From the Elves...
To Esfaeleon the Cup Bearer, from his faithful servant and sentry, Hisanor Redleaf of the Southern Expanse.
O’ Thorl live forever.
I write this letter so soon after my last because of recent incursions in our lands demand that the tale be told. Rest assured that our Southern Expanse remains secure, but I recall with great lightness of heart our conversation at the Solstice when you shared the story of your neice and the human she married.
Earlier this week we came upon a small company of halfbreeds and humans who were crashing through the Greywood, far North and West of where we expect to find them. We followed them discreetly for four days before it became apparent that they might actually stumble upon the Winter Retreat if we let them. As they were shy of the mark and rather bumbling, I decided to allow them to live and to inquire of their purpose here.
The leader described herself as Lita the Half. She appears to be a Ranger of sorts. Her company included a human, an elf, and a curious dark-skinned creature whose like I have never seen. He spoke like a human and smelled of The Towns, but his features were not unlike that of the Seperatists.
This Lita told me that she was searching for Trolls and begged my leave to do so unmolested. I was shocked that such an under-equipped party would be searching for their own death in this fashion, but I remembered your stern warning that sometimes humans are stronger than they appear. I relented and pointed her in the direction of the Longarm Horde.
Though we have steered wide around them these last three seasons, the Longarm are still very active and their hunger is giving them wider roam. If these humans were able to rid us of their scourge without risking the recruits you sent, I thought we would be much the better off. We also followed them at distance to guage their mettle — if this Lita were successful we might find her an ally in some future instance.
The Troll Horde began their hunt shortly after the four left the path. First a Great Bruin was driven into their camp and by some Llor was sent back toward the trolls from which it had run. The Trolls tore it to pieces and then the hunt began in earnest.
There were ten of the Longarm altogether. They threw their rocks at the party of bumblers who would not be driven off. At this point I turned to my aide with an eyebrow raised. A hunting party of ten Longarm against these four — the four must be powerful indeed!
But then both groups closed for tooth and fang. One hundred heartbeats later, it was all over. Though grievously wounded, two of the bumblers kept their feet and managed to carry their fallen (dead by the looks of it) away. At this point, I could scarcely contain my laughter and the hunting party turned in our direction. We managed to drive them back without permanent damage to them (or us, by my Ancestral Tree!).
The last we saw of the party of four, they were returning with all due haste to the plains. They sleep now, but we will follow them South until they exit.
If the Longarm Horde are not gone by Spring, we shall have to burn them out of the caves. In the mean time they might prove a worthy deterrent to more incursions of outsiders.
Sign me, ever vigilant and given to mirth.
Quote of the Day: "Okay, that didn't really work out the way I wanted it to."
Beneath the Grassy Gnolls
Because the Maguiren fled when presented with the Gnoll idol, the Irregulars are afraid that any returning Gnolls may retake the city. The Maguiren are bolstered by the speechifying, but a call goes up among them for a greater sign that their victory was no accident.
Just then, an old crone steps forward and delivers a prophecy. The Maguiren will never know true victory, she says, so long as their King does not hold the ancient weapon interrred within the depths of the Gnoll warren. The King steps forward and gathers twelve volunteers (the Irregulars among them) to seek this weapon and bring it out to the light of day.
Resistance in the warren proves to be light. There is more damage inflicted by traps and ambuscade than by toe to toe fighting. Eventually, the warren succumbs to their skill at arms. Even the surrendering are killed. While searching the complex, the party stumbles across a barricaded passage to an ancient dwarven crypt. That crypt purports to house the horde of Molly Maguire.
At the end of a long passage lies a strange great hall laid out in colored floor tiles. The tiles appear to mimic the tartan of the Maguire Clan, which the Maguiren Orcs hold sacred. There are two plaques on the floor before the tartan. One written in Dwarf, the other in Graetish (the language of gnomes and giants). The dwarf one is translated handily by Luftilda, but there is no one among the Irregulars present who reads Graetish.
The Dwarf Plaque reads:
They surmise that the hall must be traversed in some specific way, that the floor tiles must make a combination of sorts that needs to be unlocked before a person is safe. Another Orc volunteers and is promptly crushed for his courage, as is a third.
Then, announcing that she has a plan, and relying on her Dwarven intuition, Luftilda strides forward across the many colored tiles. Before reaching the end she describes a corridor beyond. Then, seeking to cheat the fate of the massive stone block, dives into the passage without touching the last tile. The Irregulars never hear from her again.
Then Brumbar the Paladin agrees to ride to the South and seek a Gnome translator. In so traveling, he braves a Gnoll war party and confronts a witch fighting a wizard. In the course of interrupting that fight, the wizard is turned to stone and the witch agrees to aid Brumbar in finding gnomes. Eventually, with a gnome hireling in tow, Brumbar returns to the Irregulars, no worse for the wear.
The Gnome translates the Graetish writing and takes it to be the work of G’nakor, worthy artificer and director of mechanical operations, friend to Mad Molly Maguire. There is a riddle therein, directed to the Friends of Molly Maguire and advising them to touch each color no more than twice and never move diagonally.
Trusting this gnome, whom they have never met, the Irregulars study the pattern and plot a course across the hall. It turns out to be correct and they cross safely to the other side. Once there, they see a great chasm over which a bridge now unwinds.
Traversing that bridge they find themselves in a magically illuminated hall of murals that shows a great heroine in various battles and other moments of nobility. At the end of the hall rests Tide of Battle, her great sword shattered in it’s last use.
Avoiding a final trap, the Irregulars give the Sword to the King of the Maguiren who returns to his clan with the promise to forge it anew. A great celebration is had and the Maguiren prepare to occupy the Gnoll City.
Quote of the Day: “What the hell was your plan for the pattern???”
“Well… I like green.”
Just then, an old crone steps forward and delivers a prophecy. The Maguiren will never know true victory, she says, so long as their King does not hold the ancient weapon interrred within the depths of the Gnoll warren. The King steps forward and gathers twelve volunteers (the Irregulars among them) to seek this weapon and bring it out to the light of day.
Resistance in the warren proves to be light. There is more damage inflicted by traps and ambuscade than by toe to toe fighting. Eventually, the warren succumbs to their skill at arms. Even the surrendering are killed. While searching the complex, the party stumbles across a barricaded passage to an ancient dwarven crypt. That crypt purports to house the horde of Molly Maguire.
At the end of a long passage lies a strange great hall laid out in colored floor tiles. The tiles appear to mimic the tartan of the Maguire Clan, which the Maguiren Orcs hold sacred. There are two plaques on the floor before the tartan. One written in Dwarf, the other in Graetish (the language of gnomes and giants). The dwarf one is translated handily by Luftilda, but there is no one among the Irregulars present who reads Graetish.
The Dwarf Plaque reads:
This sacred hall built with affinity and respect by the people of Dun Corglur houses the memories and exploits of Mad Molly Maguire, heroine of reknown, ruler of Beornshold, uniter of Clans, liberator of Wyrmshaven, defeater of giants, scourge of goblins, potentate of the North Plains, bane of The Elf, friend of the Duns, and upholder of the Tide of Battle.One of the Maguiren, hearing the dedication plaque read, asks permission of his King to have the honor of crossing the plaid hall to reach the other side. The honor is bestowed and the Irregulars watch in horror as the Orc is crushed by a massive stone block as soon as he reaches the other side. That block rachets slowly back into the ceiling.
They surmise that the hall must be traversed in some specific way, that the floor tiles must make a combination of sorts that needs to be unlocked before a person is safe. Another Orc volunteers and is promptly crushed for his courage, as is a third.
Then, announcing that she has a plan, and relying on her Dwarven intuition, Luftilda strides forward across the many colored tiles. Before reaching the end she describes a corridor beyond. Then, seeking to cheat the fate of the massive stone block, dives into the passage without touching the last tile. The Irregulars never hear from her again.
Then Brumbar the Paladin agrees to ride to the South and seek a Gnome translator. In so traveling, he braves a Gnoll war party and confronts a witch fighting a wizard. In the course of interrupting that fight, the wizard is turned to stone and the witch agrees to aid Brumbar in finding gnomes. Eventually, with a gnome hireling in tow, Brumbar returns to the Irregulars, no worse for the wear.
The Gnome translates the Graetish writing and takes it to be the work of G’nakor, worthy artificer and director of mechanical operations, friend to Mad Molly Maguire. There is a riddle therein, directed to the Friends of Molly Maguire and advising them to touch each color no more than twice and never move diagonally.
Trusting this gnome, whom they have never met, the Irregulars study the pattern and plot a course across the hall. It turns out to be correct and they cross safely to the other side. Once there, they see a great chasm over which a bridge now unwinds.
Traversing that bridge they find themselves in a magically illuminated hall of murals that shows a great heroine in various battles and other moments of nobility. At the end of the hall rests Tide of Battle, her great sword shattered in it’s last use.
Avoiding a final trap, the Irregulars give the Sword to the King of the Maguiren who returns to his clan with the promise to forge it anew. A great celebration is had and the Maguiren prepare to occupy the Gnoll City.
Quote of the Day: “What the hell was your plan for the pattern???”
“Well… I like green.”
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