Mood Music

It has been a long summer in Redwain, and for the people of Har Hend this has meant harder living than usual. What few crops that could ordinarily survive the great waste have all withered in the preternatural heat. Giant sand storms have raged for months. Worst of all, with wild prey populations dwindling, creatures from below the sands have begun attacking human villages.

If there could be said to be an upside, it's that there's been no shortage of work for mercenaries like you. For the past month you've been stationed in the western waste as part of a small garrison protecting one of Baron Hend's thorium mines. While ostensibly your outfit is there to fight off the ever-increasing monster raids, you've heard rumors the Baron fears an attack by the other Houses. The war in Redwain has been cold a long time now, but over the years a number of dubious disasters have befallen your nation during times of such vulnerability. Of course, no links to rival Houses were ever proven, and this is the only reason those events never reignited the conflict.

Now, with lines of communication cut off by the storm, and the sand creatures providing a plausible scapegoat, the stage is set for Har Hend's enemies to make a move.

These thoughts weigh on you as you maintain vigil atop the garrison's walls. The torches in the quarry to the south have been out for hours, the miners all having retreated to their bunker for the night. Full dark seems to heighten the howl of the wind around you, and the stars are hidden by the swirling sand. Uneasily, you reckon any approaching forces would be invisible until they were practically at your gate.

Your only companion on this watch is a man you met two days ago in the mine. When a tunnel wall collapsed, spilling a hive of cave worms onto 20 hapless workers, the two of you held the creatures off by yourselves while the miners escaped. Upon hearing accounts of how finely you both fought, Commander Dundach insisted you each serve your next watch together, that you might better aquaint yourselves in service of future missions.

However, three hours into the shift neither of you has spoken more than a handful of words.
Perhaps it's time to humor your commander.





Escape from the Cave Worms:

You were assigned detail along one of the deeper, fresher thorium veins. This is always a hazardous position, as it's the job with the highest risk of cave-ins...and always the first to encounter any native inhabitants.

After a whole morning clearing out a new chamber, one of the workmen's pickaxes struck all the way through the wall. Within seconds the fracture blossomed across the entire surface of the vein, and the rock crumbled away like glass from a shattered mirror, filling the air with choking dust. When the rumble of crashing stones subsided, all was silent. A momentary wave of relief washed over you. The collapse would not spread.

Then came screams.

The lantern beams of twenty terrified miners swiveled about wildly in the dark, and everywhere they shined had appeared a squirming mass of rock maggots each the size of a small dog. Hundreds more began to pour out of the colony tunnels exposed by the miners' axes. You can still hear the sickening wet plops as they hit the floor.

Instantly you sprung into action. Slicing through piles of the worms' soft, plump bodies, you made your way to the rubble, where several miners were trapped up to their waists. The worms were agitated now. All over your armor you could feel the frenzied gnashing of mandibles meant to eat stone. In that moment it seemed sure you'd be overwhelmed, but then there was your new partner, deftly slashing the creatures from your body.

It took both of you pulling with all your strength to free the last miner, and by then the cavern was near filled with blind, hungry mouths. Carrying the man between you, you pressed through the pulsing swarm. Only by following the panicked shouts of the miners you were able to find the exit.

For five heroic minutes, you held back the surging tide of pale flesh while the miners placed charges, and sealed the opening. This dig would go no further.

Afterward, the men whose lives you saved took up a collection to thank you for your efforts. They were not rich men, but they managed to gather 100G for each of you.

Along the battlements is your partner for the watch, a tall half-Orc who carries himself with the stoic poise of one who serves proudly in the Baron's army. He wears a hooded cloak that bears the insignia of the elite Rangers of Har Hend. An ornate battle-axe hangs at his side, as do several throwing axes. He peers off into the darkness, almost sharing with you the unspoken words that something is amiss this night.

During the battle, you recall him charging head first into the fray with little regard for his own safety. It is clear that the orcish blood flows strong within his veins, eager at the chance to take on a worthy challenge. Though he slew many worms, he clearly would have been overwhelmed had you not been there. While he was quick to bark orders to the miners during the battle, he remained silent after the breach was sealed. One of the miners told you that his name was Goradh, of house Kharzug, a family of little renown. He has been stationed at this mining post after an extended trip with a trading caravan that had recently returned from one of the free cities.

His skin is a darker shade of green than many half-orcs, yet he towers above most humans. He has short dark hair, cropped in a similar fashion to many of those in the military, and a braided beard.

The Sandy Wind Rages
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Len Duros stands atop the ramparts of the garrison, with the half-orc by his side. Both stare outward into the sandy darkness, in vain efforts that they might spot something amidst the swirling chaos. Goradh's bloodlust proved useful in the previous battle with the cave worms; his willingness to charge headfirst into battle showed that he was in no short supply of courage. Combat requires a sound mind amongst courage however, and Len recalls having to strike down a few cave worms that were gunning for Goradh while his back was turned. Regardless, the two of them coordinated incredibly well for hardly knowing one another and being thrown into such a chaotic situation.

Fighting was Len's specialty, not wordspeaking, so Len was finding it difficult to break the grainy silence. Nevertheless, Len was a determined fellow and tried anyway.

"You fought bravely during that collapsed thorium mine incident. The vigor you showed was impressive, even for an Orc! Though I haven't seen any orcs fight prior to you, so that compliment doesn't really mean much come to think of it..."

Len was never one to break the ice well.

The half-orc turns to you with a perplexed look. You wonder for a moment if you perhaps have offended him with your words. Eventually, he breaks out a toothy grin and laughs. "Well met, human. You fought well yesterday," he says as he roughly clasps you on the shoulder, a typical gesture of those who have fought together. "I am Goradh. I have served the Baron for many years."

"My name is Len, and I have been overseeing the protection of the barons traveling caravans for the better part of my life out in the desert." Len turned to again face the swirling sands. "Though most of my expertise comes from fighting with at least a shred of visibility; I worry this night I won't be able to do much." Len squinted as he studied the murky darkness, certain he saw something moving around in the darkness. Shaking the uneasy feeling away, Len turned back to Goradh. "How have you aided the baron these past years? I'd imagine your fighting talents have come into play in doing so."

"I have served the Baron in many ways. While I relish scouting and hunting down threats that plague our settlements, I have also guarded trade caravans. The work pays well, and there are no shortage of cowards who seek to profit from banditry." Goradh smiled to himself. "Not the greatest of adversaries, but one nonetheless."

The half-orc peered out into the distance. "My sight is better than yours, Len, in this darkness, but the storm make visibility all but impossible. A perfect time for our enemies to strike, if they could navigate the sands in these conditions."

Approaching the garrison is so easy it's pathetic. All the residents of the nearby mining encampment have gone to bed or inside for the night to avoid the encroaching storm. The gates are shut and there hasn't been anyone in or out of the garrison for hours. The swirling desert sands blotted out the stars and the howling winds made the few lit torches flicker dubiously. Still, staying outside of their coronas seemed best. He'd be a laughing stock if he were spotted under these conditions. The outer wall of the garrison is a paltry fifteen feet. "Why even put it up?" he chuckled to himself. Slipping on his climbing claws, he scales the wall at the pace a man might briskly walk down a newly made city street. Nearing the top, he is careful to avoid the slotted archer's windows. The last thing he needs is for some restless grunt on his way to the piss pot to see a shadow pass over the window and go raising an alarm. Peeping over the brink of the wall, he sees no one in the immediate area, so he slips over the battlements near a corner of the garrison. Crouching on the pathway on the other side, he is returning his climbing claws to their belt-loops when he hears them. Guards stood a stone's throw away down the ramparts, but closer to the corner in which he now stood than any other. He would not have been able to hear them over the rushing wind had they not been talking so boorishly loud. It seemed they were discussing the important business of which one of them was the greater servant to some bloated baron. Typical. Warriors are always comparing swords or breaking their backs bowing to their masters. These two were doing both at once. He smiles to himself, glad of the increased level of challenge now presented him. It's been a while since he's been able to do this, what with the nasty business back home. But he can't think about that now. He has to get in, find some loot, get out, and move on before anyone even knows anything is missing. He casts one last look at the boastful guards just as he turns to slink down the stairs at the corner of the ramparts when he sees something glinting on the hip of the larger of the two watchmen. The wind was whipping the man's cloak around too furiously to get an idea of what it might be, but his imagination danced at the thought of what a trophy he could make of something plucked from the belt of a guard on duty. An excitement churned in him that almost bubbled over into laughter. There were still many hours of night left. The stairs could wait. Silent as a shadow without an owner, he swooped toward his prey. Squatting behind a crate of armaments, he observed the shimmering item to be an axe of fine making hanging from a thick leather loop in the guard's belt. Sizing up the gigantic, fierce-looking warrior and considering his options, he resolves to surrender this prize for something more easily attainable. Turning to leave, his tail disturbs a quiver of arrows he had not seen. The sound is audible in the awkward silence between the two guards. He tenses immediately, listening for signs that the guards are aware something is amiss....

An intruder?

Goradh. As if summoned by your words, a rattling noise pierces the silence behind you.
When you whirl around, no one is there. But wait...did those barrels just shift slightly?

Almost by instinct, Goradh holds his hand up in a fist to alert Len of the disturbance, but makes no further noise. The most successful attacks often begin with misdirection, and the ranger worries that the noise he heard was a precursor to an assault on the walls. But barrels do not shift on their own. He begins moving quietly but determined towards the noise. His left hand drifts towards one of his throwing axes...

Just then, something small arcs over the barrels, clacking twice as it bounces and rolls to your feet. After a moment of confusion, the tiny ball jettisons thick smoke into the air all around you. You think you can make out the sound of padded feet scampering away.

Goradh curses in Giant as smoke engulfs him. "Len, sound the horn! The perimeter has been breached!" The half-orc holds his breath and moves cautiously through the smoke, towards the sound of evasive feet. The last thing he needed was to step on a caltrop or to charge into a readied spear..

Rounding the corner of the bunkhouse, he opens the door to the stairs, spending as much time to do it quietly as his current situation will allow. With the head-start his trick afforded him, he can take a moment of careful movement to avoid betraying his position, so he shuts the door behind him with care. The chase has only begun. Quickness will be of the essence, but perhaps there's still time to grab a few essentials before taking his leave.

He went that way!

Goradh presses through the smoke as quickly as prudence allows. There's no sign of the intruder on the other side, but his options for retreat were quite limited. You follow a hunch...



...Then comes the blast of the horn, reverberating through your skull. It blares again.

Almost immediately the sounds of shouting and running feet echo up the stone stairs.
Hanu looks around the room in dismay. A few crates stacked against the walls. A solid ceiling above the rafters. Only two ways in or out. No hiding places. Trapped.

Calculating the odds, you turn to toss another smoke bomb through the door-
-Too late. It swings inward inches from your face, and there stands the huge, half-orc guard, brandishing the very axe that got you into this mess.

Goradh has a half-second to appraise his quarry.
Your first impression of the tiny cloaked figure is "halfling," but then you notice the long tail, and the bare chest covered with fur.

Goradh towers menacingly above the strange creature. "It would be unwise to make any sudden movements," the half-orc says, poising himself to bring his axe to bear should the intruder attempt to escape.

Looking from the brandished man-cleaver, then back to you, the pregnant pause is shattered by an "Oooh!" that is startlingly loud in the cramped room. "Can you help me?!" the creature asks in a shrill voice. As quiet as he was before, he now becomes equally opposite. "I've been running from some demons for a while now and I'm looking for a safe place to stay! Your little fort here looked sturdy enough from the outside." Testing the hardness of the floor by stomping one leather-padded foot on the flagstones, he is seemingly unthreatened by the axe in your hand and the dire nature of his situation in general as he rambles. Without waiting for a response from the doorway-filling warrior, he relaxes, adopting a casual, slouching stance, and continues, "Sorry about that little trick earlier, hee-hee, I thought you might have been one of them. You're big enough to be, anyway. Ha! HA! But I don't think you are. Your eyes are different from theirs." He squints at you, rubbing his fuzzy chin, then apparently becomes more interested in smelling his own fingers.

"We heard the alarm, Goradh! What's happening!?"
"Is it Dire Locusts??"
"Is it the Osmeri???"

A handful of garrison Housemen in various stages of dress stand clustered at the top of the stairs. In their haste to get up to the wall they've become somewhat entangled with each other.

"Ew, what's that?" asks a man sprawled sideways on the floor. "Smells like a sweaty camel."

Goradh maintains his stance. "Gentlemen, ensure the doorway behind you is secure, and then seize this creature. He may be a scout for an incursion by one of our foes."

He looks down at the intruder. "As you can see, you have nowhere to run. Explain yourself, this time without blatant lies! You came here with a purpose!"

You can hear more clamor on the ramparts outside. If there are others like this one, they will be found momentarily.

Two of the soldiers advance on Hanu, mismatched gauntlets outstretched...

"What did I miss?" Len shouts as he barrels into the room, amidst coughing violently after running open mouthed through the smoke bomb remnants to catch up. "What in the blazes is that thing!?"

Len brandishes his finger at the creature who eyes him with curiosity.

"Was that what set off that smoke bomb? Is it even capable of doing such a thing? Can it talk?" Len then whips around and stares out the door into the darkness. "And wait a minute Goradh, if we're both here who's watching our post?"

"What? No, it's true! You mean you didn't hear what happened to Wakefield? Or the Osmere Navy? Demons destroyed them both! They were on their way to Osbale when I fled. They had big, dark armor covered in spikes and glowie blue eyes!" He mimics wide open eyes with his hands at his face and blinks hard as he says this. "If you haven't heard about it, then they could be on their way here now and you wouldn't know until it was too late!" When he finally shuts up, he notices the commotion outside the bunkhouse. "Eeek! That's them! They're here! They're heeeere! Eeeeee!" Ducking the grasping hands of the guards, he clambers up the nearest stack of crates to cower in trembling fear.