Post by sythus on May 28, 2015 1:24:36 GMT -7
Reward: 700 XP, 400 GP
Players:
Valen (Gryph)
Cydo (MJHX)
Rose (Leary)
Zeza (Zen)
Nur (Sythus-GM)
Summary:
An old man sits worrying, albeit extremely drunkenly at a local dive bar. His son is a week late from making the grounds on their trap line, and he should've been back with the beaver pelts by now. He barely realizes he's telling the adventurer who siddled up next to him about his problems, normally he wouldn't have, but it's not like the boy to be this late. He's a bit taken back by the offer to go find his son, and quickly makes an offer of coin. He knew he didn't have much, but he had to get Kyrik back home safe. His grandchildren, and well, he himself, depended on the boy. He and Kyrik would figure something out, when they brought him back safe.
The adventurers hurried out to the marshes where old Harn, and his boy Kyrik set their trap for beaver fur. They started to wade on through, when all of a sudden they were attacked by gigantic leeches, each being the size of a full grown man! After losing a little blood, they quickly chopped up the leeches, and continued through the swamp, trying to make their way between the scarce islands that rose out of the murky water.
As luck would have it, they found the trap line right off the bat. The old man had given some damn fine directions indeed. The trap was set, and as some of the party examined it, others noticed a bit further away a spot where it appeared that someone had skinned a beaver. There were plenty of animal signs around where the corpse had been, and a drag trail indicating that something had pulled the carcass into the water.
One one of the next islands they found a large footprint, nearly twice the size of a full grown mans. The prints were easy enough to follow, and the group soon realized whatever it was, was following in the same general direction as the trap line. The next trap had some greenish ichor on it, but the gnawed remnants of beaver were splattered around the vicinity.
They followed the tracks, and traps until they saw the smashed hull of a rowboat atop a small rock on one of the swamps many tiny islands. They made their way to it, hopping from whatever dry purchase they could find until they climbed the small mound that rose from the mucky water. The smell of rot, and decay assaulted their senses as they approached the damaged boat, and a booted foot could be spied from beneath the central bench seat that sat in middle of the boat. As they approached, they noticed the leg had no owner, having been gnawed off. Strangely unaffected, a condition common in most adventurers, they strode off following the huge foot prints until they saw a lone, mossy tree. Upon their approach, the branches shook, and four stirges dropped out of the branches. They darted towards the adventurers who swatted down the blood sucking nuisances after a few of them took some blood drainage, also contracting filth fever in the process.
As they dispatched the last of the stirges, a deep booming laughter filled the air, as the tree shook once more, but this time turned towards the party. Nobody could tell what the hell the thing was, but they knew three things. It was huge, it was covered in moss, and it looked like it was maliciously amused by their presence. The adventurers charged, and the thing swiped at them with its gangly limbs as they approached. They laid into it, and it laid into them, but even if the giant had the size advantage, it was no match for four well trained adventurers. Thankfully one of them noticed the oozing, ichor spewing cuts into the foul creature seemed to harden fairly soon. The goddamn thing was healing fast! They stood around it, beating it into oblivion until a final slice severed its head. It had to be dead now, right?
They grabbed the leg, and found a horn-handled skinning knife in the boot upon closer inspection. A quick inspection of the mossy giants camp revealed bits and pieces that remained of Harn's son. They would have to break the news to the old man, when they returned. On their way out of the swamps, some of them began to notice they didn't feel so well. Not emotional stuff, because sociopathic adventurers just cope with negative emotions through severely complex systems of justification for wholesale slaughtering anything that so much as looks at them funny. Those who weren't feeling so good, didn't feel so great because of filth fever.
Both of the inflicted individuals chose to let the disease run its course. Oddly enough, they both fought off the ravages of the disease pretty easily. It was just a matter of hours into Rook, and they were tracking down the old man. He had such a look of hope at first, seeing the adventurers approach. He looked from face to face, seeing the expressions, and confirming his worst nightmares. The paladin handed him the knife he had given his son, when Kyrik was just a boy of 10 years old. Kyrik had broken the original handle, and carved a new one out of the horn of a stag they had downed when the boy was 14. He was...or had been very good with the knife, quick, and clean in getting the skins... OH GOD, HE'D NEVER SEE HIS BOY AGAIN! As the old man cried on the paladin's shoulder, up siddled the archer, who said, "Oh yeah, we found this too." handing the man a chunk of his dead offspring, in the form of a severely gnawed up leg.
The old man's friends rushed forward, comforting him and dragging him away. A bit disturbed, one of his buddies said, "I'll pay you, just stay away from Harn, if you would."
Players:
Valen (Gryph)
Cydo (MJHX)
Rose (Leary)
Zeza (Zen)
Nur (Sythus-GM)
Summary:
An old man sits worrying, albeit extremely drunkenly at a local dive bar. His son is a week late from making the grounds on their trap line, and he should've been back with the beaver pelts by now. He barely realizes he's telling the adventurer who siddled up next to him about his problems, normally he wouldn't have, but it's not like the boy to be this late. He's a bit taken back by the offer to go find his son, and quickly makes an offer of coin. He knew he didn't have much, but he had to get Kyrik back home safe. His grandchildren, and well, he himself, depended on the boy. He and Kyrik would figure something out, when they brought him back safe.
The adventurers hurried out to the marshes where old Harn, and his boy Kyrik set their trap for beaver fur. They started to wade on through, when all of a sudden they were attacked by gigantic leeches, each being the size of a full grown man! After losing a little blood, they quickly chopped up the leeches, and continued through the swamp, trying to make their way between the scarce islands that rose out of the murky water.
As luck would have it, they found the trap line right off the bat. The old man had given some damn fine directions indeed. The trap was set, and as some of the party examined it, others noticed a bit further away a spot where it appeared that someone had skinned a beaver. There were plenty of animal signs around where the corpse had been, and a drag trail indicating that something had pulled the carcass into the water.
One one of the next islands they found a large footprint, nearly twice the size of a full grown mans. The prints were easy enough to follow, and the group soon realized whatever it was, was following in the same general direction as the trap line. The next trap had some greenish ichor on it, but the gnawed remnants of beaver were splattered around the vicinity.
They followed the tracks, and traps until they saw the smashed hull of a rowboat atop a small rock on one of the swamps many tiny islands. They made their way to it, hopping from whatever dry purchase they could find until they climbed the small mound that rose from the mucky water. The smell of rot, and decay assaulted their senses as they approached the damaged boat, and a booted foot could be spied from beneath the central bench seat that sat in middle of the boat. As they approached, they noticed the leg had no owner, having been gnawed off. Strangely unaffected, a condition common in most adventurers, they strode off following the huge foot prints until they saw a lone, mossy tree. Upon their approach, the branches shook, and four stirges dropped out of the branches. They darted towards the adventurers who swatted down the blood sucking nuisances after a few of them took some blood drainage, also contracting filth fever in the process.
As they dispatched the last of the stirges, a deep booming laughter filled the air, as the tree shook once more, but this time turned towards the party. Nobody could tell what the hell the thing was, but they knew three things. It was huge, it was covered in moss, and it looked like it was maliciously amused by their presence. The adventurers charged, and the thing swiped at them with its gangly limbs as they approached. They laid into it, and it laid into them, but even if the giant had the size advantage, it was no match for four well trained adventurers. Thankfully one of them noticed the oozing, ichor spewing cuts into the foul creature seemed to harden fairly soon. The goddamn thing was healing fast! They stood around it, beating it into oblivion until a final slice severed its head. It had to be dead now, right?
They grabbed the leg, and found a horn-handled skinning knife in the boot upon closer inspection. A quick inspection of the mossy giants camp revealed bits and pieces that remained of Harn's son. They would have to break the news to the old man, when they returned. On their way out of the swamps, some of them began to notice they didn't feel so well. Not emotional stuff, because sociopathic adventurers just cope with negative emotions through severely complex systems of justification for wholesale slaughtering anything that so much as looks at them funny. Those who weren't feeling so good, didn't feel so great because of filth fever.
Both of the inflicted individuals chose to let the disease run its course. Oddly enough, they both fought off the ravages of the disease pretty easily. It was just a matter of hours into Rook, and they were tracking down the old man. He had such a look of hope at first, seeing the adventurers approach. He looked from face to face, seeing the expressions, and confirming his worst nightmares. The paladin handed him the knife he had given his son, when Kyrik was just a boy of 10 years old. Kyrik had broken the original handle, and carved a new one out of the horn of a stag they had downed when the boy was 14. He was...or had been very good with the knife, quick, and clean in getting the skins... OH GOD, HE'D NEVER SEE HIS BOY AGAIN! As the old man cried on the paladin's shoulder, up siddled the archer, who said, "Oh yeah, we found this too." handing the man a chunk of his dead offspring, in the form of a severely gnawed up leg.
The old man's friends rushed forward, comforting him and dragging him away. A bit disturbed, one of his buddies said, "I'll pay you, just stay away from Harn, if you would."