Tongue Fun Aplenty
The party reaches their destination of The Ruswold Valley and shares some wild times with the locals
1st of Firstfall (Day 12)
Late Afternoon: Ruswold Valley
So, after recuperating from their battle with Mythallen, the group travelled for several days to get to their intended destination: The Ruswold Valley.
The only time the party went “deep into a valley” without bodily fluids being involved
As they reached the valley, the party decided to make camp for the night. They set up their tents and began their shifts on watch. While the others rested however, Mythrandir studied hard on the Ancient Scrolls he had found in the ruins Mythallen called home. He had done this several times to no avail. The intricate and complex wording made it difficult to understand. This time something in his mind connected with the book and he could hear words in his mind as if voices of ancient power were speaking directly to him. It was very much like tripping balls but afterwards he felt like he had taken his first step into a larger world, stumbling upon secrets of the forgotten Arcane Warriors.
Cool Story Bro
As night fell however, the party noticed they were not alone. Some armed men were slowly but surely making there way to the encampment. Spotting them at a distance, the party readied themselves.
It was a trio of inebriated guardsmen. They wandered into the camp and generally acted like dicks, idly poking and snooping. They drunkenly spoke about how they used to work for someone named Bann Valdur Krole who had recently been replaced by a new Bann and that they didn’t take kindly to adventurers coming in and thinking they were better at dealing with a bandit problem that their own master couldn’t. Before long, words were said and one of the guards, Bron, challenged Barry to a duel. The rules were set “to the blood”
The duel was kind of a farce. In one lightning fast move, Bron slashed Barry across the cheek, who gave out a yelp. A spurt of blood sprang forth from the slash, humiliating but causing no real harm. The guards laughed and made various masturbatory gestures and began to walk away. Menguy could not stand for the disgrace and kicked a piece of wood from the fire at the backside at one of them, named Lervis. This had the effect of again causing outrage and another duel was proposed.
This time favour went in the complete other direction and with his first attack, Menguy cut open Lervis’ armour with one weapon, and smacked him unconscious with the other. Lervis hit the dust with a thud.
Like this…but whiter
Thoroughly trounced and wishing to avoid a similar thrashing, Lervis’s fellow guardsman rushed to drag their dazed friend away. They shouted their curses into the night as they stumbled off.
2nd of Firstfall (Day 13)
Dawn: Ruswold Valley
The guardsmen did not return that night and the party slept well. They awoke early and packed up their things. As they journeyed down the dawn road they could hear the sound of several horsemen approaching. Mythrandir quickly darted up a tree to get a better look. From the vantage point among the branches, he noticed the riders wore different colours to the group yhey had encountered the night before and were therefore likely to be men belonging to the new Bann in the region, Bann Trumhall. As this was who they were planning to meet all along, the group relaxed and waited for their arrival.
The riders soon came and introduced themselves as indeed being part of Trumhall’s guard on patrol. Their leader, Yorle recognised the party immediately as adventurers and offered to escort them to the Bann’s encampment. The group readily agreed, though Barry complained that he had to walk instead of getting a lift on their horses.
Ye see us riding. Ye hating.
Morning: Bann Trumhall’s Camp
On the way to the Bann’s encampment, Tyene presented Yorle with their letter of endorsement from Tarl Dale. Pleased at what it said, Yorle briefed the group on recent happenings in the region including Valdur Krole’s ousting and Waldric The Gore-Handed’s reign of terror. Apparently Krole had been inaffective at stopping the problem while the newcomer Trumhall had already drastically reduced attacks in a short time. After a relaxed walk they arrived at Bann Trumhall’s camp.
The place was a hive of activity. Workmen had already started the preparations to construct a manor for the new Bann. The only existing structures consisted of a hastily built wooden barracks and a mass of tents, including one larger, fancier tent obviously belonging to Trumhall himself. Yorle told the party to wait as he ventured inside to speak with his lord.
As the party waited to be seen, they noticed that outside the tent was an ornate and expensive looking horse drawn carriage, guarded by an angry looking Dwarf. After a few moments an elderly but attractive woman of obviously high-standing exited the tent and was helped onboard the vehicle. When the short-statured fellow admonished the party for standing in the way of his duties, the lady (referring to him as “Bando”) apologised for her Dwarven servant’s rudeness and asked the group who they were. When they answered that they were visiting the region in order to stop the outlaw attacks, she reacted favourably, introducing herself as Bann Nicola Baranti of Denerim.
Though slightly perturbed by Barry’s attempted flirtations she responded with charm and kindly invited them to visit her at her estate in Denerim if they proved successful at defeating the scoundrels. She mentioned that the vast lumber that the Ruswold Valley exported was of great need in the capital. Her philanthropic duties towards the poor required wood for constructing homes for the needy. Baranti added that anyone who could restore the flow of materials in such circumstances would obviously possess great skill and skilled people would always be of use to the realm. With those kind words she departed.
Special Helen Mirren guest appearance cripples show budget
Being left to their own devices the party gave their weapons to a nearby blacksmith to be sharpened and partook in a drink at the meal area. After a few minutes, Yorle emerged to beckon them into the tent.
On entry, Trumhall greeted then with warmth and hospitality, offering him what comforts were on offer including fine food and wine. He then went into great depth explaining how the bandits had been terrorising the lands and that he simply couldn’t afford to take them on himself. Instead he was turning to worthy adventurers. Trumhall offered the party no actual payment but the promise that they could have all the spoils they wanted from Waldric The Gore-Handed’s plunder. He explained that Waldric’s men were hiding at an unknown location within the Brecilian Forest and that the best course of action would be to head for one of the logging camps within the woods and to figure out a plan from there.
Suddenly, a few of the group members jumped at the near silent presence of a large black Mabari hound in the room. Trumhall chuckled at the startled adventurers and stroked the dog, saying it was his most cherished pet, “Blacktail”. Barry was extremely interested in the hound, asking if they could take it with them on their mission. But though Trumhall agreed that Blacktail would be a fine addition to any hunt, he declined the request, saying that he could not bear to have his fond friend away from his side.
Awwww, who’s a cute war doggy!
After receiving further directions and best wishes, the party bid the Bann adieu and left his tent. Adjusting their eyes to the sunlight they saw, standing nearby, a pair of servants who acted incredibly nervous. They sheepishly asked if it would be possible for the group to visit their master, Valdur Krole, at his manor, a short distance away, as soon as possible. Refusing to say why they were wanted or offering any alternate meeting place, the group told the servants to meet them outside the alehouse in Logerswold in a couple of hours. At which time they would gladly come to visit their master. Disappointed at the delay, the servants still humbly agreed and left.
Retrieving their weapons from the blacksmith, which were now all sharpened and ready, the party headed towards Logerswold. Of course before they did, Barry tried to hit on the Bann’s washerwoman…because he’s Barry. Needless to say she wasn’t having any. So with a “sod her” they moved on.
Late Morning: Logerswold
Logerswold, the largest town in the Ruswold Valley region was still pretty small to be fair. The party could also see that the place was jam-packed with refugees and that space was in even less supply than normal. However they did not let that dampen their spirits and in search of actual spirits (as always) they made their way to the pub.
The local alehouse “The Sign of The Spreading Tree” was a most welcoming place from the start…in more ways than one. On entry they were greeted warmly by Liwis the innkeep. A man with an incredible moustache, a wide smile and a charmingly rustic voice. He introduced himself and told the party that if they were in town to stop the outlaws then they would pay for nothing and want for nothing. Liwis attempted to go on but got a little a choked up when talking about the details of the bandits. However he kept up a friendly demeanour behind his obvious issues. Liwis then called over the alehouse’s barmaid to serve them, his beautiful barely legal daughter, Delia. On walking up to the bar she proceeded to give “RAPE EYES” TO EVERYONE IN THE GROUP.
You’re such a good girrrrl. I know you want it…
Liwis unfortunately (or fortunately depending on your point of view) was completely oblivious to this stare and told the party to sit while his lovely, sweet Delia could fetch them some ales. Just as requested Delia returned moments later with full tankards and laid them down on the table at which they were seated. Noticeably however, she placed a single napkin down under just one drink but no others. She then walked upstairs with a wink. Of course when the group flipped over the napkin it had a wonderfully drawn picture of a beautiful meadow, with birds and trees and-
Naah, it was a filthy stick person porno.
Blurred Liiiines…no seriously, they’re pretty blurred
As if it couldn’t be made any clearer how pursuing this salacious invite could possibly not end in the best of ways, fate intervened with a big warning sign as Yorle entered the alehouse at that exact second. He strolled over to their table and said that Trumhall had forgotten to to tell them that though he was very happy with the group taking on the job to stop Waldric, he wished them to be on their best behaviour while they were in town. The people of Logerswold had been through a lot lately and did not need any further aggravation. So to be absolutely clear, a repetition of their antics in Vintiver was absolutely unwanted. Yorle then wished them well on their quest and departed.
Attentive and empathic as always, Barry ignored every single element of this statement and vocally called “dibs” on Delia. He waited for kindly Liwis to turn his back to them at the bar and stealthily crept below the bartop till he reached the stairs. Barry then gestured to the group to keep Liwis busy before he crept upwards to the next floor.
It was not a moment too soon as another group of adventurers loudly entered the tavern, much to Liwis’s delight, and took a seat at a nearby table. Bann Trumhall had mentioned to the party that they had competition for Waldric’s bounty and sure enough this was likely it. Recognising unwanted challengers to their reward, these others gave the group the stink eye as Liwis bobbled over and engaged them in the same cheerful pleasantries he had with their own party.
However, while her father was kept busy in idle chit chat, Barry was following sweet Delia into a bedroom and there…sigh…Boffing, alright? Lots and lots of filthy boffing. I’m not talking details but we’re talking some serious giggidy of the geshmoigen. Barry was even considerate enough to slip on his pig-gut condom without her noticing.
One and a half minutes later…
However long it did take, afterwards the two lovers lay in each other’s arms. And that’s when things got a leeetle bit creepy.
First off, Delia not only said how much she really liked “the sex” but also that she was utterly head over heels for Barry. She said that she wanted to leave town with him and that if Barry didn’t agree she’d tell daddy what he’d done. But instead of freaking out like a normal person, Barry told her that this was a great idea, that she should get all her stuff together and meet him outside Valdur Krole’s in a short while. Furthermore he told her (in a not at all disturbing fashion) “You’re my wife now”.
Ladies and Gentleman. Your hero.
Soon after, Barry rejoined the slightly tipsy rest of the group with a grin on his face and together they all decided to explore Logerswold. Hopefully to get some advice or likely the Ferelden equivalent of a kebab.
The town didn’t give a great impression. Immediately stepping out of the alehouse, a plop of manure splatted over their boots. A grumpy stablehand, claiming to be a former guard for Valdur Krole laughed at them as he kept shovelling horse pies, complaining about his lot in life. With a shake of the fist, the party kept walking.
After discovering that the local merchants sold none but the most basic goods, the group stumbled upon the largest structure in town, Trewin’s lumber compound. Inside they found it was had become a makeshift refugee camp. Farmers and the families of loggers who lived on the outskirts of town were using it as a temporary sanctuary while Waldric’s forces roamed the area. Some of the destitute approached the group begging for any help they could offer. Barry, in a surprisingly generous mood gave some of his rations to them.
Just leaving this here
They found Trewin himself desperately trying to bring some order to the chaos on his property, providing information and support as needed. The local logging baron tried to be polite as he could to the party’s question but the stress meant that he came off a bit harsh. Trewin demanded that the party actually do something to assist the people. After a brief lesson in manners (i.e verbal threats) he apologised for his tone but explained that the people of Logerswold desperately needed heroes and that the adventurers were their only hope.
Trewin begged that the party bring back any of the robbed villagers’ personal belongings they could find on their quest. In addition he asked that they relay back any news about loved ones who had ventured back into the woods to harvest lumber against his advice. The group agreed. In return Trewin updated their map with some faster travel routes to get to the largest logging camp. Menguy asked if he had any cloaks to spare to which Trewin responded by providing two.
As the group strolled out of the compound they heard the skeeviest voice that ever existed as a rather slimy fellow named Ansel showed himself. He tried to convince the party to badmouth Trewin to the Bann next time they saw him in return for a reward. Ansel said he was a logging merchant himself but that Trewin had ruined his business. He wanted to get out of his contract to Trewin and believed the Bann could force the matter. Tyene managed to hustle 5 silver out of the man in advance of the full 10 promised. Ansel then slithered away with a grumble.
By now it was time to meet the two nervous servants outside the alehouse and to go and meet their master, the mysterious Valdur Krole.
Early Afternoon: Valdur Krole’s Manor
Valdur Krole’s manor was an imposing sight. Standing at the end of a long road it stood against a high cliff face providing a natural wall behind it. It looked to be an extremely defensible position. What was less grand was their reception. Where one would expect a hundred or so soldiers and servants running around there were only about a dozen or so and none of them looked particularly good at their jobs.
The party was led inside the gates and upstairs into a cold hall containing only two things, a large desk and the one-legged man behind it who called himself Valdur Krole. The former Bann was gruff, ugly, and frankly horrible to be around. It turned out that the only reason for his invite to the manor was to apologise for the behaviour of his former employees the night before on the Ruswold Valley road. He made clear that he didn’t have to this in any way since the guards no longer worked for him but that he might as well. After spitting this out in a bilious tone he grunted that they could leave. More than a little annoyed at having their time wasted, the party tried to get useful information out of him but all they could discover was that Krole really hated Trumhall and that any problems in the Ruswold Valley were no longer his problem. After insulting the curmudgeon, they walked out feeling pissed off.
Valdur Krole: Epic Troll
Just as it seemed this was a fool’s errand with no upside, all hell broke loose. The manor’s staff were screaming in panic. “The wagons! Waldric’s men are attacking the wagons!”, they cried. Sure enough in the distance a plume of smoke was rising from the manor’s supply caravan down the road. The group would have their first chance to face down with the bandits of Ruswold Valley.
The group began to march towards the smoke but by luck the eagle eyes of the team revealed that the outlaws had positioned themselves in the treelines on opposite sides of the road. The brigands had created a veritable killzone for anyone stupid enough to go near the wagons. With some clever tactical thinking the party believed they could turn the tables.
The group crawled on their hands and knees through the grass, heading towards the wood cropping on the right. When they got to the treeline they kept moving till they’d circled directly behind their supposed ambushers. They were 10 yards away when their presence was noticed but they had the drop on four outlaws crouched in the bushes with their metaphorical pants down. The party rained death upon them with magic and arrow.
Fearing for their lives, Waldric’s goons tried to run for their horses as fast as they could. They obviously expected to fight fast and leave quickly, a sustained battle was not in their plan. Two managed to make it out of there, the other two were not so lucky.
One was hit by an arrow in the throat as he mounted his steed. Gurgling blood he collapsed out his saddle, the horse bolting away. The other unfortunate screamed in agony on the ground. He was badly wounded and one of Mythrandir’s spells was causing him to freeze from the inside out. He could barely move but managed to shriek cries for help and surrender.
Though they now had the benefit of a prisoner, the problem was keeping him alive long enough to learn anything. He was bleeding out and freezing to death. Not realising how the magic worked, Barry tried to wrap the outlaw in a fur blanket, but it did no good. The man’s skin was still a ghastly blue. It would be solely up to the outlaw to resist the irreversible spell from killing him. Tyene took the initiative of securing the poor devil’s mount before the noise of his cries could spook it and cause it to run.
“Become a bandit they said. It will be fun they said”
Fortunately the group was able to use their healing skills and keep the outlaw alive long enough so that he could gather his inner strength and throw off the spell’s effect. They tied him up and hoisted him onto the back of their newly gained horse. They then walked back to the Krole Manor feeling like total badasses.
As the party stepped back through the gates, people roared with approval. Some threw rotten fruit and other filth at the prisoner but all hailed the group for taking a stand against the enemy. Delia embraced Barry and told him how proud she was of him. From a window above, Valdur Krole could be seen looking down. He gave a solitary approving nod and a casual salute in a sign of begrudging respect for what they’d done. It was all very macho and Top Gun.
At that moment, we were all Valdur Krole’s wingmen
Of course within 1 minute the group messed that up.
They dragged the squealing prisoner off the back of the horse and carried him through the doors of the manor. They brought him upstairs and laid him on Valdur Krole’s desk. Krole complained that if they wanted to interrogate the outlaw, they could do it somewhere else but the party paid him no heed. They tied the man down and tortured him by placing a blade against his knuckles, slowly pushing against the bone till he screamed. Valdur voiced protest but they nonetheless continued, asking the bandit where Waldric’s camp was, how many they faced and so on. The bandit spilled out with words. He proclaimed that there was no way to show them the camp on a map. You just had to walk through the forest in a certain way to find it. He also growled that Waldric fielded hundreds of men and that they had no chance against his might.
That’s when things go REALLY dark.
Menguy gathered some of the putrid faeces that caked the man (the peasants having covered him liberally in the stuff) and rammed it in his gob till he gagged. The outlaw gasped and moaned that he knew nothing else but he didn’t realise that they were done trying to make him talk. They wanted to make him suffer. Also they wished to take him with them without the risk of him alerting his buddies. So, Barry removed his dagger from his scabbard, opened the bandit’s shit filled mouth and savagely cut out the man’s tongue.
The bandit howled an ungodly caterwaul and almost choked on his own blood, which now coated the desk in splatters of red. Valdur Krole was screaming in rage. Appalled that they did this in his private home. His guards turned up at the door but came nowhere near the group. I mean, would you?
The party then untied the bandit who had passed out from his sheer agony and Menguy hoisted him back over his shoulder. Saying something flippant to Krole along the lines of “That’s how you deal with bandits”, the carried the prisoner back outside.
“Dude. Even I think that’s messed up”
And so the party gathered themselves for the next step. Going into the woods and hitting the bandits where they lived. They placed the captive back on the horse and with Delia in tow, marched out the gates of Krole Manor. Their destination? The logging camp in the Brecillian forest.