Chapter 11: Vraath's Vault

 A few rays of sunlight shimmer through the green canopy overhead as a breeze stirs the trees. The rays of light play over the fallen goblins, the singed manticore, the dead wargs, and the slumped minotaur where they lie in the blood and dust. Corrigan finishes the grim task of stripping the valuables from the corpse of the bugbear who called himself Wyrmlord Koth.

Valandil slumps against one of the mossy boulders where it stands against the crumbled wall of the old forest keep. He surveys the carnage with a sour look on his thin face.

Valandil: Serves them all right, the filthy goblin scum.

He spits.

Keith leans nearby.

Keith: You know, Valandil, you’ll never be able to see what a talented magician I am if you spend the battle unconscious in the mud.

Valandil scowls even more.

Jorr doesn’t say anything, but he smiles to himself while he checks his gear, perched atop another of the boulders.

Draggert sits in silence.

Throrin rolls his eyes at them all.

Corrigan finishes stripping the corpses and moves carefully around the keep’s grounds, checking for any more hidden dangers.

Keith approaches the treasure where it has been gathered into a small pile of glittering coins, tangled armor, and naked weaponry. He plucks a small wand from the pile and examines it.

Draggert points at the wand.

Draggert: That is wizard concentrated. Mystery stick.

Keith smirks.

Keith: Actually, Draggert, you are pretty much right.

Corrigan moves inside the doorway to the old tower that the hobgoblins emerged from. He turns back to the courtyard and beckons the others.

Corrigan: You’ll want to see this.

Keith, Draggert, and Throrin follow Corrigan inside. Valandil and Jorr are content to wait in the sunny courtyard.

The interior of the tower is hot, dim, and smells of smoke and sour sweat. The ceiling is supported by groaning wooden timbers. Rubble has been stacked into a firepit, and two dirty double-bunk beds are here. Another larger bed lies to the south. A crudely stuffed owlbear, its feathers burned and melted on one side, lies on the floor here. An old wooden door leads into another room to the southwest.

Draggert moves to stand in front of the owlbear. He inspects its shriveled eye sockets and cracked beak. He pulls a small knife from a sheath made of what looks like spider webs and begins to cut the taxidermy open.

Throrin: What are ye doing?!

Draggert: Enemy hide things where you expect most.

Throrin stares at the half-orc.

Corrigan presses an ear to listen at the southwest door, then he pushes it open. Keith follows close behind. Beyond is a circular chamber with a mix of furniture, including a large desk, an overstuffed chair, a massive four-poster bed, and a large easel holding a sizeable canvas covered with a sheet. A flight of stairs arcs up along the south wall to the upper floor, and a fair amount of rubble from a hole in the ceiling lies at the foot of the stairs.

Corrigan moves around the room slowly, examining everything.

Keith: I’d wager I know what’s behind that sheet. A red hand, you think, Corrigan?

He pulls the sheet back to reveal a half-finished portrait of Wyrmlord Koth hefting a Morningstar in his hand with one boot resting on a pile of white skulls.

Keith: Or…not.

Corrigan can’t help but grin.

Corrigan: I could not have guessed that.

Corrigan turns away from the painting to survey the room. He notices something and crouches low to the ground to examine the stone floor. He blows some dust from the stones and produces a small knife from his belt. He begins to test the cracks in the floor with it.

Draggert: There, now, Throrin! Treasure!

Draggert is holding an armful of yellowed cotton stuffing that he has pulled from inside of the taxidermy.

Throrin: What? Where?

Throrin pokes around inside of the owlbear shell with a look of distaste.

Draggert: Here, Throrin. Stuffing! A LOT! Very good in case of cold night!

Draggert begins shoving the stuffing into every pouch and pocket on his pack, anywhere it will fit, until his bag is bulging and fuzz is sticking out of every seam.

Throrin smacks his hand to his forehead and mutters about ruddy orcs.

Corrigan’s knife catches, and he nods to himself.

Corrigan: As I suspected, there’s a secret door in the floor, here. It’s very old, and it hasn’t been opened in a very long time.

Keith: Oh? Curious. Draggert! Come here for a minute!

Draggert squeezes his wide body through the door.

Keith: That story you told about Amery Vraath, the master of this keep. What happened to him, again?

Draggert: He disappear like ghost. Never seen again.

Corrigan: Or he got trapped in his own secret bolthole. You might all want to stand back.

Corrigan uses a long metal prybar to heave up a section of the stone floor, which he then shoves slowly aside with a visible effort and a loud grinding noise. The smell of stale, dusty air wafts through the room.

Throrin enters the room upon hearing the sound of grinding stone.

Throrin: Music to my ears!

Corrigan has revealed a square stone tunnel in the floor. A rusty ladder bolted to the tunnel wall leads down into darkness.

Corrigan: Who likes the dark?

Throrin: I’ll go. Though I’d prefer a please and a thank ye.

Keith is light on his feet with excitement.

Keith: I’m going with you, Throrin. And let’s hurry! We might have actually found Amery Vraath!

Throrin: As fast as me legs go, lad. You humans are always in such a rush.

Throrin tests the ladder carefully and descends below, his boots echoing on the rungs.

Keith waves a hand over his staff and it begins to glow with soft light. He slings it across his back with a leather strap and follows the dwarf.

Draggert calls after them.

Draggert: We stay up here in case entrance shut like cave at poison waterfall!

The walls of this small vault are of worked stone. The ceiling is just twelve feet high. The air is dense and stale. Three alcoves have been cut into the walls, two to the north and one to the south. Each alcove is blocked by an iron gate that’s locked with three chains and a formidable padlock. Beyond one gate are several shelves bearing no less than ten iron coffers. Beyond another is a small desk and chair, the desk piled high with papers and books. Beyond the third sits a large trunk. A human skeleton lies slumped in the southeast corner of the room. Still dressed in tattered chainmail and feebly gripping a sparkling greataxe, the skeleton has a massive arrow protruding from between its rib bones.

Throrin climbs down from the ladder and steps aside to make room for Keith. He crouches down to examine the skeleton in the corner.

Keith unslings his staff and carefully examines everything in the nimbus of pale light.

Throrin: This was once a human. He’s been dead for over a hundred years. Traces on the arrow suggest poison.

Keith whispers in wonder.

Keith: Amery Vraath. Fled to his vault and died here all alone.

The two share a moment of silence before Keith turns to gesture at the trunk and the coffers.

Keith speaks in dwarven.

Keith (Dwarven): It’s a gold mine, Throrin.

Throrin (Dwarven): Aye, lad. I think ye be right.

Throrin gently removes the greataxe from Amery Vraath’s skeletal hand. As he touches it, the axe suddenly glows with a strange blue light.

Keith moves to the padlock in front of the alcove stuffed with maps and scrolls. He lifts two fingers to the lock and whispers an incantation. There is a soft click as the lock pops open. Keith expends a good deal of effort pulling at the chains to free them from the lock, and it all falls to the floor with a metallic clang. He pushes the rusty gate open and begins to leaf gingerly through the pages on the table.

Corrigan shouts down.

Corrigan: How’s it going down there?

Throrin stands and holds the axe up where Corrigan can see it.

Throrin: I’ve got something the half-orc might wanna take a look at!

Keith mumbles to himself as he peruses the scrolls.

Throrin: A handy trick, opening the lock. Can you get into the others?

Keith barely looks up.

Keith: What? Oh, no. I only had one of those memorized. Best to get to the knowledge, though. It’s likely more valuable than any tangible treasure. There is a great deal of information here about Elsir Vale. Maps, historical records. Fascinating!

Throrin arches an eyebrow and frowns.

Draggert squeezes down the ladder and into the room. His wide shoulders crowd into Throrin and there is little room for the both of them to stand.

Throrin shoves into Draggert as he lifts his holy symbol.

Throrin: Confound it, you big cuss! Move over and receive Moradin’s blessing!

Throrin says a small prayer and touches the iron symbol of a hammer and anvil to Draggert’s bicep. Draggert feels much stronger.

Draggert looks around the room and sees the chains and locks.

Draggert: Oh, thank you Throrin dwarf. I see you want locks broken and treasure free.

Throrin nods, pressing himself up against the southern gate to give Draggert room to maneuver.

Draggert grabs ahold of two of the chains on the middle gate to the north. He heaves backwards, pulling on the chains with all of his might, veins surging on his mottled neck. Finally, there is a loud snap as the links break and the chains drop to the floor.

Draggert grins and wipes his bloody hands on his armor. He grips the last chain and breaks it, too, then he shoves the gate open.

Throrin nods, impressed.

Throrin: A job well done, lad. Only, your hands look a might cut after that. Try this on the last one.

Throrin hands the greataxe to Draggert. For a moment, the soft light goes out, but it flares up once more when the half-orc has a full grip on it.

Keith looks up from a large map.

Keith: I know you like mystery power, Draggert, and it seems that axe is enchanted.

Draggert: I do?

Draggert looks at the axe with approval.

Throrin steps into the alcove to inspect the big trunk and give Draggert room to swing.

Draggert cocks the axe back and swings it forward with great strength. As it connects with the chain, the head of the axe flashes blue and sends a burst of icy frost into the metal. Two more blows sever the frozen chains with relative ease.

Draggert: Oh! Coldfrost! This happen in fight with Memnor!

Draggert seems both startled and pleased.

Keith: An ice enchantment. A rare thing.

Throrin opens the unlocked trunk slowly and dramatically and peers inside.

The trunk holds a large reptilian skull with curved horns, several huge teeth threaded onto two necklaces, a beautiful polished birch staff, a sparkling silver breastplate, and a huge spiked gauntlet fit for a giant.

Throrin whistles low.

Throrin (Dwarven): A trove, indeed.

Corrigan squeezes into the room from the ladder.

Corrigan: I couldn’t bear to wait any more. It’s treasure, isn’t it? Tell me you’ve found a whole load of treasure?!

The group empties the vault of its treasures while Valandil and Jorr take turns shooting at birds.

Chapter 10: The Battle of Vraath Keep

The group moves quickly up the trail to the ruined keep, a collection of shadows dwarfed by the tall trees and stacked wall of stone rising before them.

Draggert grips his axe and spits on the blade.

Corrigan nods towards the main doors where they lie in a decaying heap on the ground.

The party steps gingerly across the ruined doors and slips into the courtyard.

The collapsed doors creak loudly as Throrin’s heavy boots trod over them.

Draggert raises a fist to tell the others to stop. His pointed, green ears twitch in the direction of the low wooden stable building.
Draggert (whisper): I hear voices. Laughing. Inside.

Keith (whisper): What should we do?

Throrin strides up to the door and his voice booms.
Throrin: Never leave an enemy stronghold intact, that’s what!

Keith cringes and flexes his palms. Six images of the young wizard suddenly spring into being around him.

Throrin’s steel boot kicks the door in.

The door flies open with the shriek of ancient metal. The interior of the wooden building has a thin layer of filthy straw strewn across the floor. To the east, an open area contains a decrepit forge and a large mound of moldy hay. A battered table with four chairs sits in the middle of the room. Upon the table crawl a handful of large beetles. A stick with a caltrop tied to the end lies skewered through one of the insects. A strong animal smell pervades the air here. Throrin is just in time to see two well-armed goblins mount two large, snarling wargs.

Valandil looses an arrow reflexively at the first sight of the monsters. It strikes one of the wargs in the shoulder, and it yelps.

The goblins spur their mounts, and the wargs burst from the stable, snarling. The goblins whoop and holler as they draw shortbows and ride the creatures around the courtyard.

Draggert charges at one of the wargs. He swings his axe down in a hard chop, but the goblin rider drags hard on the reins and the monster barely avoids the blow.

Corrigan leaps into the fray, sliding past the wolf-thing’s snapping jaws as he draws both flashing blades and comes up behind it.

Keith fires two scorching rays of flame from his hands, but both go wide of the warg he is aiming at and strike the walls of the tower, leaving long, black scorch marks on the stone.

Jorr fires a couple of bad arrows and tries to get away from the attackers.

Throrin charges the other warg and completely misses with a wild hammer swing.

Valandil snaps off two quick shots at the goblin riding the warg nearest him. The creature screams as the arrows pierce his armor.

“For the Scaled Lady!” shrieks the goblin in front of Draggert. It casts its bow aside and draws a scimitar into a slash that Draggert blocks with the haft of his axe.

The warg twists its head around and bites at Corrigan, but the ranger’s new mithral armor protects him.

The other goblin fires an arrow at Keith. It strikes one of his images and causes it to slump dead to the ground where it fades away.

Draggert and Corrigan coordinate an attack on the warg. Draggert’s axe narrowly misses once again, but Corrigan’s blades slash the creature’s speckled hide.

Keith looks visibly terrified at the death of his image. He ducks behind a giant boulder and reads a scroll from his pack. A hazy disc of force appears in front of him to protect him from further attack.

There is a sudden, leathery flap of wings over the battle. A horrible beast with a body like an orange lion, batlike wings, and spines protruding from its tail and strangely human face flaps up onto the roof of the southeastern building.

Keith: Gods, they have a manticore?!

Jorr and Valandil loose more wild arrows, all far from their marks.

Throrin stows his hammer and draws a javelin. He takes a running start and flings the weapon up at the manticore. It sails over its head, but the dwarf has the beast’s attention.
Throrin: C’mon down and get a piece!

Even over the considerable din of the battle, the sounds of grunts, shouts, and scraping metal can be heard from the southwest.

Corrigan: I think we’re about to have company!

Draggert wedges his boot in the warg’s mouth as it bites at him. He swipes his heavy axe at the goblin rider, but the creature ducks. Draggert screams in frustration.

Corrigan follows up, darting in and out, blades flashing. The goblin rider tries to outmaneuver him, but Corrigan is too fast and his rhythm is too hard to follow. His longsword plunges into the warg’s body, striking its heart. The beast yelps and collapses, showering the packed earth beneath it in blood as it dies. The goblin falls from its saddle and lands hard on the ground.

Keith runs into the middle of the melee. He raises his hands and reality seems to bend around him. His allies are moving much faster now.

Valandil is a blur as he fires three arrows. The first two strike the remaining mounted goblin, slaying it. The last arrow hits the shoulder of the warg as the dead goblin’s body slides from its saddle.

The manticore flicks its tail and flings a volley of deadly spines down at Thorin. They clatter from the dwarf’s armor and shield and fall harmlessly to the ground.

The prone goblin tries to roll to his feet, but Draggert’s heavy axe is already slashing down. The goblin is cleaved entirely in half, showering Draggert’s boots with gore.

Suddenly, the southern doors swing open. Armed and armored hobgoblins begin filing out, longbows readied. They raise their weapons like a firing squad, unleashing a volley of whistling shafts at Draggert, but the magical field that Keith placed around him diverts the arrows harmlessly upward where they veer off into the trees.

Draggert, feeling extra spry, lurches forward, ducks low, and comes back up into the hobgoblins with an uppercut slash from his greataxe. The blow catches a hobgoblin on the brow, knocking his helmet off his head and sending it clattering across the courtyard. The monster stumbles, dazed.

Corrigan throws himself forward into a tumble, coming up on the other side of the hobgoblins near Draggert, his blades cutting intricate swaths through the air.

The final warg charges at Valandil, biting savagely into his leg and thrashing him back and forth like an elven ragdoll. He hammers at the monster’s head with his bow, and just barely manages to free his bleeding leg.

Valandil: Ah!! Blasted beast! You’ll pay for that!

Keith's heart hammers in his chest as he steps up to the group of hobgoblins. He opens his palm and blasts a cone of screaming color into their faces. Half of the creatures howl in pain and clutch their eyes. The others manage to avert their gaze at the last moment and continue to fight.

Corrigan shuts his eyes tightest of all, though he is out of the area of the spell.

An animal bellow rings out over the battlefield as another enemy emerges from the collapsed wall to the south. A minotaur, its large body covered in shaggy, black hair, hefts a greataxe to match Draggert’s own. A large gold ring hangs from its flaring nostrils. It stalks forward, eagerly swinging its greataxe in great arcs around its body. It fixes its eyes on Keith.

Throrin raises his shield higher, gesturing with his other hand and murmuring a blessing. A soft light suffuses his allies’ weapons.

The manticore flings another volley of spines down at the dwarf, but they, too, bounce from his armor. The monster roars in frustration.

Valandil backpedals, firing more arrows at the warg. The monster finally drops to the ground and moves no longer.

The remaining goblin skitters past Keith, startling him.

The two sighted hobgoblins are spurred on by the appearance of the minotaur. They cast aside their bows, draw longswords, and press the attack on Draggert.

The half-orc parries both blades with the haft of his axe, screaming orcish profanity as he brings the blade down and through one of the hobgoblins, the momentum of the killing stroke carrying straight through and into the other hobgoblin’s shoulder.

Keith raises his hands, invoking mystery power as the opportunistic goblin behind him stabs one of his images dead. He fires a crackling, black ray at the minotaur that saps the beast’s great strength, causing its axe swings to become sluggish.

Corrigan strikes one of the hobgoblins in the flank with one blade. The other finds the goblin assailing Keith, slaying it.

The minotaur roars, charging into the wizard and goring him with one of its long horns.

Jorr fires two expert shots that sink into the minotaur’s leg.

Valandil turns toward the minotaur, pulling a hunk of pork fat out of one of his pouches. He chants and flings it at the creature as it transmutes into a torrent of grease that showers the bovine humanoid. It roars in rage as it slips and falls down, covered in the stinking mess.

The manticore finally leaps from its perch, coming down to face Throrin one-on-one. It uses the momentum of its pounce to knock his shield aside, its other claw slicing into a weak point in his armor.

Throrin grunts and counters with a spell, healing his wound fully. He draws his heavy warhammer once more.

The hobgoblins turn on Corrigan, but he is too fast to hit.

Draggert roars, every bit as guttural a sound as the minotaur’s. He abandons all pretense of defense, raising his axe high overhead.

The prone minotaur twists its body and swings its powerful arms wide, pulling its greataxe out of the mud and into a surprise strike that smashes into Draggert’s belly armor, but it does not stop the half-orc.

Draggert slams his axe down on the minotaur’s shoulder, severing its arm and leaving the beast dying in the muck. He spins with the blow, the backswing slamming into one of the hobgoblins and flinging it to the ground like a broken toy.

Corrigan’s sword takes the life of another hobgoblin, leaving only one of the creatures left standing.

Keith limps behind Draggert, uncorking a flask and drinking from it as he moves.

Jorr feathers the remaining hobgoblin with arrows, but it survives. It falls back behind a boulder, drinking from a flask of its own.

Valandil turns towards the manticore and begins launching more arrows at it, checking his quiver as it begins to grow low.

Throrin and the manticore continue to battle one another at the rear of the courtyard. Throrin’s armor holds up as he smashes his hammer into the monster’s shoulder.

A final figure appears through the open tower door to the south. It is a lanky, 6-foot humanoid with shaggy brown hair- a bugbear. Its wide, flat ears stick up from behind an ornate headband, and it wears a sweeping red cape. It wears no armor, but hefts a spiked morningstar and wears a belt covered in flasks and rolled parchment. It raises its furry hands and a fork of white-hot lightning streaks out.

Draggert tries to block the lightning with his axe, but is jolted as the energy cascades over the blade and into him. The rest of the party behind him cries out in pain and anguish as they are scorched by the electricity.

Corrigan leaps aside, avoiding the worst of it.

Draggert steps up to the bugbear and swings his axe, but it glances from a field of magic force around him.

Corrigan tries to gain the enemy’s flank, but the bugbear is quick with its morningstar, and it strikes the ranger in the back as he maneuvers behind it.

Bugbear: You think to come here and kill my men? You stinking humans think you can stand up to the Red Hand?! We are LEGION! I, Wyrmlord Koth, will destroy you!

Keith coughs blood and limps away from the melee, hiding behind a crumbled section of wall.

Draggert and Corrigan converge on Wyrmlord Koth. The bugbear focuses on dodging Draggert’s heavy axe, Corrigan’s sword cutting a small wound as he leaps back.

Jorr has an arrow for both the manticore and the Wyrmlord. He hits the large, winged target, but the other arrow goes wide.

Valandil tries to reposition, but he slips in a puddle of his own grease and falls down into the mud. His arrows, aimed at the manticore, sail away harmlessly.

The manticore turns away from Throrin and launches a volley of tail spines at the prone elf, where they thunk ominously into the mud.

Throrin roars and takes advantage of the manticore’s lapse of attention, delivering two heavy blows to its body with his hammer.

The surviving hobgoblin drinks yet another potion from behind the boulder.

Wyrmlord Koth twists his fingers again, unleashing another bolt of crackling lightning. Draggert and Corrigan drive into him, avoiding the worst of the magic as it blasts around them. Jorr is not so lucky, and the errant bolt singes into his old, gnarled body.

Keith shudders as he hears the familiar spell crackle on the stone wall nearby.

Draggert reaches to his side, grabbing a flask embossed with a carving of a yak. He bites the cork out of it and chugs the healing draught within.

Corrigan’s blades begin to find their mark. He slashes two great cuts into the bugbear.

Keith gulps and musters his bravery. He reads a scroll.

Jorr fires two arrows at the bugbear.

Valandil sits up in the mud, but does not get up as he continues firing arrows at the spined, winged monster. He strikes it in the neck.

The manticore charges in a rage, ignoring Throrin’s hammer as it leaps upon the prone elf. It savages him, leaving him unconscious in the stinking mud as the magical grease dissipates.

Throrin: No one ignores me, you ugly freak!
Throrin bounds back up to the manticore, missing with his hammer but regaining the beast’s attention as he frowns at the collapsed elf in the muck.

The hobgoblin emerges from its hiding place, charging at Draggert, but the half-orc sidesteps the thrust.

Wyrmlord Koth turns to Corrigan and incants a spell.
Wyrmlord Koth: May your eyes be ever veiled!

Corrigan blinks as his vision goes momentarily black, but he shakes off the dark magic.

Draggert heaves his axe into the distracted bugbear, wounding him further.

Wyrmlord Koth is bloody and staggering, breathing heavily.

Jorr fires at the hobgoblin.

The manticore wheels back on Throrin, slashing and battering him with its claws.

Throrin raises his shield against the onslaught, once again healing the wound he sustained with his holy magic.

The manticore snarls.

Draggert, Corrigan, the hobgoblin, and Wyrmlord Koth are a whirl of footwork and heaving weapons.

Keith suddenly appears from invisibility in the midst of the fray, perfectly positioned, eyes ablaze as he channels the maximum amount of power he can into his spell. He twists his hands suddenly and a blossom of flame appears in the shimmering air, exploding outward with a deafening roar. The manticore is flung against the castle wall, burned and dying. Wyrmlord Koth screams as the flames blast the flesh from his bones. His charred corpse collapses to the ground.

Jorr’s mouth is agape as he sinks a final arrow into the last hobgoblin, killing it almost as an afterthought.
Jorr: Gods, son…

Corrigan chuckles in amazement.

Throrin eyes the mage for a moment, then he stows his weapon and crouches down to heal the elf.
Throrin: You’ll not die today, ye wee little pansy.

The group stands amidst the carnage, breathing heavily and checking weapons, watching for any more signs of movement.

Keith wills his hands to stop shaking and he composes himself once more.
Keith: Is everyone alright?

Draggert’s chest heaves up and down as his rage slowly subsides. His eyes roll back into his head, he spits a mouthful of blood, and he passes out.

Out in the forest, the cicadas sing their shrill, buzzing tune.

Chapter 9: Approaching the Keep

The trail winds up and down small forested hills, the dense canopy of the Witchwood shading out the increasingly hot morning sun. Suddenly, looming out of the shadowy woods ahead is a haunting sight, a ruined keep. The old castle sits on a small, rocky hillock, and you can catch glimpses of a broken tower between the trees. A moss-covered stone at the side of the road you're following marks a footpath that leads up to the keep.

Jorr crouches in the trampled brush near the mossy boulder.
Jorr (whisper): There she is.

Corrigan moves to crouch near Jorr, the rest of the group doing their best to stay hidden several paces back in the trees.

Corrigan: These are surely different woods than the ones I have encountered. What’s the plan?

Jorr: I got advice, but I ain’t in charge of no plans.

Keith: Okay. Advice, then?

Jorr: Well, these hobgobs ain't stupid. They're organized and well-armed.

Draggert is suddenly there, next to them, solemn and serious.
Draggert: We walk quiet to keep, then kill hobgoblins.

Jorr and Corrigan both stare at him for a long moment.

Corrigan: Simple enough.

Valandil: You know, I thought that was a great plan, too, and then I woke up full of arrows...

Jorr: As I said, they're organized and well-armed. I'd bet the string off my bow they got a lookout, probably up in the tower.

Draggert nods slowly.
Draggert: Ok. New plan. We walk to keep, then kill lookout.

Jorr ignores Draggert as he continues.
Jorr: Now, they do sleep during the day, so we might have a shot getting the drop on ‘em. But maybe not.

Draggert nods slowly.
Draggert: We walk quietly to keep, then.

Jorr looks at the trail and then the hillside.

Draggert looks at the trail and then the hillside.
Draggert’s face looks blank.

Jorr: We could head up this main path, being quiet like the orc says, and praying to Obad-Hai. Or, we could shimmy up that slope to the back of the keep and risk falling and breaking bones.

Draggert (quietly): Hehe. Obad-Hai. Sound funny.

Keith: Okay. Valandil, would you like to be in charge of the silent dispatching of the lookout, or would you, Corrigan, you sneakthief?

Valandil: I think I could manage it, as long as I can get a clear shot.

Throrin states plainly that he'll have none of climbing.

Keith: Well, I'd rather do it up close and personal. Corrigan, would you like to do so invisibly, then wait in the tower until we get there?

Corrigan: My pleasure.

Keith: And Draggert, when the time is right, I actually would like you to wade into the fray. I can protect you from the arrows.

Draggert: Fray?

Keith: It's wizard talk for fight.

Draggert: Ok.

Valandil: So that means you call yourself a wizard, then, boy?

Keith: I've been called one many more times that I've claimed it for myself.

Valandil chuckles quietly.
Valandil: Hmmm, when I was your age, just beginning my studies, no one would have dared call me a real wizard. We'll see if it's fitting.

Keith: Where can we hide while Corrigan eliminates the lookout, Jorr?

Jorr: Hmmm, I reckon here's about the only place out of eyeshot of those walls. I say we send him up to scout, and see if there even is a lookout before we go planning on killing one.

Jorr: You up for it?

Corrigan smirks
Corrigan: Always, my friend.

Keith: Well, Corrigan... can you do it quickly and quietly, without the aid of a spell? I don't believe it will last two trips.

Corrigan: Sure. I’ve made it through tighter spots than this.

Keith: Well, I guess we all wait here, then?

Corrigan draws his hood up and heads up the footpath, stepping silently into the brush on the side of it and vanishing like a ghost.

---

Draggert: While we stay, Keith, can Draggert look at your things?
Draggert points at Keith’s bag.

Keith shows Draggert his things, other than his spell scrolls and book, which includes many alchemical items

Draggert points to Keith’s spellbook.

Keith: Absolutely not, Draggert. Sorry.

Draggert: Why not? Draggert think he have one like that!

Keith: You can't even read!

Draggert’s voice drops a little, as though his feelings are hurt.
Draggert: Why you say that?

Keith’s tone is pompous.
Keith: Well, if you do have another like this, I should love to see it!

Draggert: You let me see Keith's first.

Keith sighs.

Draggert smiles

Keith: I'm going to show you one page, Draggert. One page.

Draggert speaks eagerly.
Draggert: Ok.

Keith shows him a page for a simple cantrip. There is a small, shaded diagram of a hand held in a particular position with the fingers splayed, surrounded by wispy runes in a strange language.

Draggert is mesmerized and keeps the memory.

Draggert: My turn.
Draggert pulls out a partially burnt and tattered spellbook with the name “Memnor” embossed on the front. There is a handprint singed into the binding.

Valandil looks over curiously, trying unsuccessfully to hide his interest.

---

Corrigan moves up the slope, through the undergrowth.

The old keep materializes out of the trees ahead. It is in very poor repair. The gatehouse is partially collapsed, as is a section of wall to the south. A small wooden building sits next to the remains of a long-abandoned garden in front of the structure. The walls surrounding the keep are about fifteen feet high, with a two-story tower looming in the southwest corner of the courtyard within. Large boulders lie strewn amid the ruins of the two watch towers, and a massive humanoid skeleton slumps amid the ruins in the northern one. This skeleton still wears tattered fragments of leather armor, and a large club lies next to its bony arm.

Corrigan carefully scouts the perimeter of the keep, keeping his eyes and ears strained to the limit. He hears nothing but the gentle buzz of the insects in the trees, and is almost chagrined to realize with certainty that there are no guards posted.

Nevertheless, Corrigan moves slowly and carefully to the tower to get a closer look.

The old tower is beginning to crumble, but is still quite sheer and well-built. A tiny window looks down from about 30 feet up the tower’s 40-foot edifice.

Corrigan creeps through the brush until he approaches the crumbled wall around the keep. He peers carefully out and around the broken wall, one hand warily resting on the hilt of his sword, and looks in at the courtyard.

The courtyard of hard-packed earth has an eerie air of desolation. Jagged boulders embedded in the ground seem to have been dropped here, or thrown with tremendous force from a great distance; many of the walls bear dents and cracks where they probably once struck. Two more massive skeletons lie at opposite ends of the area. One is propped up by the watchtower, and one is sprawled by the far end by a building that was probably once a stable. To the south, where a section of the keep's outer wall has collapsed, a third giant skeleton lies partially buried in the rubble.

Corrigan surveys it all, and then moves as quietly as he can back down the hillside.

---

Keith: Corrigan has certainly been gone a long time...

Draggert: I hope he not dead. If he is, we will bury him so birds do not take his flesh.

Keith: Draggert, you remember in that book, when I said the word morbid was bad, and elves didn't like it?

Draggert: Yes.

Keith: Do you remember what morbid means?

Draggert: You just say not to use that word.

Keith: Well, there's an elf here. And it's when you talk about our friends like they are dead.

Draggert: No...no. I say IF he is dead.

Keith: "Corrigan's guts are burning." That is morbid, Draggert.

Draggert: Ok.
Draggert: I hope he not dead.

Keith: Me, too.

Draggert: Specially by fire in his stomach.

Valandil: Hahaha, are you trying to trick the poor fellow? Telling him he shouldn't use words, then using them? You should be ashamed of yourself! It's alright, Draggert, your friend isn't dead, and I won't be mad if you talk about dead people.

Keith: Have you heard of a baelnorn, elf?

Valandil: Of course I have. What about it?

Keith: Nothing...just the bizarre dichotomy of elves and death struck me.

Valandil: Of course, and the foolishness of humans just now struck me.

Corrigan returns at last, appearing rather suddenly out of the green undergrowth.
Corrigan: There are no guards, as far as I can tell.

Draggert: That mean no hobgoblins either?

Corrigan shrugs.
Corrigan: The keep is strewn with the skeletons of huge creatures, though. Looked like giants.

Keith: Well... I trust you, I guess. Must be the forest giants from the story. We should go up there, then? And plan further?

Draggert stands.

Jorr grunts absentmindedly.

Valandil: I must have killed more than I remembered...they were everywhere when I came last. Perhaps you just didn't look hard enough, boy. I suppose we should go in together and check.

Corrigan: Return with me, then. I didn’t check inside the buildings that still stand.

Keith: Okay. Steel yourselves, everyone.

Draggert brushes dirt from the dreamcatcher woven into his long hair.
Draggert: Let’s go.

Jorr stuffs a wad of chaw into his mouth, draws his bow and knocks an arrow.
Jorr: Well, I'm ready.

Valandil: Let me do some quick preparations before we set out.
Valandil speaks a few arcane syllables and passes his hands over himself. A ghostly suit of blueish chainmail appears on his form and slowly fades from view. He draws his bow and is ready to set out.

Keith: Good idea.
Keith casts the same spell, though the suit of armor that envelops him is an embroidered jerkin that fades from view.

Keith: Also, Draggert, I would really feel better if you came here, a moment.
Keith waves his hands over Draggert and speaks some words. He pulls an arrowhead from a pouch and encloses it in his fist. When the spell is finished, the arrowhead is gone.

Valandil: Humph, completely unnecessary, but what can one expect of a human boy who claims to be a wizard? Shall we go?

Throrin grips his hammer in one hand and his shield in the other. He has been quiet, scowling. He doesn’t like any of this. He follows the others up the hill.

Chapter 8: A Stranger in the Forest

Draggert kneels before a bundle of fresh sticks and kindling, napping flint and steel together and nursing the young, fragile flame that starts up. Soon, the party sits around a roaring fire.

All around, the hum of insects mingles with the swaying hush of the trees in a light breeze, and the pop of the flames licking the dead wood. The forest canopy crowds around, leaving a small hole where the stars shine in a black sky. The temperature drops to bearable, almost pleasant levels.

Jorr sits down last, with a groan, having scouted the perimeter of the camp several times in the dark.
Jorr: It's clear. Hopefully that fire'll keep the ogres and owlbears away.

Keith lays out several books and writing supplies near to the fire.
Keith: I really must study. Draggert, do you want me to read some of that book to you, first?

Throrin has removed his armor, looking half the size without it. He sets about the task of polishing it and his shield by the firelight, hammering out small dents with his road armorer's kit.

Draggert sits cross-legged near Keith. He uses a bone needle and a ball of strong twine to sew up the puncture marks in his gatorhide armor.

Keith tries to translate some of the more difficult passages into something Draggert can understand.

Draggert nods along with Keith as he reads.
Draggert: Oh. I should only shake elf's hand if he offers, and then only shake gentle and not hard to crush bone like Draggert usually shake?

Throrin scoffs at the lesson.
Throrin: Listen to me, Draggert. The only thing you need to know about elves is they aren't all they're cracked up to be. They look pretty, sure, but they have no concept of honor or teamwork.

Draggert: Really? I only meet two elves. One save me from sinking death sand. Other help out in big bar fight.

Keith frowns at Throrin.
Keith: They're not all bad. They're about as alright as anyone else, really.

Throrin: Well, at least if we dwarves don't like ye, you'll know it. We're honest folk. Elves will smile and embrace you when you're around, and then slide a dagger in your back while you sleep.

Draggert: I have elf axe as gift. It good and light.

Throrin scoffs again.
Throrin: Bah, for an axe you can't beat dwarven for balance and sharpness! Second only to orcish, surprisingly enough, though it'd be cruder and heavier. Elves make good swords, though, especially the small and light ones. Still, they're best used for skewering rats.

Corrigan and Jorr sit a ways apart from the fire, the better to keep watch out into the still, darkened trees. When they speak, their voices are low.

Jorr: I can tell you know how to run a trail. You're a fellow woodsman.

Corrigan: I've been called that before, yes.

Jorr: Well, it's always good to see someone who knows their stuff.

Corrigan: How long have you been out here?

Jorr suddenly looks much older. In the orange tint of the firelight, you can see deep creases and wrinkles on his eyes and forehead.
Jorr: A good, long while. Since I was about your age, probably, so...about twenty years?

Corrigan seems impressed.
Corrigan: I don't imagine you get much company?

Jorr: Nah. I got my dogs, though. I had a city life once. A wife, house, and all that. It wasn't for me. I prefer to be alone. It just makes life a hell of a lot simpler.

Corrigan nods and casts a glance at the others around the fire.
Corrigan: I can definitely understand that. You know, you remind me of an old friend of mine. I'll watch your back on the field.

Jorr nods appreciatively.

The fire gives a violent pop, sending a shower of warm embers drifting high up to the canopy where they fizzle into emptiness. It seems to silence everyone and, one by one, each of them retires for the night.

The warm summer night passes uneventfully, and the rays of dawn find the party all awake. The air is humid, with the ozone tang that hints a heavy rain is not far off. Corrigan pours water onto the last coals of the fire, as Jorr unwraps a handkerchief full of cold biscuits and bacon.

Jorr: Eat up. We got a date with some wretched hobgobs here soon, I'll wager.

The group nods their collective assent, eating fast and donning armor, readying weapons.

Keith mutters.
Keith: Nothing we haven't handled before, I suppose.
He does his best to smooth his hair and his robes out before travel begins.

The group sets out into the deep Witchwood once more, and they have only been travelling a few hours when they see a figure on the trail ahead. It is humanoid, and walking towards them with an awkward, shambling gait.

Keith squints.
Keith: It's an elf, I think. He looks wounded.

Draggert growls.
Draggert: It could be trick.

Throrin spits, and scowls down the trail.

The group stands, tense and waiting, until the figure is close. It is a male elf, around five feet tall, with a slim build and short, disheveled black hair. He has a slight tan, blue eyes, and might pass for a human save for his prominent pointed ears. He is currently smeared in dried blood, multiple arrows protruding from his side and back. He stumbles along, barely coherent.

Keith: Oh my goodness!
Keith rushes up to the man.

Elf: Help...

Draggert moves to stand near Keith. The elf collapses to his knees in front of them. They stare at his wounds for a time, unsure how to proceed. Keith grabs onto one of the arrow shafts, and the elf cries out immediately. He releases it.

Keith: These are hobgoblin arrows. Draggert, could you rip them out?

Draggert frowns and reaches for one of the black-feathered arrow shafts.

Throrin: Don't touch him!
He spits and curses under his breath as he approaches.
Throrin: Damned idiot. In these woods alone! What did I just tell them about elves?

Throrin holds out a calloused hand and says a prayer. A blue light suffuses the elf as the arrows slide gently from his flesh, clattering to the damp ground. He blesses him once more, until all of his wounds are closed up with fresh, pink skin. Throrin stands aside and crosses his arms on his chest, scowling at the elf the entire time.

The elf gingerly feels the places where the arrows were. Satisfied, he stands up straight and speaks.
Elf: Thank you very much, strangers. I am Valandil, trailworn traveler and bow-for-hire. I ran afoul of some damned hobgoblins up at Vraath Keep yesterday. I got a few of them, but they volleyed me good and left me for dead. Luckily, I regained consciousness and slipped away.

Draggert squints at the elf's face.
Draggert: Wait, you! You in town with big bell, eight full moons back?

Valandil looks at Draggert, recognition flaring up in his bright, blue eyes.
Valandil: Yes! You're that brute that started that tavern brawl!

Draggert laughs a big belly laugh.
Draggert: I no start! You know I no start!

Valandil opens his mouth, pointing at a prominent gap in his front teeth.
Valandil: Well, I got in a bit of trouble in that fight, no matter who started it.

Draggert digs in his bag with vigor, pulling out a small piece of twine wrapped around a single front tooth.

Valandil frowns.
Valandil: Oh, wow, you kept it?! How crude.

Draggert nods happily.
Draggert: It make good trade for telling story.

Draggert turns excitedly to the rest of the party.
Draggert: Everyone, this no trick. This other elf friend from town! We eat rainbow colored bread and Draggert make joke there might be gold on bottom.

Valandil chuckles.
Valandil: Oh boy, not my finest hour, that.

Keith introduces himself in elven.
Keith (Elven): Good sir, since we so fortuitously met you here, might we offer you the prospect of revenge? We plan to give those hobgoblins up at the keep a sound beating.

Valandil nods.
Valandil: I would like nothing better. Well met to all of you, then. What was your name again? Draggert?

Valandil moves to each member of the group, introducing himself and shaking hands.

Throrin looks at the elf's hand as it is offered. He nods to him, nothing more.

Jorr: Nice to meet you and all, but we'd best get going. Goblins and their kind are lazy and sluggish in the early hours. Now is our time to strike.

In agreement, the group continues down the road, one member stronger.

Chapter 7: Swift Creek

As the group travels north through the woods, Draggert tells everyone the legend of Vraath Keep.

Draggert: Amery Vraath was young noble with nice castle called Vraath Keep. He live here in Witchwood with other people who follow and live in big castle where different tribe like A'chook cannot attack. Castle so big that Amery get big head and too proud, and he try to kill forest giant tribe. Forest giants big men with tusks like strongest boar, bigger than Draggert's, and green moss skin like smartest toad. He attack forest giant tribe and kill many, but Amery's big head mostly empty because he not know there two tribes and he only kill one. On night when sky was dark and full of storm and rain, forest giants come to keep with big rocks and trees. They break walls like old turtle shell and kill people hiding inside. Amery Vraath never seen again. He still haunts old, ruined keep in the forest until his bones are found and put down into ground.

Keith frowns throughout the story.

Jorr cuts in.
Jorr: Up ahead's Swift Creek. It turns the forest into a nasty swamp for a spell. Keep your wits about you.

Draggert keeps his voice low.
Draggert: Throrin, you can read dwarf letters?

Throrin: I don't ruddy well just look at them and dream.

Draggert rummages in his sagging backpack and withdraws yet another item. It is a bent, old shovel.
Draggert: I have a shovel with dwarven handwords on it. You can have as gift.
He hands the shovel to Throrin.

Keith cuts in, speaking in dwarven.
Keith (Dwarven): I believe Draggert is "a few rivets short of a masterpiece." Is that the saying?

Throrin grins, nodding to Keith as he looks over the shovel.
Throrin (Dwarven): As close as I've heard any of you short-lived folks speak it.

Throrin reads the runes on the shovel closely.
Throrin: Draggert, this is...it's called "the seeking spade." Where did you get this?

Draggert: I help save dwarf men who get buried in old mine shaft that collapse because of screaming woman.

Throrin looks at Draggert for a long moment.
Throrin: You know, you're alright...for a half-orc. I thank ye, Draggert, on behalf of my kinsman, and I accept this noble gift. How did you bend it?

Draggert shrugs.
Draggert: I had to move very big rock.

Throrin sighs.
Throrin: Well, I suppose orcs can't be trusted with nice things, no matter their intentions.

A wide expanse of dark water has flooded the woodland in this low valley. Trees still protrude from the calm, dark waters here and there, but many swaths of land seem to be little more than pools of algae-choked water. The trill of frogs and the whine of insects fills the air. The forest road leads right down to the edge of the bog, up to a rickety-looking causeway made of thick planks of wood lashed together with mossy rope. The wooden causeway runs for several hundred feet through the bog, only a foot or so above the water.

Throrin: Agh, this looks like a good place to get ambushed, if you ask me.
Throrin unhooks his hammer from his belt loop.

Corrigan draws his swords quietly.

Keith: Really? But you can see a long way. There's nothing.

Draggert: Could be enemy under bridge, or hiding in water with flower tubes.

The group pauses for a moment, listening to the trill of frogs and the buzz of insects. Then, they step onto the walkway with Draggert at the front. They haven't gone far when they notice a half-submerged caravan stuck in the muck a short distance out into the swamp, the canvas tarp across its top rumpled and rotting, one wheel protruding from the murk.

Draggert gets as close as he can to the edge of the walkway, peering at the caravan.

The bog below Draggert gives a massive, rippling lurch and a blurred shape bursts upward, sending a murky spray of swamp water into the air. A snakelike head hangs on the end of a long, powerful neck attached to a bloated body, where still more necks attach until the creature stretches out six long, whipping snake heads, all covered in dull green scales, to attack. The monster must be the size of a horse-drawn cart!

Corrigan: HYDRA!

Draggert is caught completely by surprise. The six heads lash down, each striking with blinding speed. Draggert flings his axe up, parrying one of the heads as two more nip at his legs. He stumbles back, and another of the heads bites savagely into his side, its needle teeth tearing through his armor. He screams, beating at it ineffectively with the haft of his axe. The head lifts him from his feet and twists downward, flinging Draggert onto the boardwalk where he lands with a heavy thud and does not move.

Corrigan rushes forward, rolling under one of the striking heads and swinging his sword upward at it, just as it snakes out of reach.

Jorr looses an arrow into the monster's body with a wet thwup.

Throrin mutters a prayer to Moradin that they might triumph. A warm glow suffuses he and his allies.

Keith points his index finger, firing a smoking, black ray that strikes the body of the beast, sapping its strength.

The hydra roars, a peculiar frog-like sound, and surges half onto the causeway, its heavy feet causing the wood to creak and groan. It lashes out at Corrigan, its teeth grazing his shoulder. The rest of its heads batter and smash into the armored dwarf, but Throrin stays on his feet, screaming defiantly.

Corrigan suddenly leaps from the causeway and into the bog, fetid water rising to his chest, he kicks his legs and swims underneath the hydra's body, swords splashing as he strikes up at it.

Jorr backpedals well out of reach of the monster, loosing another arrow.

Throrin steps over the fallen half-orc, fending off the hydra's heads with his wide, steel shield. He speaks a few words of prayer, touching Draggert's back and suffusing him with healing magic. Draggert's eyes open, angry and bloodshot.

Keith follows Jorr, speaking an incantation and sending two burning lances of fire out from his hand. They strike the hydra's body, inflicting smoking, charred wounds in its scaly flesh.

Three of the hydra's heads snake beneath its body, biting and thrashing at Corrigan. The ranger is quick, even deep in the murk, and he twists in the water and dodges them all, frustrating the monster. The other three batter Throrin with savage bites, the third head biting straight down and onto the dwarf's shield where it is raised to catch in the beast's mouth, fending off a devastating bite to the dwarf's head.

Draggert rolls suddenly across the wooden boards, on his back, and swings his axe with the momentum, cleaving a deep, bloody rend into the Hydra's exposed belly. He screams as loud as the monster.

The hydra sags from the force of Draggert's blow, and Corrigan at last finds his mark. His swords flash upward in three beautiful strokes, liver, gut, and heart. He swims out of the way as the beast gives a final, shuddering breath and collapses dead into the swamp.

Keith bites his nails.
Keith: Heck of a job, everyone! Well done.

Jorr: Very impressive.

Throrin: Damnation! I didn't even get to crack a skull.

Draggert stands, covered in fresh blood. The mad look in his eyes slowly subsides.

Corrigan climbs back onto the walkway, and offers Draggert a stoppered potion.

Draggert takes it, drinking it down.

Keith: Draggert, you alright?

Draggert says nothing. He digs in his alligator skin bag, taking out another potion. He drinks it.

Throrin: You took a beating, ye hairy bastard.

Corrigan and Keith move to check out the wagon.

Draggert searches his bag, finds another potion, and drinks it quietly.

The wagon is old and mostly empty. Near the front, you find a few corpses gone waxy from too long sitting in the bog. One of them, completely submerged in the deep muck, offers up a glint of shining metal.

Corrigan reaches deep and pulls hard, withdrawing a beautiful shirt of glinting chain that slides easily from the body of its former owner. The armor looks brand new, completely unaffected by the slimy bog.

Throrin falls on his ass on the walkway.
Throrin: Mithral silver!

Corrigan whistles softly in amazement.
Corrigan: Now this is treasure.
He heads back up onto the walkway, stowing the armor in his bag for now.

Draggert takes a deep breath and then examines the fallen hydra, trying to figure out the best way to skin the beast.

Jorr shifts uncomfortably on his feet. He looks around continually at the swamp.

Keith: What's wrong, Jorr?

Jorr: Just remembering this old bit of woodsman's wisdom that, in summer, hydras sometimes nest in pairs.

Keith: Um, guys! I think we should get going!

Draggert gives up on the hydra corpse. It's too big.

The party swiftly moves down the boardwalk, across the causeway, and deeper into the forest. They traverse a few more miles, until nightfall closes in around them.