Players in Attendance - Jason Jurisch (Froimos), Jason Alway (Kurock Stonehammer), Greg Sallee (Davros), Dustin Haugen (Barack Tenderfoot), Paul Brazelton (Poe), Chris Rocco (Pendrynn Hamut)

Date: Meloren Morning, the 13th of Rouenne, 617 S.R.

Location: Millitia Training Ring in The Town of Blackfield

*CRACK!* A wooden sword incessantly rammed into Froimos’s shoulders, *WHACK!* Neck *WHUMP!* Gut. Constellations that previously tracked across the night sky have set up residence in his peripheral vision. Cracks of pain rippled across the warlord-in-training’s back as he struggled in futility to raise his shield above the useless position it occupied dangling his belt. *SMACK!!* Too late, the blunted blade slammed into his forehead, bringing the pantheon of stars forefront into Froimos’s vision. Watching with amusement, the stars formed the Laughing Dog and danced back and forth as if happily welcoming him, while the shimmering form of the Wounded Dragon looked on with anger as it licked the weeping wounds formed by twin crimson nebulae.

Froimos awakened, heart beating quickly and layered in a thin sheen of sweat; the aches of the past four month’s “lessons” only too apparent across his battered and bruised body. Over that time, he and his childhood friends had been through more than they ever believed they could handle. They had gone from being “know it all townies”, to the clean slate and orderly lines of of a trained soldier. Most surprising to Froimos, despite the pain, he’d begun to relish the appearance in the barracks doorway of his trainer and tormentor, Master Sergeant Gim, framed by sunlight and casting an oddly long shadow for a Dwarf.

“Get up lazybones! It’s a beau’iful day for soom pain!” Gim walked slowly through the barracks room, his iron shod boots slamming into the foot of each bunk, his thick dwarven accent grating on your ears. “If you want to graduate ye’ll get yer arse’s out of bed, get geared up, and prepare for battle! Who are you to deny the townsfolk their annual entertainment, it’s time for blood, it’s time for the Commencement Clash!”

Commencement Clash

As everyone knows, the “Commencement Clash” is one of the biggest entertainment events of the year, when nearly all of the townsfolk come to view the new inductees battle it out to see which cohort is the best. The battlefield is set on the largest arena in the center of the obstacle course. The seats are filled with the cheering populace of Blackfield, who see this as a major annual entertainment event and Brother Maynard can be seen on the sideline with a box full of potions and poultices to aid anyone who may be severely injured.

Knowledge-History Check: DC15 – You remember that initiates have died at this event in the past. The last one happened when you were just a child in the stands some 13 years ago.

The crowd rumbled with anticipation as the party assembled their arms and armor. Master Sergeant Gim pulled the cohort aside for a pre-battle scrum. “Alright yeh youngun’s, the big day’s here, so if you’re interested in minimizing yer scars, listen up! Your weapons have been replaced with wooden training weapons. Those of yeh talky, hand wavey types, try and keep the damage to a minimum. (DM Note: Everyone deals subdual/non-lethal damage.) You’re disqualified if you leave or are removed from the arena grounds, you win of you knock out, or remove all other opponents from the arena. Other than that, there are no other rules! Any questions? No?”

The look on Gm’s face that’s normally a permanent mask of contempt lightens a bit. “Now I’m not much one for words, but a powerful warlord, friend and general once told me that the words held in a warriors mind are often more powerful than the weapons their hands.”

With that he turned to Froymas, “You’re a natural born leader son, and that which yer momma didn’t give ya, I did. Go out there, support yer mates, lead from the front line and you’ll make it through in one piece.”

Facing Davros, Gim continued, “Although I don’t really understand the nature of your powers, I do understand it’s potential. You have the ability to do things that many can only dream of, but you have to stay grounded and use that power to help your brothers . Target the enemy outliers, keep them fretting and guessing, and you can pull through this battle.”

To Pendrynn he says,”You’ve proven yerself to be a noble man worthy of heroic deeds. Also, it seems that the gods have smiled upon yer fate and faith. Use that to bring fortune upon yer cohort and make the gods proud of their decision to support yeh!”

With a nod of his head, Gim acknowledged Kurock,”You’ve proved to me these past few months that you’re tough as the rocks we dwarves come from and worthy of a longer beard than y’er currently afflicted with. Go out there and do our people proud Stonehammer, make them fear the sight of a mass of muscle and steel advancing on them!”

Gim looked up to see the cleric staring at him intently. “Now Poe, mind your cohort’s wounds well, bear them through the battle and they’ll protect you in turn. Pray your god heeds your cries and if not, pray your weapon arm has the perseverance your faith does.”

And finally, Gim turned to address Barack. “You’re quite good with that short blade, and we both know how effective short packages can be.” Gim launches a quick and withering glare at the sniggering form of Pendrynn the Paladin, “Make em watch their backs and open up opportunities for yer mates, strike deep and spring lightly. You’ll do well if you heed these words.”

With that, Gim stepped back and resumed the demeanor of the drill sergeant you’ve come to love to hate. “You’ll have to pick a name for your group, as I can’t just have them announce you as the “Can’t march in a straight line and complain about their silly aching muscles” Cohort. Did you have a name in mind?” Much mumbling occurred, and the Paladin continued to offer up “Pendrynn’s Puncitillious Pugileers” or somesuch nonsense long after the group shot down the idea until Gim gave him a swift thwack to the back of his head. Davros remembered a wicked scar he had gotten as a youth when he encountered a Black Wolverine digging through the garbage behind his home, and the group decided it to be a worthy moniker. “The Black Wolverines it is” announced Gim, “A nasty little creature that stinks, is generally disagreeable and fights hard when backed into a corner.” Gim nods with approval, “Yep, that’ll do quite nicely.” With that, Gim wishes the group luck and wanders in the direction of the judges table with the group’s name and roster in his hand.

As the newly minted Black Wolverine Cohort was led to the tournament grounds, a group of their fellow inductees was visible assembling across the arena, preparing themselves for combat. Easily identifiable from her lithe form and long blond hair was Althea. Always intending to become a Wizard upon induction; the sparks arcing from the tip of her wand verified that her dream finally came true. Evon the cleric could be seen spending the pre-battle moments on his knees in supplication, sending prayers to Pelor to protect his comrades in the battle. The large, burly frame of Kelric the fighter was echoed by the much shorter, yet even more burly frame of the dwarven fighter Durgan. They could be seen swinging their implements in well muscled arms, attempting to tune their actions to the strange balance of the wooden training weapons. The trickster Desand nervously twirled a mahogany dagger in one hand and nimbly shifted his weight from side to side, his face an impassive mask disguising the calculations of risk flying behind his eyes. To Desand’s right was the form of the bow wielding ranger, Edarius, tossing handfuls of sand into the air to determine the wind’s intent in the upcoming combat.

The Members of Talon Cohort

The crowds began to quiet down as Turley Tunhill vaulted onto the judges table and began to yell in a voice seemingly incompatible with his diminutive size. “Ladies, gentlemen, all citizens of Blackfield. It’s my pleasure to announce the beginning of the 489th annual Commencement Clash!” Cheers of excitement rippled through the crowd. “We have the pleasure today of watching the two final training classes duke it out on the field of battle for honor, glory and not least of all, our pleasure! “Again, rousing cheers accompanied many tankards clanking together, sending cascades of ale foam on unsuspecting onlookers below. After taking a large gulp from his own mug, Turley continues. “Let’s hear a rousing cheer for our challengers in the northern corner of the field, Talon Cohort!”

After the noise level crescendos Turley continues, “Let’s hear a big cheer for our boys in the southern corner, the Black Wolverine Cohort!” The crowd roars, and a wave of adrenaline kicks in across all members of the group.

The Members of the Black Wolverine Cohort

“As always, the rules are as follows, if any team has all its members knocked unconscious or removed from the ring, they lose; they fight until one side remains, and that’s all!” With that, Turley lowered himself off the table and picked up a large mallet and swung it at the spare town bell pulled out of storage especially for this event. *GOOOOOOONNGGGGG!*

Combat

The nervous energy that had steadily built up in preparation for the battle exploded as the ringing peal of the town bell echoed across the arena. Moving as fast as their namesakes, the Black Wolverines propelled themselves onto the battlefield with shocking alacrity. As he ran for cover, crackles of eldritch energy flew from Davros’ hands towards the tall human fighter across the arena, forcing Kelrick to duck behind the earth berm in fornt of him, a close call that singed the hair off the back of his arms. A split second later the entirety of Talon cohort were struck by a massive pillar of fire called forth by the Half-Elf warlord Froimos; as he released the family heirloom spell that had been dancing about in his head. Only Desand was nimble enough to dive away from the licking flames.

Obscured by the smoke and heat, and inspired by the warlord’s bold attack, Barack rushed to the top of the protective berm in front of Talon’s position and launched a blinding barrage of five wooden shuriken directly at the enemy’s' eyes. The hollow thunks and screams of pain announcing that many of the projectiles had found their mark through the dying flames. As the injured members Talon Cohort attempted to recover from these vicious attacks, the remaining members of the Black Wolverines maneuvered for better position

A sudden feedback in magical energy dropped Davros to his knees, grabbing both sides of his head as if to hold his skull together and distracting Poe from focusing his faith. Ignoring the plight of his erudite friends, Kurock hefted his axe and charged into range of the blinded wizard Althea, smashing her to the ground with a blow so powerful it carried through to the adjacent Evon, nearly toppling him as well.

Froimos continued to shout encouragement to his friends as he prepared a strike for any unwary enemies unlucky enough to approach him. The thwack and swooshes of hit and missed blows filled the arena as the members of Talon Cohort buckled under the terrible onslaught facing them. They had barely enough time to catch their breath before Barack flanked their position and felled their ranger with a well placed strike to the base of his skull. As if that wasn’t enough, ribbons of twisting darkness leapt hungrily from Davros’s outstretched hands, embedding themselves in Kelrick’s chest, feeding on the burly fighter’s vital essence and dropping him to the ground. Behind the grim scene, axe heads loudly crashed against shields as the two Dwarven fighters faced off against one another.

Summoning his faith, Poe whispered a quick prayer to the Raven Queen, who heard his need and manifested a ghostly guardian; indistinct except for a glowing shield emblazoned with the symbol of a dark raven, bursts of divine radiance erupted from it to sear nearby foes.

Froymas, distracted by shouting motivating words at Poe, swung wildly at Evon the cleric, striking the ground and damaging his wooden weapon. The failed attack distracted Evon enough for Kurock to land a hefty blow to the back of is head, sending the cleric reeling into unconsciousness.

Durgen spun as he noticed Barack sneaking up behind him, opening a fatal chink in his defenses. Kurock took full advantage of this in a split second, swinging his axe with all his might. The loud crunch of wood greeting bone sounded the end of Durgen’s time in the arena.

Desand nervously looked around the battlefield, realizing he was the sole remaining combatant for Talon Cohort and decided to get some distance from the advancing Black Wolverines. Davros, eager to finish the battle, hurled an orb of magical force at the retreating rogue. Underestimating the amount of his energy he had dumped into the blast, an amazingly large and especially potent ball of magical energy streaked off to envelop Desand and explode. The gasps of the crowd exhoed across the arena as the flash died down and Desand’s body waws nowhere to be seen.

Almost a half a minute later, the trickster’s  crumpled form reappeared on the battlefield, wispy vapors steaming off of him. Brother Maynard rushed onto the field to check the condition of the fallen man, and after a few tense moments, raised his thumb to the sky. “He’s going to be OK, he’s merely unconscious.” With this good news, the crowd erupts with a hail of cheers and clapping!

All their foes fallen and all their members still standing, The Black Wolverines win!

All members of the Black Wolverines earn 300 XP (each)

Graduation

Once the members of both cohorts were treated for their injuries, hands were shaken and congratulations were passed on from the losing members of Talon Cohort. Gim moved in to break up the celebration and marched both cohorts to the parade grounds, where the members of the Charger, Raven, Anvil and Aegis Cohorts, were lined up in an immaculate formation.

After the graduating cohorts settled into formation, Guard Captain Anton Silvo stepped up to the podium to begin his speech. “Blackfield is proud to usher in this commencement day, when its sons and daughters take up their rightful place in an unbroken line of soldiers who are responsible for protecting the bloodlines of the children to come. You must be ever vigilant in the face of the darkness arrayed against us and keep safe the citizenry that, Melora willing, you will one day return to.”

I want to take this time to congratulate the members of the Black Wolverine Cohort on their impressive win. Please step forward and receive your just rewards” With that Anton pins a medal onto the uniforms of Davros, Pendrynn, Poe, Kurock, Barack and Froymas. “Also, at this time I would also like to award the cohort colors for both the Black Wolverines and Talon Cohort. The heart of a unit is the bond formed between soldiers, the mind is the training instilled by your leaders and the trials of experience, and the standard is a unit’s soul. In times of war, your standard is the rock to rally your defenses and the symbol to lead a charge. In times of peace, your standard is used to remind the people of the Blackfield of the sacrifices made to defend their lives. May it inspire bravery in your allies, and be a shining beacon to all who witness the feats of valor performed beside it on the battlefield.”

The Guard Captain pulls out an ancient looking scroll, written on some form of dried skin and bound with a thick woven yellow cord. “You will now take a knee and accept the oath which you are sworn to uphold”. As the cohorts swiftly take a knee, Captain Silvo opens the scroll with a deft motion and begins to read.

“I affirm this day that I will defend property and citizenry of the Town of Blackfield against all who rise to threaten her. I will bear allegiance to the brethren of my unit and will support them in their time of need, and I will obey the orders of the Town Elders appointed over me, who seek to lead our town towards a safer future. Those who would be bound by this oath, repeat after me, “My word is my bond”. The unanimous echoes of the phrase could be heard across the entire training field as all cohorts repeated those solemn words.

“Congratulations to the graduating members of Talon and the Black Wolverine Cohorts. May the luck of the five follow you as you execute the security of our citizenry as new members of Blackfield’s militia.” Hurrah! The crowd cheers, shoulders are clapped, wrists are grasped and flasks are quickly pulled out of hidden pockets and passed around. As the cohorts are released from duty for the remainder of the night, many drinks are quaffed at Sooties and the Braying Housewife and drunken songs echo through the streets as the group stumbles back to the barracks in a swaying, celebratory tangle.

On the Job

The next morning found the group slightly hung over, yet proud of their achievements and ready to begin the challenges of a soldierly life. Gim arrived to tell the members of the group that they are now fully enlisted in the Blackfield Militia proper with the rank of “Recruit”, additionally, Davros was assigned the title of “Cohort Leader”, with the explanation that this is a flexible and temporary assignment. Although this rank does have monetary benefits, it does not grant the ability to give orders. The primary responsibility of cohort leader is to be responsible for the allocation of loot.

As everyone is now a member of Blackfield’s Military, non-item loot is to be handled through quartermaster Tunhill. Monetary spoils (coins, jewelry, gemstones) are to be turned in to the cohort leader in the field, 50% of which are to be deposited with the quartermaster upon return to town, the remainder will be divided equally among the cohort. Iitems are to be divided amongst the cohort in an orderly and fair fashion. If there are any problems with the allocation of items, Quartermaster Tunhill will happily confiscate them in order to preserve unit cohesion.

Recruits earn 2gp per week, and the cohort leader earns 7gp, payable on the morning of each Meloren.

After Gim released the group they were told to assemble in the town hall to receive their first mission. 

The patrol route assigned to the group would take them north along the sootway, clearing minor debris from a recent storm, then off the path to do a little tactical maneuver training in the nearby woods. The Black Wolverines were also told to keep their eyes open for any signs of several game hunters who had been missing since last Iounsday, 7 days prior.

Additionally, the cohort was assigned a “Cohort Principal” for the group’s first few forays outside the gates, Kieran Ewanson (Human Ranger NPC) introduced himself and pulled out a map and went over a quick description of the territory immediately surrounding Blackfield.

Kieran described the main trade artery with Port Flume and the well defended farming colony of Burrowdown. “The Sootway is a well paved blackened road, because of the black dust that accumulated as a result of centuries of coal wagon traffic. It’s three days travel north through the Cleft Narrows and the Mist Fens before you arriving at Burrowdown. Another days ride to the north and you would see the silvery meandering of the river Anwar on the, with the town of Port Flume rising high on the horizon.” Kieran continued, “To Blackfields west you will encounter the Feywood, an ancient woods and home to the elven city of Hylea. To the south of blackfield lies the Bracken Hills, and the Tribes. A loose band of orcs, goblins and worse, the cause of much of Blackfield’s recent troubles. Further south you can see the icy tipped forms of the Everpeak Mountain range.” After the mission briefing, formation was released, Kieran indicates that the group has several hours before the patrol is due to depart, and they should say their appropriate goodbyes to their family and friends.

Barack took the time after the morning’s assembly to head to the quartermaster to speak with Turley and talked the halfling into handing over five more of the armory’s fifteen dusty shuriken. Pendrynn and Kurock tagged along and convinced Turley to upgrade their wooden shields to shiny steel shields.

Patrol

As the members of the Black Wolverines headed out of town for the very first time, the townsfolk of Blackfield came out of their homes and businesses along the road to the main gate, waving and wishing the group well on their first foray outside the protective walls that had sheltered them for their entire life.

The first few tentative steps outside Blackfield’s gates were upon the thirty foot wide section of no-mans-land separating the town’s main defensive wall from the 5 foot tall outer barbican. Small holes could be seen in the ground and on the outer wall itself.

 The ringing of the town bell could still be heard even after the group traveled several miles north along the sootway, and the everpresent rising cloud of black soot from the city could still be seen after a half a day’s travel.

Knowledge-History Check: DC15 – Froimos succeeded, revealing that these holes are actually part of a defensive network of gas vents that could be used to shunt noxious and flammable fumes out of the mines, which once ignited would result in a “flaming moat.” This defense is only used when the Blackfield is under direct assault. The last time that happened was over 30 years ago.
 
After the group proceeded north along the Sootway for several hours, they ran across the massive wreck of one of Blackfield’s coal wagons. Crumpled a dozen feet off the side of the road and lying on it’s side, it was snapped cleanly in half, like a broken matchstick. Measuring nearly 50 feet long, four of its six wide wheels were still attached pointing in odd planes relative to one another, the bent spring suspension, armored side shields and mounted repeating crossbows having long since been stripped from the wagons carcass. Despite the carnage, one still had to admire the quality craftsmanship behind the wagons design, such as the interior channel where three sumpter horses would be harnessed, protected from exterior dangers, or the large levers in the front of the wagon that would allow for direction and speed changes. Worrying thoughts returned to your mind wondering what would have had the power to crush such a machine in a single, clean blow.

Rising clouds on the distance were identified by Kieran as the beginnings of a severe Portalstorm, causing him to suggest they veer off the road and head to the East, into the low rolling hills and shrubbery of the Falcain Plains.

Knowledge-Nature Check: DC20 – Regarding the Portalstorm – Failed

As the group detoured east off the Sootway, they began started to encounter scattered scrub brush and small animals scampering out from under them. Aside from the rumbling thunderheads off in the distance, a blanket of eerie silence hung in the air. After a half an hour of this silent advance, the sound of Kieran’s shouted voice struck like an electric shock, “Ambush! To Arms!” He barely had time to drawn his bow as a rain of javelins and crossbow bolts streaked out of the bushes and towards the Black Wolverines.

Goblin Battle (Non Narrative, Just-the-Facts-Ma’am Style)

Barack leapt into battle, ran forward and launched a Deft Strike with his shuriken.

Penndrynn challenged a goblin to a divine challenge.

Many goblins burst from their cover points and hurled several javelins at both the paladin and rogue.

Davros blasted a force orb off and missed the goblin, cursing him with a warlock curse for good measure.

Kurock, Kieran and Froimos moved into better attack positions.

The paladin smites and radiant burned a gob, then attacked another and missed.

Barack had a rough time being shot and stabbed.

Kurock sent a mighty cleave through a goblin warrior and sharpshooter, wounding them both heavily.

Davros hurled an Eldritch Blast at the Goblin warrior he previously cursed, blasting him into gooey green smoking bits.

Froimos took advantage of the goblin being distracted by the Penndrynn’s divine challenge and sent a viper strike into the warriors side opening a large gash.

Barack deftly maneuvered between two goblins who attempted to attack him, distracted them enough to allow Kurock an opening to land a savage attack from behind.

Penndrynn stabbed a wounded goblin cowering in the bushes, finishing him off.

One of the Goblin Snipers attempted to run and was cut down by Barack.

Kurock rushed the last goblin hiding in the bushes, slamming into him with another heavy blow.

As Pendrynn finished off the final wounded goblin, Kieran spotted another Goblin breaking from its hiding place in the bushes to the east.

Barack gave chase, following the goblin through shrubs and over continuing uneven terrain for several minutes, until it disapeared behind a particularly large hill.

Kurock, Davros, Penndrynn, Froimos and Barack each earn 150 XP. 

Player To-Do’s: Send me an email with one thing you liked, and one thing you disliked or didn’t care for.

 (To be continued in the next adventure, “Into the Icy Dark”…)

Tags: Out of the Gates