(Trogs Redux) #1 The Festival of King Halav

It's the Year 1142, Seventy Years after the Third Ferasean Empire was formed, only to collapse forty years later. Six years after the Burning Trogs brought peace to the continent by uniting the forces of man, elf, dwarf, and gnome against the hordes of The Master.

The PCs
Galdor Melwasul, a male drow with a deranged look in his twitching eye. Years of fighting orcs intruding on the Shadowlands has left a strong racial hatred of the creatures, and a head injury that makes him force people to call him "Strom." In a convoluted last will and testament, he inherited a home somewhere on the outskirts of Verge, in the Kingdom of Marakeikos. With the growing crowd of traveler journeying to attend the Festival of Halav he tagged along with a group of adventurers for added protection:

Phinious Whistelteets, a half-elf bard of Riffilin blood, trying to live up to his merchant family standards. His charming personality was going to get him a number of enchanted and rare items in a deal with the prominent Nubian merchant in Verge. Of course, his fear of light war horses and his deadly allergy to cheese was proving problematic on this journey.

Arnold, another half-elf bard of far more considerable blandness

Froedrick Cobblepot, a Gnome Cleric of worshiping the halfing goddess Yondalla, made even more amusing by his ramblings on how the halflings "stole" the one true god from the Gnomish pantheon generations ago. But be aware, if one would push the theological matter with a duel, he would immediately give in. (Low Pain Threshold, Wuss of Heart, and a psychotic aversion to halflings)

"Keebs," a Gnome Titan BattleMage, and frighteningly the only competent fighter in the group.

1st of HepDec 1142, Village of Verge, Kingdom of Marakeikos.
The group arrived in Verge late at the night before the great festival of Halav, most made small talk with Mayor Tom, the innkeeper at the Burning Ox (except Froedrick... damn halfling bartender). They managed to get sleeping spots in the common room but were they snagged a common room and were startled in the pre-dawn hours by a great commotion. The church of Halav in town was in flames and all the clergy killed or taken by Brigand Orcs... (cue the Drow complaints that orcs were good for nothing but target practice).

The head priest of Verge, Yuri "the Healing Guy" had been taken and two search parties had already left to look for him. The father of one of the slain clergy, an older man named Janner, offered to track the orcs for the party, so long as they brought him swift justice....

After a four hour hike in the woods, the group arrived near a series of well-known orc caves. The drow's battle cries eliminated any element of surprise, and a purely comedic combat against three orcs ensued. After just about every combatant drops their usual weapons, then scrambled to pick up anything, the bards were wielding an orcsish pole arms, the drow was running around with an empty crossbow, complete with sounds effects, and cowering behind a large rock, was a gnome cleric than that soiled himself.

Realizing that speed was the only option, 'Keebs' deducted the location of the Orc Chieftain, the Shaman, and two lieutenants.

sans one Orc Lieutenant

The combat was long and arduous, with Phineas ultimately hiding in the same cell Yuri the high priest was in. Yuri (and Phineas) were retrieved upon the party's victory, and they used the drow's racist ramblings to distract the orcs and allow the rest to get back to Verge.

The party returned to Verge to great great fanfare, and after a quick nap, Yuri could begin the Festival of Halav.

So far the group is hesitant to return back to the cave, without back-up. They have met Mutumbo and Nina, as well as a very aloof Turvel who id'ed they're magic items for a small fee. The drow still hasn't shown up in town....

4th of HepDec, 1142 - Village of Verge
The brave adventurers were wary to return to the orc caves and explore further. The drow had been last seen being chased by six orc brigands and an orkin wardawg, so despite the decrease in 'mud-people' comments. It also meant the group was in desperate need of (non-halfling) fighter types, and was desperately be searching for some replacements/additions.

DM Notes: This is the start of a "lost" Hackmaster game I ran after I moved back into the area, circa 2007-2008. I love Hackmaster to death, but it is not suited for once-a-month gaming sessions. We did get to revisit and expand upon portions of Marakeikos that the Trogs once traipsed across, but at the end of this campaign, I turned to Call of Cthulhu for a much better fit for our limited style of play, and the rest is history.

Galdor the drow was the last time I've ever seen my old high school friend "Crazy Darryl." Definitely all D&D nerd stereotypes cranked up to 11. One-hundred percent certified crazy. I still apologize to my friend Brian for driving him up to my house to game, it was strange. So, with that being said, it's understandable that he wanted to play a drow who acted like Strom Thurmond in his Dixiecrat days.

Last known communication with Darryl, he was traveling in Albania.

Next: #2 - Old Problems, New Help.