Forbidden Lands - Session 1

Last Saturday, a few of us played our first session of Forbidden Lands on Roll20.
Fun stuff. So far, I'm diggin' it. Anyway - here's the recap!

Forbidden Lands | Session 1, May 3^rd 2020

I am the Dwarf Rider, Harlgamaer

Harris is playing a Halfling Soldier, Arland

Bird is playing a Human Peddler, Orovald Shadwell
Willie is the DM (and also D”Than’y’yal the Elven Druid)

“Everything that isn’t a sword is irrelevant.” –Arland’s Family Motto

Somewhere along the plains of Moldena:

And so it came to pass that Orovald was chased out of town for all his cheatin’ and whorin’ and all-round indecent living, and now he’s forced to sell his goods in the outer regions. Harl and Arlond are escorting him, and several other merchants, as part of a caravan traveling from Lake Claye to a small village along the Elya River.

One morning along our journey, Harl goes foraging for water. Orovald accompanies him, and Arland hunts. Harl is successful, but Orovald struggles to find herbs and mushrooms, and is attacked by a feral cat. He flees for his life. Arland kills a big fat rabbit and brings it back to the caravan for lunch. It’s a pretty good morning. We break for lunch, then press on with some good hiking in the afternoon.

Some of our grain turns out to be bad. Our food stores lessen. Orovald regales the camp with tales of his encounter with six mountain lions, and the other folks in camp are so entertained that they tip us all with some of the better foodstuffs. Arland catches a fish from the nearby river, and Harl rides around on his goat for an hour or so, scouting ahead.

And it’s a good thing he did! A crimson mist floats above the ground, out in the distance – a Blood Mist!

Harl cuts his thumb just enough to catch the mist’s attention and leads it on a wild goose chase, well away from the camp. Blood mists are no joke. When a blood mist subsumes you, it practically drives you insane. Some folks fall into a rage, others into a catatonic state, but in all cases, its victims die in pain and agony. Blood mists are a left-over from the demon wars that were fought a thousand years ago.

Harl rides back to camp with a smile on his face and a bandage on his thumb.

The next morning, Arland and Harl go out to forage and hunt once more. Harl find some vegetables, [+3 vegetables], and Arland hunts a fox. [5 meat, 2 pelt total] Orovald haggles with the camp cook a little, and trades him a wet paper bag full of butter for some of the good rations, wink wink.

Harl rides out ahead, and finds himself surrounded by gray-green scaly skinned lizardmen. “Pigs… little ugly pigs… you speak!” Harl speaks. The lizardmen are out here hunting long pigs. They’re not particularly interested in dwarf meat, and Harl convinces them to scatter after a brief discussion on politics and better business practices.

We push on and arrive in the no-nonsense trading town of North Tersemnye, a place known for its incredible fashions. There’s a famous song it’s mentioned in, exactly once. Only a hundred or so people. Woods to the north, marshes to the west, some saurians and elves populating the countryside. No one in town wears shirts, but everyone wears broad brimmed hats and puffy pantaloons. We stay in an inn that’s also a lumber mill. It sends some mixed signals.

Orovald speaks with the militia commander, Olek, and learns that night worgs are causing some problems for the townsfolk. Night worgs hate the light; now that we take a closer look, the town’s watch-towers aren’t really watch-towers, they’re huge signal fires on stilts. Fires burn constantly in North Tersemnye. Orovald figures maybe we can do some good for the townsfolk…

At a tavern called the Grumpy Man, there’s a fellow called Sergei that Orovald wants to talk with. Harl is there. He saw an advertisement for bear stew, and he’s sitting in a corner eating a whole plate of shredded bear poutine by himself, and honestly, just loving life right now.

Harl goes to find a stables for Buttercup, and finds, to his shock, that there aren’t really any considerations made for draft animals in this village. He asks around, curious as to how an medieval agrarian society should lack such important commodities, and he gets this response:

“If you have stables, you’ve got walls. If you’ve got walls, you’re making shadows. If you have shadows, you have night worgs!”

Harl inquires further. D”Than’y’yal tells him that Night Worgs are wolves blessed by the Night Walker. Dangerous creatures! They travel from one shadow to the next, and this town seems to live in constant fear of them.

D”Than’y’yal – “Oh, to swing a sword instead of being so burdened by knowledge!”

We ask a few more folks about these night worgs, but they’re a little tight-lipped and superstitious. One of the townsfolk confesses, “We never had issues with ‘em, until about four months ago. And actually… About five months ago, we had an apprentice come through town. Sergei helped him go look for somethin’ but he said it didn’t feel right. He turned back. I don’t know if it’s related, but… Well, it doesn’t feel right, does it?”

Arland—Every time I take my shirt off around strangers, I find out three or four of my tattoos are super offensive. Different ones every time.

In the morning, we’re woken by the sounds of lumber being sawed in the mill attached the inn. Lots of shouting and banter, bright and early. Sergei’s out back. He’s the inn’s cook. He’s making vegetable soup when Harl and friends come to speak with him.

That bear poutine was one of the best meals I’ve ever eaten!

We are blessed to have them as an extreme nuisance in the forestry business.

I’m interested in helping your town fix its night worg problem. People say you’re the man I should speak to. Can you provide me with any leads?

“I should hope that it isn’t true, but Tildiraz came to town five or six moons ago, and he said that he needed help to get a weapon for his master. Something something great powerful something something world threat, you know. Something a wizard’s apprentice would say to get people interested in a fool’s errand. He seemed genuine, but the more time I spent with him walking and talking… I’ve lived in this area for most of my life, and Tildiraz somehow knew where an underground chamber was that I’d never even considered being here, below my feet. He didn’t do anything wrong, but he definitely didn’t warn us. After the first trap went off, I said I was out. After that happened, I don’t know if he succeeded or failed, but that’s when the evening wolves came for the first time. It was such a sight! When they bit a person, they just froze. Not a drop of blood left their body, but the bite turned gray and death set in soon after. They fell to the ground. Usually, you think, “I’ve seen someone die before,” but no. They just turned into darkness that seeped into the ground. It was awful! We managed to kill one of them. And it was by divine grace. I was carrying a lantern, and it didn’t like that. Hitting it with that lantern seemed to hurt it more than the commander’s steel! But, the steel helped, because the commander was the one who finished it off. That was one of the two that I know of; I’m not sure if it lays about in the dungeon it prepared for itself or if it just circles us, howling into the night. It makes me shiver just thinking about the sounds.”

Where’s the dungeon that Tildiraz uncovered?

“It’s not more than a half-day southeast of here. It’s on the shores of the lake. If you go into the marsh, you’ve gone too far. The first trap was a standard swinging axe trap. Saw that cleave a man in half and I said nope.”

Do you know where a fellow might buy some lamp oil?

“The lord commander has decreed that there are to be no sales or discounts on lamp oil while the crisis continues.”

Orovald happens to have five small flasks of lamp oil in his inventory. With this in mind, we concoct a plan to confront the night worgs in their lair. Orovald buys a bear trap and a sling. Harl buys a metal chalice and two units of torches. Arland sharpens his blade. Whatever happens next, we’re going to need sharp blades.

And a lot of luck.