Tuesday, June 16, 2020

Lost Dispatches of Feraso #81 - A Proper Set of Marks

32nd of Hepdec 1160 - Village of Eding, Kingdom of Crosedes
W. and I have been carefully reviewing the rubes we can use to distract the goblins.  I'm still not privy to the details as to why we need to incite the Goblins of G'ba to move south towards use, but I trust W.'s judgment. 

It is peak season for would-be adventurers and caravan guards, sometimes both, and they and their distinctive stench descended on the Blue Wizard like a Summertime privy.  There are many good candidates, but our choice is quite functional... and dysfunctional at the same time.

Krull was a fighting-man at the age where most adventures start to think about putting the sword over the mantle, not taking it down and starting a new career.  His heaping piles of muscles completed his block head and chisled jaw.  In some random conservation, he let his knowledge of horses slip, so perhaps he's from the famed-horselands of Westhamm back in Ras-Prythax, and left a successful life of wealth for some thrills.

His boon companion is Theron, an aging magic-user who should be quite terrifying, if he had not just picked up his craft in the last few years.  My confusion turned to only an acknowledging head nod in the Inn when I learned he was Krull's father!   Despite his lack of skill, he does seem to have a level-head on him and is obviously the leader of the group.

Torm Touchberry has allowed me to discover an even more-hated type of elf... the touchy one.  I swear he gets caught picking pockets in order to caress, coax, or even fondle the target.   It's disturbing enough, but when an elf is doing it, I feel downright violated.

If the ineptness of the group concerned me, it was tempered by some of their choices in allies.  The ever-reliable half-orc caravan guard Zoog had returned for another season.  Somehow Krull and Theron convinced him to be part of the group, and he brought a younger half-orc guard Bizaud into this mess.

To top off this mess was the largest elf I've ever seen.  Towering well over six feet, Markuus Silverleaf was a "Sylvan or Wild" elf, and a priest of some distant god of punishment, Ill-Matter.  He was taller than most humans, he was stronger than anyone else in the bar, and he was perhaps the most obnoxious person I've met in at least a decade, if not longer.

I'll need to run messages to the goblin wiccans allied to W. and the druids in the north and I need to work on a convincing costume to fool the dog-boys that lurk in the Nightwood,  but I foresee little issue putting any plan into motion.

After all, I'm doing all the dirty work.

DM Notes:  We officially move on to the "Army Campaign," where I mix up some of my high school buddies with a few of the guys from my Army Reserve unit.   It was a fast and furious six-month campaign that barely made it out of the Summer, but it solidified the campaign setting I was developing around the Village of Eding.  

Expanding on Elsderth's background of mild-mannered villager / henchman or protege of the Witch will help explain a few of the "inconsistencies" my games have had.  


Next: #82 Another Rescue in Nightwood Forest

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