Grand Duchy 26

Grand Duchy of Adventure

Session 26
July 30 - August 11, 2014

Werewolves on the Horizon

Tserdain 6th of Flaurmont

The Slow Hike Back Home

The sun rises over the Moor on a new day, or at least everyone assumes it does. A thick, dark blanket of clouds covers the entire sky as far as anyone can see. They are low and heavy, occasionally spitting out brief showers.

A somber, cold breakfast is had by all and a quick inventory of food supplies shows that the remaining food will only barely cover one day for this new, larger group.

Griffin ponders the sky and wonders if it is worth trying to avoid the rain or to just trudge through it and try to get where they need to be. Watching the weather for a bit and noting the movement of the clouds, Griffin thinks that they can make better time if they wait a bit before heading out.

The tired, wounded and exhausted refugees will slow the party down even more than having to carry all the camping and horse equipment will, it seems, as they plod along, dragging their tired feet through the marshy Moor. This at least, will give the Company some extra time to hunt and forage to help supplement their dwindling food stores.

Marcel suggests that we set up a cache for the horseback-riding equipment. We have just so much energy to go with, it would be a waste to burn it too fast. He also suggests that two our light footed scout double-time ahead to fetch food and new horses.  He feels a bit responsible for this whole mess: letting go so readily of the horses for one thing. No one seems to be holding it against him, though, which makes it easier on him.

He glances at the ragtag of refugees cowering under a brushy bush. Some a whimpering, shivering in the cold. Their lips bluish as they can’t raise their body temperature very well anymore.

“If we send someone to fetch horses and a wagon, maybe we need to forage and hunt more than we actually need to travel with the Hokol folks? We’d be in business with a boar.”

“I miss you Pepito… you stupid goblin.”, he moans.

Griffin, a bit groggy from missed sleep, points out that all that wouldn’t buy that much time nor energy. Griffin is usually always right as Marcel often repeats to himself.

“Alright, folks.”, and he launches into an uplifting and detailed plan where each of the Hokol people gets to contribute the best that they can.  He gives responsibility to the vigorous young ones and bid them to watch over the others while the company goes on a hunt for a short while.

While Marcel tries to rally the poor folk of Hokol into a moving convoy, Draven finds a clear patch to kneel down and pray. He divests himself of his weapon and shield and takes a minute to clear his head. Brandishing his holy symbol, he raises it above his head and starts to pray in a clear, loud voice.

He seems to go on and on, warming to his subject as he goes, becoming more and more passionate about the plight of the poor refugees and their place in the will of the gods.

“In the names of Petra and Patura, I call out for hope for these poor people. They need succor, and find themselves perched in your palms, looking up to your faces in the sky and hoping against hope for some solace. Patrons of the weak and downtrodden, mother of the hearth and home, hear their cries of lamentation in this their greatest hour of need.”

“D’jaea, we walk through your lands, and bring word of your grace to these people who have never known your name. We seek not to defile the lands, but merely to subsist here and grow strong as we make our way homeward.”

“Lady of luck, Tyche, we beseech you to smile upon us, and bring us good fortune as we see these abandoned people back to their own, to what remains of their friends and kin in Susikyn.”

Griffin waits quietly for Draven to finish his prayers. “Thank you, Brother.  I think we’ll need all the help we can get.”

He gathers the four Company members together for a quick pow-wow.  “I don’t think we can leave these folks alone while we all go out to gather food.  Iris and Draven, can you switch off while you forage, while Marcel and I range a little farther afield.  We should make for the ferry.  If Akaios is there, we can get across the river and make for Susikyn.  If not, we’ll hole up in the ferry house - at least get these folks out of the weather, and hunt around there until Akaios does show up.

Once Griffin and Marcel set out, he pulls him aside for a quick word.  “I like how Iris has stepped up to learn how to track.  With Eran gone, we need at least two-deep on a lot of things like that.  Speaking of which, when we get back to the river, could you shadow Akaios, see what you can pick up about boating?  I’m becoming aware that we’re in a bit of a tight spot if he doesn’t check in when we expect him to.”

“Now, lets get those poor folks (and us) some dinner!”

Draven gives Griffin a long suffering look, mutters “you’ll see” to himself, and proceeds to work with the refugees while Iris begins to forage.

Iris nods her assent to Griffin’s suggestion. Forage she can do; she’s depended on it for what seems to be becoming a very significant portion of her life now. Catching sight of the refugees that are travelling with them, it also occurs to her that she will have to depend on it a great deal more now. That is if she wishes to distract herself from the obvious discomfort she feels around the Traladarans. Rich as their culture may be, a very ingrained part of her can’t seem to distance this notion from her predispositions.

The caravan moves slowly but steadily, following Marcel’s lead and following Griffin’s advice as to avoiding the worst of the weather. Draven helps the Traladaran refugees along, stopping for the occasional moment of intense prayer while Iris spends most of her time foraging nearby. Griffin and Marcel both spend the day scouting forward, hunting and watching out for any trouble. The day’s hunting and foraging managed to produce at least enough food for that night's dinner without having to tap into more reserves.

As the last light of the day is disappearing, the group crosses one last rise and up ahead, Marcel spots the river and the ferry on the opposite bank. He turns to Griffin, “I thought we were farther away. We should have never made it this far with all these other people with us. Huh.” He shrugs his shoulders and turns to tell the others that they have made it to the ferry.

Marcel breathes heavily. He looks exhausted. The day’s travel had definitely taken its toll on the Traladaran warrior. “Feels like we walked far enough to make it all the way back to Susikyn today,” he fakes complaint, laughing.

“Don’t be so surprised if we didn’t walk farther than you thought, my friend,” says Draven with a laugh. He kisses his holy symbol and tilts his head back to look up at the sky. “The gods are truly great to have helped us to bridge the distance in but a single day!”

Taking a closer look, Griffin spots a bright spot on the far bank, the tell tale signs of a campfire. Could it be the other members of the Company, or someone else, he wonders.

The howl of nearby wolves fill the air and several wolves can be seen on a rise just behind the group, about a half mile away. Several of the refugees become startled and upset, reminded of one of their own that was lost to the wolves a handful of days ago.

Marcel’s patience for goblins is getting very thin. He finds a vantage points where he may spot the wolves on the horizon line and direct the weaker members of the expedition so as to avoid getting silhouetted against the sky over a crest of the terrain. “We got to keep them’ goblins from realizing that we have smaller and weaker people.”

Wolves are beautiful, fierce when desperate, but also a cowardly when they can sense danger. Marcel bangs his spear and shield together, stomps and let out a fair collection of savoury Traladaran expressions to intimidate them the best that he can.

“Grif, tonight we need a defensible position if we don’t make it over the river, and a big fire. I don’t like the look of ‘em dawggies over there.”

Griffin shakes his head. “Let’s try and get down there to shelter.  That could be Akaios over on the far bank.  Keep doing what you’re doing to keep the dawgies at bay.”  He beckons Draven over.  “Why don’t you and Marcel take the rear - look big and imposing and dangerous.”  He clears his throat. “Okay, folks, I know you’re tired.  There’s shelter down next to the river.  We’re almost there, so let’s keep moving!”  He makes sure his crossbow is ready, then shoulders his saddle and starts leading the way down to the river.

Griffin makes it down to the river’s edge and by this time it is dark, too dark to make out the faces on the other side of the river, even with his superior night vision. There are a few stacks of firewood, a small shed and an old, ruined raft that must have once been used as a ferry craft. Peering across the river, Griffin can see the flickering campfire and he hears, but does not see, the sound of horses. He catches a glimpse of figures moving around near the campfire. Up away from the bank, past the campfire, he can see the dark shape of Misha’s shack, dark and empty

Griffin stealthily approaches the shed.  He drops his saddle and grips his crossbow.  The refugees will be arriving soon, and he hopes that the noise of their arrival will mask his own approach.  He gives the shed a good once-over before moving to intercept the rest of the party to lead them in.

Once Griffin sees the tiny shed, he mutters at himself.  The shack that he remembers, the one they stayed in on their first trip to Susikyn, was obviously on the other side of the river.  Dang it! He stares across the river.  Behind him, across the moors, he can still hear the howl of wolves.  They might need to cross anyway.

Hroowwwlll!

He waits until the rag-tag band catches up to him at the shed.  “Okay, this may not be the most defensible place.  That fire across the river might be Akaios and company.  I propose that I swim across and check them out.  If it is them, maybe we can get everyone across and join the camp over there.  Sound good?”

“Swimming hey?”, Marcel recalls the small bite-y fish in the petrified forest. “I think that this is as good as it gets.” The wolves are barking in the not so far distance.

Marcel asks Iris if she has magic stones, but she only shrugs as she assumes that this request may never make sense even if she asks for clarifications.

“Draven, cover Griffin, someone else settles the Traladarans and I’ll interpose between them and the wolves.”

Draven looks at Marcel regarding this order to ‘cover’ Griffin, then shrugs. As preparations are made for a swim across the river, a familiar voice calls out from the far bank. “Griffin, is that you? Draven, Marcel, are you over there? Who goes there?” It is Akaios deep voice calling out. Griffin can see several forms standing on the bank. A light flares up there, illuminating Akaios, Ree, Remar and Burik. They are crouched and ready for action, bows aimed across the river.

Perplexed by the crowd of people, some she assumed were elves, she looks to the others to verify these were not enemies. Remar was with them, but she was still unsure of if there was danger here. The wolves in the distance have been making Iris slightly nervous and ready to get to action. Marcel’s strange questioning and his crowd of Traladaran friends are not helping, either.

Relieved it is the remainder of the Grey Company, the refugees are ushered down to the riverside as Akaios prepares the ferry and brings it across. It is a tight fit but everyone manages to squeeze onto the ferry raft and Akaios, with help from Marcel, safely pilots them back to the other side.

Remar and the others are eager to hear the tale of meeting the Fairy King of Horses and then tell their tales of patrolling the paths near Susikyn. They chased off one group of Goblins and engaged another ragtag bunch that seemed to be made up of members of both the Red Blade and Viper tribes. They also finally caught up to the crazy Captain Kalanos who had still been roaming through the woods. He was weak from lack of food and delirious, screaming about “killing them all” and “Goblins everywhere!” The good captain had been taken back to Susikyn and was under the care of old

After going over the details of the parley with the Fairy King of Horses, Remar has a very blank expression on his face. He nervously grips the hilt of the large knife at his belt, sliding the blade in and out of its sheath. Nervously he giggles and shakes his head, “Silver. We’re going to need silver to deal with werewolves.” He stares off at the moon in the distance and then walks off, grabbing his grimoire to study his spells.

Burik says they had just arrived late in the afternoon and camped on the riverbank so they could more easily be seen as opposed to staying in Misha’s shack again.

Conrad is more than thankful to have met up with others. He again thanks the members of the Grey Company. Many of the refugees speak prayers to the Traladaran Patrons, Halav, Petra and Zirchev. Conrad speaks to Draven, “I heard you saying your prayers on the trail. You included Petra in your  benedictions among the other Thyatian gods.” He looks confused.

“Well of course, Petra is the defender of the weak, no matter where they were born or how they were raised.” He enjoins the fellow to sit with him. “And it was in no small part due to her intercession that we made it here in one piece, to join our friends.”

Griffin lets Draven and Conrad have their theological conversation while he pulls Marcel aside.  “Marcel, what do you think of Remar’s suggestion about using silver to combat the werewolves?  Can you use the coins we have to make weapons, or modify the ones we have?  I’m up for anything that can give us an edge in this.”

Making weapons is a tall order. However, Marcel believes that he could use mending techniques to inlay silver into the edges of  metal weapons in hope that the magical properties of silver take effect.

“I’d need the tools and the forge at Susikyn. But I sure can give it a shot. Making bolt heads, though, would be simple and effective against unarmored targets.”

Being something of a novice in the area, Draven asks “Is it enough that the weapons be silvered? Could we dip your swords and spears, and my mace, into molten silver to make them proof against the fell magic that protects the werewolves?”

Griffin nods.  “I don’t think we know for sure.  But we have to get these folk to Susikyn anyways, so when we get there Marcel can get right to work.  Do the best we can, and we’ll see how it goes.  Marcel, let me know what you need.  I know we have plenty of silver in the wagon.”

Overhearing Griffin’s conversation with Marcel, Iris begins to think to herself how these werewolves differed from the wild animals she spoke to on a daily basis. She wondered whether the gift she used to speak to them could be leveraged to try and strike a bargain with them. A smirk comes on her face as she imagines what the Fairy King would think.

Griffin spends some time touching base with the other team to set up watches amongst the company for the night - two per watch.  He’ll pair up with Ree for the last watch before morning, see if he can catch up with her and how she’s doing.  He also quickly sees that they will need to spend at least one day hunting to get enough food to feed everyone and then continue on to Susikyn.  “Okay, we need to replenish our supplies before he have a hope of getting these folks back to base.  Everyone who can hunt, we’ll set out early and hunt all day.  Those of you who don’t come, stick around camp and forage while you keep an eye on our new friends.

Marcel will use tricks from his army days to get the most out of the food that gets foraged and hunted. Boil bones to make heartier bases comes to mind. Get collagen turned to gelatin for protein from tendons and pelts is another option. The goal here isn't to prepare fine dining but get the most out of what gets harvested. He is on fire, full of ideas and motivated by the well being of everyone.

Moldain 7th of Flaurmont

Hunting and Gathering

Despite the wolves howling and occasionally appearing on the Moor side of the river a few times during the night, everyone slept well. The rising sun is warm and quickly burns off the morning fog being blown in from the Moor across the river. The day is spent at Misha’s Ferry, though the camp is moved up to the still missing Misha’s small shack. At least the refugees will be able to sleep inside a little more comfortably.

The day hunting and gathering food is quite fruitful and the Company brings back a copious haul of food for their day’s work. The benefits are not without some price to pay though. Griffin, Marcel and Burik all sustained minor injuries throughout the day and Marcel, Akaios and Ree all over exerted themselves during the day and are exhausted as well.

Once settled in at Misha’s Ferry, Draven sets about seeing to everyone’s needs, healing injuries new and old, and ensuring that every one of the refugees is tended to personally, lacking for nothing that can be presented. He invites each, quietly and without coercion, to join him at a celebration of their success so far in returning to safety, and to pray for the continued patronage of the gods as they make their way to Susikyn. He is quick to lean heavily on the names of the immortals that are shared with the traditional Traladaran pantheon.

The Traladaran refugees continue to be thankful for their rescue and escort back to the homestead, even more so toward the Thyatian cleric, Draven. They seem to be quite taken by the young acolyte preaching to them about their own Patron Immortals through the lens of the Church of Karameikos. As is common, many of the rural Traladarans initially foster some resentment, even bordering on intolerance for Thyatians, but Draven’s kind words, healing magic and heavy inclusion of the Traladran Three in his benedictions does much to soften the old tensions. At least with this small group.

A Plan for the Wolves

Griffin looks over the stocks of food accumulated over the day. This should be enough to get us home. But we’ll probably need to do another day of hunting before we head to the werewolf lair. He shudders. Werewolves.  Like out of one of Dad’s old stories.

Now, what else can we do to prepare for this fight? Marcel is tasked with ‘silvering up’ our weapons, but I need to make sure he has all the silver he needs. May need to do some negotiating with Pytor. Maybe I can make some more traps, simple leg traps to just keep them from overwhelming us. Barricades? Nets? I might be able to get off more than one shot.

One thing I know is that we’ll need more manpower. Get the other team before we go. I need to get Draven, Remar and Ree, and Iris if she’s willing to let that cat out of the bag, to brainstorm magical tactics. And Remar seems to have some insights to this - need to get him to open up about that.

He heads off searching for the teammates he needs to talk to.

Griffin finds Draven tending to his improvised flock, in full flower and full of himself with his newfound audience.

“I definitely agree that silvered weapons will be insufficient to stave off the disaster that is lycanthropy. And I know that it must sound like my answer for everything, but let me pray on this. Some of the gifts of the gods might be worth more than others when facing a foe of this type.”

Draven considers all of his training, and his reading, and tries to recall anything that would help him to know how he might be of the most help, or even to help guide the hands of his more magically inclined brethren.

“It’d be useful to know how big is the flock of wolves hanging around the werewolves.”, replies Marcel. “I like the idea of trap from a tactical perspective. If we’re to be outnumbered… What we’d need is a few armed henchmen to screen our flanks... ”

The eight members of the Grey Company discuss and plan about the upcoming assault on the Werewolves lair, hoping to come up with a sound plan. Draven is sure that silver is the best course of action, he believes that magic and magical weapons are also effective against them, though not as much. Draven believes that Werewolves, being supernatural creatures similar to Fairies, Demons or Spirits, are often impervious to being hurt by normal means. Just to penetrate their outer defenses requires either magic or silver. Once past that, much of the damage is mitigated by supernatural means unless it is magical or silver in nature. Draven believes that while both silver and magic will better get past a Werewolf’s defenses, the silver will be more effective due to the beasts supernatural vulnerability to the metal.

Marcel adds in that Wolfsbane is commonly used to ward off Werewolves and his story is backed up by both Remar and Conrad, one of the Traladaran refugees. “The Werewolves are repulsed by dried sprigs of wolfsbane, most of the homesteads around would keep some on hand. Fresh wolfsbane, though acts as a poison to werewolves, and to anyone who handles it. The wolfsbane does not grow around here, though. It grows farther to the east, on the hills and mountains. Elek and the hunters from Cherkass would sometimes gather it. You may get lucky and run across some here and there, but again, it is very dangerous, even picking the flowers wrong can be disastrous. I would stay away from it unless you know exactly what you are doing!”

Nytdain 8th of Flaurmont

The next day proves to be another nice day, a bit cool and breezy, but still dry. The heavy clouds continue to cover the spring sky, though, threatening to rain at any moment. Griffin believes that the rain will hold off for at least one more day, so getting on the road and back to Susikyn is suggested. The group has just enough food to make it back to the homestead and any further hunting and foraging will only add to their stores for another foray out into the wilderness.

Griffin pushes the refugees to be ready to set out at first light.  “C’mon Conrad!  One more day and we’ll be safe inside the walls at Pytor’s place. A warm fire, a real roof over our heads, and soft blankets to sleep under.” He turns to all his friends. “That goes for all of us.  We need to regroup and prepare for the next step in finding Stephan.” He doesn’t mention ‘werewolves’ near the refugees - no need to add to their stress. “And we’re all showing some wear from all this time in the wilderness.  We’ll spend at least two nights in Susikyn, so we can set out well-rested.”

“Now I believe that we need to be heading,” and he spins around and then points, “thataway!”

Back to Susikyn

The large group heads down the path toward Susikyn. Griffin and Iris lead some groups hunting and foraging while Draven and Marcel remain with the group for protection and guidance. Progress is slower than expected and some of the hikers are becoming exhausted and by sundown, Susikyn still has not been reached. The group presses on, though because the destination cannot be far now.

Eventually the homestead is reached, several hours later than expected, but it is a sight for sore eyes, and feet. Pytor once again welcomes a new set of refugees into his home. It is soon discovered that another group of visitors has arrived as well, a group of 5 Callarii Elves from Rifllian to the west, have come to see if Pytor is still planning on sending out the anticipated herd of white horses that had been promised. The leader, Thallan, seems friendly and approachable.

Griffin greets the Elvish leader in accented Elvish. “Griffin. Grey Company. We’ll be helping the folk here deliver those horses as soon as we rescue our horse trader. Seems to have got himself into a spot of trouble. By the way, would you and your band be interested in helping us rid the area of some werewolves? We could always use more help.”

“Werewolves you say, interesting,” the Elf smiles a wry smile as his companions edge nearer, all seeming eager to hear what Griffin has to say. Griffin explains the situation and Thallan agrees to provide support for an equal share of the spoils. Pytor, who happened to be nearby, interjects and offers the Elves several of the white horses they had been checking out earlier in the day as payment. Thallan readily agrees to this, forgoing any percentage of loot gained. “Me and my folk can provide ranged support, we have some silver arrows for just such an event. I can also offer a suggestion, DON’T bring the horses anywhere near the lair. The wolves will be able to smell them from some distance. The horses will likewise be able to smell the wolves. This will frighten them, make them loud, make them urinate, which will, in turn, alert the wolves. We can hide the horses some distance away then approach and get into position more quickly than you all can, I’m assuming.” This last statement comes off a bit brash, but Thallan does not seem to be trying to be boastful.

“Excellent, excellent. Your help is much appreciated.” He pauses for a second. “Oh, one more thing.  Do you know anything about wolfsbane?”

“Yes of course,” he replies, “Keeps lycanthropes away. Haven’t seen any of it in the nearby woods though. We could go out and look though. I think it only repels them once it is dried out. If you are considering coating your weapons with the oils, unless you are skilled at that work, I would not suggest it. Dangerous work that is.”

Griffin nods. “Got it. I’d heard some vague things. Sounds like something best not attempted this foray.”

Thallan nods in agreement.

Food is eaten and places for the new refugees are found. The Susikyn homestead is becoming more and more crowded these days. Later that evening, Pytor asks the members of the Grey Company what they learned out on the Moor.

Griffin nods and tells him. “We found the Table Rock that Stellios told us about, and Marcel led the ritual to summon the Fairy King of Horses.  During the days we explored a little bit.  Bumped into Conrad and his crew out there and they helped with the ritual that last night. The Fairy King of Horses finally arrived that night, and he turned out to be a centaur! Marcel quickly agreed to free our horses and to do a task for the King, in exchange for which he will tell us where the goblins have taken Stephan. He demands the heads of Bailakask and Kalkask, two Werewolves that have been enemies of the horses and Centaurs. Once we take care of them, he’ll tell us where this Xitaqa is.  Then we go get Stephan, and we can finally finish this horse drive.”

Pytor ponders this news. “The Werewolves. A steep price, but I thank you for your continued friendship and support.” The stout homesteader grabs his sword, which has been hanging from a hook near the door. He pulls the blade from its scabbard. “Take this, it may help you. It was my father’s and his father’s before. A magical blade. It will help defeat the infernal Werewolves. Our people have long battled them, we no longer have use of the grazing lands to the north because of them. It will be a boon to our people to be rid of them.” He hands the weapon to Griffin and looks down. “I would like it returned if possible. It means a lot to my family and some day I will pass it along to my son, Taras.”

Pytor's enchanted sword

Griffin accepts the blade solemnly. “Thank you, Pytor. We will make good use of your blade, you can be sure. And we will return with it and your brother at the end of this.” He belts on the new blade. “We’ll take a day to prepare, silver our weapons and build some traps, also take some time to replenish our supplies with some hunting. We’ll leave at first light the day after that.”

Iris speaks to Griffin more about his offer to teach her how to use a crossbow. She seems apprehensive about the prospect of learning it, but also appears steeled to the occasion. She also offhandedly asks whether getting a large collection of silver coated arrows may be a worthwhile investment for this venture.

Loshdain 9th of Flaurmont

Preparations

The sun rises again to rain, though only very light showers. The rain has stopped by the time everyone is up and ready to get to work. Then it starts again but quickly subsides. It looks like a day of scattered showers again, nothing too terrible, just a bit inconvenient.

Griffin calls a brief powwow over the morning meal. “Okay guys, hope you all had a good rest last night. I think this is gonna be a busy day.” He turns to the team’s main fighter. “Marcel, sounds like you’ll be spending time in the smithy today. Let me know what you need that we can help with. If it’s coin, the Company will be taking care of that as much as it’s able.” He turns to the rest of the group. “Okay, today is prep for a nasty fight. If you don’t have specific ideas or things to do, we could use fresh supplies. Head out and try and get a full day in, okay? We’ll reconvene at dinner - see where we stand. I’m going to see about scaring up some nasties - traps that can give the beasties more to worry about than just us.”

Marcel heads to the forge to meet with Gregor. He remembers stumbling into this place in more difficult time while the goblins were attacking. This was the night that Stephan disappeared, he thought to himself. His mind wandered in the chain of events taking him back here.

“Something that we’ve been doing in the guard was filling fissures in weapons. This isn’t going to be lasting kind of work, but hopefully durable enough to skewer two werewolf.” Gregors gasps, “Don’t worry buddy, I’ll do that bit with my friends.”

He proceeds to explain to Gregor how he intends to create grooves to create false fissures which hatched texture will be used to anchor the silver fluid. “We’re not going after fancy shapes here, just as thick as two or three fingernails.”

“As a test, I’ll use the striking rim of my shield.”, now, friend, pass along your hardest awl and files so that I can prep that surface for adhesion. Silver is smooth, a good polish and it will slice through just fine.

“But, Marcel, what if the silver stays in the werewolf after striking?”, asks Gregor. Marcel smiles.

“It’d take a shock to fall off, which means hitting hard bones… This is the only time when I’ll brag about shoddy work.”

Joining the men in the armory space, Draven presents his mace. “Not sure if it’ll make any difference, or if I can hit the broad side of a barn with it, but I’d like to try mine as well, just a coating…”

Akaios, Burik, Ree and Remar all come to the armory when they hear that Marcel has his silversmithing operation up and running. They offer their weapons up to be silvered.

“Line ‘em up!”, Marcel invite them in. “It’ll be just as good as my stew.” Some still smile, others gasp. “I could use a few of you to help prepare the surfaces. All that’s needed is a light touch on the file to create a bunch of criss-cross on your favourite edge.”

Meanwhile, Marcel keeps the reassuring smile as he works out the punching patch at the edge of his shield. That’ll be his first try...

Gregor has the first batch of silver ready to go. They argue for a bit on the way to go, the stress level is high. Eventually, Marcel takes a lead of faith and dip the rim of his precious shield and coats it with a good layer of silver. After a lot of filing, then buffing, he gets the blue sheen of a mirror all around the edge. He can almost see the perplexed face of a werewolf reflecting through it.

“That’ll be fun, kids. Gregor, throw more coins in the bucket! Goblins will eat this silver soon enough!”

Marcel has varying degrees of success with this batch of weapons. He coats Akaios’s great axe, Remar’s staff, Ree’s knife and a handful of sling stones. He grabs Burik’s sword and looks into the silver pot, realizing there will be nowhere near enough to coat the sword. He reaches back into the lockbox, grabbing a previously undisturbed sack of coins.

Griffin stops by with a handful of crossbow bolts for the silvering process. His eyes get wide when he sees his personal coin sack in Marcel’s hand. “Whoa, whoa whoa, big guy! What are you doing there? That’s not Company funds - that sack is mine.”

He looks in the chest. “You went through all the company’s funds already?!?”

Marcel's silver spear

“This is not easy work, but I do my best.” The Traladaran replies. Griffin notices quite a bit of silver splashed all around the smithy, on the tools, on the ground, on Gregor’s boots, on the walls, even a few drops somehow on the rafters above. “But look here, look at my spear. See how the silver has nearly fused itself with the steel from my blade. This is fine work!” Marcel beams. Gregor looks at Griffin and nods, appreciating Marcel’s handiwork. It is we well done bit of work, considerably better than any of the other weapons he has done.

Burik, who was watching nearby steps up, “What’s going on? Why aren’t you putting the silver on my blade. I will need it to harm the werewolves! The silver will spoil their blood, it will defeat them!”

Griffin looks in the chest, then the small pool of molten silver, then at his old friend. This is not going to go well.

“Look, Burik, I don’t think there’s enough silver left to do your sword.” He looks to Marcel. “Am I right? Or can we still silver up old Widowmaker there?”

The silver-spattered Traladaran shrugs. “Swords are hard. Would take a lot of silver. More than we have, I think.”

Burik scowls. “So he gets a silver spear, and Akaios gets a silver axe? What am I supposed to do when a werewolf comes at me? Use harsh language?”

Griffin glares right back. “Honestly? It was either silver up weapons for everyone or your sword. You want it so bad? Pay for it. I happen to know you have a bit of a personal fortune stashed away.’

“But Akaios didn‘t have to pay for his,” the hot-headed warrior complains. “Why should I have to pay…”

“You shouldn’t,” Griffin cuts him off. “But if you want your sword silvered so badly, I won’t stop you from paying for it with your own silver.” His voice softens. “Look, if we had the cash, there would not even be a question - of course we would do it.”

“So why don’t we have the cash? Maybe everyone can chip in from their shares to make it so we all go into this battle prepared.” Burik looks at his comrades hopefully. “Split eight ways, how much could it be?”

Remar clears his throat. “I do not see why my funds should be depleted just to pour them over your sword. Just chop up the wolves and let others deal with their masters.”

Before Burik can get into with the haughty mage, Griffin steps in. “Hold it, hold it! Let me think without all this yammering!” He stares at Burik, who is still red in the face.

Burik waits, his cheeks puffed out and red, he balls his fists up and stomps his feet, “Whatever then!” He grabs his sword off the table next to the silver pot and storms off into the rain, leaving everyone else standing around staring at each other, some with mouths agape.

Griffin swears, “Aw, hells. Burik! Burik, wait!” He tosses some crossbow bolts down in front of Marcel. “If you can get those fixed up as well, that’d be great.” He heads out of the smithy after his friend.

“Dude! Will you slow down? Sheesh!” Burik has headed out the south gate of the compound. He does not seem to be interested in slowing down. “Hey, you big idiot! I’m talking to you!”

At that, the warrior turns, and Griffin has a moment to realize that that might have been a big mistake.

Burik spins around and Griffin flinches back as the warrior’s fist passes just in front of his nose. Fine, if that’s the way he wants to play it!  The rogue is determined to give as good as he gets, and punches back. A few punches and kicks later, he is realizing that neither of them is particularly good at this. After Griffin knocks a particularly forceful blow aside, Burik throws up his hands and yells “Forget it!  Just leave me alone!”

Griffin yells back. “Just answer one question. Honestly, do you want to fight werewolves? Or do you just want a pretty silver sword?

Burik does not look at his friend, he merely shakes his head slightly in the light rain.

“Cuz I got loaned this nifty magic sword from Pytor, and if you want to fight werewolves, I can’t think of anyone I’d rather have using it than you. Except maybe me. But it’s yours if you can get over being a big doofus long enough.”

Burik turns around, and Griffin shrugs the sword and scabbard off his shoulder. “We gotta give it back when we’re done with this rescue.” The warrior takes them, then draws the sword and swings it around a few times. Griffin takes a few steps back, just in case.

Burik grins, then scowls, then grins again. “Ooom that’s nice. Just kinda floats through the air, dunnit? What kind of magic does it do? Catch on fire, like that sword in the old stories, Flametongue?”

Griffin shakes his head. “Pytor didn’t know, and neither did Remar, although he assures me that it is magic and we know that magic weapons are very effective against weres.” He looks at his friend. “So, you in?”

Burik nods and smiles as he begins strapping Pytor’s enchanted blade around his waist.

Continued on GDA 27 - An Ancient Mystery

Cast of Characters: 

Garrett "Griffin" Constantine, a Thyatian rogue of a gambler from Penhaligon rolled by +Arne Jamtgaard 

Marcel Maas, a homely but sincere wielder of spears aspiring to cooking greatness commanded by +Christian Blouin 

Draven Rickart, a Thyatian Acolyte of the Church of Karameikos ministered by +Jason Packer 

Iris Varda, a Thyatian explorer and historian searching for answers and adventure guided by +Alex Safatli  

Remar Umerus, an Alphatian battle mage that escaped forced service in the Thyatian army conjured by +Ben Lipe and currently in NPC mode. 

and +Jason Woollard as The DM