MatanThunder
09-19-2007, 05:59 AM
:rolleyes:
My contribution….”The Wandering Inn”.
*I am borrowing this in part from the author Joel Rosenburg and the series “The Guardians of the Flame”.*
Grondel looked through the driving rain and thought of his days of youth on his windswept farm near Polovtsiya in Zoloskaya and thought for the 20th time today that traveling to see the world and find adventure may have been a really bad decision.
The elves of Tuarhievel had slaughtered 4 party members all but one horse, and had left the 5 wounded members of the party and Grondel fleeing with their musical laughter ringing in their ears and their arrow shafts sticking out of their body and armor. They hadn’t even made it to the crypt of the Elvish Lord they had the map for, or had the map for…the Vos Sorcerer Voalney was as dead as a doornail back in the wood.
Grondel was sure that the Halfing Bristletoes was as good as dead, he was slung over the back of the horse, while the lone cleric (of Rournil) Dronaad was slumped over the horses neck….two arrows in his back and a head wound that kept him from gaining consciousness and healing some of the damn damage to the remainder of the group.
To make matters worse the wolfs in the area had seemed to have picked up their scent and were now trailing the party out of bowshot. Finally his boot had sprung a leak in the sole and ice cold rain water was sloshing in it.
He was thoroughly miserable, and it looked as if two other members of the group were going to die this night if he didn’t find shelter here in the mountains of northern Markazor…not likely.
The group trodded on for over an hour as the life leached from Bristletoes & Dronaad….there seemed no hope.
I the wee hours of the morn Grondel came stealthily around a bend near the creek they were following and caught the wiff of fresh baked bread, and was that laughter and singing in the distance. The party had traveled this same route less than 24 hours before and he knew few lived in the region and fewer still would be up at this hour. He suspected a trap.
He followed the scent and sound to the most amazing site he would have imagined. A well lit inn was setting on a bar on the bend of the creek. The sounds and scents were real as he could discern. The party was in no shape to ask questions as Bristletoes was wracked by coughs and fever. He approached and a well rounded inn keeper came out to greet him…..
Grondel was toasty and near a roaring fire. Bristletoes was grey, but he was alive. And some stew that the innkeeper had given Dronaad had allowed him a remarkable recovery that had allowed him to heal some of Bristletoes and the rest of the parties damage. If this was an illusion or a trap Grondel thought, then it was one hell of a way to go….he of course had a fine tankard of black ale in one hand (already emptied twice)…….it was getting warm and fuzzy here…….
Grondel started awake. The party was on the back of a hillside, and he woke just in time to see the last of the inn slip into insubstantiality. The party was spread out under blankets fast asleep on the hill, without apparent harm. He was amazed. Now his purse seemed to be almost empty, but considering the alternatives he found in money well spent……heck (he shifts his foot in the worn boot) he turns up the sole and to his amazement even that damage is gone.
The rest of the party still dozes, and he slips to the hill crest. The site that greets him leaves him dumbstruck. He is looking over a harbor that he left weeks before on the trip. It is the bay off Stormpoint. Now the weather is still overcast, but the party has been deposited 200 leagues from where they had been. He didn’t know if the party that was left would ever have reached here again…in fact he would have bet money against it. He know that Bristletoes uncle had a holding there. He set about to rouse the group….at least Bristletoes was home…..
A nice fantasy for the game. Having inns that can move about a setting can be a small help for even healthy groups and leads to all sorts of plot twists.
In fact I can think of an evil ending here where poor Grondel finds the party on an very familiar (but different shadowy hillside) and are those shadows…moving…….what is that diving at his head………wait there is the inn vanishing and it is followed by an evil cackle that goes on and on as the seeming swoops in to strike his head…..
What ideas can you offer to the setting that will enhance it???
Later
:cool:
My contribution….”The Wandering Inn”.
*I am borrowing this in part from the author Joel Rosenburg and the series “The Guardians of the Flame”.*
Grondel looked through the driving rain and thought of his days of youth on his windswept farm near Polovtsiya in Zoloskaya and thought for the 20th time today that traveling to see the world and find adventure may have been a really bad decision.
The elves of Tuarhievel had slaughtered 4 party members all but one horse, and had left the 5 wounded members of the party and Grondel fleeing with their musical laughter ringing in their ears and their arrow shafts sticking out of their body and armor. They hadn’t even made it to the crypt of the Elvish Lord they had the map for, or had the map for…the Vos Sorcerer Voalney was as dead as a doornail back in the wood.
Grondel was sure that the Halfing Bristletoes was as good as dead, he was slung over the back of the horse, while the lone cleric (of Rournil) Dronaad was slumped over the horses neck….two arrows in his back and a head wound that kept him from gaining consciousness and healing some of the damn damage to the remainder of the group.
To make matters worse the wolfs in the area had seemed to have picked up their scent and were now trailing the party out of bowshot. Finally his boot had sprung a leak in the sole and ice cold rain water was sloshing in it.
He was thoroughly miserable, and it looked as if two other members of the group were going to die this night if he didn’t find shelter here in the mountains of northern Markazor…not likely.
The group trodded on for over an hour as the life leached from Bristletoes & Dronaad….there seemed no hope.
I the wee hours of the morn Grondel came stealthily around a bend near the creek they were following and caught the wiff of fresh baked bread, and was that laughter and singing in the distance. The party had traveled this same route less than 24 hours before and he knew few lived in the region and fewer still would be up at this hour. He suspected a trap.
He followed the scent and sound to the most amazing site he would have imagined. A well lit inn was setting on a bar on the bend of the creek. The sounds and scents were real as he could discern. The party was in no shape to ask questions as Bristletoes was wracked by coughs and fever. He approached and a well rounded inn keeper came out to greet him…..
Grondel was toasty and near a roaring fire. Bristletoes was grey, but he was alive. And some stew that the innkeeper had given Dronaad had allowed him a remarkable recovery that had allowed him to heal some of Bristletoes and the rest of the parties damage. If this was an illusion or a trap Grondel thought, then it was one hell of a way to go….he of course had a fine tankard of black ale in one hand (already emptied twice)…….it was getting warm and fuzzy here…….
Grondel started awake. The party was on the back of a hillside, and he woke just in time to see the last of the inn slip into insubstantiality. The party was spread out under blankets fast asleep on the hill, without apparent harm. He was amazed. Now his purse seemed to be almost empty, but considering the alternatives he found in money well spent……heck (he shifts his foot in the worn boot) he turns up the sole and to his amazement even that damage is gone.
The rest of the party still dozes, and he slips to the hill crest. The site that greets him leaves him dumbstruck. He is looking over a harbor that he left weeks before on the trip. It is the bay off Stormpoint. Now the weather is still overcast, but the party has been deposited 200 leagues from where they had been. He didn’t know if the party that was left would ever have reached here again…in fact he would have bet money against it. He know that Bristletoes uncle had a holding there. He set about to rouse the group….at least Bristletoes was home…..
A nice fantasy for the game. Having inns that can move about a setting can be a small help for even healthy groups and leads to all sorts of plot twists.
In fact I can think of an evil ending here where poor Grondel finds the party on an very familiar (but different shadowy hillside) and are those shadows…moving…….what is that diving at his head………wait there is the inn vanishing and it is followed by an evil cackle that goes on and on as the seeming swoops in to strike his head…..
What ideas can you offer to the setting that will enhance it???
Later
:cool: