The Night of 500 Arrows

Ironica, Dala'gse, and Falka danced among the maelstrom of arrows flying from the walls and raining down the stairwell from the courtyard above, attempting to dodge what they could but many finding their mark on their already battered bodies. At least one hundred Hark were scurrying after them, and in front of them were another ten--likely the most loyal, the better trained, and the most fanatical. 

And then, of course, there was The Hark.

In a split second, the party took stock of their surroundings, attempting to devise a stratagem. The antechamber in which the trio stood was barely lit with inky torchlight, and it gave way to a corridor that led to a larger office-like chamber. The praetorian were situated strategically along the corridor and then defending the office as well--though strangely it looked more like a laboratory now that they looked more closely: shelves lined the walls of the antechamber, corridor, and all up and down the circular office. Every square foot of shelf space was taken up with glass jars filled with some strange viscous and cloudy liquid, and suspended therein were bulbous and terrible body parts. 

Pieces of children, babies, sometimes whole, sometimes fetal with umbilical cords still attached. They were human mostly, but some goblin it seemed. One sat on a desk in the center of the chamber, looking particularly fresh, and particularly like Heathayla's child. 

Standing among it all in the gloom was the Hark herself, a middle-aged human woman, emanating a vile and malevolent energy. She held a scepter made of volcanic-looking rock in her left hand while a dark energy pulsed in her right.

Dala'gse let out a mournful roar. The trio looked at each other, signaling their plan with their eyes. There were no words exchanged. Time to kill this witch.

And as scores of arrows continued to fly, the party charged. 

But the Hark was quicker. Her eyes from under the hood of her cloak became two dark and murky voids, filled with a dread power. She turned her gaze fully to Ironica, who was struck with a terrifying panic. All her nightmares called to the fore. Suddenly, the reality of their situation sunk in: they had pushed their bodies to the brink; they were bleeding from multiple wounds; swarms of fanatical goblins were closing in on them; and they were in the lair of a powerful magic-user. They were done for. Ironica choked down a hopeless sob, and almost began searching for some means of egress.

Almost. Then she remembered who she was. Ironica Once-Thralled. Ironica Shifu's Ward. Ironica Giants-Friend. Her mark of the godess, sign of the stag, was glowing. Ironica of the Shigatsu. Ironica the Bold. Ironica the Brave. The stag was blazing now. 

IRONICA THE FEARLESS.

She turned her gaze to this Hark creature and laughed mockingly in her face. Then she charged the nearest goblin guard and stuck her dagger through his chainmail. 

Falka and Dala'gse followed suit, charging the corridor to cut off the angle of the falling arrows. 

They were met with drawn scimitars from the closest guards and a volley of arrows from those in the Hark's chamber. And then the Hark turned her terrible gaze upon Falka, who suddenly felt very drowsy. Wouldn't it be wonderful just to lie down and rest and let it all be over? Let your sores heal, your body recover? Falka was locked in a battle for dominion over her consciousness with this wicked creature, when she suddenly smiled wolfishly. "You've miscalculated, witch. You think these wounds are new to me? I was forged by my wounds, reborn by blood." 

"I'm always bleeding."

Falka gave a yelp to Dala'gse and Ironica, and the three of them set their plan in motion. 

Falka feinted at the nearest guard only to crash straight into the shelves on the walls, slamming a clawed hand into the glassware as she rushed into the Hark's chambers. A dozen jars smashed to the ground. 

The Hark let out an awful, pained, screech. Dala'gse and Ironica sprinted around the room smashing another few dozen. 

Some of the goblins now looked unsure. In fact, half of her guards looked suddenly shocked to find themselves where they were, and fled. The Hark let fly eight magic missiles at the party, but still they didn't let their work get interrupted. With another sweep of the room, the three of them had smashed all the jars. 

The scurrying sound of goblin feet on the stairwell ceased. The remaining guards fled the room. 

It was just an enraged island dwarf, a smiling halfling, a wolf-elf, and the Hark. But the party was near death. 

The four of them squared off, and Dala'gse shifted into lion form. Like a pack of animals, they attacked. 

Falka and Dala'gse took turns pouncing at the Hark, while Ironica flitted in and out from behind the Hark's desk, finding chinks in her defense and exploiting them. 

The Hark responded with magic missiles, powerful enchantments, and vicious claws. And she seemed to be gaining the upper hand -- she was barely feeling the wounds each time the party attacked. Falka zeroed in on the scepter in her hand, and this time during her pounce, shifted her weight at the last minute, and grasped out to snatch the scepter. The Hark tried to resist but the scepter fell to the floor. Falka kicked it away. 

Ironica leapt off the desk clasping on to the Hark's back, and stabbing at her eyes before backflipping back to the desk. Blood poured freely from all combatants now. 

Dala'gse slammed into the Hark from the other side of the room, lion's maw closing around a leg. Scepter-less, the Hark screamed in real, deep, pain this time. Falka picked up the scepter and slung it over her back. 

An angered Hark fired a lightning bolt out of her hands, and steeled herself for the attacks. Falka was dragging, scorched, and battered, clinging to life. She pushed her way through a screen in the office that led to the Hark's sleeping quarters. She fired off an arrow before retreating into the room. 

Dala'gse pounced once again, this time tearing into the Hark's torso. The woman screamed in pain. Ironica saw her opening and landed on the Hark's chest, kneeling down slowly to drive her dagger through the creature's neck. 

It was over, the Hark was dead. 

The three of companions dragged themselves into the bedroom to recover. A bewildered Slothrop wandered into room, explaining that all the goblins had fled. They checked out the room and found some hoarded coin and gemstones, and the Hark's personal journal. It began with rather sane and orderly entries on leaving Daggerford to take over the bandit-leader position of the Hark. She accounted for goods, planned for winter and foodstuffs, and kept meticulous ledgers. But then the journal petered out, and at a date around two years ago, it simply read, "Telloux says I need 100." And then it was just hashmarks for pages, 83 in total, counting, something. 83 seemed to match up with the babies-in-jars they had smashed...

The group was weary, and collapsed into the closest soft surface. For Falka, and Dala'gse, that was the bed, together. The party set a watch, and slept. 

They were interrupted during the night by a polite knock and two middle-aged goblins announced themselves as Zaks and Kels. They explained that the "feral Hark", those who had avoided influence of the Hark, had called a council that night, and brought together the scores of those who had been under the influence of Di Brigawn. They decided to reclaim their old ways and their old name. They were the Jooschaggi, a people of berry farmers and clayworkers. 

They then asked Falka how to remove their lycantrhopy, "Maidenstars, do you know how this curse is lifted?" 

Maidenstars? 

"Yes, my mother told me maidenstars the wolf, heronstars the tiger, stagstars the halfling, and crossstars the dark elf had freed us. She said it was the Night of 500 Arrows. The Night of Fur and Fang. Of Wolf and Tiger." 

Take us to her. 

After a restful sleep, the group traveled west, to where Zaks's mother, Manda, lived. She explained she had been drinking her cheerwine, which she proffered them, when Zaks and Kels brought news of the Hark's death. Manda felt hopeful for the first time in a long while, and muttered their old words that saw them through the winters on the moor. 

Strange things alight under the moorish night, as the jooschaggi gather round in a ring, cry out their woes to the homeless snows, and pray they see greengrass in spring

When she did, she thought she heard something from the fire and then swore she heard something whisper to her about how they had been saved from vileness by the Maiden, the Cross, The Heron, and the Stag, and saw glimpses of their forms in the fire. She chalked it up to too much cheerwine, but Zaks and Kels set off anyway to see about removing the lycanthropy. 

The group drank cheerwine together, and rested the night with the family. In the morning, Zaks and Kels accompanied them to the Boiling Lake, from which they could reach Melarn's Door. On the way, they helped a group of Mist Crows slay a now-rare High Moor troll. 

Falka fired arrows at a massive turtle in the lake, and Zaks and Kels fled, saying they would anger Dartajon the Dragon Turtle! Dragon Turtle? Falka shot off another arrow for good measure and then they all booked it for Melarn's Door. 

It was approaching afternoon, when they saw the college. 

As they approached the manicured lawn and pebble-lined walkways, they heard a bell ringing and many varied-looking peoples swarming the great hall. A rough-looking dwarf hailed them, and said politely, "You must be Master Safad and Master Rya's friends by the looks of you. Well if you are, you'll want for nothing while you're here--those twoo have made quite a splash during their time here. Friends of theirs are most welcome here at Melarn's Door. I'm Dagnar. Come on, we can catch Safad's last lecture in the great hall."