Dead cat bounce

As he looks down from the rooftop at the others slaughtering the two hags, Vogir smiles at the little gnomess Zavia.

Despite being in the ‘forbidden lands’, despite being pursued by the seven ‘Black riders’, he’s never laughed more or felt more happy.

The teleportation trick that she’d performed and he’d copied was hilarious.

Making the monstrous cat suddenly appear twenty feet in the air and letting it drop to the ground…

Twice!

The ‘poor’ creature never stood a chance.

Now, after a night’s rest in the relative safety of the farmhouse, they can press on towards the dwarven Mjoovitnir’s homeland.

Decorations and party flavours

It was only a few days until the celebrations would begin and Narcissus prowled his palace with barely concealed eagerness.

A weeks worth of enforced adoration.

He could hardly wait.

The streets and buildings had been cleaned and painted.

Blue and yellow bunting had been strung from every parapet.

Banners of his own image had been hung between rooftops.

The Dragon-born’s armour had been polished to reflective perfection.

The Black-cloaks were all freshly died to the nadir of darkness.

The lowly Kobolds were as clean as could be hoped for.

Even the Human vermin had been forcibly washed and given new burlap clothes to wear.

The Dwarves had delivered enough ale to supply the town for months.

The Elven musicians had arrived and the Halfling acrobats were already practicing in the market.

Of all these things though, it was the expectation of the tribute food he was anticipating the most.

What delicacies would his chefs’ prepare for him?

Narcissus’ diet had been reduced to brainless cows, sheep and chickens since he’d arrived in Khajag.

Running his sinuous tongue around the spaces between his razor-sharp teeth, the young Dragon imagines all the delicious treats that are in store for him…

Mags power

Not even bothering to attempt to pull the massive, armoured Ogre into their tent, Orestes strips the leaden creature where it lays.

The armoured Ogre only had three items of interest but those three items are very interesting!

Treasure:

Magnetic plate mail +4 (Lvl:19 105,000gp)

Inescapable greatsword +4 (Lvl:18 85,000gp)

Ironskin belt (Lvl:15 25,000gp)
Coin purse containing: 42gp, 132sp and 49cp

The scared, scarred boy

Avdimi rolls the magical charm around in his hand.

The strange gnomess gave it to him.

Gave it to him.

Rubbing his itchy scars, he considers this gift.

He’s never had anything that actually belonged to him before. His Gnomish masters have improved his lot and the lot of his fellows but they’re still slaves.

Well treated maybe but certainly not free.

Perhaps this magical device might be the key to his freedom?

Avdimi’s thoughts are arrested though by the arrival of a dozen orcs struggling to deliver a fresh Snowlbear. A replacement for the one that was slaughtered by the adventurers.

‘Over here you little maggot!’ shouts the leader of the orcs.

All of the orcs are connected to the screeching snowlbear by long metal poles with chains wrapping around the creature. Binding its massive arms tightly to its sides.

It’s apparent though, that even twelve full-grown orcs are barely able to contain it.

Hurrying, Avdimi runs around behind it and attaches the sturdy booth chain to the creatures collar. He’s careful not to get too close to the razor sharp beak and, as soon as he’s finished, he scampers backwards and out of danger.

Manning his section of the control booth, he seals his protective door and shouts for the orcs to release the creature.

They do it in unison and scatter out of the way as the ferocious creature shrugs off its bonds.

It makes to go after them but is pulled up short by the chain now securely fastened to its collar.

The creature howls and hoots malevolently but it can’t get away.

It takes a while but slowly Avdimi cranks the monstrous creature back into its new home.

The Snowlbear thrashes and throws itself repeatedly at the unyielding, black metal walls.

The solid booth shakes but holds firm.

'Hush my fellow inmate. Hush now and we shall become friends'...

Another fine moss you’ve gotten yourselves into

Standing in the smoldering mess of blackened moss and trees, the adventurers look around at each other.

Dokan recognises Orestes but no one else. Who are the others? Some of them look familiar but he can’t place them.

Something’s definitely wrong here but he can’t discern what it is and so keeps his sword held ready.

The monk: Indigo is less affected but still, slightly disorientated.

Only Zavia and Orestes feel that they are mentally unaffected by the strange plant creature.

They were, unfortunately, too slow to prevent he halfling and the half-orc from fleeing into the surrounding forest.

Perhaps affected by the heat from the flaming oil, the eerie, white mist covering the ground seems to momentarily dissipate.

Several corpses are revealed. Orc-hunting mercenaries by the look of their equipment. They can’t have been dead for more than a few months as they aren't completely covered in the strange moss that seems to be everywhere in this part of the forest.

After a few minutes of mutual reassurance, the four adventures cautiously help themselves to whatever they can find.

Watching from his hiding place, Charlie Stilton wonders who everyone is, how he got there and, most importantly, how he can get his hands on that stuff.

Piggog the orc though, continues to run from the chaotic encounter. Whoever those strange people were, they were no help to him and his quest to rejoin his ancient tribe: The Bone crunchers!

Sins of the mother

Lowering his bow, Vogir scowls at Orestes. How dare the meat-shield orc prevent him from firing!

This supposedly helpless damsel they’d been tricked into rescuing had turned out to be a young dragon.

Not just a dragon but the offspring of the tyrant Theranthor herself!

It may be cowering now but if it gets out into the open, they’ll be no stopping it escaping…

This has to end now.

That’s the way to do it

Taking in the group of adventurers in front of him, Vogir sighs deeply.
It was a good plan. A plan that he himself would have considered, had the opportunity presented itself.
These five brigands have been waiting here, just outside the scope of the Black cloak tower, in the hopes of wresting the rescued Sibylle from the undoubtedly wounded arms of whichever group was successful.
It wasn’t just a good plan.
It was a VERY good plan.
Thankfully Rudha-an’s insightfulness, coupled with his own cynicism had lifted the veil of deception from his teammates eyes.
Rudha-an’s spirit panther was about to spring.
It wouldn’t be alone.

Little problems behind

Scurrying back across the pit room, Velinsk is dragged back through the door by his fellow kitchen slaves.
“What did you see?” snaps one of his fellows.
Wide eyed, Velinsk responds…
“They’re all dead. Scores of them! Frick was able to tell me that it was a mixed band of adventurers. They came up through the washrooms and slaughtered everyone. In his dying breath though, he mentioned that one of them was a Dragon-born.”
Several of the Kobolds spit on the floor in disgust.
“They think they’re so much better than us. Bigger doesn’t mean better.”
The one that had asked the original question though, looks slyly down the corridor.
“Did you say they came up through the, corroded shut, down pipe?”

Big troubles ahead

On hearing the order, the massive creature heaves itself from it’s reinforced bed. Its begrudging spine, cracking with the unwanted movement.
Gripping the bedpost, it rises slowly to its feet and gropes around for its weapons amongst the armour and helmets lying in the corner of the room.
“Where mees needed?” it asks in a deep and gravelly voice.
Once instructed by the cowering Vedic, the lumbering creature heads off after it to crush the tiny invaders, beneath the spikes of its twin giant maces.
“Hurry up. Big clubs wants to squash little skulls!”