’t much care for the priest.

They left and ended up going to the smithy next. The building was connected to the warehouse near the main gatehouse but was a good 20 feet tall with a five-foot parapet above, pierced for defense. The main floor had a forge, bellows, and other smithing equipment. A large man and two younger men worked on various metal implements. There were two swords, a mace, a suit of chain mail, and a dozen or so spears on display in the shop. The smith also told them there were hordes of tiny dog-men in the lower caves.

They visited the provisioner next and found that the low shop had a great deal of goods for sale. He had no weapons other than daggers, spears, arrows, and bolts but told them that the trader next door carried weapons and armor and large amounts of goods. When they told him they were adventurers, he went pale.

“Beware of the mad hermit of the north lands,” he said.

He didn’t know anything else about the hermit save that the man was insane and dangerous.

They visited the trader next and found that the small shop dealt with all kinds of armor, weapons, and large-quantity goods such as salt, spices, cloth and rare woods. The trader told them he was interested in obtaining furs and would pay a good price for them if they were in good condition. He told them that piles of magic armor were hoarded in the southern caves of the Caves of Chaos.

They finally went to the loan bank and as they entered the building, they saw that, in addition to the banker and a scrawny old clerk was another man-at-arms who eyed them suspiciously. They learned from the banker that they could store their riches in the place for a month at no charge but if they took the goods or gold out before that, there was a cost. He also told them that he had heard that nobody had ever returned from an expedition to the Caves of Chaos.

“Well, we’ll be returning,” Basch said with a grin.

Displayed on a shelf for sale were several items, each marked with a price. They included:

• a carved ivory tusk priced at 50 gold coins.
• a silver cup priced at 20 gold coins.
• a crystal decanter priced at 45 gold coins.
• a jade ring priced at 250 gold coins.
• a dagger with jeweled scabbard priced at 600 gold coins.
• a fur-trimmed cap priced at 75 gold coins.
• three blank vellum books priced at 20 gold coins each.
• a gold and silver belt priced at 90 gold coins.
• a set of locksmith’s tools priced at 100 gold coins.
• an iron box with a secret lock priced at 50 gold coins.

They explored the keep only a little while longer before having dinner and retiring to their rooms with plans to search for the Caves of Chaos the next day.

* * *

The three adventurers left the keep early the next morning. The corporal at the gate asked if they were moving on or were just going to go out for an hour again. Basch told him they were going to explore the Caves of Chaos and he wished them luck.

“You’ll need it,” he said.

They traveled down to the main road and then headed east along it. Nacian had learned from the barkeep that the caves were in the woods somewhere along the road in a deep ravine.

At first the river came close to the road on the south side but it soon meandered away again as they passed a hill to the south. The woods likewise pulled away from the road as it started to turn in a more northerly direction. Nacian suggested they move into the woods and they turned northward and made their way through the undergrowth, coming out in a wide clearing probably a mile across that was empty of anything except rolling hills. They headed eastward again and came to the road once more before heading into the woods in a northwesterly direction.

The forest they had been passing through had been getting more dense, tangled, and gloomier than before. The thick, twisted tree trunks, unnaturally misshapen limbs, writhing roots, clutching and grasping thorns and briars all seemed to warn and ward them off, but they had forced and hacked their way through regardless.

“Don’t hurt the trees!” Nacian had told them.

The strange growth had suddenly ended. They stepped out of the thicket into a ravine-like area. The walls rose rather steeply to either side to a height of about 100 feet or so. Dark streaked rock mingled with the earth. Clumps of trees grew here and there, both on the floor of the ravine and up the sloping walls of the canyon. The opening they stood in was about 200 feet wide. The ravine ran at least 400 feet west to where the western end rose in a steep slope. Here and there, at varying heights on all sides of the ravine, they could see the black mouths of cave-like openings in the rock walls. The sunlight was dim, the air dank, there was an oppressive feeling there – as if something evil was watching and waiting to pounce upon them. There were bare, dead trees here and there, and upon one, a vulture perched and gazed hungrily at them. A flock of ravens rose croaking from the ground, the beat of their wings and their cries magnified by the terrain to sound loud and horrible. Amongst the litter of rubble, boulders, and dead wood scattered about on the ravine floor, they could see bits of gleaming ivory and white – closer inspection revealed that they were bones and skulls of men, animals, and other things ...

They knew that they had certainly discovered the Caves of Chaos.

There were numerous caves and some of the small thickets were too dense to see through. They guessed there might even be more caves amongst those copses and decided to try to explore the first cave on the south side, hoping that the creatures there were not too terribly powerful or organized.

They entered the cavern to find that the natural cave quickly turned into a worked stone tunnel. Basch lit a torch and only about 20 feet in from the entrance, the tunnels split into three other directions: west, south, and southeast. They opted to head west and as they came down the tunnel, they heard noises ahead.

“Bree-Yark!” the cry went up.

A half-dozen goblins were in the room. Nacian let fly with a bullet from his sling as soon as their torch light showed the creatures. The bullet flew straight and true and the goblin fell back and fled the chamber. The other five rushed them. The battle was fast and furious and Nacian fired sling bullets at the creatures while Bailey and Basch fought them hand to hand.

Basch was injured repeatedly by goblin spears until he finally swooned and fell to the floor, unconscious. Bailey and Nacian finished off the rest of the goblins and tended to their friend but just then they heard the sounds of footsteps coming from the far side of the room.

“Pick him up and run!” Nacian yelled as he snatched up Basch’s torch.

The half-elf woman did so and they fled from caves, running to the edge of the forest and hiding themselves in the underbrush. They saw another half-dozen goblins come out of the cave but the bright light obviously hurt their eyes and they stumbled about until they fled back into the cave.

Nacian and Bailey returned to the keep, annoying the corporal.

“I thought you said you were going to be gone for more than an hour!” the man said. “It isn’t easy raising and lowering this drawbridge you know!”

They returned to the inn.

* * *

Basch had recovered enough by the next day to cast healing spells on himself. Nacian suggested they invite the priest to join them and he found the man’s chambers that morning. Another man in robes answered the door and didn’t speak to Nacian but gestured into the air and pantomimed eating and drinking.

“He’s at the tavern?” Nacian asked.

The young man simply nodded. Nacian thanked him and headed for the tavern where he found the priest finishing his breakfast. He chatted with the man and then invited him to join them in an adventure into the Caves of Chaos. Peter was more than happy to help destroy evil and Nacian told him to meet them the next morning.

* * *

They left the next morning with the priest and again headed to the Caves of Chaos, sticking to the road and not venturing into the swampy land south of it. They found themselves again at the ravine and headed into the goblin cave.

This time they turned to the left, heading southeastward and soon finding themselves in another guard room. Another half-dozen goblins were in the room and Bailey rushed the creatures. One of them fled through another passage and up a flight of steps while the rest eagerly joined the fray. Bailey found she was facing four of the creatures while a lone goblin attacked Basch. Nacian cast a spell and two of the goblins started glowing purple.

Just then, Peter the priest smashed his mace into Nacian’s head.

“Fools!” he shouted as the druid stumbled back, injured. “You will not defeat the followers of chaos!”

He howled with laughter and Nacian remembered the words of the curate: “Beware of treachery from within the party.” He turned to the priest and yelled for help even as Basch killed the goblin he fought and turned to the man.

Bailey was having some trouble with the three creatures she faced. She fought with them for several minutes before cutting them down one at a time.

In the corridor, however, the battle was not going well. Nacian had managed to get off a spell that made Peter glow like the goblins before but even so, he and Basch were finding it almost impossible to harm the man. He had plate mail and a large shield and wielded a great mace. He injured both Basch and Nacian, focusing most of his energies on Basch and calling the man a cleric of a feeble god, before the two each managed to hurt the man. He had backed away from them carefully.

“This is not over yet!” he said with a grin before laughing again.

He backed away and suddenly the faerie fire on him went out, leaving him in darkness.

“Ah!” he yelled and ran away.

They quickly regrouped and found that they were all injured though not terribly so. This time they searched the bodies and found silver and copper coins on them. They headed out of the other end of the room and up two flights of stairs before finding the goblin who had run from the battle. He stood before a solid door and when he saw them, he started to bang on it with his spear.

Nacian let a bullet fly from his sling and killed the creature.

They discussed what to do but then opened the door to find larger creatures within, these in fine weapons and armor. They slammed the door and ran out of the complex again, guessing that the things had been hobgoblins and realizing they were in no shape to face them. They hid in the woods again and soon saw a small group of four hobgoblins march out of the goblin cave. The creatures surveyed the area and policed the ravine near the cave before they returned the way they’d come, marching back into the cavern.

They returned to the keep again, Basch using his magic to heal them as best he could. They warned the corporal of the treachery of the priest as well. He questioned them, wondering if they hadn’t killed the priest and taken his possessions. They stood up for themselves and the corporal finally backed down.

Nacian asked if Bailey could use better armor and the woman said she could. In the interest of protecting the party and himself, they went to the trader and he bought her a suit of banded mail with some money donated by Basch as well. The half-elf woman thanked the two men.

* * *

They used Basch’s magic to heal themselves the next day.

* * *

They left the keep again the next day and returned to the Caves of Chaos, exploring some of the copses of woods in the area. They found another cave in one copse not far from the goblin cave and as they entered it, saw what looked like a bear on the floor of the rough, natural cavern. There was a strong, sour odor in the place. They talked a moment about what to do until they heard noises and heavy breathing from a side chamber. Then they heard heavy footsteps.

They fled, again entering the goblin tunnels. They turned right again and found that there were more goblins in the guard room. One of the creatures fled the room yelling “Bree-Yark!” while another ran to a barrel in the corner and the last two rushed the party.

They made quick work of the two goblins that had charged them but the third had pulled a dripping sack out of the barrel and ran to the corner of the room. He pushed on the wall and it opened as he yelled “Bree-Yark!” and flung the bag within.

A moment later, an obscenely huge creature came through the door and the same strong, sour odor they’d smell in the cave in the copse filled the room. The thing stood at least eight feet tall and dragged a club behind it. It was horrible to behold and Bailey realized they had found the ogre she had heard tell about. She grinned as the creature lumbered across the room and swung its club at the girl.

She easily deflected the blow and the fight was on. The goblin rushed them as well and Basch quickly smashed its head in with his hammer.

The battle against the ogre was long and furious. As Basch and Bailey cut and bludgeoned the horror, Nacian cast spells upon it, causing it to glow and making it easier to see. The druid also fired bullet after bullet at the thing, sometimes hitting it. After several minutes, they cut the beast down without taking any injuries themselves! It had been so clumsy and slow that they had managed through sheer teamwork to best it.

They quickly searched the goblin bodies for coin, finding little, and the ogre, finding nothing but a rotten bear-skin armor. Nacian kicked over the water barrel but it was empty of anything but water.

Just then more goblins came running down the corridor. After another furious battle, they had decimated the half-dozen or so goblins and been only slightly injured in return.

They peeked into the secret door in the corner. A great leather bag sat in the cave with a smaller, wet bag beside it. They guessed that was the side cavern where they’d heard the breathing before.

They dragged the bags into the guard room and when Nacian looked into the wet bag, he was pleasantly surprised to find that it full of gold coins. Basch found more bags in the great leather bag and pulled them out, looking in each of them carefully. The first was full of silver coins while the second had a hard cheese. In the third were copper and electrum pieces while the fourth was full of gold pieces. A keg of brandy was in the fifth while the sixth held copper pieces and the seventh was also full of gold pieces.

They quickly looked in the cave again, not entering the adjoining chamber where they’d seen the sleeping bear. There was a heap of old bones piled in the south side of the chamber but they ignored them. They quickly went down the corridor where the other goblins had come from to look into another room where they could see firelight. Goblin females and children were in the room.

They left the caves again, returning to the keep. They found that the wet bag had 250 gold pieces in it while there was 287 silver pieces in the first bag. There were 182 copper pieces and 91 electrum pieces in the next bag and 289 gold pieces in the other gold-filled bag. The sixth bag had 303 copper pieces and the last bag had 241 gold pieces.

After some discussion, they went to the trader to buy plate mail and a larger shield for Bailey, figuring that Basch would then get her banded mail. While they were there, the man found that some of the coins were actually lead coins with a wash of gold and nearly worthless. They examined all of the coins and found that the sack with 241 gold coins had been actually filled with fakes.

They still got the plate mail for the girl.

* * *

They returned to the caves the next day, this time searching more of the copses in the ravine. They found another cave with natural caverns within it on the far side of the ravine and entered the place, bearing towards their right once they got within. The empty gallery stank and bones and rotting corpses were spread here and there amidst a litter of dead leaves and old branches.

The cave they found themselves in at the end of the tunnel was very wet and all of the walls and the floor had a sheen from the dampness. There was a large pool of shallow water and a few white, blind fish swam there. There was a jewel-encrusted goblet in the water.

“It’s too easy,” Basch said. He turned to Nacian. “Get it.”

Nacian drew out a torch and had Basch light it off his own. He tossed the torch into the water but it just hissed and went out and then floated. They watched the wood but it didn’t sizzle as if it were in acid so Nacian took out a piece of rope and tried to lasso the goblet.

His first toss missed and the rope sank to the bottom of the pool. As he started to pull it back, the rock bottom of the pool suddenly seemed to ripple and curve upwards, grasping the rope! Nacian drew his scimitar and cut the rope, then ran. The others followed him out of the cave as the three gray oozes rippled out of the water. They fled the copse of woods and ran back to the forest.

“Did you get the goblet?” Nacian asked them.

“What?” Basch said.

“I distracted them and you were supposed to get the goblet!” Nacian said.

“You distracted them right at us!” Basch replied.

They entered the goblin caves again, turning right and heading down to the guard room. They quickly dispatched the three goblins there and then moved on to the common room they’d seen the day before, first investigating several side passages that all ended in dead ends. They went through the room, ignoring the females and postering young. The corridor beyond went to the north and then cut to the west again. As they rounded the corner, several crossbow bolts flew out of the darkness of the tunnel ahead, bouncing off Basch’s and Bailey’s shields and armor. The cleric rushed down the corridor to find four goblins frantically reloading their crossbows.

The group made fast work of the goblins, killing them all in short order. There weren’t any major injuries so they took the tunnel to the right and followed it until it opened into a large room with many bales, boxes, crates, barrels, and sacks stacked and heaped all around. They found nothing alive in the room so started to search the booty. They found little of value. There was nothing but cloth, food, beer, and wine, none of any great worth.

As they were searching, part of the wall across from the entrance to the room pivoted aside and four hobgoblins marched out. The creatures had long swords in their hands and when they saw the adventurers, they rushed them.

Two of the creatures quickly fell to Bailey’s and Basch’s weapons. The other two fought fiercely, one of them making a fighting retreat back to the secret door and slamming it shut behind him as they killed the last of the creatures.

They fumbled at the hidden latch and finally managed to get the secret door opened. It revealed a tunnel that went due west away from the goblin storage room. They crept down it until they came to a T-intersection with steps leading up to their left. As they headed up the steps, crossbow bolts flew down from above and they rushed up the stairs and charged the two hobgoblins in the room beyond.

Bailey cut down one of the retreating hobgoblins but the other made it to one of the two doors of the room and banged on it.

“Chief!” the creature yelled in his own tongue. “Intruders! Intruders! We need your help!”

Only Bailey could understand the creature’s language and she yelled a warning to the rest. As they killed the creature, the door opened and a huge and ugly hobgoblin stood there and bellowed at them. Behind him were four females, all of them armed with long swords. The chief wore plate armor.

Nacian took one look at the creature and cast faerie fire. The hobgoblin chieftain began to glow purple, looked down at himself, and then bellowed at them all. Nacian ran down the stairs into the darkness followed by Basch. Bailey fought a fighting retreat down the stairs and then turned and fled after the hobgoblin chief cut her with his sword and badly injured her.

In the near-darkness, she ran down the corridor to the secret door and into the torch lit goblin storage room. Nacian was behind the secret door and slammed it shut behind her. Then Basch pushed several crates up against it.

They heard someone banging on the door and saw it start to open so they all fled.

They escaped that day and returned to the keep with quite a tale to tell. ]]> Max_Writer http://www.penandpapergames.com/forums/entry.php/1679-Gary-Gygax-Tribute-Game-Keep-on-the-Borderlands-March-8-2008 Behind Enemy Lines 11-28-2011 http://www.penandpapergames.com/forums/entry.php/1675-Behind-Enemy-Lines-11-28-2011 Wed, 30 Nov 2011 22:03:53 GMT Tuesday, November 29, 2011 (After playing the *Behind Enemy Lines* scenario “The Jaws of the Trap” Monday in High Point with Stephen Turner, Jeff... Tuesday, November 29, 2011

(After playing the Behind Enemy Lines scenario “The Jaws of the Trap” Monday in High Point with Stephen Turner, Jeff Smith, Eric Huffine, and Ken Woody from 7 p.m. to 10:30 p.m.)

By August 1944, the Allies had broken out of Normandy, pushed the Germans back, and retaken Paris. However, the invasion had run out of steam and both sides were consolidated in central France. The Nazis were on the run but the German war machine was still strong.

On August 27, 1944, five soldiers of the 1st Infantry Division had gathered at the tent used by Major Joseph Taylor as his HQ in a tiny, broken village in France. The five had volunteered for what had only been described to each of them as a “dangerous mission” behind enemy lines.

The 19-year-old Corporal Thomas Sawyer had a nickname of “Lefty” because he had been an amateur boxer in his hometown of Chicago, Illinois, and no one ever teased the very large man about his name. He had red hair and a very fair complexion, and looked slim, but it was all muscle. He usually preferred the M1 Garand rifle. He had only been with the 1st Infantry since Normandy and was also trained in demolitions.

Private First Class Norris Polk was from the hills of Tennessee. He was a scrawny kid with sandy brown hair and skin that had been browned from years of working on the farm. A country boy, he had grown up using a cap and ball pistol left over from the civil war. He was an excellent pistol shot and carried a .45 automatic as well as an M1 carbine. His first action with the 1st Infantry had also been at Normandy.

Private First Class Richard “Dick” Carter was from Philadelphia. He was tall and slim with strawberry blonde hair and gray eyes. He was usually armed with a .45 automatic pistol and a Thompson M1 sub-machinegun. He had served with the 1st Infantry since Sicily, having come up Italy with the Big Red One and been part of storming the beaches at Normandy as well. He was rated as a medic.

Buck Private Syd Lafayette was a small, wiry New York City kid. He had a French-Canadian mother and an Italian father, making him very confused about his heritage. He always limited himself to only the equipment he had to carry, often talking other soldiers into carrying his kit and pack as he was not, himself, strong enough