The news of King’s Cedric’s murder leaves most of the population in a state of being stunned. War is something expected, but the loss of the King strikes everyone to their core. In the recent past Cedric battled three Kilmoorian invasions and fought back the encroaching goblin nation of Raalthu’uk to the north. Though reigning for only a few years he had proven himself to be one of the most noble and heroic leaders Corvel has ever had.
There is also news that the province of Holaf has turned traitor and is now openly supporting the Kilmoorian invaders. Amongst the people of Corvel the hatred of Kilmoor runs deep, even more so for those would would betray their own and work with the dragon-worshippers.
The majority of the leaders of the various provinces are gathering in Blariston to choose a new king. Even Lady Elundra Lorechester has gone north to the capitol, Greyhelm for her safety. Since Cedric had no direct successor it is believed by many that his younger brother, Prince Marcus Greystone, will most likely be the next king. However there are still formalities to be observed and most hope that by St. Barlo’s Day Marcus will be the new heir.
The dead of Redshore are buried, Rellianite priests giving them their deserved funerary rites. The corpses of the Kilmoorians are piled up outside the town’s walls and set afire. It is a very long, sad, and grim day.
The capture of the Kilmoorian warship and several prisoners doesn’t even raise spirits much. Though there is much talk about killing those they captured, all know that Captain Scrimm is a fair man and will not allow such mob actions to take place. They will be safe under his guard at the palace’s dungeon.
That evening everything is quite subdued in the House of Duels. Fare gives away food and drink, charging nothing. "It is in honor for Cedric," she says simply, fighting back tears. Though many do come here, there is no revelry or joy. People simply sit in corners or at their usual tables, wondering what is going to happen next.
At midnight their is a Mass held for all the slain, especially King Cedric. Maurice, Kazier and Victor attend this function along with many others. Dril and Galith do not. They stay at the inn, each lost in their own thoughts. When they return they go to their beds and sleep and uneasy sleep.
When morning arrives the group that had taken the Kilmoorian galleon the night before all gather for breakfast. Though Fare looks tired, the dwarven woman complains not at all and prepares a good meal for those who took the fight farther on to the enemy.
"You people did good," she says, setting down plates of warm bread and scrambled eggs. "It was a great idea to go and see if there was an enemy boat nearby. I gotta say I am impressed you took it without getting killed or torn up."
Victor nods and bites into some of the food. "Well, the whole thing just made sense to me. It’s so sad that our victory turned to tragedy when we came back. Had we known that King Cedric had been killed it is doubtful we would have taken any prisoners alive."
Eating on the fruit and vegetables there, Maurice turns to Galith. "If it were not for our little friend here I do think we wouldn’t have made it back. He stopped the boat from exploding." Maurice eats the food before him and attempts to look happy doing it. You see most elves are vegetarians after all.
The pixie just tee hees merrily, eating some raisins and nuts. "Even us tiny people have our uses!"
"Yeah we do," sayd Dril, eating a mouthfull of bread.
Later a guard comes to the inn. He looks around and sees the unusual group eating breakfast. "Greetings. Captain Scrimm would like to meet with you all at your earliest convenience. Up at the castle."
Kazier glances over, wiping his chin with a napkin. "Is it about reward money for the boat we took?"
The guard frowns. "I do not know sir. I was just sent to make contact with you and so I have. Good day, gentle sentients." With that he turns and leaves.
Finishing their meal, everyone straps on their weapons and armor. Maurice goes over to Fare and bows to her. "An excellent meal. Thank you for being such a gracius hostess." He then gives her that toothy smile again.
She smiles back, glancing to their table. "You didn’t eat any of the sausages or ham though."
The large orc just gives what is almost a pleasant laugh. "I don’t eat meat, my lady." With another bow he heads on out with the rest of the group. Fare just watches them go, remembering that he is insane. She gives a big sigh and starts cleaning up their table wondering if they will be back.
At the castle they meet with Captain Scrimm. Repairs are being made from the damage done by the Kilmoorian attack. He salutes the group, showing them a fair degree of respect. Both Victor and Maurice return his salute while the rest just look on.
"Glad you made it," says the Captain. "I want to know if you are interested in a job."
He explains to them that he plans on taking the Kilmoorian prisoners north to Greyhelm. Once there they will then be transported to Blaris, the capitol of Corvel. The enemy captain and other combatants might have some useful information which can help in this new war. "Also, I fear if they remain much longer here in Redshore they will be torn apart by the populace. These are good folk here, but with the King’s death on their minds, they will not be safe."
Victor steps forward "I can’t speak for my companions but I will go with you on this mission." He looks back and everyone raises a hand, Dril being last. "We will do what we can to help you Captain."
That evening the group arrives at the castle to help provide protection on their trip. Captain Scrimm, six guards, a driver and the group will be travelling together. There are four prisoners in all, the Kilmoorian captain, his two lackeys, and the one captured wearing dragon armor at the castle. Down in the dungeon the dusky skinned and dark eyed prisoners glare at everyone as they come by. There is nothing but hatred in them.
Kazier goes to the dungeon, looking the prisoners over. Their looks of hate do nothing to bother him. Dril tags along with him as well. For some reason the surly sprig seems very pleased that these people are behind bars.
Before leaving he goes to Scrimm and asks him a question that has been bothering him some. "There are only four of these guys. Why do you need us when you have so many guards already?"
The older warrior looks out to the King’s Road, the one they will be travelling on. "My elven friend we live in a time of chaos and uncertainty. True we only have four prisoners but I have no idea what we might meet out there on the road to Greyhelm. You and your companions have proven very adept at combat. I just like to stack the odds in my favor as much as possible."
Kazier nods. "Gotcha."
They rest at the castle that night, dining on decent food and drink. There is not a lot of frivolity, everyone is still in a dark mood, still contemplating the death of the king.
When the morning comes they head on out. The prisoners are all loaded into a cage on the back of a wagon, and with the exception of the driver everyone else will be on foot. It should take just a week or so to make it north to Greyhelm.
Captain Scrimm rides along with the driver, a young woman. The six guards fan out, three on either side of the caged wagon. Victor, Galith and Dril move back and forth, keeping alert. Maurice and Kazier go ahead to act as scouts. Scrimm laughs when he sees the big orc moving ahead, but then is somewhat surprised when he watches him vanish into the woods.
It is a warm day with a few puffy clouds lazily drifting along in a blue sky. It goes without incident. Soon the town of Redshore is left behind as they move along the road. Scrimm looks over to Victor, walking steadily alongside the wagon. "Your friend Maurice, he seems to be quite agile for an orc."
The warrior from Tseraq furrows his brow some, wondering how exactly to say what he needs to. "That is true, Captain Scrimm. However he is under the belief that he is not an orc but an elf."
"An elf?" He almost bursts out laughing.
Victor shrugs. "He handled himself very well with his sword last night against the Kilmoorians on the ship. Also he does have an elvish accent and I’ve heard him talk to Kazier in their racial tongue."
Scrimm shakes his head. "But he’s an orc. A big green orc."
"Well," replies Victor slowly. "Maybe we should just play along."
Slowly Scrimm looks over to the driver, giving her an odd look. She just gives a smile back, brushing some of her red hair back. "I have a feeling this is going to be a bad trip," he says to her.
That night they make camp off the side of the road. The prisoners are given bread and water. They whisper to themselves in their gutteral tongue. However there is always a guard or two nearby keeping watch. Dril in particular keeps attention on them, seemingly enjoying their discomfort.
The driver gets some flint and steel and starts up a fire. One of her additional skills seems to be that of a cook. The other soldiers, Scrimm included, tend to avoid her. They camp away from her, rolling out blankets preparing to rest on the other side of the wagon. All of them break out rations and eat them, apparantly wanting none of the meal she is preparing.
However she seems like a pleasant girl, friendly enough.
In a cooking pot she makes some beef stew along with some fresh cabbages brought to her by the foraging Kazier. Everyone sits down, relaxing from the days exertions. Many of them are tired and sore from all the recent fighting they have been going through.
As Maurice dips some bread into his bowl of stew he looks over to her. "What’s your name girl? I am Maurice leChavilier."
She smiles back. "Me? They call me Jinx."
"Jinx?" Says Dril, making sure he heard her right.
She hands out more bowls of stew to Victor and Kazier. The food she has prepared is quite tasty. "Yep, that’s me. Jinx."
"Well you have made some good food here Jinx. It’s not bad at all," says Victor.
She gives him a genuinely warm smile when he says that. "Really? I do try my best."
Kazier looks to the other guards and Scrimm. "I noticed today that they kept away from you, all except for Scrimm. They don’t seem to care for you too much."
A look of pain crosses her face, for just a heartbeat. "Jinx isn’t my real name you know. It’s my nickname. I don’t know why but bad things seem to happen around me."
"How bad?" Asks Dril.
"Just weird stuff really. Things just don’t seem to go right when I am around, I don’t know why. I pray to St. Lyssa and Rellian, but something always seems to go wrong." She stops for a moment, stirring the fire with a stick. Looking at the group she sees she is the center of their attention.
"Captain Scrimm thought it would be a good idea for me to get out of Redshore. That’s why I’m here with you. People say I draw trouble."
Maurice sets down his bowl, having rapidly eaten his meal. "Glad you are with us Jinx. You are a good cook and seem fine to me. If others have problems with you, well that is their problem." He stands up and sits besides her. "If they give you any trouble, just tell me and I’ll set them straight."
She turns and looks over at the oddly dressed orc. "Thanks, Maurice. I’ll remember that."
Once the meal is finished Victor takes out a lute and begins to play some nice, relaxing music. It is very pleasant, and everyone leans back with full bellies, looking up at the bright stars in the night sky. It is a nice evening. If it weren’t for the glaring Kilmoorians nearby in a cage it would be perfect.
As Victor continues to play, Maurice clears his throat and sings a few elvish songs. Though his voice is low, he doesn’t do too badly of a job. Orcs are not good singers, good drum players though, but singing is not their strong suit. However, Maurice does an amazingly decent job. If one didn’t look at him they could almost imagine a husky, baratone elf singing these tunes.
There are watches set up for the night, to make sure nothing bad happens. First Maurice, then Dril, then Victor. During Victor’s watch late in the evening he sees the Kilmoorian Captain, his great moustache somewhat drooping now, motions him over.
Cautiously he goes to him, keeping out of arm’s reach. "I need out," the man says with a very bad accent. "I need to pee."
Victor looks at him, and the other prisoners who are watching him. He can almost feel their hatred of him, their loathing. Though stripped of everything except gray tunics, the Kilmoorians still look quite threatening.
"You can stay in the cage. Just aim carefully when you go."
The Kilmoorian Captain grumbles, hands clenching the bars. Right in front of Victor he lifts up his tunic and pisses. Victor thinks for a moment that the man is actually trying to hit him with the yellow stream and is glad he kept his distance. When he finishes he just stares at Victor for a moment, then sitting back down with his other villainous comrades.
When morning comes they have a simple breakfast before travelling on towards the nearby town of Goodland.
Maurice and Kazier go ahead, moving alongside in the forest. Both the elf and orc are quite skilled at moving stealthfully through the woods. Dril walks by the wagon, keeping an eye on the prisoners. When he gets the chance he spits some of his chewing tobacco in their direction. For their part they just glare back at the rough-looking sprig.
Galith keeps to the air, buzzing from branch to branch and back to the group. The smallish pixie enjoys being out of the city, away from all the mountainous buildings and groups of biggers. The ones he is with now seem nice enough to him, treating him well. It is a big and strange world, and he loves seeing what is around every bend in the road. For a fleeting second he wonders what might have happend to Dalin, and then buzzes on some more seeing a new distraction.
For his part Victor just paces alongside the wagon. His armor gets him quite hot as he moves on in this warm weather. However he is from Tseraq and doesn’t want any to think he is not able to carry himself well. Every once in a while he will brush his forehead with a bit of cloth, making sure he at least looks good as one of his station should.
Jinx drives the horses and they continue on. Like the day before it is a nice one. Before too long the road begins to parallel a narrow river. While it progresses though they all notice that there is no traffic at all. This is a bit strange since this is one of the "King’s Roads" after all. These are paths that are regularly patrolled and all can use with relative safety.
However, the times do seem to be changing.
As the group continues on, Galith flies back to Captain Scrimm. "Kazier told me to have you all stop. He’s seen something ahead, it might be dangerous."
Signalling his men the soldiers fan out, gazing in a circle out to the forest and the path ahead and behind. Scrimm gets off the wagon, hand on his sword hilt, standing by Victor. Dril takes another mouthfull of chew and gets a throwing dagger into either hand. He looks back at the prisoners and can see they are hoping for an opportunity to escape.
On one side of the road here the trees climb high, their great branches intertwining, creating a canopy of green. Below it is shadowy, with only an ray of light here or there. The other side is the river, slowly gurgling on by.
The road is wide, with many signs of constant travel, but something is in the air. Something not quite right. Each person there tries to mentally prepare themselves for whatever might happen next.
Galith perches on Jinx’s shoulder. The girl looks to him and smiles. He grins back, running his tiny hands through his black, spiked up hair. "I’ve got magic, I can protect you," he whispers in her ear.
"I’m sure you can," she says smiling even more.
One of the guards just looks over to her and shakes his head. "Jinx," he mutters beneath his breath.
After half an hour passes by both Maurice and Kazier return. They have grim expressions on their faces, and both have weapons in hand. Obviously there is something amiss. Maurice looks to the woods, saber drawn, looking, searching. His silence just gets everyone more on edge.
Kazier goes to Scrimm. "Captain, we found a farm house up ahead. It was burned down yesterday, maybe even last night. Maurice and I carefully checked everything over, looking for survivors and clues as to what happend."
"So what did happen?" Asks Scrimm, hand clenching and unclenching the hilt of his blade.
Taking a deep breath Kazier knows what he is about to say next will probably scare some of the soldiers. "There were four bodies there. Three men and a woman. Their heads were missing. All around were tracks of wargs and . . . And of goblins."
"Goblins?!" Says Scrimm in near disbelief. "Their numbers have been on the decline for years! They are practically unheard of here in Greyhelm! Are you sure of this?"
Kazier looks over to Maurice, nodding his head towards him. "He’s fought goblins before up in Brudic, in the Cursed Woods. He knows their tracks, their spoor. It was definitely goblins, not human raiders, Kilmoorians or anything else."
"They take the heads as trophies don’t they?" Asks Victor. He’s never seen one of the fearsome goblins before and hoped he never would.
"That they do," answers Kazier.
Maurice takes a few steps back, blade still in hand. "I’ve seen what headcatchers can do. Those people were killed by goblins and there were a lot of them. We need to go back and take care of their bodies. It’s the decent thing to do."
This is a problem Scrimm had not anticipated, and looks as if by accident over to his driver. "I suppose you are right, their bodies need burying." He looks to Galith. "Up ahead there is a town called Goodland. Go there and see how they are faring. If there is a large mob of goblins about then they might have attacked them as well."
The pixie nods and waves a hand. "Right on it!" His wings move and hum and in an instant Galith is on his way, hoping to find a living town and not ruins. Every day that passes by he learns more and more about the world and is beginning to think it isn’t a very pleasant place at all.
With Kazier and Maurice as guides they travel up the road and get to the ruins of the farmhouse. Everyone is on full alert, knowing full well the dangers that might be out there. The home is still smouldering and the headless corspes are strewn about. It is not a very pleasant sight.
Scrimm looks back to the wagon of prisoners. "Open it up and let them out, but keep their leg shackles on." His soldiers comply and the Kilmoorians all step out, stretching and enjoying this little bit of freedom they have. Each knows that if they try to run they won’t make it far.
Always Dril keeps an eye on them, hands hovering over his throwing blades. The sprig moves up to the ship’s captain, the one with the large moustache. "You all are gonna do some digging. Got four graves to make."
The man just laughs. "I’ll be doing no such work. It is beneath a Kilmoorian!" He growls back. The others join in, their humor mocking the poorly dressed little person before them. This goes on for just a moment.
Dril just nods and very quickly draws a knife and grabs the man’s hand. Before he can even scream Dril has slashed his thumbnail off with his razor sharp blade.
"I said you GOT SOME GRAVES TO DIG!" The captain grimaces in pain, sucking on his bleeding thumb and glaring with intense hatred at the sprig. Dril just glares back, bloodied knife in hand. He then spits some chew out onto the man’s boots. "Want me to cut something else off?"
With slow reluctance the Kilmoorian prisoners dig the graves of the four murdered people. Dril keeps on top of them, keeping them busy. His actions have disturbed Scrimm but the sprig has certainly gotten them motivated. Victor also is bothered by this torture, but he keeps silent. Their enemies do such terrible things, not the people of Corvel.
Kazier keeps watch as do the soldiers. Jinx stays atop the wagon, ready to get the horses moving at a moment’s notice.
Maurice moves over to them as they dig the graves with simple tools, making shallow trenches. "You murderous chaos worshippers are getting treated pretty well as far as I’m concerned. Doing some work beats getting killed by the people back in Redshore doesn’t it? Something that really wouldn’t have bothered me you know."
The Kilmoorian Captain looks up at the orc, and smiles. "I am just a soldier, doing my job."
Maurice just grins back, it is one far from being pleasant. "You aren’t a soldier now, just a prisoner. You’re lucky Dril got to you first. I would have cut off a lot more."
An hour before nightfall the bodies are buried. Jinx, the driver says a few silent prayers over their graves. The Kilmoorians are put back into the cage on the wagon and they continue on.
Galith returns. "Goodland is still there, but their leader says they’ve been spotting goblins over the past couple of days. The folk there seem scared."
"Let’s hurry then," says Scrimm.
Picking up their pace they move on quickly and make it to the small village of Goodland. It is by the river and there are just over a dozen homes in this rather humble town. The people here are all armed, with spears and swords, looking very very nervous. They are bringing in carts and overturnig them, making impromptu barricades between some of the buildings.
Taking a deep breath Dril looks up to the darkening sky. "A battle’s comin, I can smell it." He starts looking around the area for some healing herbs. They’ll shortly come in useful, he knows this. With all he’s been through he knows how to fix a hurt person up fairly well.
A man with a wide hat and a white beard comes up and salutes. "I’m Sheriff Brim. Your pixie told us that you were headed this way, we sure could use your help."
"What’s going on?" Asks Maurice, watching the townsfolk in their work.
The elderly man called Brim motions towards the town and all the people moving about. "We believe we are going to be attacked this evening. We have word that the Bloody Hatchet Tribe is coming this way and they want to destroy us."
"The Bloody Hatchet Tribe? Are you sure?" Asks Scrimm. He has heard of these violent marauders before. "I heard that they had been wiped out by the King’s Wardens years ago."
Putting his hat back on Brim sadly shakes his head. "From the few survivors of the outer homes we believe it is that group. Their leader is the notorious halfbreed Glork-Rexxar. He was thought to have died long ago but it seems he has returned."
Victor moves close, joining the conversation. "I’ve heard of this halfbreed. He’s been active in Greyhelm and in the Green provinces. If memory serves correctly this creature has a fondness for religious icons. Do you have anything like that here?"
The harried Sheriff Brim shrugs. "We do have a small Temple dedicated to the goddess Gweir. There are a few holy symbols . . . ."
"Goblins," says Maurice through clenched teeth as though the very word is painful for him to speak. "If they come it will be when it is at it’s darkest. If that’s true then we’ve only got a few hours to get Goodland ready for battle. We’ve got work to do."
Chronicled by Ken Paynter aka...Maurice leChevalier