Letter Four--The Stag Lord

Dear Pino,

We rested until the camp settled down for the night and then went to work, huddling quietly planning our attack. Of course the first thing we did was get into an argument—Lev hoping to talk Akiros, and maybe Auchs, into joining us—Cane arguing to slay them all. I backed Lev on this, wanting to extend amnesty to anyone who would join us, but for the most part my colleagues wanted no part of it.

“Do we really need to kill Auchs?” Lev asked.

“Oh my god!” Cane grumbled, disbelieving.

“Live enemies make armies, dead enemies make graves,” Kelm added with feeling, although without guidance I would imagine Auchs would have trouble making a passable washer of dishes.

“We’re not offering these guys an alternative,” Cane went on. “We don’t have time to dicker with them.”

Lev stared at him for a moment. “Auchs listens to Akiros," he answered stiffly. "If we can convince Akiros maybe we can do this the easy way, and slit the Stag Lord’s throat while he sleeps, then kill the anyone who disagree. Look at it—this fort is on our southern border. We’ll need it and we’ll need men—these men have combat experience, they know the lay of the land . . . “

“They are bandits,” Piea grimly reminded him.

“I like the idea of using this as the southern border post,” Kelm finally allowed, “but if we get men from Kesten won’t they be more reliable?”

“We’re going to need men to go out and break kneecaps for us,” Lev replied, practical to a fault. His generation calls it Realpolitik. In a past life I would have had him drawn and quartered without qualm.

“I’m not against your trying,” Cane said unconvincingly. “Why don’t I sneak upstairs and be ready to give Auchs the old coup de grace if your little palaver with Akiros goes south."

We waited quietly as they departed. Through all this an enormous owlbear sat watching us glumly from its jury-rigged cage nearby. Where the Stag Lord found this fearsome creature, how he captured it, and did he have unnatural relations with it as has been debated for years—now we'll never know these things.

On entering Akiros’s room Lev saw that he lay quietly on his cot in one corner, which was near full with crates and mounds of ill-gotten gain. A lamp guttered dimly nearby as the heavy sound of the Stag Lord's breathing came from the behind a door.

“Step backward real slow friend,” Lev heard Akiros say quietly, without emotion.

“Good evening,” Lev smoothly replied. “There is something I wanted to talk with you about. . . .”

We stood fidgeting outside the door.

“Your master has many enemies,” Lev continued in his wheedling way, “and we're here to end his nefarious career. You would do well to join us lest you fall with him, blah, blah, blah. I'm sure you've heard it all before. Oh, and your Mother sucks eggs.”

Unsure about his strategy, I tensely gripped my sword. Suddenly, the night was pierced by a scream upstairs as Cane disemboweled Auchs, who bawled like a child, calling pitiably for his mama. “I like killing people,” Cane would shrug later in explanation. Immediately Dovan the rogue, who had obviously been biding his time this while, stood dramatically and slashed Piea. “You look good in red, m’dear,” he said with a leer, licking his lips with excitment.

From the back room came a sudden roar. “Raowlerghh!  What are you doing out here?” The Stag Lord had awaken from his drunken stupor and was murderously lurching after Lev. To the Stag Lord it must have seemed like just another violent dream.

Lev turned to run, the crates and stacks of ill-gotten gain blocking his path. He felt the wind from a well-aimed dagger brushing his face as it hurtled towards the Stag Lord—Akiros! Et tu, so Lev’s instincts had been right even if his technique was lacking. Let this be a lesson for you, little Pino: "Man’s motivation springs from his heart, not from his head."

I struck a bandit who reeled away while remaining upright, glimpsing Dovan shoving one of his “brothers” into the path of Kelm’s blade. I then heard the creak of the fearsome owlbear’s cage opening behind me as Piea engaged Dovan in combat, having no luck as the wily rogue dodged her attack with a delighted laugh, which quickly became a yelp of pain as Lev—who had left Akiros to the gentle ministrations of his Stag Lord—juiced Dovan with his new wand of magic missiles.

Suddenly Lev slapped his forehead with disgust. “What an idiot!” he moaned. “Once a day I get to reroll a diplomacy check!”

“Suck it up,” I cried frantically. “Look, it doesn’t matter.” We glimpsed Akiros in the next room desperately stabbing at the Stag Lord who reeled lethally towards him, like the infamous Drunken Master of lore. No going back for him, then.

Invoking holy justice I slew the bandit before me just as the fearsome owlbear emerged like a parasite from its cocoon, grappling Kelm (who had been trying to shut the cage) in its fearsome beak, gnawing on him like Auchs would a pork chop. I know, Pino, that your owlbear doll, Fliffety-Fluffers, is cute and cuddly, but believe me the real thing is a bloodthirsty beast, standing well over eight feet tall and weighing three-quarters of a ton.

In the back, Piea was whiffing like a spinball player with heat stroke. Turning on his heal, Lev ran back into the other room, making an unexpected leap past the Stag Lord (as if he thinks he’s the Cordobles of legend), but the Stag Lord wobbled into his path unexpectedly, striking with a ferocity that belied his state, leaving Lev as staggered as his foe. He then whipped out his bow and hit Lev again, but thankfully missing his second, probably lethal, shot.

“Help me,” I heard Lev plead in a weak voice while, nearby, Kelm was more vocal. “Kill it!” he wept from the slavering maw of the beast. “Oh god, you have to kill it!”


Cane, who had finally joined us after dispatching Auchs upstairs, responded to Kelm's plea by striking the owlbear violently with his blade.

In the next room Akiros stood above Lev, hesitantly.

"Kill him!" the Stag Lord slurred. He probably wouldn't have even remembered this in the morning, or Akiros's betrayal. “Eep!” I heard the fetchling squeak in alarm. Has he turned again? I wondered as the owlbear approached me, swinging Kelm like a rag doll. 

I struck it with all my strength, giving it a fearsome wound. It realized for the first time that it too can die. Cane wounded it again. He had the distracted look of a surgeon removing an infected limb.

The entire scene was chaotic and I lost track of the action that wasn’t right in front of me. Even so, I was startled by the Stag Lord’s angry slurred voice coming from the next room. “Damn you! Kira-thatsnew gimmin dal hell skonk!!” he roared.

I struck the owlbear again as, with a sigh, its eyes lost focus and it fell grotesquely to one side. Cane lowered our barely conscious friend gently to the floor.

“Thus will justice prevail!” I heard myself say unnecessarily. Tradition must be maintained.

“Old reliable,” Kelm gasped in gratitude, but none was needed. I do what I do to honor your father, my friend Jaquizz, whose dream it was to save this land for Brevoy, for Issia, and for his beloved Erastil!

“Sweet life,” Kelm sighed before hoisting himself up to help Piea in her battle with the wily rogue Dovan, who was no longer sneering or rotating his hips lasciviously.

“Damn you Akiros!” the Stag Lord cried from the next room as Akiros made his decision, plunging his blade deeply into the Stag Lord’s side. “I should have killed you when I had the chance,” he gasped, vomiting gouts of blood. “Grahhurrgh. . . .” Cheers filled the room.

“I surrender! I surrender,” Dovan cried just as I was about to judge him most foul. I hesitated, then commanded him to drop his weapons. “Holy crow!” he exclaimed with surprise.

“What do we want to do with him?” Piea scowled, holding her damaged leg.

“That depends on him,” I answered.

“Are we going to take him hostage? Otherwise I’m going to kill him!” she growled. No denying that her blood was up. Ignoring me she looked to the others where there was no mercy for the unrighteous. So be it.

“Akiros joined our side,” Kelm summed up, “and so Akiros lives. Donovan . . .”

“Dovan, chump!” the helpless rogue cursed. "Dovan of Nisroch!"

“. . . hit us with his weapons and that’s why Donovan dies.”

“He did,” Piea agreed. “He hit me a lot. I don’t like him,” with a swift blow from her axe she knocked him senseless. “I wanted to kill him!” she complained bitterly when she saw that he still breathed, if raggedly.

“Not to worry.” Kelm leaned over, matter-of-factly slicing his throat. The battle was over.

“I couldn’t be sure when you first showed up,” Akiros was saying to Lev as they approached. “You seemed pretty green to me.” He looked up at us. “I was wrong.”

Our bounty—

the bandits:
•    7 leather armor
•    7 short swords
•    7 longbows
•    105 arrows

Auchs:
•    1 leather armor
•    2 potions of cure moderate wounds
•    1 potion of lesser restoration
•    1 club
•    8 pieces from a Knights and Dragons game (maybe Little Billee will like these)
•    45 gold

Dovan:
•    masterwork studded leather
•    +1 rapier
•    3 daggers
•    silver Stag Lord amulet worth 20 gold
•    2 turquoise ear rings worth 130 gold each
•    28 gold
•    2 platinum

Lev suddenly appeared with an angel food cake he’d found in the bandits’ kitchen, still warm from the oven, and we shared it hungrily.

The Stag Lord:
•    2 potions of cure moderate wounds
•    +1 leather armor
•    masterwork longsword
•    +1 composite longbow (+2 strength) (to Marquand)
•    17 arrows
•    +1 amulet of natural armor (to Cane)
•    horned helm of the Stag Lord
   
2 chests, where we found:

• 1 bolt of burlap
• old clothing (which I think we’ll donate to good Will, the cleric)
• iron ring (Marquand)
• 3 very old crudely stitched leather masks

A third chest contained:

• 141 gold pieces
• polished azure crystal, 9 gold
• carnelian, 80 gold
• hematite, 13 gold
• shard of obsidian, 14 gold
• red garnet, 100 gold
• pewter belt buckle depicting entwined succubi, 30 gold
• silver charm bracelet, 60 gold

(I expect you to find out about all these jewels and minerals and describe them for me by the next post.)

Will we be sharing any of this with Akiros?” I asked naively.

“No!” Kelm and Cane said as one. “He gets to keep his life, that’s enough.”

“But his help was the balance,” I said, not really understanding why I was pleading for him. “If he hadn’t changed sides they would be the ones stripping our bodies.”

“Or we’d have his gear as well,” Kelm sneered, turning to go.

“Thanks, friend,” Akiros said to me as we followed. “But it’s unnecessary. My life has always been in forfeit to someone.

“Not so fast fellows,” Akiros called to my colleagues departing backs. “There is still the crazy old coot in the basement.”

“What?” they asked incredulously.

“The Stag Lord keeps him down there. I don’t understand it at all.”

“Let’s go down,” said Piea, wearily.

“Behind a large rock we found a passage. “Be careful,” Akiros said. “He’s dangerous. He’s a druid and an insane devotee of Gozreh.”

“I feel that way, too, sometimes,” Cane muttered darkly.

The cellar was as murky and creepy as you might imagine. Piea and Kelm continued arguing, as they had for most of this day.

“Watch out he’s a sneaky bastard,” Akiros hoarsely whispered.

We peered into the dark space below the keep, wishing our torches reached further into the murk. It was cold and damp as the nighttime air blowing off Lake Reykal the summer you visited my chateau with your family. Your father’s wit was sharp as the air that first night. “Marquand,” he said while staring out over the water, a crescent moon hovering red above the horizon—an improvident omen we ignored at our peril.

“Marquand, surely you see that its the worship of Abadar that keeps us under the thumbs of the ignoble families (he refused to call them noble, despite the penalty). Many of them are incompetent and fools yet, there they are, above us thanks to their birthright alone, not their merit. Think of what our nation could accomplish with the best and the brightest in charge.

"And if society’s at fault," he concluded sadly, "then the deity they worship must, too, be at fault!”

How could I answer? I’d sworn to uphold that society. “What do you expect to find in the Stolen Lands?” I asked him, heart sick.

He sighed, inspecting his glass of Radis de Lune ’04 in the pale moonlight.

“Vindication.”

A sound crept out of the darkness beyond, like a rake over charcoal, and then a deep thrumming as tentacles (covered with tiny parasites about the size of cockroaches) emerged from the darkness followed by one awesome leg after another. An immense head, faceted eyes as stupid as poor old Auchs’s, and fearsome mandible snickering out to bite, sever, and chew, which it proceeded to do to Cane, causing him to bleed like a knackered steer.

Fortunately, it proved easy to dispatch. Then Piea and Kelm bumbled into a spiders’ nest and were swarmed by villianous poisonous arachnids, fast and small, almost impossible to hit. We slapped and punched the two far more than we did the spiders. To top it off  a savage wolverine appeared and launched itself onto Piea, razor sharp claws slashing at her guts. Exhausted by blood frenzy we killed everything

The wolverine transformed into the shape of a man. “Pathetic,” Akiros muttered.

Was he referring to the old man or us? I wondered, wishing we had captured the old devil, but truly, Pino, I never thought of it until it was too late.

We found a tremendous amount of assorted tools and weaponry worth 6850 gold. There was also a chest containing:

•    4500 copper pieces
•    2052 silver
•    894 gold
•    20 platinum

A large bag contained jewelry worth 2900 gold.

That’s when Cane and Kelm flanked Akiros, angrily demanding his allegiance, leaving no doubt the alternative was death. Lev then spoke in his favor, saying he might be exactly the guy we’d need to do our dirty work someday. They call it nation-building, little one, and it dirties everyone who touches it. Never forget the sacrifice your elders make for you! With little choice, Akiros agreed, which strikes me as not the best way to win a man’s allegiance

We spent several days burying the dead, inventorying, and packing our bounty onto the bandits’ horses. We then headed north, back to Oleg's. I rode for a time beside Akiros but he had little to say, except this:

“I watched after Auchs from the time the boy first showed up,” he said tiredly, a man beyond caring. “Sure, he was dumb and he had no chance on his own. He’d run away from home after killing someone by accident—his cousin, I think—due to his freakish strength, not meanness. He was bug infested and starving when he turned up at our gates. I put him to work and made sure he stayed out of the Stag Lord’s way. He was too stupid to use on forays so he mostly watched the horses. He was just a big, dumb, goodnatured farmboy and you slit him open like a pig and left him to die calling for his mama.”

He looked at me coldly as righteous words died in my throat. “It’s the company you keep,” he shrugged, spurring his horse, “and whether or not you’ve got a piece of paper from some rich men saying it’s all right.”

We made only one stop, to honor our promise to a dead man by bringing him another dead man. We dumped in what remained of the Stag Lord into the water at Nettles' Crossing, waiting as, like an old crocodile, Nettles rose quietly and grabbed him, taking the Stag Lord to his deserved hell below.  A +1 ranseur floated to the surface in payment

We proceeded to Oleg’s where we had the pleasure of returning Svetlana’s ring. She hugged us each in turn as Oleg grumpily allowed us 200 gold apiece in credit. We spent much of the day cleaning up, storing our new possessions, taking care of the horses, and dickering with Oleg over the value of our stuff. Happily I saw that Autolycus had returned safely, feeding him several large carrots to his satisfaction. I also presented Little Billee, who looked fatter and sassier than when we left, with the game pieces we’d found.

That’s when Kesten, looking upon us with sublime satisfaction—the cat that had gotten the canary—read a proclamation from the Swordlords granting us our greatest wish—the right to rule this land as our own, underwritten with 50 build points (worth 200,000 gold). You’re father is truly vindicated at last.

We then retired to Oleg’s dining room to hammer out the boring details of our leadership:

• Secretary (Baron): Lev Davidowich
• Councilor: Akiros Ismort
• General: Piea
• Grand Diplomat: Svetlana Leveton
• High Priest: Marquand
• Magister: Kelm Taslor
• Marshall: Jhod Kavken
• Royal Assassin: Kesten Garess
• Spymaster: Skot Skevans
• Treasurer: Oleg Leveton (making the fox head of the henhouse)
• Warden: Cane Alexson
• Mascot: Little Billee Weaver

The very first thing we couldn’t decide was a name for our realm, so we put that aside for the time. Kelm came up with a plan to finance our startup, counting it as a sixth member of our association when we split up our fund, making 2834 apiece, and 8634 gold in our treasury. You may try adding these figures up for me because it makes my head hurt.

After some time we finally agreed upon a name: The Peoples Union of River Kingdoms—PURK, or "The Union" for short. Apparently, we're still in disguise.

Hope to see you soon,
Uncle Marquand

Letter Three--Little Billee Weaver

Dear Pino,

In the morning we took the opportunity to ask Kesten Garess a few questions about himself and his mission here. Yes, I know what you’re thinking, but until he confirms that he belongs to that illustrious family I will pretend not to know.

“You’re the first person we’ve come across who hasn’t asked us to do something for them,” Kelm noted. “That’s very refreshing.”

“Actually there is something you can do for me,” Kesten grimly smiled.

“You want some moon radishes too?”

“If you run across a man called Falgrim Sneed could you pick him up for me?" he continued, ignoring the sarcasm. "He’s a mercenary who was working with our group a while back. Disappeared in the middle of the night with our money. I’ll give you four masterwork weapons for him. The last I heard he was in the Kamelands.”

“What if he’s dead?” Cane asked insouciantly.

“Then it's two,” Kesten replied, looking very bored.

We were preparing to ride when a seedy looking character wandered through the gates. Doffing his hat he showed few strands of dark-red hair plastered over his balding pate. His beard scruffy and untrimmed. “Ahoy!” he called jovially. “I’m Jhod.”

“Jhod?” We leaned towards him for a better look. “Snnneeed?”

“K-Kavken,” he replied, suddenly very nervous. “I’m a simple priest passing through your wild land,” he chuckled. “The game here is bountiful, the land beloved of Erastil . . .”

Holy Erastil had answered our needs. Lev immediately offered him our temple, without even checking his credentials—but it seems to be working out so I won’t complain. And it will give me a chance to work out some fine points of doctrine I’ve been considering.

“I’ve been dreaming of a temple,” Kavken said, still uncertain whether or not we were bandits inviting him along to cut his throat. “I’ve been searching for years. I dreamed of a cliff with a giant bas-relief elk upon its face.”

We showed him our charter—’tis true, just a piece of paper—but enough to convince him, along with Garess’s uniform, that we had the smell of legitimacy about us. Blind faith all around.

Blind leading the blind
Yet Justice, too, is blind
                            —Parables of Erastil

“Are we going to use him for fodder when we confront the Stag Lord?” Cane asked suddenly.

There was an awkward silence. “Sir,” came Jhod’s aggrieved voice. “I’m right here!”

Lev and I smoothed things over by guaranteeing his safety, as Piea and Kelm took Cane away for a gentle word. It gave me a chance to tell Kavken of my own affiliation with Erastil and I found myself traveling along beside him on our journey back to the temple. While we discussed our faith the others listened until they lost interest or duty called them away.

“I was once a devotee of Abadar,” I told him right away.

“What changed for you?”

I sighed heavily, not ready for the sudden rush of emotion that filled me. “Abadar is a wonderful faith,” I replied. “As long as you believe in it completely, as long as it works. But one tiny crack in the facade, one glimpse of what lay behind it—the cruel subjugation that supports it—well, then you either accept the contradiction, the hypocrisy, or you move on. I moved on.”

“Well, my son, Erastil seeks balance in everything. I’m not sure he needs an Inquisitor.”

“Yet here I am,” I replied evenly, “to maintain the balance!”

Jhod was ecstatic when he saw the temple, immediately setting off to clean it up. I helped him after setting up camp outside the Temple area and brushing Autolycus, giving him a carrot for his day’s labor. Later we joined my colleagues by the campfire where Kelm, Piea, and Cane played with dice as Lev kept a wary eye on the perimeter.

We talked about our plans for the temple. “We should talk with Oleg about bringing up a catapult,” said Kelm. “I don’t know why, I have a feeling. . . .”

Meanwhile, Lev was figuring out the logistics of fortifying the place

“But this is a temple of Erastil!” Jhod objected.

We agreed to move our operation a little down the road.

The next morning we bid Kavken farewell, heading northwest into a heavily wooded region. We hadn’t been traveling long when an acorn popped Piea on top of the head. “Hey!” she cried. “It’s those blinking fairies again!”

“I think you made that up,” Kelm replied unhelpfully, too busy staring blindly at his map to have seen a blue dragon bearing down on him much less a fairy.

“We won’t hurt you,” Lev called to the fey in his high, fluting voice. “We just want to meet you. We are friends.”

“I say we kill them,” Cane replied, which seems to be his answer to most things. Lev was incredulous but Cane was just pulling his leg, I think, but it seemed to rile several of our group against the mischievous fey. Still, I agree with Lev and I only wish you were here to act as our ambassador to the fairies.

We heard a distant call for help. Carefully we moved in that direction, watching for any movement. It might prove a good test for my new darkwood buckler. The voice again, closer now but then nothing. A faint piping song, like a lone busker playing flute on Restov commons. Then faint laughter. I guess they’ll have their fun and I can’t say that I blame them. Cane notched his bow with anticipation.

“They can be invisible and quite annoying,” Lev protested, “or you can be friends with them. Maybe we should offer them a bottle of moon radish wine?”

Still arguing we headed west towards our border with whoever is taming that part of the wilds. We found ourselves in a huge blackberry patch in which we discovered a cairn of stone that overtopped an ancient grave.

”You want to dig it up?” Cane asked.

“Nope,” Kelm replied.

“I can tell there’s something magic down there,” Lev singsonged.

“Ohhh,” Kelm muttered, licking his lips.

“I have no respect for remains,” Cane added. “I’m totally fine with digging it up.”

“The soul’s left the body,” Kelm reasoned. “What’s the point?”

“What’s the point of you changing your mind once we find there’s magic there?” Cane laughed.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Kelm sniffed, eyes more opaque. “I’m an archeologist.”

“Let’s walk the line here,” Lev wheedled. “Dig it up, find what we find, and then make sure that it’s properly restored to its original state.”

“I’m sure whatever spirits are in there won’t mind that at all,” Cane sarcastically retorted.

I already had my shovel out by this point and for the next half hour we took turns digging. What we found were the bones of a long-dead warrior, a few rags clinging to bone. The grinning skull not minding that we were disturbing its slumber a bit, perhaps happy for company after its long sleep. On its wedding finger was a greenwood ring depicting an eel and frog locked in battle—a ring of swimming, which Lev, who swims like a stone, kept.

We then reburied him and I said a prayer to Erastil that he was of the righteous and at peace.

We continued through the briers, finding nothing of interest, although Lev collected a large bag of blackberries along the way that he tied to the back of his horse, soon to be followed by a cloud of frustrated insects.

Headed into a wooded area, Cane stopped suddenly, eyes darting amongst the trees. “Someone’s been here!” he called, dismounting and hurrying over to a large oak tree. “They climbed up here and then leaped to the next tree. . . .” his face dropped and he remounted without another word.

We continued south through the woods for a spell when, in a shadowy glade we found a child’s doll. It was of a king, with a tin crown, like the one you had when you were a small child. Lev warned us away from it for he smelled a trap. Then Piea pointed into the limbs above where a large net full of branches was set to fall as soon as the doll was touched. It was our friends, the fey. Lev carefully disabled the trap and tied the doll alongside his bag of blackberries. Speaking in ancient Sylvan, Lev thanked them for the doll.

Sometime later we found another trap, only this one was already sprung—a trapper caught in his own device, pinned to a tree by a huge spiked log that had swung down. I won't describe more except to say he had been dead for a week.

“Fey did it,” Kelm said with finality. We argued over the meaning of this. Cane agreed with him while Lev was not so sure. When I examined the ropes I saw that they had been severed—it was no accident.

“Original hypothesis confirmed!” Kelm bragged, pumping his fist in triumph. “These things I just know because of the lore of mysteries!”

We buried the hunter before following his tracks east where we found, and disabled, one of his traps. Continuing east we traveled through woodland until we came to an area of thick brambles crossed by many rivulets—the headwaters of Thorn River. Then Kelm was bonked by a tiny pebble.

As he sat rubbing his head Kelm dug through his backpack until finally holding up a piece of hard candy he just happened to be carrying. There was a rustling and suddenly a small horned woman poked her head from around tree. Lev offered her the candy while the rest of us tried to look inconspicuous. Hearing a noise I looked up just in time to see something purple disappear behind another tree.

Finally Lev managed to coax the woman to reveal herself and to our shock turned out to be half a woman and half a cricket, a Grig. I understand they can play their back legs like a fiddle and then you simply must dance to their tune—perfect for the shy boys at your school. Suddenly another creature swooped down from the trees, its wings seeming too fragile to support its weight, a faerie dragon.

With Lev translating we learned that the female’s name was Tyg-Titter-Tut and the little dragon was called Perlivash.

“So you’ve been harassing the trappers,” Lev asked directly.

Perlivash nipped a piece off the candy before answering happily. “Just one.”

“Why him?”

“Bad, bad hunter,” Perlivash frowned. “Cruel-Traps. Set/Forget. Good friends die. We saw that he had accident.”

We offered them assistance in disarming the rest of the traps but they refused. "We’ve been watching you,” he said, giving the candy to Tyg, who shyly bit off a piece. "We saw you at bandit camp. We saw you at moon radish patch. Know hot springs?”

And that’s how we ended up going southwest towards the head of the Skunk River. Sounds appetizing, right? We bade the two fey adieu but could feel their eyes upon us as we approached the edge of the wood. By afternoon we had found its watershed.

“A good place for a fort,” Lev idly speculated.

As we traveled along the nascent Skunk River the smell grew worse until we came to its source the hot springs. We heard something large splashing in the water ahead and quietly slipped our weapons free.

I watched Lev get off his horse, open his sack, crush blackberries on a cloth, tie the sack back onto the horse, throw the crushed berries onto the ground, and tie the still dripping cloth around his face. “To help with the stench,” he said. “I smell blackberries!”

Meanwhile Piea had come back to tell us there were three giant frogs bathing in the springs, “with crazed looks in their eyes.”

Lev’s plan was that we would split up. He and Cane would sneak over to the other side while the rest of us came in frontally, flanking them when they emerged.

As they saw us approach the middle frog croaked its challenge, hopping quickly toward us. Suddenly, its tongue slapped wetly at Piea but she miraculously ducked in time.

Kelm and I both nicked it with our bows as Piea ducked a frog leg and another tonguing as she chopped a piece out of him. Over his croak of pain came an even larger noise as the boss frog angrily hopped our way and Lev and Cane both took the opportunity to miss him.

Piea ducked yet a third attack as I put my bow aside to cast bane on them., which Piea took immediate advantage of. Cane missed twice as a frog leaped upon him, tongue wrapping his head like a warm towel at the barber’s. The largest frog was so angry that it sprained its tongue chasing Piea. Its bulging eyes seemed ready to pop out of his head with frustration. I called down the justice of Erastil on one of them, doing some damage but then it grappled me. Fortunately Piea hit it, and the one next to him, so hard their eyes exploded with a sharp pop. For good measure she then finished off the one that was gnawing on Cane's head.

"I thought frogs didn't have teeth," Cane swore as I staunched the blood flowing into his eyes.

We took the rest of the day off, relaxing in the hot springs before finding a good camping spot upwind. The next morning we started back to Oleg’s. On the way we met a hunter leading a mule burdened with many animal pelts. Could he be Sneed we wondered? He was as suspicious as us, carrying his longbow openly, his short sword within easy reach in the bedroll behind him. Taking a long tug from a skin of sarsaparilla, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Ahoy,” he said. “What news do you have from the north? Oleg’s still stands?”

“Oh, yeah.” Lev introduced us. “You are, sir?”

“Skott Skevins. My friends call me Sure Shot—Sure Shot Skott. Do you have some hobbit leaf on you?” That’s when we noticed his guitar case. “I’ve been writing some songs he said modestly. If I’m still at Oleg’s the next time we’re there we can sing a little Kumbaya. ”

He then told us the dead hunter was named Breeg, “He was scum anyway. Good riddance.”

It took us a day to get back to Oleg’s where Kesten had his troops sweating over the catapults. He expected them to be operational in a few days.

That’s when a small child walked in. He was dirty and very hungry.

“My name’s Billee,” he said, sniveling, “Billee Weaver. Ma and Pa are bleeding and sleeping in the road.” He couldn’t tell us much more. His parents had been set upon by bandits somewhere north. Lev handed him the doll we’d found as Svetlana took him inside to clean up and feed. We asked Kesten if he’d investigate but he grandly declined, stating that it would violate his charter and, besides, there were already patrols on that road, although little Billee’s experience would argue otherwise.

We found that two new proclamations had arrived since or departure. The first offered a small fortune, 5000 gold, for the capture or death of the Stag Lord. The second directed us to settle, through fair means or foul, a troublesome tribe of kobolds for 800 gold.

As we began preparing to once again go out we mulled over Garess’s refusal to seek out Little Billee’s family. Then Kelm said, “You do realize that Garess is a knight and one of the royal family of Garess in Restov, yes?” Well, I admit, I had assumed as much. When I was a judge I had more business with the Lebeda’s and the Medvyed than the Garess, but most nobles are cut from the same cloth. We still don’t know what Kesten is about but we can be sure that his interests and ours will not coincide forever.

We immediately confronted him with our knowledge but he shrugged dismissively, “I came down for the fresh air,” he smiled. “Really, I needed to prove my worth to the family so they sent me down here. ‘You appreciate things more when you earn them,’ as uncle says.”

As your uncle, I can only agree, but in his case I believe they’re pretty words meant to divert.

We finished our preparations as Little Billee watched us intently from the corner of a building he was always threatening to duck behind. I admit I thought of you when I saw him. It’s hard to lose one parent, much less two. I want you to write to him in my name care of Oleg’s Trading Post. He’s about half your age. Make sure you tell him that he’s not alone.

We talked with him more before we left. He offered to ride along but in that we had to disappoint him. He’s a fiesty little guy. After he left Cane discovered that the brat had lifted half of the candy he was planning to take to the fey. “I knew that we should have enslaved him,” Cane growled. While I don’t countenance thievery we had been delayed enough so I let it slide. Maybe in your letter you can warn him about what it’s like to face my wrath.

We headed first to our gold mine to prepare it for Little Billee (kidding, don’t mention the candy when you write him), then southwest across the plain of tall grass until we reached the Thorn River coming from the northwest. We followed it for a while as it descended into a deep gulch between the hills. There we found a rickety wooden bridge crossing it but since it was too weak for our horses we turned east to the sycamore tree where we rested, then southeast to an area bordering the Stag Lord’s land. Using the map we’d found in the mites den the previous week we found a cave’s narrow opening into the hills.

There was a wooden cage by the entrance holding one miserable looking mite. Before we could approach it a familiar looking kobold appeared. “Wait wait wait wait wait,” he called. “It’s me, Mikmek! Put your swords away.”

Although Cane was ready to slit his throat, Mikmek was unapologetic, saying that the statue was sacred to his people and he had to get it back to them. How was he to know that he could trust us? "Humans have been exploiting kobolds for centuries!" he huffed.

Lev figured this was the perfect time to befriend these kobolds so he asked for us to be taken to the chief. Mikmek readily agreed saying, “He wants to thank you personally.”

He quickly pulled three ropes then led us down a narrow passage where we passed single file behind him. The walls were smeared with charcoal and blood. I know that we want to befriend these creatures but every ounce of my body wants to bring a judgment of purity upon them. The images scribed in retched offal reminded me of the reptile statue that Mikmek had taken. I choked back my urge to cleanse! We then passed through a foul anteroom where we were joined by two kobolds who escorted us into a large common area where seven more waited with their chief, Sootscale.

Mikmek introduced us. “Ah, then I owe you my thanks. This statue,” he said, gesturing around the room, “is so important to my tribe,” he continued as he carefully picked it up. “We looked for this for a long time when the mites took it—Tartuk’s treasure,” his face soured with sudden contempt. “It has brought us much trouble and I am here to he rid of it!” To our astonishment he violently smashed the statue to the floor.

The shock we felt was nothing compared to the horror that overwhelmed the kobolds in the room, groaning and weeping most piteously.

Grimacing hugely Sootscale then proclaimed, “The curse is over! We’re free from the curse! Let’s kill Tartuk! We must kill the priest!”

That’s when Lev got his attention. “Why?” he demanded.

“He misled my people,” Sootscale replied hotly. “He has brought much suffering upon the Sootscales. You have helped us before—come with us now!”

We followed Sootscale and Mikmek into the priest’s lair. Horsehide cut into banners covered the walls with demonic sigils painted in blood. A cauldron of bubbling red liquid steamed in the center of the room with a large purple kobold hunched over it, a dark crow upon his shoulder. It had no red marking on its wing.

He turned, first surprised, then angry when he saw us. “Who are these people, Mikmek?” he growled. “You need to leave now!”

By this point Sootscale was frothing at the mouth so anxious was he to be rid of his rival. I would have been happy to let them duke it out but Tartuk cast fear on Piea and we were off to the races—literally, in this case as Tartuk scampered down a dark tunnel in the back.

With Piea shrieking in terror of some imaginary creature we went after Tartuk only to be bottlenecked at the head of the tunnel. Cane took a shot at him but missed again. I’m afraid that, despite his bluster, the lad is beginning to doubt himself.

Tartuk had almost gotten away when I commanded him to halt and he did. “Heretic, we have you now!” I cried.

That’s when the Chief reached him, giving him a sound thwack with his club that echoed throughout the tunnel. Tartuk returned the favor, popping him with his wand of magic missiles. The chief was stunned for a second but swung his club savagely again, scattering Tartuk’s brains across the floor.

I hate to compare my comrades to scavengers but they picked Tartuk apart faster than vultures savaging a sick desert hare:

•    wand of magic missiles 28 charges—Lev has the most use for it
•    bracers of armor +2—Lev again
•    journal—Kelm claimed it while insulting our intelligence

We were about to count the pile of treasure that had been stacked in the priest’s room when Sootscale sidled over. “That’s our tribe’s treasure,” he noted, voice rising. “What are you doing?”

Several of our group begged to differ but Lev, remembering why we were here, stepped up and said, “I think we can leave them their treasure,” he turned to the chief, “as long as you agree to . . . work with us.”

“I can give you these old boots.” Sootscale handed Lev two well-worn black leather boots, like the kind street musicians wear.”

Lev looked at them dubiously. “Are they magical?”

“Yes.”

“Okay,” Lev quickly took them.

“There will be diplomacies all around,” Kelm announced to no one particular.

“And as a sign of my good will and good intentions,” he stuck his hand in a small leather sack, pulling out a small band. We gasped in unison. “The mites took this from one of the human people.” He gave it to Lev, a plain brass ring with a single pearl—Svetlana’s, of course.

•    boots of elvenkind
•    Svetlana’s ring

With the boots Lev had so much of the treasure he felt a little guilty, giving me the ring of swimming. Little did we know how valuable it would soon prove to be.

To top it off Piea realized that we were sitting in a silver mine! All the more reason to slay the kobolds but I won’t be the first to say it.

We quickly made a pact with them. They stay where they are and leave peaceful intruders be as long as they don’t settle on their land, or “hex” as they like to call it. We also sketched out our future interests with the Chief and found much potential for cooperation.

“Near where the Thorn and Shrike (which flows from the northeast) rivers meet there is a low area where you can ford,” he said. “It then flows southwest to the Tuskwater, which is a small lake where lies an old ruined fort.”

We decided that it was time to confront the Stag Lord but, easy does it, crossing into the southeast where he was least likely to be. True to our expectations we found nothing.

“I’m going to go ahead and put on the Stag Head’s necklace,” Kelm announced.

“Maybe I should wear it,” Lev answered.

“Well, ain’t that convenient, Mr. ‘wearing everything already’?” Cane said with a sneer.

“I’m pretty good at lying,” Lev answered truthfully.

We then headed west where we came across five wilding kobolds. “Uurgh!” one of them hollered and suddenly we were in a fight. Two of the little ba . . . dboys got the drop on me and your favorite uncle lost a couple more pieces of flesh.

Lev and Kelm quickly offed one each but Cane missed again. “Can he be ensorcelled somehow?” I thought as I staunched the flow of blood from my leg while Cane fumbled arrows like a novice. For my hubris I then dropped my sword like an amateur. Understand this, Pino, the gods are always watching.

Piea chopped one of them in half, spraying his bowel everywhere, then she took down another, but the rest of us did very little damage, Cane tossing his bow to the ground in disgust. Finally, Kelm polished off the last of them.

No one would bury them so I came out later from our camp while the fish stew simmered and put them in the ground. I didn’t bother to say a prayer for their heathen souls but did say one for mine. While on my knees I saw that a large black crow had landed on their mound. Even in the dim light of dying day I could see that one wing had a brilliant bolt of scarlet. It looked at me reproachfully for, in truth, I had buried its supper.

“I can dig one back up,” I said but it didn’t answer, spreading its large wings and taking again to the sky. I spent the next 20 minutes retrieving the kobold that had cut a piece off me leaving him there as tribute to the scavengers. All praise to Erastil.

Life is making a pig’s foot out of a sow’s ear.
                                                    —Parables of Erastil

The next morning we reached where the river empties into Tuskwater Lake. Across it on a hill there was an old fort, enclosed by a tall palisade. Behind was the remains of a large crumbled tower.

“Who wants a vial of centipede poison on their weapon?” Kelm asked mischievously.

I swam across the river securing a rope to the other side to help the others across. Pairing off the good swimmers with the bad, Piea almost drowned before Cane got her back to the far shore where she vomited lustily onto the bank, then immediately walked back into the water to try again. This time she made it easily.

We had to send the horses back to Oleg’s but they seem to know the way.

Dressed as bandits, with Cane reeking of alcohol, we followed a wide open path winding up the hill to the gate. The palisade was three man-heights high, made of thick forest timber embedded into the ground.

“Who the hell are you,” a guard challenged.

“By the bloody bones of St. Gilmorg who wants to know?” we spoke the passwords. I gipped the handle of my sword reflexively.

“Maybe I want to know.”

“Then open up.”

“You got any hobbit leaf on you?” the man asked.

“What do you think?”

The gate squeaked open regretfully. “The lord’s liquor is here!” one of them shouted. We stepped into a shallow courtyard. Barrels lined the interior of the palisades each with a bucket nearby. A dozen flunkies lounged inside, eyeing us greedily.

Fortunately, we just had to look mean, which is easy for me (though never with you, peachpit).

“Aarrr, where is my liquors?” A large, much scarred man wearing a stag’s head came out.

“We brought you eight bottles of . . .” Lev began.

“Give it to me!” he commanded. “Akiros, pay these men twenty gold each,” and he went off to drink.

“Twenty gold each, eh? Haven’t seen you around much.”

“We’ve been up north by Oleg’s,” Lev said, giving them too much information for my comfort.

“There’s been trouble up by Oleg’s,” he frowned suspiciously. “We haven’t had any word form the Thorn River camp in some time. They say there’s a group of . . . explorers in the region.”

“There was a knight and soldiers,” Lev said quickly. One gangsta, with a large tattoo of Rovagug on a flaming stallion upon his arm, snorted wetly. “You guys, look at you. You don’t think I see right through your little disguise?”

Akiros turned to him. “Shut up Dovan, petulant little skunk!”

A gigantic fat fellow they called “Auchs”  farted loudly. “Huha, Dovan, you’re dumb. And you’re from Nisroch! Way to go Akiros.”

“Thanks, Auchs,” Akiros said without enthusiasm.

We settled into a vacant part of the enclave to find what tomorrow may bring.

Say your prayers,
Your devoted uncle,
Marquand

Letter Two: The Old Man

The next day we headed east where, in a quiet meadow, we found Bokken’s hut. The old man was sitting out front, plucking at some sort of stringed instrument.

“You boys got my fangberries?” he growled as he suspiciously watched our approach.

“Not yet,” Cane said.

“Then get off my land!” He waved his instrument at us threateningly.

Not wanting to kill a demented old man we continued on our way. For the rest of the day we crossed the undulating plain. We camped by a spring, telling ghost stories around the campfire. I sat the last watch before dawn vowing to learn alarm the next chance I get. I fed my horse, Autolycus, while eating my own groats, and then we headed southeast, the sun rising to my left over the scrub and grassland where we traveled.

More plains without much activity besides the buzz of the insects, although Piea did find an ornate pearl-inlayed gold brush for her thorny hair. She cares more for her axe than she does for herself, as befits a fighter. Let this be a lesson for you, little Pino—always take care of your tools.

On the third day we headed southeast but again saw very little. I thought about how, with a little water diverted from the river, this area could bloom with farms and ranches. But for now there is nothing here except for the large black bird cawing mockingly as it watches us from above, one wing marred by a jagged red spot.

We were just thinking of where we could stop for the night when the land began sloping downwards. Soon the horses’ hooves were splashing in murky water as we entered dank swampland.

I became more uneasy the further we traveled into it, Autolycus was skittish, very unlike that stolid animal. We had just come upon what looked and smelled like a large midden when it improbably rose from the fetid waters.

“Bluarrgh!” It roared. “Bluarrgh!”

“A shambling mound!” Lev gulped, blanching.

“He’s kind of famous around these parts,” Cane added for our benefit.

“Is that so. . .” Piea frowned as we dismounted. "is he single?"

As I quieted Autolycus, Cane let out a roar as the thing suddenly attacked him, woody rib dense and hard.

“We better run,” cried Lev, his voice quavering like a schoolboy’s.

“Yeah,” Cane agreed, a great wet green-brown streak along the side of his head, blood trickling from his ear.

Ignoring them, Piea power-attacked but somehow missed the moldering heap as it doddered toward her. She backed away cautiously, as did Kelm, supporting Cane as they went. Lev struck with a ray of frost, temporarily blinding the beast, then retreated further. Grunting with pain, Cane shot it with his longbow, windbreaker. I tried commanding it to flee but it shrugged me off like a dog sheds water. It then blindly missed a ragged blow to Piea’s head. Her counterblow sliced deeply into the stinking pile with no obvious effect, then Kelm attacked, as did Lev. Cane and I futilely plunked arrows into it.

Realizing that it was too powerful we started withdrawing but the mound paced us ferociously. With Kelm badgering her for not power-attacking a second time Piea suddenly turned on the beast. Chastened, the rest of us continued plinking at it steadily, “Stick and move!” Cane hollered, as we surrounded the beast, its limbs flailing at us grotesquely, slapping Cane straight in the gob. It couldn’t focus its attention on any one of us. I stepped in front of Cane to protect him from further damage.

Piea stood toe to . . . root with the thing, great axe flying like an acolyte trimming a hedge until it finally stopped moving. “It’s dead!” she shouted triumphantly, raising her arms in triumph.

“It’s like I saw it into the future,” Kelm, the oracle, boasted.

Cane backtracked to its lair (to be honest, anyone could have followed the trail of that smell) where we found remnants of its victims and a few pitiable coins: 24 gp, 10 sp, 34 cp, which we shared, although I troth my share to victims of the autumn plague. The extra coppers, we decided, would go to buying donuts for the good folks at Oleg’s.

We spent the night well away from the marsh and the next day headed west across the unending plain, which rolled in all directions like crossing Lake Reykal in a small boat. I kept alert by searching the horizon, seeing nothing but our black friend circling overhead. I found myself nodding with the boredom and the heat. That’s when I heard Cane exclaim from up ahead and I saw in the distance one small hill on which a lone oak tree stood vigil, a crow’s claw scraping the sky.

The tree itself was nothing special except that it was the only living thing for many miles around. The earth at the base of the tree looked if as it had been recently disturbed. Kelm expressed doubts that this was the tree we were looking for even as we uncovered a bundle wrapped in cloth. Eagerly, we laid it on the dry grass nearby and unfolded the cloth. It contained:

• wand of burning hand, 4 charges
• masterwork dagger
• silver ring, 75gp

 Finally there was a waterdamaged spellbook with a handful of legible spells:

• identify
• mage armor
• reduce person
• silent image
• unseen servant  

I said a quick prayer for the ones who had left the items here, hoping they don't belong with the righteous.

We argued for awhile over whether or not to keep the book while Kelm obsessed over our trail rations. Lev claimed the wand. To please Kelm we partook in the lamentable trail rations, although they were gummy and leathery at once, an unusual combination. I would have preferred to wait for Cane’s rabbit stew tonight.

We continued riding through the same sparse landscape, searching always for the sycamore tree until once more we stood before our river, a tributary of the Sellen. The river is wide here and would have proven difficult to cross except that, after traveling along the bank for a time, we came upon a place where a thick green rope crossed the water. An aged, rotted sign announced the place as Nettle’s Crossing 5 coppers. A rusted bell hanging on a nail nearby. Cane shook it clattering, like an angry schoolmarm, but no one arrived.

Suddenly, out of the depths of the river rose a hideously rotted corpse, skin glistering like a street vendor’s mackerel at day’s end. It approached us steadily, rising from the water like an offended prosecutor, pointing its finger accusingly. “You. Are. Not. My. Tormentors!” it cried. “Throw. The. Stag. Lord’s. Body. Into. The. River. That. I May. Look. Upon. His. Death. . . . Or. You. Will. Join. Me. Instead!”

There was not much we could say to that, dear girl, except, “It’s on our list of things to do.” Then Nettle—I assume that’s who it was—sank back into the murk.

Cane wanted to remain on our side of the river but Kelm quickly pointed out that to reach the Stag Lord we’d have to cross eventually so we each paid 5 copper to cling to the moss-slick rope. I'm sure you’ve already guessed the rest. Like at the family picnic last year, your fat uncle fell into the water halfway across. I struggled almost to shore to the hoots of my companions as Cane stripped his gear and pulled me to dry land. As I coughed the water from my lungs he offered to give me the kiss of life, as the others egged him on, but I settled for friendship instead.

While I was squeezing the water from my clothes, we went over the map Kelm has been keeping and discovered that the Swordlords had pulled a fast one and our territory was far smaller than had been described, and that we were in danger of crossing into our neighbor’s country. "And they're badasses so we don't want to start off on their bad side."

“Guys,” I said standing at the bank, miserable in my wet clothes.

“In a minute,” one of them called. “I think we got screwed.”

“It's less work for us," Piea replied, "and we’ve still got the gold mine.”

“Guys.” All I heard was the sound of their arguing. “Guys!”

“What the holy hell do you want, Marquand?”

I pointed across the river silently to where our horses stood watching us incuriously.

Thankfully, Cane and Piea, swam the horses across (paying five more coppers to shinny back across the rope) and we were soon back on the trail. From atop a low rise we saw a bare tall tree scratching the hairy chin of oblivion—the sycamore tree.

Near its base was a root-lined shaft sinking 10 feet into the earth. Restless for action, Lev went down first, blending uncannily into the murk. After a moment's wait we followed him down, turning east at a juncture.

“Waaheeh!” we heard an unfamiliar cry up ahead, “Wait!” Lev hollered, quickly followed by a terrified “Wowwooo!” and a distant thud.

We hurried into a workroom with three crude benches, tools, and hardware. At one end of the room was a wicked slope descending into darkness. Suddenly Kelm brightened, “Lev’s communicating with me from down below,” he told us. “He says the room is filled with mites."

“Sweet, holy Serenrae!” we all heard echoing from down below.

Kelm looked up without expression. "They’ve been cutting up kobolds a piece at a time and when he dies they start on another. They're a big pile of them down there."

"Sweet."

Pino, I hesitate to tell a little girl of these things, but you must learn that the world is an evil place.

From above we heard shrieking and cursing as the mites turned their surprised fury upon Lev, puncturing him with their biting darts—death by a thousand cuts. Unfortunately, we could not reach them because Kelm had doddered into the passageway, clinging to the roots to keep his balance, acting as the proverbial cork in the bottle. From below we could hear a hoot of pain whenever a dart landed on Lev’s flesh. Finally, Kelm rolled down, landing with a thud, arms extended, “Ta-daa! How you doin’, bwa?” he crowed, only to be immediately tagged on the ass by a dart. “Woot-da!” he hollered.

I was able to cast bane on the little boogers, putting the fear of Rovagug in them, weakening what little wits they had to begin with. Then Piea waded into the fray, mite-pieces flying everywhere. Lev spoke to them as an angry giant. I wish he had given me warning. “Fe-fi-fo-fitch!” he thundered. “I’m gonna kill every sonsabitch!” I almost felt sorry for them save for what they did to the kobolds. “I need a Twizzler™ for this!” Lev growled like a fifty foot tall timberwolf, scaring them, and me, a little further.

Finally, Cane skidded down the incline, quickly killing the first mite he encountered. I watched it’s head roll away, still wearing the skullcap of the schoolboy it had probably abducted and devoured some time past. “Kill them," said a voice like broken glass from behind me. It was the little kobold. "Kill them all.”

Another squealed as Kelm took its life. Shaking off his wounds, Lev talked with the kobold—Mikmek—as I picked off one of the mites with my longbow and Piea slit one across the abdomen, causing its guts to squirt out while it bleated pitiably until she took mercy on it by slicing it's throat like a hog at the city market. “Noisy,” she shrugged.

Lev had Mikmek talking in common—if not common sense—and we were treated to a self-serving tale that is not worth retelling.

“Wha’!?” came the cry as Cane, who had been poking around in the shadows, fell down another hole to the next level, where he woke a giant whiptailed centipede. “Help! Help! There’s a great huge nasty thing down heah!” he cried in terror. Kelm took aim, blind as he is and hit it twice with his crossbow and I used my longbow as Piea leaped down into the fray, missing her first attempt at the creature. She bloodied it the second time, dodging it’s fangs and tail all the while. Finally, Lev mailed in a touch attack, finishing it off. 

They quickly searched its nest but found nothing except little round balls of filth as the rest of us climbed down to join them.

“Come on! You’re wasting time! Let’s kill these mites!” I looked up to see Mikmek beckoning us back.

“We’re working on it,” Piea grumbled as Lev persuaded him to join us.

This led us to another room, which was truly filthy, like first-year students at the academy. There was a rickety table held together with twine, covered with a grime encrusted red-checked tablecloth, heaped with twigs, dirt, gravel and—wonders—a map. At one corner a bloodied ivory statuette of a reptilian devil weighed down a scrap of paper. “The statue!” Mikmek cried, lunging to snatch it before Lev could stop him.

A scraping sound emerged from the darkness where four mites waited by what seemed to be a large boulder in the tunnel ahead. Only this boulder was slowly rolling towards us, the sound of it's approach was like chalk on blackboard. When it finally lumbered into the light we were disgusted to see a huge yellowish tick ridden like a pack animal by a fat brown mite. You can imagine my disgust. It reminded me of the bloated wood ticks we find on your dog, Pooter, only this one was as big as Swordlord Harry’s stagecoach!

I quickly moved into the tunnel, putting an arrow through its rider. The monster tick, now spattered with the gore of its master, turned on us savagely. It scooped up Lev, shaking him like a rag doll until he fell senseless to the ground. Seeing us distracted Mikmek grabbed the statue and hightailed it out of the corridor with Cane close behind, leaving us without his strong arm in our time of peril.

Desperately I dropped my bow and pulled out my sword, searching for the weakness in its armor. Kelm bloodied it with his crossbow, but it still managed to take a savage bite out of Piea. To my horror I watched as it seeded her with its young! Oh, Pino, may you never witness such a thing!.

With fury I struck it into a seam in its armor and was rewarded with a cold gush of dark blood. I heard a meaty thunk as Kelm’s bolt struck home. Eerily the creature made noisome chittering sounds, like feasting maggots heard through an Andoran listener’s tube.

I hit it again, “cutting off a piece of its ear,” as the song goes. Piea, limp and unconscious, dropped to the ground. Suddenly, Cane ran back onto the scene, a look of horror on his face as he beheld our situation. Once more I drove my sword home and suddenly the battle was over.

Kelm bounced up and down with joy as I struggled to catch my breath.

Some time later, after we’d revived Lev and Piea, we explored the mites' bunker, finding four more trampled in their rush to escape our swords. “Where’s Mikmek?” Piea asked Cane but he shrugged, averting his eyes. She looked to me, “The statue?” When she turned back Cane had gone.

“Guess he lost track.”

We found lots of little daggers and darts and a sack under the table yielded:
•    12 small spears
•    32 gp
•    120 sp
•    193 cp

On a table we found a map and a paper arranged into two columns but in a language none of us understand. Packing the stuff up we followed a path leading upwards to a cavern, the floor crisscrossed with shallow trenches. The floor was wet, the trenches putrid and foul and stinking dunghills, infested with vermin and dark centipede eggs, like raisins in a muffin. At one end of the room three more giant centipedes waved their legs in alarm at our approach. Fortunately, they were nymphs, hardly worth our time. Then we destroyed the eggs despite Kelm's protests that they make delicious omelets.

Once we finished clearing out the vermin we returned to the map on the table, which turned out to be of another set of caves southeast of here. We argued about what to do next, with Lev and Kelm wanting to forge ahead and the rest of us wanting to hustle Piea back to Oleg’s to cure her of the infestation that even now was moving about beneath her skin. While I’m no fan of democracy, in this case the majority abided, Kelm grousing all the way—one of the many drawbacks of the democratic process.

We reached Oleg’s at midnight. Surprisingly, the gates were shut and barred.

“Halt, who goes there?” an unfamiliar voice challenged.

“We have a decree from the Swordlords,” Lev wheedled unnecessarily. “Ask Oleg.”

I waited on one side as the badinage continued. The night was black and I wanted to be sure to be well away from my partners’ voices if the Post's defenders decided to ambush us. Thankfully, I heard the gates squeak open as a man holding a torch beckoned us inside. There a rough-looking mercenary awaited us with his bullyboys. “I am Kesten Garess,” he rumbled.

As we introduced ourselves I noticed their tents set up at the south end of the stables. I should be happy to see Garess but I've already got a bad feeling about the man. Maybe I'm misjudging him. That's when Svetlana arrived to sweep us all into a midnight feast of leftover moon-radish soup and, yes, moon-radish wine—I promise you a bottle at your wedding. Then we bargained with Garess—my opinion of him dropping again—over Piea’s life, trading our stake in the dead bandits for the antitoxin she needed. Kelm shook his head disapprovingly. “Selfish,” he muttered when Piea couldn't hear him.

The next morning we bid Garess and his boys goodbye. I felt disturbed that we’d found out so little about them and how their mission fits in with ours. Is Garess here to help us or hinder? Is he the Swordlords’ insurance against our ambitions? Will he be exploring the countryside or will he leave that to us? Can we depend on him to watch our backs?

Heading westward we encountered the forest, once more finding little except one lonely weathered skeleton. Cane stayed on point, refusing all offers to let him rest. Another day passed and we considered going back to the trading post to retrieve our new equipment but decided to explore one more day to the southeast towards the river. We crossed into a stand of birch trees, stopping to set up camp.

In the morning we discovered to our embarrassment that we had been invaded during the night by the fey. Since none of us had been willing to stand guard we had only ourselves to blame. They had taken a liking to our cookwear, leaving with the half pot of beans we’d saved for breakfast. Lev tried to wheedle them to show themselves but was met with a justifiable hoot of derision.

Admitting our defeat, we turned southwest and in a quiet glade found an abandoned temple invaded by the forest. Pillars, some toppled, framed a courtyard overgrown with vine and shrub. Vegetation poked from between the courtyard's paving stones as we dismounted to walk quietly within. In the very heart of the quiet space stood a reeking pool of water.

Above us towered a cliff of hard stone at least 100 feet high. An immense carving of an elk was scribed in the cliff’s face, its drooping antlers framing the wide entrance to a cave with a flight of stone steps leading up to it. I felt no doubt that this was a place holy to Erastil, filling me with an odd sense of purpose. I say odd because, as you know, I arrived late to the worship of "Old Deadeye," mostly at your father's behest. To find myself moved by Him manifest is unexpected, but welcome. I'm beginning to think I've done the right thing, I am walking the correct path, embracing the fate meant for me, given to me by your father, Jaquizz.

As if to mock me, a giant grizzly bear emerged from the cave, like an actor answering his cue, roaring its anger at our arrival. It was met by Piea’s competing roar of defiance as she hacked a hole in it. Lev froze off a couple pieces of its rump. “Ha, haa!” he cackled excitedly, like a schoolboy harrying a dog. In his excitement Cane fumbled his sword, somehow embedding it deeply into solid stone. I rushed to the bear’s opposite side as he savaged Piea. (As this rate she will soon have more scars than Zon-Kuthon!) Holding her in its slavering jaws it flailed wildly at the rest of us. I was able to slip under its guard, making the killing stroke as, with a gurgle, it dropped Piea and fell to the cave floor.

Its sigh was all too human and, where  a savage animal once lay, the grizzled form of an old man appeared, a smile on his face, happily freed from some curse or other, perhaps from the time the temple itself was abandoned. I kneeled in humble prayer, glad to have done this service for him, my faith in Erastil confirmed. The oppressive feeling, that I had not even noticed I bore, lifted. When we returned to the temple we saw that even the fetid pool had cleared, pristine again. We drank of it heartily as Cane sheepishly freed his weapon from its stone, bearing our jibes manfully. Looking about me I vowed to again make this a place of worship .

The next day we returned to Oleg’s, happy to note that the supply van had arrived intact. I immediately stripped off my leather armor without thinking of the ladies present. Not minding their titters—at my age any attention from a woman is flattering—I slipped on my new chain shirt, its extra weight offset by a darkwood buckler.

When I emerged later in the afternoon after a nap I found Kelm reading from a notice posted on the fort’s gate:

"Every Greenbelt hunter has a story about Tuskgutter, each wilder than the last. The ill-tempered beast took my leg a year ago, and it’s about time someone took down this monster!

"I pledge my masterwork longbow, as well as six magic beastslaying arrows to anyone who kills Tuskgutter.

"Bring the head of the beast to Oleg’s Trading Post. I plan to stuff it as a trophy, and I might just share the head cheese I'll make out of it with you as well!

"Old, retired Vekkel Benzen"

On that I'll bid you adieu, sweet girl.

Obey your Mother,
Uncle Marquand

Letter One—Oleg’s Trading Post

Dear Pino,
I hope things are going well for you and your Mother. I know I had to leave rather suddenly, but when duty calls the righteous respond.

Thursday morning I was summoned to the hall of the Swordlords of Aldori where Lord Kazelov gave us our charter to represent their interests in an area known as “The Green Belt.” Yes, I know, we need to find a better name—Marquandland comes to mind.

He then took me into the next room where I met the adventurers they’ve chosen to be my partners in this quest. We spent the rest of the day going over maps and listening to a vague song and dance meant to cover the Swordlords’ backsides if there is trouble—and to remind us that three other groups will be making a similar undertaking in other parts of the Stolen Lands. So we are definitely replaceable.

I then hurried back to my room, gathered my gear, and said goodbye to you and your Mother. My stay has been a short one but I believe I've managed to make you my friend. You were brave although I saw tears in your eyes. I felt like crying as well, but that wouldn't do for an Inquisitor, so I kept them inside. Then I walked to the town gate where I joined my four new compatriots.

We set off for the south, passing the time by sharing our stories:

First there is Kelm Taslor, an Oracle by divine acclimation, which means he can tell the future but not the time of day. He’s very full of himself, having been pampered from birth and told as a wee lad that he has a great destiny to fulfill. This, and blindness, make him a bit dreamy, with a tendency to look through you instead of into your eyes. Nevertheless, he’s sturdy, with fire in his belly, and sees the things that eyes can’t.

Lev Davidowich is a fetchling Sorcerer, a rabble rouser and born leader. I’ve hung many of his kind but now I walk another path. Erastil believers—as you know—feel that all things are parts of the larger every thing. Competing ideas are good, making society a richer stew. I admit this is hard for me to comprehend but I’m trying. Followers of Abadar (my previous deity) believe that ruthlessly pruning the tree of society of its deadwood is what makes society strong. But ask yourself: what results when it is the live branches that are sheered? What do you cut when the tree itself is dead?

I apologize for the digression, dear Pino, politics is boring. Davidowich is a natural offspring of the Lebeda family and a glib talker. His travels have imbued him with a strong sense of the injustice in our world, which I share. The difference between us is that he still thinks the world can be changed. This makes him a dangerous man despite his happy-go-lucky facade.

Cane Alexson is the Ranger of our group, certainly the most useful. He’s lived most of his life in the woods and is, as you might expect, a true bumpkin. He’s smart, though, and will learn if he survives long enough. He’s dogged, determined, and dependable—the 3-Ds of character that city folk often forget.

Piea is also from a region like the one where we’re going. She’s tough and resilient, having fended for herself from a very early age. She may seem too eager for a fight, but I don’t think a blade can be tempered any other way. I’ve swung plenty of her kind as well, but the Piea I’ve come to know is an argument for giving some people a second chance.

They are all courageous and a little foolhardy, but I guess that’s why all of us are out here. We’re only lacking your father’s advice, which may yet prove fatal.

Along the way we came across wayfarers, merchants, and bandits. The latter two groups gave us wide berth for the same reason—we had no money for them to steal, but the first group would often camp with us for protection and to pass along gossip about the Stolen Lands. And this is how we eventually found ourselves standing before Oleg’s Trading Post on the north side of the Green Belt.

It was a dirty little place but well fortified. At each corner of the palisade was a tall tower but there was no one watching as we strolled right into the compound. There were several rough timber buildings, a wagon, some tables and chairs near a smoldering fire. A woman stood there expectantly and unafraid.

“I am Svetlana,” she said offering her hand. Her lack of concern led me to check the perimeter again and I spied a man working on the roof of one of the buildings. “Candy asses,” I heard him mutter.

Lev took the lead, Adam’s apple bobbing as he explained who we were and why we were there. By this time Oleg (as you might have anticipated, the man was he) had climbed down to join us.

“I thought they were sending the King’s guard!” he groused. “That’s the last time I ask them for help.”

“It’s the bandits,” Svetlana said. “They clean out everything we have. It’s frustrating. And we ask Restov for help—they’re always talking about how important we are—and instead of a Swordlord they send us . . . this.” She sniffed disdainfully.

“They clean out the missus, too,” Oleg grumbled.

“That’s why we’re here!” Piea replied fiercely. I guess I’m not the only one with a past to make up for.

“Well, we’ll find out if you’re worth your sand when they show up tomorrow.”

The bandits are led by a woman wielding two axes. Kressle. Everyone is afraid of her. The stories they tell, well, you are well-informed for your age but it’s not something I’d tell a little girl. There may be a dozen running with her crew.

At dawn I climbed to the top of one of the towers overlooking the courtyard. The others waited in hiding down below, although Kelm was having one of his visions and being led around by the hand. Lev fussed about. making sure everyone was in their proper places.

We only had to wait a short while when five rough looking men showed up. I watched stoically as Oleg limped up to them, pleading his poverty, his whiney voice piercing the distance like a well-aimed arrow. The boss cursed him roundly, sending two of his boys into the storeroom.

Lev made a dirty face at one of them and he started running away like a child from a monk of Rovagug. It was easy for me to hit him using my longbow. He squealed in distress. Then Cane and Piea went into action and soon all but one of them was dead. The last one was running for his life but the two quickly mounted the bandits’ horses, although Cane took a nasty header owing to a wound he’d received during the fight. There were no worries, though, as Piea quickly rode the bandit to ground and killed him so that there would be no one left to warn Kressle of our arrival.

Oleg pranced around like a boy at a wedding, no sign of his infirmary any longer, and began stringing the bandits up on his palisade by their intestines at Piea’s grisly suggestion.

“I like you, young lady,” he said, drawing a sharp look from his wife.

“Who are you calling a lady?” Piea replied evenly. Wisely, he shut up.

On the leader we found:

• two flasks of alchemist’s fire
• a dagger
• composite longbow +2
• 20 arrows
• two days of trail rations
• silver pendant with a stag’s head
• leather armor
• 35 gold pieces

From the others we stripped:

• 4 sets of leather armor
• 4 longbows
• 80 arrows
• 4 short swords
• 8 days of trail rations
• 40 gold pieces

Lev offered to share the wealth with Oleg and Svetlana but surprisingly they declined, saying the return of their wares was enough for them. Oh, and maybe us clearing out the rest of the bandits. To sweeten the incentive Oleg produced a circular purporting to be from the High Court of Restov offering 400 gp for the heads of at least 6 bandits. I had no idea this line of work paid so well.

Oleg opened up after that, telling us about the area we’ve been sent to tame. None of it sounded too serious, but he did tell us to be on the lookout for Bokken, a crazy guy, alchemist perhaps, or shaman, herbalist, or otherwise, who lived nearby.

Oleg also has more pockets than a second-rate magician as he sold us two cure light wounds and two vials of antitoxin.

We set off in the rain on the bandits’ horses, a sorry malnourished lot. Although I often rode a horse as a lad I haven’t had much reason to lately. You would laugh to see your old uncle jouncing along like a “bowlful of jelly.” I envied Piea and Cane’s practiced ease whilst Kelm seemed to be floating several inches above his saddle. I struggled the best that I could, rain dripping off the wide brim of my hat. Lev seemed to mind the imposition of the rain the most and who can blame him? Rain is bad management.

We lost the trail, found it, lost it again, and, as it was getting dark, we set up a cold camp and spent the night. I spent a long time listening to the rain dribbling onto my head as I sat watch. The next morning we set off again with the rain coming from southwest.

Coming over a rise we saw the land drop down into a depression, where a pond might be found on a rich Rostland farm. But here was a pond of bones. “Alas, Yorgy,” I thought, while cradling the skull of a child.

We stared down into a dark pit at the center of the boneyard when Kelm shouted, “I’ve glimpsed the future—spider!” and a monstrous black creature suddenly emerged, attacking Cane, wrapping her big hairy legs around him hungrily as her fangs craved him.

Lev plinked at it using his crossbow and I with my longbow as Piea hit it a few licks. Hearing Cane bellow I realized the spider had bit him, seeing a red line of poison coursing towards his heart, which wouldn’t be harmed, but once poison traveled from there to his liver and kidneys there would be no hope. (Thank Eristal he’d had the sense to buy antitoxin at Oleg’s.) With a shout of glee Piea slew the beast and it fell back into its lair emitting one long loogie of green pus that missed me by inches. A judge learns early how to dodge spit.

Piea and Cane climbed down into the spider’s hole where they discovered another of the thieves under the its carcass and quickly stripped him of everything valuable. Inside one boot (which she coveted) Piea found a single scrap of paper. On it was a crude drawing of a dead claw-shaped tree atop a barren hill with an X scrawled in blood at the tree’s base. We went back to Oleg’s that night.

We found a much warmer welcome from the couple, who had supper waiting for us and even a little entertainment from the locals, who came out of the woods to admire the bodies we'd brought back. A few were persuaded to fetch their instruments and girlfriends and we enjoyed their uninhibited singing and dancing that night.

The next morning we disguised ourselves in the bandits’ gear before setting off. Fortunately, I washed my set before retiring the night before, so the smell was tolerable and I wasn’t bothered by lice, although I noticed a couple of my companions scratching their nether parts.

The rain had stopped and Cane found their trail again. We followed it west of the spider’s lair for several hours before losing it for good. Every so often Kelm would exclaim cryptically about a vision only he could see and then quiet down again like a man waking from a dream. Humanity contains such fragments, it’s hard to ken how they all fit together.

We emerged into a field of wild radishes. In its midst five kobolds were gorging on their final meal, rubbing their stomachs, moaning. They jumped up when they noticed us.

“Oi!” one of them grunted. “Do you think we can take them?” They whispered amongst themselves. “These are our radishes.”

“We don’t want your flipping radishes,” Cane growled.

“Take us to your leader,” Lev added.

“Floop you,” another taunted as they suddenly charged Cane, drawing blood. Lev took a shot with his crossbow but missed the slippery little devils. Cane was able to kill one, but the other slashed his foot, ruining a good boot. Kelm suddenly hooted, “You are about to get killed by kobolds!”

Piea then charged into the fray but missed her small target. Meanwhile Kelm helped stop Cane’s bleeding. I then tried my luck but my swing went wide as Lev put a morningstar to good use upside the skull of one of the kobolds, crushing its head like an overripe melon. Cane finished by chopping another one’s brainpan in twain, spilling its brains onto the ground in front of me.

Lev jumped up and down like a small boy, exalting in his first blooding. “I killed something with my morningstar!” he cried. I wish I could say it was the first death attributable to my hand. Never start killing things, dear Pino, because once you start you can never stop.

Piea chopped one in half while Kelm merely touched his and it dropped dead, retching up its sad belly of radishes. There is no more honor in killing a pack of kobolds as in killing rats, but there is more danger as they use knives as well as teeth. The only mistake you can make is to pity them.

While we stripped the bodies—it was hardly worth the effort—Lev picked radishes, singing happily off key until finally Piea joined him in a victory dance.

Retuning to Oleg’s, Svetlana was ecstatic when she saw what we carried. “Oh, Moon Radishes,” she exclaimed before using them to make a most tasty soup. I must send you the recipe.

Later, as we sat about the fire, Oleg, who had been sipping too much moon radish wine, suddenly got sentimental. “Those bandits, they stole Svetlana’s gold wedding ring,” he cried. “If you find it I promise you a thousand gold in trade.” We all were amazed at his offer. Not for the first time I reflected that this little outpost was really just a front for Oleg’s real operation, whatever that is. He bears watching, or maybe befriending.

The next morning we headed southeast for a time and then southwest through the plains until we reached hill country. There we noticed a dark crack in the earth. Looking it over carefully, Lev and Cane discovered a tunnel leading to a larger space. Once they’d determined it was empty we followed, noticing the dull yellow grain in the walls, realizing with astonishment that we’d discovered gold! (I want you to keep this our own little secret, Pino. Who’s to say what riff-raff will follow us once the word gets out?)

We stayed the night in our little cave and the next day found a creek wandering through a forest of acorn trees. That’s when a thunderstone landed amongst us, deafening Lev, Piea, and Kelm (to go with his blindness). I was a little apart from the others when several arrows flew in from the brush behind the far bank. Piea was hit, but not severely. Then an arrow whizzed past me from the near side.

Behind me I spied a bandit and, unthinking, leapt atop an intervening log as if I was one of those on-stage action heroes. You would laugh at your old uncle making such a ridiculous move, but it worked as I stabbed down fiercely at my opponent, and he was unable to hit me. I sliced through his ribs as, mysteriously, the smell of bacon filled the air. Who eats breakfast in the middle of a battle?

I didn’t see this happen but learned afterward that Cane was challenged by two bandits in the creek, while Lev scared one our foes away, then moved to flank another. Kelm was hit by a thrown hand-ax as Piea pursued two bandits on the far side of the creek, killing one and treeing the other.

I felt the thump and painful sting of an ax, realizing that the feared bandit queen was finally among us. She was joyous in battle, laughing as she hurt us, one after the other, her minions fighting all the fiercer for her presence. Then Kelm took it all away from her with just a touch.

On her side of the stream, Piea climbed up the tree after her opponent, sustaining multiple wounds as she struggled to reach him. She finally caught up to him in the treetops, throwing him down to the ground below.

I cast daze on Kressle, then paused—a mistake—before rushing into battle. Unable to attack, she fell victim to Cane’s graceful killing stroke.

Only one of them was left alive. While we debated what to do with him, I helped heal Cane as Piea scoffed. “Spells are for hillbillies,” she grated.

We then found a small camp where a pitiful ration of bacon lie cold in a pan. Cane munched on it absently as we confiscated camping supplies and the usual bandit gear we’d found on the others, although I wish we hadn’t damaged so much of their armor. Kressle was carrying two masterwork hand axes and 85 gold. We found more gold and silver in a small coffer where there were also two silver earrings, a wooden music box, three crates of furs and hides—probably Oleg’s stock—and a polished wooden case with eight bottles of a pungent green herbal liquor. Most frustratingly we found the impression of Svetlana’s ring, but not the ring itself.

By this time the captured bandit had regained consciousness and we gathered to question him. He was defiant. “We’re looking for a ring,” Kelm asked him quietly, staring at a tree stump instead of the bandit.

“Mites,” the man answered. “Under the old sycamore tree, they stole it yesterday.”

"O-o-o-kay."

“Are there any other bandits out here?” Lev asked him.

“They’re all south with the Stag Lord.”

“You served the Stag Lord?”

“I did. He’s a bloody drunk. All that booze under the platform's for him. He's half of what he used to be, and ain't never been right in the head. A few weeks ago he punched my horse for spittin' in the yard. Personally, I wouldn't care if he dropped dead tomorrow, but even drunk out his mind he's still got a fair amount of fight to him. He’s a monster of a man!"

We determined his lair was 18 or 20 miles south, so we’ll have to deal with him at a later date.

“He calls himself the Stag Lord. He's a deadeye with the bow, and I saw him crush a prisoner's hand to mush in one fist. Come to think of it, I've never seen him without his creepy stag helmet on—some of my friends think he ain't got no face under it, but not me—I think that creepy helm is his face!"

He started rambling at this point, probably the concussion. He said we’d need a password but couldn’t remember what it was.

“I’ve got this,” said Lev as his finger eerily emitted a freezing cold towards the bandit’s nether realm.

“By the Bloody Bones of St. Gilmorg, who wants to know?” the bandit suddenly gasped. “That’s it, ‘By the Bloody Bones of St. Gilmorg, who wants to know?’”

“I should probably write that down,” Cane said laconically.

We took him back to Oleg’s where we found the master of the domain in conversation with a grizzed old veteran. His beard had food, twigs, and maybe a bird or a squirrel nesting in it.

“Greetings, sir,” Lev bowed.

The man rudely snorted, a large green booger flying from his nose. “You just stay away from me,” he growled.

“These are friends of mine, chill out Bokken,” Oleg pleaded.

“Have you seen any fangberries?” he suddenly asked. “You see any when you’re out and about you bring them to old Bokken. They’re little tiny purple berries and they got a leaf on them that looks like a fang.” He said this with bloody relish. “I’ll give you 25% off any potion if you just get me some fangberry juice.”

We promised him we would and then old Bokken limped back into the forest after first making sure that we knew where to find him.

Oleg then took the bandits we’d brought him, happily hanging them around his fort, strange fruit that were already smelling ripe with death. We tied up our live one where he could contemplate his good fortune.

The weed of crime bears bitter fruit.

Kiss your mother for me,
Uncle Marquand