IoK Saline – Session 5

“No… listen to what I’m asking?!?  WHERE DID THE WOLF GO?”

Cranic was ready to choke this chipmunk.  Talking to animals sounds like such an amazing gift until you realize what they have to say. 

“West I think… but a wolf once tried to eat me!  I swear, I was minding my own business when the blasted thing leapt out of the bushes and chased me clear across the forest.  I mean, look at me!  Why waste all the effort, I’m just a little thing.  That wolf and his mates could have taken down a fat boar or a deer, but ‘No’, he wants to nibble on poor Buttons.  I mean, what did I ever do to deserve…”

“STOP… Just stop chattering!  How long ago did you see this wolf… and short answers, please!  I don’t have much time.”

The scene to the others must have seemed surreal.  Cranic looking up into a tree and chirping away to a gray chipmunk… hands waiving and a look of frustration.  By comparison, the little gray rodent appeared to be loving the company.  Little paws gesturing widely as it chattered away in shrill squeaks and clicks.

“Well it’s not just one.  Like I said, if you would just listen, he had mates.  About a dozen of them I think.  Mind you, I’m not good with numbers.  I’m just a chipmunk, you know.  I call myself Buttons, I do.  I’ve seen many things… once, there was a bear near my tree.  He tried to eat me!  Jumped right out of the bushes and chased me clear across the forest.  I mean, look at me!”

“Bloody Hell would you just stop talking!”

At this point, the hobok had taken all he could stand.  He hated speaking with animals.  Never did they simply get to the point.  He believed it was the novelty of being able to express themselves.  Without the touch of Dramic enchantments, animals were animals.  They lived simple lives; predictable and quite.  They slept, ate, mated, and died.  Nature, in a chipmunk’s nutshell.  But every now and then, he needed to know something they couldn’t otherwise express.  That’s when he would ‘gift’ an animal for a moment.  It was a simple incantation, taught by his father alongside his knowledge of husbandry and riding.  A little gift from the slave masters, and many hobok consider it to be two steps away from the same magics that rose their kind from animals.

The incantation waned and Button’s demeanor returned to that of an average tree rodent. 

‘Wolves, hunting wolves… and asking the advice of squirrels about how best to do it’ he mused.  Cranic wondered if Buttons would remember his name once the spell had passed.

They had been all through these woods by now.  For the past two days, the pack had circled their camp.  Hunting for signs of golyn or any other danger which would threaten the miners.  It wasn’t difficult work, but the constant drizzle and damp made the stroll through the woods an uncomfortable one.  He was caked with mud up to his shins and would swear that the leather of his lamellar armour was softening.  It would need to be waxed when he had time, but for now he would just accept the chafing.

Cranic looked to Gar.  The hynn had a mild limp today, no doubt from the snare he had stumbled into the evening prior.  A red line of raw skin beaconed through his fur.  Could have been worse.  What if the trap had been poisoned?  Ket had identified a rare flower that grew here, some form of anesthetic.  No doubt the golyn were aware of it as well, we were within their marked territory.  Must be why the snares were set… to keep the wolves away from the leechlings.  Not that much bigger than a chipmunk.  Unfortunately, one of the little biters spotted them and ran.  Gar’s impatience got the worst of them that day.

When the pack returned to camp, there was silence.  The constant damp had taken its toll on all of them.  It was also the last day of the fresh meat, so there was no pleasant aromas coming from the fire tonight.  Just a dull hiss as the rain fought with the embers.  Gar turned in as did the srylian, preparing for their night watch.  Cranic took his place beside the human and began their silent watch.  The two had come to a general understanding by now, having spent many nights working together without a common language.

‘Could I use the same incantation on a human as I did on Buttons?’

Armin didn’t seem to understand the smile that briefly passed Cranic’s face.

 

Session recap:

Party has explored 10 of the 24 zones over the past 2 days.  5 days remain before party should plan on heading back to miners’ camp. 

Wolf snare traps were discovered in the North East corner of the grid.  9 were recovered and are now being used to protect the camp.

‘Spirit Wood’ trees were identified to the South West. 

‘Maiden’s Tears’ flowers were identified to the South.

Wolves are expected to the West, potentially a dozen.

A bear is in the area, potentially to the North West.

During the discovery of the snares, a golyn appeared to have spotted the party and ran North.  Party was unable to catch it.

IoK Mechanics – Access to Tap

When considering how much magic is available to a player, the GM needs to determine the location of leylines, their distance from the relevant Divine Syphon, and the general ambient ‘tap’ available in their current environment.  Though the GM determines this before the local campaign, there should be some solid numbers that the players can rely on when they plan their adventures.

It all starts with Knowledge Planes – Syphons.  If the players do not have any points in Knowledge Planes, they may still be able to identify the location of the great Divine Syphons.  These structures are massive and typically serve as the center of great magical academies and temples.  The White Forge and the Great Clockwork are a syphon of ‘Force’ magic.  The Academy in Sal is a syphon of ‘Shadow’ magic.  The Cliffs of the Childe house a syphon of ‘Mind’ magic… and so on.  A normal person may know that a syphon is located in the heart of Forgen, but they may not know that it is ‘Force’ magic.  They also would not know where the leylines have been channeled.

For those with Spellcraft, they may be able to identify a leyline weaving through the air.  They would understand how the elder mages of the syphons created conduits that draw tap from ‘Planar Wells’ located throughout the isles.  The leylines channel the raw energies of these planar wells back to the syphons, where it is then stored and redistributed to those with the knowledge to shape it.

To shape ‘tap’, the player must be in possession of a phylactery.  This ornate device is able to harness and hold tap for its wielder.  Some phylacteries are greater than others, but in the end they all serve as the instrument through which a caster manifests power.

So… how much ‘tap’ is out there to be harnessed?  If the player is within several miles of their Divine Syphon, lots.  As they get further away, the GM must decide the maximum amount of tap which can be pulled into a phylactery.  This number, anywhere from 0 to infinity, impacts how difficult the adventure could be for casters. 

For the current location of the IoK Saline campaign, there is little to no ambient 'Force' or 'Nature' leyline for the party to draw from.  This is nearly untouched wilderness and far from the established Divine Syphons.  Their NPC party does assist with this shortage.  The architect aboard the ship has brought a 'Crystal Repeater', which is pulling 10 Force tap from The Great Clockwork and pumping it into the surrounding area.  Also, a Srylian Priestess is performing daily rituals which disperse 5 Nature tap for the players to use.

If nobody harnesses this tap, it simply fades into the environment.  In the short term, this is harmless.  Overtime, the leakage will begin to impact the local flora and fauna... creating altered vegetation, aberations, magical creatures, and potentially breaching the planar boundaries.  This can be very dangerous.  Those familiar with Harlenton would have seen first hand what happens when a massive amount of tap builds up (see Harlenton in the IoK handbook)

Another point of note, these repeaters and rituals are being performed with the intention of aiding a small band of casters serving this mission.  What would happen if multiple casters of the same type were in the area?  They would need to share.  If that sharing is not mutual, then it becomes a battle of Spellcraft as the mages fight over magical energies.  The rolls are added together and then divided into each player's outcome.  This creates a percentage which determines how many points each mage recovers.

Example:  In the current environment, there are two 'Force' casters, both Rikian Keymeisters.  At the moment, one of them is refraining from drawing ambient tap in order to afford the other full access.  If this were not mutual, then the player would need to make a Spellcraft check each morning to gather tap.  Let's say the player rolled a 17 Spellcraft while the other, more powerful caster, rolled a 22.  This would allow the player to recover 4 of the available 10 while the other recovered 6. 

If the repeaters were destroyed or the priestess 'incapacitated', the tap supply would dry up.  There are other ways to generate tap in the world and it is dependent upon the type the caster needs.  For an arcane 'Nature' caster, this would be a matter of collecting natural herbs and rare animal parts.  Think homeopathic medicine.  The caster would be dependent upon their Knowledge Nature and would need craft skills to generate raw magica (Survival or Alchemy).  In the case of a divine 'Nature' caster, this would be a matter of rituals and prayers conducted by trained druids and priestesses.  Their pleas to nature generating tap, as is currently the case.

For the 'Force' tap, the scenario becomes more esoteric.  Force magic is a matter of geomancy and astrology.  The magic of magical patterns and movements of the physical world.  Knowledge Mathematics becomes the key to identifying sources of magica.  Once the correct pattern and location is identified, then a limited amount of tap will be released.  This is akin to solving mathematical formulae consisting of data derived from locations and time.  Think chalkboards and extensive equations, patterns, and astral measurements. 

It is important for the GM to use this as a story tool and a method of explaining why the world isn't dominated by magic.  Most campaigns lose an element of tension and challenge once the players rely on magic for travel, food, health, and essentially every aspect of survival. 

IoK Saline – Session 4

“So you’re telling me that they fought off a band of eight Golyn, but then nearly got eaten by a pack of half-starved wolves?”

Lugging the laden sack over his head, Skinner loaded it to the mules pack saddle.  It was evening and he was near finished checking his traps.  With spring in full effect, it was a busy day.  This side of the mountain was lush with rabbit and the occasional ermine.  Whether it was the ‘love’ in the air or the lack of settlements, these rodents were easy pickings.  They stumbled into shabby traps which would have never fooled a Forgen hare.  Skinner couldn’t wait to apply his handiwork to the catch.  His current coat was getting a touch shabby.

“Well maybe they were tired… nearly every night they’ve been running into critters up there.  I’m sure now that they’re settled in, they’ll get their second wind.”

Ever the optimist, Bazdin busily recovered the broken lines and spring snares.  Couldn’t let anything go to waste, and definitely couldn’t let some poor critter get bound without an end to their capture.  That would be cruel, and Bazdin wouldn’t have it.  He was lucky enough to talk Skinner into releasing the pregnant females, he wouldn’t then have them simply get caught back up in the same line.

“Bah… They’re amateurs.  I would have spotted those wolves.  It’s the city boys fault.  Why did they let that merchant guard cover the rear?  See… they let the hobok and flatlander go off tracking golyn.  They shouldn’t have done that.  Those two are the best scouts!  You send them AFTER you tuck the dandy book worms into bed.”

Another thump as a sack of rabbits was loaded to the mule.  Three in total… Skinner was quite proud of his handiwork and it showed in his attitude.

“They had Gar, and that ‘city boy’ is a merchant guard.  They don’t pay them to scout, they pay merchant guards to guard… so he was just fine covering the rear.  Wolves just got lucky.  Could happen to anyone.”

The lines and snares were rolled up and bound to the mule.

“Well at the very least, they should have questioned the captured golyn more.  Seems they pamper their captives, just look at how they fed and healed the ogre.  Let me have a crack at the golyn… that mouth would have never stopped leaking secrets, or teeth…”

The conversation was cut short as Skinner yelped and recoiled from the mule’s pack.  While placing the last roll of snare line, Bazdin had somehow managed to trigger one of the springs from Skinner’s traps.  Not fully set, the spring snapped a steel line through the air.  Like the crack of a whip, the line struck Skinner across the forearm, drawing a thin line of blood.

“Oh!  I’m so sorry…”  Bazdin stood gap jawed; staring silently at Skinner, who had by now turned a deep shade of red.

“Well don’t be.”  Skinner looked at the younger dwarf and rolled up his sleeve.  The skin beneath was a map of scars and cuts; a history of his life as a trapper.  He let the blood run down his forearm, watching the younger dwarf's color sink away like the crimson now dripping from his finger.

“Accidents happen boy.  Sometimes we need to remember that things can just go bad.  When they do, they go bad fast and you won’t be able to stand there gap jawed apologizing.  You wipe the blood away and you move on.” 

With that, Skinner grabbed the reigns to the mule and started walking back to camp.  Bazdin, still dumbstruck, replayed the scene in his head and thought of what he could have done differently.  It was just a cut, and Skinner didn’t seem too bothered, but Bazdin knew he should have been more careful.  Or maybe the spring would have let loose regardless of his actions. 

He picked up the last snare, carefully, and followed.

IoK Saline – Session 3

The Hammerfell Mountains loomed heavy to the East, their frozen peaks still laden with the winter snows.  The trees that grew in the mountain's shadows were mostly soft woods… pines and cottonwoods.  Buferl Nutcatcher spent the morning examining the trees.  He only need collect firewood at the moment and pine would work fine for that.  Burns fast, but clean.  It was also easy to cut and tie to the mules, so the task offered him extra time.  He had decided to use that to evaluate what he would have to work with once real camp construction began.

“You see this here, Rusty… that’s white pine.  It’ll burn nicely and add a nice scent to the camp.” 

Rusty watched Nutcatcher intently as he moved from tree to tree.  She would dig at the ground when she got bored, sometimes finding a root or spring flower to nibble on.  Ears perked and attentive to the calming voice of her handler.

“Now this one… this is what I hope to find up the mountain.  Ponderosa’s don’t burn easy.  No good for firewood, but we’ll be thankful when we carve her into a mess hall.  What’s that look to you… about 100’?  They’ll be taller on the mountain.”

Rusty approached the mature pine.  She sniffed, and turned to scratch her backside against the rough bark.

“Oh yes, that’s a good tree Rusty.  This one can be yours.  What’s that now…”

Nutcatcher reached for Rusty’s reigns and pulled her closer.  At first, he thought the mule had cut herself on a sharp branch or rock, but as he examined her flank he saw no wound.  Still, a fresh red stain now marred her brown coat. 

It was the tree.  As Nutcatcher moved round to get a better look at Rusty’s flank, he finally saw the carvings.  The flesh of the tree had been stripped and deep gouges had been carved into the east facing trunk.  They seemed to form the shape of a toothy maw… a visage of sharp teeth, curved just enough to give the impression of a grin.  From the tree’s wound bled a deep red sap, the same color that now adorned Rusty.

“Rusty… may be time for us to head back.  This isn’t your tree after all.”

‘Hide.  Hide.  Hide’

Gorb knew he could not help them.  He wasn’t sure if he should help them, but his lame arm would have prevented him had he summoned the courage.  He was so tired.  The hynn had hit him so hard, cut him so deep, that he feared whether he would ever use his arm again. 

It didn’t matter though.  With his good hand, he held close the tree that concealed him from the biters.  He was late.  They would punish him for being late, this was certain.  He had at his side his tithing, but it was souring.  The smell had attracted flies and he knew that the shaman would be angry.  But what was he to do.

‘Hide.  Be still.’

The skulked by his tree in two columns.  Seven little biters, and a wicked master.  Were they looking for him?  ‘No’ he thought.  They never looked for him, they knew he had to return.  He always returned, bag in one hand, his chain in the other.  Which would he hold with his remaining good arm? 

‘You must hide.’

Gorb saw the human and the hobok.  They were scouting too.  He knew he should have simply left them, but they were different.  They had offered food and did not kill him.  They did not torture or maim after the fight like the biters do.  They could fight.  This is why he did not stray far.  If they could fight, perhaps they could kill the biters. 

But not the human and the hobok alone. 

‘Hide and fight’

And it looked as if they would.  The hobok had taken a position in a tree.  He had a bow like the wicked master.  The human was now attempting to sneak back to the camp, but he was too far from the trees.  The wicked master saw him, and the biters chattered at the air.  That sound…

‘Fight!  You must fight!

The human shouted and Gorb heard the cry.  Many of the others did as well.  Not as one though, they were not ready… but they were not surprised.  They were not frightened.

They moved to the creek and readied themselves.  They used their bows and Gorb could hear the whistle.  The human moved quick and Gorb lost him amongst the trees.

‘Hide and fight’

The big one, the hynn with the axe, he approached without fear.  The flatlander behind him now held a spear and held ground across the creek.  The biters had spears as well.  Long spears in which they could poke at Gorb.  Taunt him and stab him.

‘Shaman…’

The biters ran to the fight.  They were never afraid.  They stabbed with their spears and gnashed with their teeth.  But the others stabbed truer.  The human darted from the shadows of the trees and slashed at the biters.  In their surprise, they did not see him.  Their weapons did not greet him, and a biter died.  It was then that Gorb heard the sound.  The awful sound of chanting.  Of dark magics and ancient words.  He hated the sound.

‘Wonders’

It was a flaming sword, bright and righteous.  Gorb could taste his fear as the light of the blade danced in the reflection of the biters eyes.  It lashed at them without arm to wield.  Two blades, balanced and dancing around the biters.  Terrifying and awesome…

‘Fight’

Biters stabbed their spears and gnashed their teeth.  The wicked master threw arrows at the others.  The others stabbed and slashed in return.  The human was now approaching the wicked master.  ‘No!’ thought Gorb.  ‘He will bite you and you will die’

But the wicked master could not.  The human was fast, and he kept the wicked one at bay.  Gorb could not help but smile as the human knocked it to the ground.  Without its bow, it was just a tall biter.

‘Kill them all’

Gorb did not know how, but the forest had begun to help the others.  Strange wolves and eagles attacked the biters.  Gorb had never seen this… the animals of the mountains dared not bite a biter, for their blood was death.  Never had he been so happy to see so much black blood upon the forest floor.  The will of the biters broke and they attempted to flee.  The others would not allow any to escape as arrow, blade, and spear ended the conflict.

Gorb unclenched his good fist, the fear for the others having passed.  They could fight.  They could kill biters, and they were not afraid.  This was good.

‘Soon… you must kill them all’

Gorb carefully stepped from the tree into the growing dusk.  The others would be too busy to notice him.  They had captured the wicked master.  Would they let him live as they had let him.

‘Kill them all’  whispered Gorb, and he continued his journey back to shaman.  For the first time in months, he was not afraid.

IoK Saline Mechanics Review:  Wilderness Survival

The cycle of a day - Characters are assumed to be eating, snacking, and drinking throughout the day.  From a game mechanic point, characters must commit a ration in the morning to their day.  If no ration is available that morning, they go hungry that day.  Keep this in mind while using 'Survival' to Get along in the Wild.  You will not actually eat the rations you recover that day until the following morning (example:  if you had no rations in the morning, you don't eat until you find food.  This is what you are doing all day on an empty belly.  By the end of the day, you have food.)

After the morning ration, characters can recover spell points and reassign magicks.  Then you pack up camp and get moving.

The 'Overland Movement' phase is dependent upon the slowest persons movement rate coupled with terrain modifiers.  Currently, the players are in a wild forest.  This cuts overland movement in half unless players have skills that can modify this effect (IoK Feat Woodsmen or Mountaineer).  So as an example, if the slowest member of the party is moving at 20MR, then the party is traveling at 1 MPH in 'trackless forest' (d20 overland movement is player MR/10 = MPH, trackless forest cuts overland movement rate in half).

Note that this impacts players differently... if the armored dwarf is slowing the party to a rate of 1 MPH due to his 20 MR, this may allow faster players to do other things.  'Survival' Get along in the Wild action is one of them.  When using this skill, the player must move at half their movement rate.  It would be a horrible idea to have the slow dwarf perform this action, as that would slow the party even further.  The scout or ranger with a 40 MR though would be perfect, as their reduced speed while hunting would not impact the party.

After 'Overland Movement', the party enters into 'Camp' phase.  This is when players are allowed to engage in crafting, healing, or any other skill which generally requires sitting still.  Having units on watch during this time is important as players are considered 'distracted' while engaging in camp activities.  These players will suffer 'spot' and 'listen' check penalties while deeply involved in their actions (studying books, performing rituals, preparing food and camp sites, chopping wood).

The Getting along in the Wild skill continues into this phase.  This is considered a 'full day' action.  While on the march, the player was scouting for game, picking berries, and finding water.  During camp, they are preparing that food, boiling/filtering water, and preparing campsites.  The player is always getting along in the wild and attempting to support those that cannot.

The DC is this current forest is 15 for Getting along in the Wild.  The standard is 10, but this forest is currently coming out of winter and wild food is not plentiful.  It is mating season though and game animals are plentiful.

The last phase is 'Rest'.  It is important that characters get 8 hours sleep.  Doing so allows their mind and bodies to heal.  Getting woke up for an encounter will not through off rest periods, so don't worry about waking up the caster along as they can go back to sleep when the fight is over.  There should be a watch though as characters are at an extreme penalty to checks while sleeping (-10 listen, no spot).  They are also considered 'helpless', so the toughest character can be subject 'coup de grace' actions. 

Crafting - Gathering resources while in the wild is a key element of IoK.  Typically, this is dependent upon the Profession skills, though craftsmen can gather resources as well.  They just are not as good at it.  See 'Starting from Scratch' in the IoK sourcebook.  The Survival skill can be used for 'Living off the land' which allows gathering food, leathers, furs, hide, wood, bone, and herbs.  Survival is only 1/3rd as effective as a Profession skill at gathering these resources.

So far, the party has been using Survival to gather leather.  They have been given 50lbs of unworked skins to refine leather from.  The DC for refining 'unworked hide' is DC 10 to refine 5 'Craft units'.  The base leather from boars is considered 'Basic', so each pound is considered 5 SP worth of leather.  To determine how much work the players can perform in a day, see the following formula:

 CU = (Player Survival Check x DC 10) / 3

For every 5 Craft Units (CU), the players turn 2 lbs of boar hide into 1 lb of  basic leather.

In an average Camp Phase, an average 3rd level Survivalist should be able to create 60 CU worth of leather.  This means they can turn 24 lbs of hide into 12 lbs of uncured leather.  Give it a few more weeks of drying and they will have 60SP worth of trade goods. 

Average roll of 10 + 8 Survival = 18
Times DC 10 = 180
Divided by 3 for using Survival instead of Profession:  Tanner = 60 Craft Units

The leather curing process is part of the refining, but doesn't take actual work.  This is dependent upon the material being worked, so the GM must look to real world examples.  30 days is the classic time it took to cure leather after preparing.  This makes it highly profitable to hunt furs and leathers in the wild.  A couple month venture could return with riches in hides.

IoK Recap Session 2 - Bacon with porridge.  You can add a little syrup to it to make it taste better, but we don’t have any syrup left.  Butter goes well too, but Eland won’t give us any butter.  We have plenty of dark ale, which several of the crew had begun pouring into their breakfast.  Would seem that was more about being too drunk to taste the salt as opposed to enhancing the flavor.  Either way, breakfast today would be bacon and porridge.

“Did you hear?  They were attacked by ogres yesterday!”  Fardel was grinning ear to ear with his bit of gossip.  Nothing made him happier than being first with a good story.

“They weren’t attacked by ogres… get your story straight.  They attacked an ogre… one ogre, and his dog.”  Hardal, Fardel’s uncle, was always harsh on his nephew.  Seemed he had good reason though; Fardel’s mouth had spread the wrong details of a story too many times, and he was missing several teeth to prove it.  Seemed those gaps in his smile just helped the young dwarf get the story out faster, but with a slight whistle.

“That’s it… they attacked the ogre.  And then the giant’s warhound came sneaking around the side of the trees.  Those ogre hounds are smart.  Smarter than glass cats.  The Flatlanders call them ‘Rohwolves’ and they perform rituals to keep them off the plains.  This one time…”

“Now stop that now, you’re just making stuff up!”  Hardal was red in the face at this point.  He looked like a bearded pomegranate with eyes. 

“Now it’s true, I swear.  The scouts had stumbled upon the ogre’s camp while hunting a boar.  While the marsh druid and the flatlander were cleaning the boar, the merchant guard and the hobok were checking out the area and found a campfire.  While they were examining the fire pit, Amon… no Armin… the darian… he saw the ogre hiding in the bushes and…”

“The ogre was hiding in the bushes… Since when do ogres hide?”

“This one did… just shut up for a minute and let me tell the damn story.” 

Fardel’s moment of frustration seemed to have caught the older dwarf off guard.  Hardel sat down on one of the logs and shut his mouth.  Face still a red beacon of indignation, but at least he seemed more interested in the tale than Fardel’s manners.

“So… the ogre WAS HIDING IN THE BUSHES, and he had a rock in his hand.  Armin saw the rock and quickly tumbled back away from the ogre.  Midleap, he let loose with three arrows from his bow.  Two of them pierced the ogre’s ears while the third knocked the stone from the ogre’s hand.”

A grunt of disdain came from Hardal’s direction, but this didn’t slow Fardel’s animated version of the story.

“This made the ogre angry and he cried out for his rohwolf to attack.  The cry was heard by the others and the whole party came charging through the forest.  Just in time too because the ogre, while throwing more stones with one hand, was gripping the trunk of an ancient oak in his other, ready to smash any who approached him”

By this time, several of the other miners had made their way to the table.  Fardel had a reputation for ‘thespianism’ and there was no reason to miss out on a good yarn.  Ale mugs in hand, the crew settled in to the left and right of Hardal, giving him a little nudge as they all understood how large the grain of salt must be for this story.

“So then crept in the hynid.  Like a spider, he silently swung from the tree branches, seeking to steal the ogre’s liver with but a flick of his blade.  Before he could position himself, the rohwolf had snuck around to flank Armin and the hobok.  He held himself so still that even his scent didn’t waft down from the trees, slowly fanning the wind up and away from the wolf with his tail.”

“Do hynids have tails?” one of the miners whispered to his companion.  “I don’t know, we’ll have to ask Skinner when we’re done here”

“As the hobok raised his bow to the ogre, the rohwolf attacked.  Leaping from the shadows, it got the jump on his.  The hobok tumbled as the dark creature tore into his boots.  Reaching for his axe, he swung wildly at the beast.  His axe connected, but the rohwolf was smart and had worn armor fashioned from the hundred hoboks it had eaten before, and how it had a taste for both all manner of elf, even the hairy ones.”

“Wait… wait up… What does this have to do with elves?”

“Hobok… they are the last of the Darmic experiments to create a super hunter.  See, the hynid were the first of the ‘created races’ in which the Darmic Maji attempted to create a replacement servant to the Deltan elves, who had freed themselves about 250 years prior during the Green Rebellion.  The hynid are a kind of evolved fox with a little Maji blood in them, but they were too smart and many escaped.  The Darmic have a nasty habit of underestimating us lesser races and it may have been foolish to infuse their own nature into an animal.  So then they created the hynn.  That would be the big one that calls himself ‘Gar’.  This time, they borrowed some flatlander essence and mixed in some wolf, creating a beast of a creature that they would then send against the Darians during the Flatland wars.  The flatlanders did this voluntarily, so there is a certain ancestral respect for the Hynn amongst their people.  Too bad the Maji chose to use Flatlanders due to their belief that they were an inferior race.  But then the Deltan’s sided with the Darians to put an end to the Darmic/Flatlander aggression, so the Maji created one last beast of war.  That was the hobok.  Our scout’s name is Cranic, and he is the sum collection of Darmic bio-weaponry.  Part elf, part wolf, and some dark nature that drives them to hunt any with elven blood.  The hobok, of all the created races, is a killing machine.  This was a major gamble on the Darmic’s part, as this creature would just as happily attack them as it would the Deltan.  But desperate times call for desperate measures, and so all three were sent against the northern nations.”

… Fardel’s mouth closed as he watched several of the crew clear a seat and make room for the senior Nine Hammers.  His two sons stood behind him, waiting for another log to be brought to the fire.

“But please, continue Fardel.  My apologies for interrupting.”

Swallowing hard, Fardel seemed to have lost his tongue for a moment.  He glanced to his uncle, looking for reassurance and permission.

“You heard him, Fardel.  What happened next?”  The redness was gone from Hardal’s face as he tried to lend courage to his nephew.

“Well… Cranik, the hobok, was on his back and the wolf had him by the leg.  That’s when the hynid…”

“His name is Ket, Fardel.”  The calm voice of Rolan Nine Hammers corrected him.

“Ket… Ket dropped from the trees and quickly pierced the wolf’s armored flanks.  The beast never knew what hit him, and Cranik was able to recover and join the fight against the ogre’s onslaught."

"You're missing a part, Fardel.  Did you see what Colm Newmantle was attempting to do?" 

Fardel paused and took in Nine Hammers' words.  Perhaps he didn't catch this part of the story.

"As I recall it, the ogre is on one side of the stream while the entire scouting party is on the other.  Six of them, armed and armored.  They had just slaughtered a boar in the time it took for me to recount this narrative.  So this ogre, who was hiding near his camp site, is now bloodied and staring down the wrath of a band of experienced warriors.  What was he thinking attacking such a group?"  

Rolan Nine Hammers kept Fardel's gaze, but his question was directed at all who were listening.

"I don't know what the ogre was thinking, sire."  Fardel was quieter now.  The thrill of being center of attention had soured.  All that was left was the feeling of all eyes silently watching his uncertainty.  He wanted to step away from the fire, but feared that Nine Hammers would disapprove.  So he stood and understood now why his uncle had warned him of gossiping.

"Colm Newmantle had called for peace, and even risked his own safety to make his point.  He stepped before the wounded ogre and in doing so proved his conviction that this battle had begun with little foresight.  It's a shame that he had not gotten there before so many arrows had enraged the frightened giant.  Before Cranic and Ket had near killed his companion.  The srylian ZzyZzyk had recognized this as well, but he was too far away to make a difference.  It seems the nature of society that the wise are away when the quick are at the front lines.  In the ogre's rage, he was ready to strike down the one who would have called for peace.  Many of us would have done the same in his position."

Rolan took a drink from the cup his older son handed him.  Longest sip of ale I've ever witnessed, and probably the most intently watched by a band of enraptured miners.

"Continue Fardel.  What happened next?"

"Well sire..."  Fardel looked about desperately for his own ale.  Catching on, his uncle passed him his mug.  Fardel drank deeply, then steadied his voice. 
"It was Gar's turn.  He charged the ogre in an attempt to aid the acolyte.  The ogre swung the tree... I mean his club, with both hands.  Gar took the full brunt of the blow, falling to a knee with the weight of the swing, but then returned in full.  As the ogre was pulling back for a finishing blow, Gar swung the axe up from the earth.  Mud, stone, stick, and hide... none of it absorbed any of the hynn's fury as he delivered.  The ogre's chest opened in a crimson blossom, and his club clattered to the forest floor.  The giant fell."

The ale seemed to give Fardel just enough courage to finish the story, but no more.  The miners cheered for the end and they all began to exchange their own take on stories that had been floating through the camp.  Though Fardel was the best storytelling, his was not the only version of the tale. 

Fardel sat down next to his uncle and the two finished their ale in silence.  Rolan called for Eland and his sons.  Words were said, but not words to be heard by the rest of the crew.

That night, Eland served fresh pork to everyone.  It was accompanied by a heavy wine sauce, thick and red and sweet.  Raspberries maybe.

Fardel ate in silence near his uncle.  All the red long gone from his face. 

IoK Game recap - Session 1

StoneBlood log – May 1^st

First Entry - The ship pulled into the bay in the early morning, sun just rising over the mountains.  It’s odd having the mountains to the east… makes everything darker as we approached through its shadow.  We’re far from civilization here.  The nearest port is Crestar Keep further north of the bay, but this ship drafts too deep to make the trip.  We’ll have to send a mule train for supplies.  Even then, Rolan gives me the impression there will be no contact with the Justicarians. It would seem that our papers are not exactly in order for this mining expedition.  We’re here under some loose interpretation of ‘salvage rights’ which I don’t believe will hold up in court.  Regardless, Remenik assures me that we have good reason to be here.  The risk is worth it.

Second Entry – Our scouting team has introduced themselves to the camp guard with unexpected flare.  No more had we dropped anchor that the Hynn leapt from the ship and into the pistol sights of the hired sappers.  It surprises everyone when the beast speaks and I was further surprised by the restraint shown by the Northwind Companions.  They were hired for their reputation as loyal to coin, but it’s impressive to see anyone stand firm as a 7’ Hynn charges down on them.  After the weapons were sheathed, the rest of the crew let out their collective breathes and returned to unloading the ship.  It will be a long day.

Third Entry – Eland has surprised us all with what he had hidden in the larder.  It seems that we will be dining on fresh food this evening.  I can’t take anymore pickled herring or salted pork… my stomach has not stopped churning since we left Forgen, and pickled anything tastes the same going down as it does coming up.  It seems that Keymeister helped plan this and even invested some Tap into preserving the food for the journey.  I doubt the others will understand the work that went into this meal, especially if they knew how much of the food had suffered from rat infestation.  Perhaps we should pick up a cat during our next supply run.

Fourth Entry (last) – Supper was splendid.  Despite Eland’s perpetually dirty knuckles, his skill with a kitchen knife is beyond question.  The wine wasn’t half bad either.  Our crew sang songs into the night and will sleep on solid ground.  The Northwinds have begun their watch, so the scouts can sleep well tonight.  It may be their last restless sleep as they depart on their mission tomorrow.

StoneBlood log – May 2^nd

First Entry - Breakfast was a disappointment.  Bacon is just another form of salted pork.

Send Entry – The scouts leave today.  It should take them a week to get to their mark, give or take a day as they have to chart their own path.  I feel that I should have gone with them.  This is the real adventure… blazing trails through the wild.  Father would tell such stories to Bors and I.  He and Remenik spent years chasing legends of the Rust Wars.  Fighting their way through the Crag Forts and rediscovering the legends of Forgen sappers fighting waves of Golyn warriors.  How they slew great beasts and dark sorcerers.  How they lost a friend to black magic.  Father was never fond of geomancy after that.  No wonder he never really approved of my vocation.

I can’t go though.  I have Bors to worry about.  In every way he is still my brother, but something is missing.  There is a sorrow inside him, some kind of guilt.  This should be obvious for a convicted criminal and branded dirt slave, but this guilt seems to have nothing to do with his crime.  He confesses innocence to that, I’m inclined to believe him.  If true though, then what is eating him?  What burden is he carrying that has yet to breech the surface?  I feel as if he couldn’t tell me if he wanted to… it clings at the edge of his mind as if the thought itself had a dark will, refusing to let go his tongue.

Perhaps more herring will help him spill his guts.  It seems to be helping mine.

 

Keymeister Remenik and Yugrim Ironsbane sit opposite each other, the fire warming their boots as they stare into its flickering light.  Its orange flames glimmer with a subtle flash of green and violet as Remenik whispers the occasional geomantic expression.

“Did you see that, Yugrim?  The flatlander bit the boar as it rushed him!  Who knew these primitives had such power.”  Remenik smiled and sloshed his morning tea with the excitement of the scene playing out in the fire.

“I’m more impressed by the swing of that axe.  Do you think the crew would have mocked Gar so if they had truly understood his strength?  It is not his muscle or size that should garner respect, but his restraint and control.  This is a beast who plays at being a man, and so far he is succeeding.”  Yugrim took another puff from his pipe and leaned in towards the flame.  The old blacksmith did not seem to feel the heat, having long since come to terms with the nature of fire.

“True, they are all such a fascinating lot.  With little understanding of where they are going, they march boldly into unknown forests.  And do they trust each other yet?  Many of them have just met, yet they are betting their lives on the competency of strangers.”

“And doing so for 3 Ravens a day I might add.” 

They both chuckled at this, but the laughter was subdued.  They had placed their hopes into the hands of animals.  True, there was a Darian and Forgen amongst them.  One of Remenik’s own students, so there was faith that the mission’s success would be more than who could hit the hardest.  Despite it all, they both had lived this life before.  They knew that the hardest times were ahead of them.  With luck, they would all return alive.