Dawson's Creek

"Up and at 'em, people, let's go, can't mooch off the cave here any longer, out on your own!" Quartermaster Kargi banged his skillet with the handle of his cleaver and roused the party. Tallin and Bask said some meaningful words, Nell gave Ironica and Nancy an extra long squeeze, Tessa's eyed twinkled at them, Golun-dal nodded, and Kargi tried to conceal a catch in his throat with some aggressive coughing. And with that, the party set off to the High Moor to learn more about this goddess.

They followed mountain streams down the southern edge of the Greypeaks, bushwacking their way with no arms or armor, just the clothes on their backs and some rations Kargi had prepared. Safad foraged for a stick but only ended up finding ticks. One had burrowed into his calf by the time he discovered it, leaving a nasty looking red bullseye. Rya thought he should probably get that looked at and began to collect herbs as they bounded down the trail. It felt good again to be walking toward something, on a quest, with mud on their boots, familiar companions recollecting the lost years, a soreness in their muscles, sweat on their brow, and Dala'gse--wait, where was Dala'gse? Befriending voles of course. This new druidic thing was really amplifying his M'balusian tendencies. 

At night they made camp, and recalled the many nights they made camp in a life that felt so recent, but was so long gone. The group got to know Falka some--the little she would share--and heard her reiterate through gritted teeth she was in this to slay the Monarch who had ultimately orchestrated Zireael's death. As she spoke, blood began to drip from her sleeve and pool on the pine-needled forest floor. Slothrop kept first watch and scared away a night jay looking to steal some of their food. In the morning, they drank from cool springs and were on the trail again. 

Dala'gse thought he'd scare up something different to eat and around midday discovered a beaver lodge in a slow-flowing pond above the rodents' dam. The party helped him corner two beavers and two kits in their lodge, smoking them out. He caught one adult and a kit, gave the kit to Ironica, and made use of the adult: skinning the fur and roasting its fatty tail over a fire. Someone kept saying it tasted like bacon of the woods. 

They replenished their waterskins and kept walking, keeping the sunset to their left. At night they camped again. Rya tended to Safad's tick bite and Slothrop fended off a family of raccoons. 

On the third day, they were getting to lower ground, sticking by the streams that flowed off the mountain. Around noon they passed through a steep-walled canyon, with a creek running through, where Ironica noticed an abnormally large boulder balanced on the precipice above the trail. She realized it must be some sort of trap, and just as she was explaining her theory to her companions, a voice called out from above. 

"Yoo-hoo! Hello down there. Yes up here by this large boulder, the one we were planning to drop as you walked by … blocking your path or crushing you. Excuse me, that was aggressive. My name is Dawson, well met!" The party saw a a sandy-grey haired man in raggedy leather armor and a longbow. Lining either side of the ravine five others in variously put together armor appeared, bows all trained on them. One large human came around from the other side of the boulder, sweating. 

A band of highwaymen. 

“Well as I was saying…we were planning on dropping this on you and stealing all of your possessions, but we couldn’t help but notice, you all look much more put out than us. I mean, you seem to have literally nothing at all. So instead, I will offer a proposition. Join our band for a time and we can together take on the larger caravans that pass through here. We have a strict code among us up here, no stealing from each other, no killing each other, and we split all coins evenly. We have a credit system for other valuables. What say you?"

Safad immediately got to work whispering silent messages to everyone, and relaying what others had said--the typical way they came to decisions about these sorts of things. Falka was skeptical. After the conference, the group shrugged, and Dala'gse spoke for them, "OK."

A few of them felt an odd biting from an insect or something down by the creek. Hm. 

They climbed up around the canyon to the bandit's camp and were introduced to Linney, Donnel, Langson, Dawson, The Mad Priest Wensley, Gifford, and Brierpatch. The Mad Priest kept drawing strange runes in the dirt. Dawson explained they were out of rations and could use some, if the party had any to spare. He sounded sheepish. Langson made the mistake of asking what that little animal Ironica was holding was, and could he eat it. She told him it was a beaver. The words were barely out of Ironica's mouth when Nancy coolly appraised the massive man and asked, "Do you eat beaver?" 

"I do," Langson replied with a wry smile. 

Falka scowled. 

Before they could really get to know one another better, they all heard a strange sound coming from the trail below. Was that a tambourine? And then there was this hymn-like chorus of "Oooo-ooooo, Ooooo-oooo." And then they heard singing, in the Common tongue, and a shrill yet beautiful falsetto reverberated throughout the canyon.

"Lady luck she is lovely, Lady Luck she is free, I pray sometimes that Lady Luck will spend a little time with me." 

Dawson looked to his companions and gave "the nod" and started talking excitedly at the party -- "OK, what are we waiting for, the first test of our new partnership -- sounds like Priests of Tymora to me!" 

He peered over the edge. 

"Yes, 'tis! Five of 'em, with large gold chains and massive gold holy symbols round their necks! Ohh the hapless fools, they must have really pissed off their goddess--Lady Luck indeed, Hah! Quick, places everyone, you all, here we can spare three daggers, and otherwise take up some rocks -- this shouldn't be hard, it's 14 on 5!"

The party shrugged and assembled. Falka and Dala'gse hung back by the fire with the Mad Priest while Slothrop proposed the group "shadow" one of the pros, and cozied up next to Dawson. Ironica, Nancy, Safad, and Rya followed suit. 

As the wandering mystics passed, Dawson called out to them.

"Yoo-hoo, hello down there! We are a band of thieves, please hand over all your gold and you won't get h--"

Just then, Slothrop and Rya shoved him from the canyon to the trail thirty feet below. Ironica and Nancy pushed two more. Slothrop called out, "It's over, Dawson, everyone, lay down your arms and no one gets hurt -- we may be unarmed but we have deadly magic!" 

Dawson hesitated too long. 

It was on. Initiative was rolled. The party unleashed. Rya let loose a lightning bolt. Safad had Rook swoop down on Dawson and breathe fire at the poor man. Ironica sneak attacked another, and pushed him off. The Priests of Tymora began clubbing the bandits who had fallen below. All but Langson realized the jig was up and the battle lost. They surrendered. Langson fled.

Just then, a strange look came over the party's new companion. Falka's eyes blazed red and her face paled as she focused intently on the fleeing barbarian. She muttered a curse under her breath and blood started pouring from the wound in her arm. She clutched the blood with her hand and suddenly raised it, closing it rapidly on itself in a vise-like, bloody, fist. 

Langson froze in his tracks -- immobile. 

The party mouthed a collective, "Whoa."

Slothrop found the paralyzed man just too vulnerable. He didn't like to see him like that so he sidled up to Langson and slit his throat. 

The Mad Priest drew in the dirt. 

The singing mystics praised Tymora for intervening through the party, and tossed them a gold charm each, before carrying on their way.

The party rounded up the highwaymen and laid Langson's body on the fire. They took all the bandits' belongings before sending them off barely clothed into the dangerous wilderness. Dawson was dejected. He complained about being a failed Paladin, a failed adventure, and now a failed bandit. He screwed up in the Marsh of Chelimber, and he screwed up in the Greypeaks. Nancy gave him her good luck charm. He wandered off with the Mad Priest. Langson sizzled. 

Dala'gse was upset. He refused his coin. 

The party set off from Dawson's creek now armed and armored to some extent, and with at least a little jingle in their coin purses. They only had another day's rations with them, but they figured they'd figure it out. Dala'gse walked in sober silence. Ironica pet her kit beaver. Nancy and Slothrop chatted amicably. Safad and Rya questioned Falka about her bloody powers. When the day's excitement had tuckered them out, they made camp. After a time they heard a high-pitched, eerie singing. A chorus of some sorts. 

Dala'gse wandered off to investigate and stumbled into a small sylvan creature, who flickered visible and introduced himself as Duma the Pixie. He cupped two adorable hands around his mouth and bent over Dala'gse's ear, whispering "Thank you for saving our creek from those robbers. Silvanus thanks you for restoring the balance to the land." 

With the haunting pixie chorus in the background, the group settled in for a night's sleep.