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The Boys, Volume I

ThuBioNerd

ThuBioNerd

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Aha! You thought I was dead? Gone? Imprisoned? Fools! I have been on a journey, seeking knowledge beyond your ken, and now I have returned! The horns of Discord summoned be and told me that a new prophet, Tobias, had reopened the crusty gates of Empire War! Huzzah!

And what sort of a BioNerd return would this be without a little RP? Oh fear not, gentle friends. I'm not here to plead with you to join my doomed LotR/GoT/WHF/SW/generic setting RP. No, I am here, as I was in the beginning, as a teller of tales. For I have scrounged up some dipshits, some detritus who still think that I'm a good storyteller, or dungeon master, or person, for that matter. These five fools are naive enough to let me guide them through my new story, and what hijinks we've had already! The world of D&D 5e is new to some of them, familiar to others, but one thing's for certain: it's bloody mental!

So, gentle listeners, vets and noobs, donors and paupers, troll-haters and archer pros, I present, for your reading pleasure, titillation, consternation, and exasperation...

the first installments of our weekly (fingers crossed) D&D game in the Nentir Vale!


Acknowledgements: Thank you to Tobberz, Antzorg, Dr_Olex, Wavey, and Riko_Mitkito (I still don't know your last name). You're the sorry lot who live in this hellhole of a campaign I've constructed.
Thanks also to KordiantheGreat and Killmatronix for showing me Discord, EW, and D&D DO mix.
And thanks to all the folks who've ever RPed with me, especially Titan_Kronos, beepbobit, Dmitri, BuckytheBlade, Everybody13, H_hentz, and Aasim (for his tireless work in the interests of RP - fuck you though you elfweeb twigmuncher ;) ).


PARTY COMPOSITION

Grumdo Studfall (Antzorg)
Stout halfling fighter

Grumdo was once a simple farmer: planting, eating, harvesting, eating, tilling, eating, weeding, eating. He lived the good life, the sort many Stouts go for. Then the goblins came down from the hills and began pillaging and extorting the folk of the (Pembroke) Shire. Grumdo was instrumental in organizing and leading the resistance against the goblins, and even convinced the local baron to send troops. Now, having experienced adventure, Grumdo has set out to quench his newly-acquired thirst. Today Pembroke Shire, tomorrow all of Asgilion!

Grumdo prefers his trusty short sword (a family heirloom) and throwing knives. He's got a passion for cooking and a bloodthirsty streak when it comes to the hated goblinoids.

Felior Woodstream (Tobberz)
Wood elf ranger

Felior grew up in the woods of a forest to the south. Even among elves he was considered solitary, but his love for nature knew few bounds. From a young age, like all elves, he was trained in the use of the longbow, and, when he was old enough, he took an oath to protect his forest at all costs. But now he has left his forest for some reason! Perhaps it's wanderlust, perhaps it's mandatory. Perhaps it's exile. Whatever the reason, he's here now and ready to slay the enemies of nature.

Felior has a soft spot for animals and prefers to use his longbow.

Orik (Dr_Olex)
Mountain dwarf fighter

A veteran campaigner, Orik's good life as a smith was cut short by the Goblin Wars. He enlisted, and quickly rose to the rank of Sergeant in the elite Tunnel Warden division. It was his job to use his armor, shield, and very body as a barricade in the cramped, labyrinthine tunnels beneath dwarven outposts. He has developed an especial hate for goblinoids (a trend, it would seem).

He doesn't use an axe, though. No, not even a hammer. There's nothing Orik loves better than rushing in head-on and caving in some goblin skulls with his big-ass morning star!

Monachus Gyatso (Wavey)
Human monk

Monachus' pastoral childhood was ruined by the advent of a marauding giant snail. Brothers from a local monastery raised him and taught him their ways. He has now set out on a journey to seek enlightenment and help the helpless, much as the monks did him.

Monachus loves to leap in, a blur of quarterstaff and flying fists! He still retains a phobia of molluscs.

Sojount Cerusique (Riko Mi... uh, Riko)
Human cleric of the Raven Queen

Sojount lived a privileged life in a southern city. His parents sent him to medical school, where he excelled. Yet when he was sent into the field to deal with plague and war, he found his other calling: a priest of the Raven Queen, goddess of death, she who shelters the dead and ensures those fated to die do not escape their destiny.

Sojount always carries a pocket watch - a keepsake. He seeks to save those whom the Cold Lady does not call and ensure those for whom the Shadowed Lands await make the voyage in a timely manner.

<placeholder for KordiantheGreat because damnit Kord you know you wanna>


Right, I'm fagged, so next time we shall, as promised, observe the first gallivantings of this gang of misfit nerds!


Love,

ThuBioNerd the Ginger
Co-Founder of the Most Noble and Venerable Order of the Bards and Sage First Class thereof
Veteran of Arpenia, Blackflames v1, v2, and v4, Ragnerok, Dawn of Empires, and Lorestorm
Veteran of Empire War and former holder of that official donator rank
Member of the Guild of Dungeon Masters
Chronicler of the fate of Empire War and her children
King Under the Mountain and Out of Time
Friend of Titan Kronos and Everybody13
King Thalin of Khazen-vuor
Steward Roland of the High Kingdom of Blackfyre (ave Blackfyre!)
The Red Wizard
 
Thanks to Antzorg, we now have PROFESSIONAL artwork of the Boys.

Left to right, Sojount (Riko), Orik (Olex), Grumdo (Antzorg), Felior (Tobberz), Monachus (Wavey)
 
Thanks for writing this out, it's great to have a record like this for future years :D

"daddy tobberz what did you do as a young man?"

"ahhh tobberz junior now that is a story and a half"
 
I can't wait for you to write this out, there's been some pretty fun moments so far!
 
Prologue: Goblins on the Road

The bleak moorlands of the Gardbury Downs stretched on all sides out to the horizon, which was broken only in the northwest by the dim, craggy hummocks of the Cairngorm Peaks. The iron-grey sky above threatened spring showers. But the usual solitary silence of the depressing moorlands was broken by the strange sounds of a banjo, a harmonica, and a set of pipes. These offending instruments whose tune clashed so starkly with the stark vista were in the possession of and given their voice by three members of a party of five pilgrims trudging up the old King's Road.
There were two humans, one dressed in fine yet plain black vestments. The beaked mask dangling from a strap that hung around his neck identified him as a doctor, and the inky feathers which adorned it like some tribal shaman's ceremonial prop identified him as a member of those strange fatalists who serve the Raven Queen, goddess of death.
At his side strode a man clad in plain, loose vestments of red and yellow which did little to hide his lean, muscular frame. He carried little, but aided his progress with a stout quarterstaff. As he walked, he gazed ever forward, over the heads of two shorter figures, a dwarf and a halfling. The dwarf wore a heavy coat of mail and a helm, and carried a wicked-looking morning star. The shield at his back and the mace at his belt showed him to be a hardened warrior, a veteran of many battles. The halfling was stout, as all halflings are want to be. Like the pilgrim behind him he too carried a quarterstaff, though this was slung over his shoulder easily, at the end of it a bundle tied up in a checkered kerchief. Yet he also had a small rucksack slung over his other shoulder, several belt pouches, and large pockets. Under his jacket he wore a gambeson of yellow and green, and yellow-striped pantaloons which tapered down to his big, hairy feet.
Finally, in the fore and someways ahead of the rest, strode a tall elf, dark of hair and clad all in earthy browns and greens. His step was light and easy, and he would often break off to the left or to the right of the road, scanning the horizon restlessly. At his back was a long bow, unstrung, and a quiver - badges signifying the expertise for which his people were known. At his side hung a short sword.

So yeah, anyway, the Boys were travelling along an old road in a deserted borderland on their way to the village of Winterhaven, looking for work (hopefully as caravan guards). En route, however, they are set on by three whole goblins and their wolf lovers... I mean mounts!

Overall, they acquitted themselves well, with Orik caving in a skull, Monachus karate chopping one of the punks, and Sojount... well Sojount has this pocket watch, see. I think it's a family heirloom? And he gets it out every time he casts a prayer or blessing. So he took out his watch, checked the time, wound it up, and it emitted an incongruously dolorous dong. At the sound of this death knell, the last goblin's soul promptly flew to hell (or one of them anyway). Huzzah!
On the flipside, Felior, who was caught out in front, was mobbed and knocked unconscious.

Elated by their essentially successful first foray into the combat system, the Boys continued on and arrived without further incident at the border settlement of Winterhaven.

Winterhaven barely constitutes a village. It is located atop a hill at the edge of the Gardbury Downs, where the rolling moors give way to crimped hills which morph into the craggy Cairngorm Peaks. It is the last civilized stop on the old King's Road, and the terminus of the High Road, so a community has sprung up here, mostly comprised of cold-weather farmers and those tradesmen whose services are required or desired by caravans. Because of its wild location on the hinterlands of civilization, the small village is encompassed by an uncharacteristically high and thick stone wall which has served to protect it in the past from hungrypacks of wolves, goblin and orc raiders, and the occasional marauding giant.

Upon arrival, the Boys made straight for Wrafton's Inn, the only lodgings and public house in the settlement. There, they spoke with several locals and visitors, including a hard-of-hearing old timer named Elian the Old. When questions about the goblins on the road, Elian informed them that goblins had always plagued Winterhaven, but the village leader, Squire Ethan Pedraig (whom the party has renamed Pendragon), wasconcerned that they were growing bolder, and had thus put out a bounty on goblin ears, wolf tails, and other trophies.
Orik also spoke with a well-dressed dwarf by the name of Kimbri, who had a cosmopolitan air. Indeed, Kimbri informed Orik that he had been sent by a mining interest in the south to survey an old abandoned copper mine which his clients wished to reopen. He told Orik that goblins were said to have infested the mine, as those vermin are wont to do, and he offered a reward of twenty-five gold pieces per party member for making the mine safe once more for decent folk.

After a swift visit to Squire Pendragon to confirm the bounty listing, the Boys boarded in the common room at Wrafton's Inn, eagerly discussing their plans for the morrow...
 
Chapter I: Journey to Sancrik Mine

As dawn broke, the Boys washed the sleep out of their eyes, drowned their hangovers in fresh ale, and fortified themselves with bacon, eggs, muffins, apples, and hash browns. Grumdo surreptitiously stuffed his pack with several rolls and apples for second breakfast. After settling their tab with Salvana, they set out on the King's Road once more.

At this point, it should be noted that the moniker of "road" or even "king" is drenched in sarcasm, for it is really neither. None could mistake the seldom-trod footpath that wends its way up the hills to the north for a road without doing a great injustice to all other roads. As for its titular royal ties, there hasn't been a king in the Nentir Vale for over a century. But either way, it was up this decidedly common path that the Boys trekked for going on seven hours, Grumdo by this point munching contentedly through his elevenses, greatly enjoying this hike. Indeed all was so desolate and rugged that, aside from the occasional gopher, nothing of incident occured until Felior, who was in the lead as usual, was brought up sharply by a noise which assailed his keen elven ears. This sound, which emanated from a dense stretch undergrowth to the right, was the crackling of branches and the trampling of growth, and as he listened, hand raised to signify a halt, Felior became convinced that the source was some great beast who, heedless of any obstacle, was surely rushing through the vegetation in their direction.

Swiftly, the Boys scarpered, some hiding behind bushes while Felior secreted himself in a hollow, readying an arrow. Sojount, thinking himself quite clever, determined to climb a tree. Unfortunately for the stout man of the cloth, his bourgeois upbringing had neglected to offer sufficient experience or instruction in the field of arboreal ascent. This, coupled with the heavy coat of steel rings he wore beneath his robe, as well as his rather hurried and spontaneous scrabbling (this due to a healthy fear of the unknown), caused the unfortunate friar to fall from no small height and sprain his left wrist.

It was at this moment, when the priest took a tumble from the little rowan, that the crashing and thrashing reached its climax, and out from the thickets like a dolphin from a foaming crest plunged a boar of prodigious size, its mouth frothing, its eyes glaring forward with a manic and angry glint. Only Felior, however, with his keen eye for the natural world, spied the apparent cause of the boar's anger: a nasty-looking series of parallel gashes across its right flank, just above the haunches, from which blood oozed and coagulated with mud and matted fur like a witch's plaster.

Felior had no time, however, to muse on what could have caused this injury. His instincts kicked in and he let loose the arrow he had knocked. It flew true, striking the boar in its haunch. The angry pig, whose eyes had first alighted on the prone priest at the foot of the tree, now whirled, seeking the source of this new pain. It spied the elf, and prepared to charge. A second arrow, loosed from Felior's bow, seemed to only push it further into its blind fury. Felior's face went slack as he realized he was about to be charged by three hundred pounds of tendon, tusk, and tooth.

Yet it was at this moment that Monachus, hitherto either concealed from or ignored by the pig, stepped out into its path defiantly and took up a readied stance, right fist drawn back, left palm out as if beseeching the boar for alms, staff balanced on it. No emotion stirred his becalmed face. It was nothing for the boar to switch targets, just so long as it hurt the world that had hurt it. It charged Monachus, bearing down, its hooves thundering like an avalanche. In a blur of motion, Monachus swung his stave in a sweeping arc, though he mistimed it. Yet there was nothing sloppy about the fist, stone-solid, which came up from the right to meet the boar. The fist connected directly with the boar's snout, killing it stone dead! Grumdo licked his lips as he eyed its thick flanks.

Then the cause of the boar's initial wound became unpleasantly apparent as a wolf, far larger than any wolf they had ever seen, emerged from the thicket following the trail of destruction wrought by the boar. This time Felior had no time to knock an arrow, and Grumdo's hurled dagger went wide as the huge wolf, in whose eyes a wicked intelligence smoldered, pounced upon the still-prone form of the priest! It savaged him fiercely and he passed out from pain, shock, and perhaps shame.

Now dwarves are slow to act, but when they do, they do so impetuously and decisively. So it was with Orik who, seeing his comrade fallen to the fangs of the wolf, gave a great cry, "Khazad ai-menu!" and made for the wolf. Having closed the short distance, he brought his shield back onto his forearm, took hold of his morning star with both hands, and brought it down on the wolf's skull, caving it in fully. The body went limp and fell atop the unconscious cleric.

That night, as Felior and Monachus used their knowledge of herb lore to patch up Sojount, Grumdo skinned and filleted the boar. He produced proudly from his back a selection of herbs and spices, which he had saved for just such an occasion, and, with these accouterments and the remnants of lunch, the Boys made an excellent meal out of their fallen assailant. The wolf was dumped unceremoniously nearby.

And so, tired, full, and, in the case of Sojount, sore, the Boys settled down into their bedrolls under the watchful eye of Felior and the ever-watchfal eyes of the guiding stars, knowing that they should reach the mine in short order on the morrow...
 
Chapter II: The Sancrik Mine

Grey dawn roused the Boys from their slumber. When the act of breaking their fast and their camp is factored in, it only took them four hours to reach the mine. It lay in the side of a high hill with slopes, gullies, and thickets all around. The entrance was an old wooden framework whose doors had long been thrown down and covered by weeds. Two nasty goblins leaned on spears at the door, lazily glancing about from time to time.

The Boys all SEAL-crawled up to the edge of a gully and observed the situation. They decided that surprise was the most prudent approach, and consequently Grumdo and Monachus determined to creep around through the undergrowth and approach the entrance via a thicket of large holly bushes that ran along the foot of the mine's hill. Monachus was as the wind in the rushes. Grumdo, on the other hand, had several saucepans hanging from his pack, which he kept on at all times. These clanged so that the goblins couldn't help but notice the strange fur-footed footpad creeping towards them. Realizing that the jig was up, Felior loosed an arrow, catching one in the throat. Its cry of alarm became an agonized gargle as it slumped to the ground. The other fled down into the mine.

Orik had no patience for these shenanigans. He clambered awkwardly up the bank, put his head down, and charged for the mine in a manner reminiscent of the way the boar had charged yesterday. Monachus and Grumdo shrugged and followed. Just inside they found three goblins hiding behind a table, the knucklebones still rattling to the floor from its upturning as a makeshift barricade. They set to work with a vengeance, hacking and slashing, and in short order all were slain. Grumdo began cutting off their ears and putting them in his "bounty sack," while Felior investigated the passage beyond, at the foot of which he could see torchlight flickering. Luckily, he also noticed a tripwire at ankle level, connected to a hanging earthenware pot. "Everyone take ten paces back," he said calmly; knocked an arrow to his bow, and loosed, deftly severing the cord. The pot fell and released its payload: quicklime. After the dust had settled, they continued on, congratulating each other on performing so well on this, their first adventure together.

The tunnel was at a rather steep incline, shored up at regular intervals by aged timbers. Every now and then a pile of rubble, illuminated in the swinging light of Grumdo's lamp, signified some collapsed side tunnel. After a hundred yards or so of descent, the Boys emerged into a torchlit intersection, with another passage sloping down to the west and another passage continuing more or less level to the east. From this second passageway, the keen ears of elf, dwarf, and halfling perceived the sounds of guttural voices and mattocks striking stone. Felior peeked around the corner and saw, chained to a support strut, a badger the size of a goat. Several of its claws were broken, and its fur was matted with dried blood and mud, its muzzle caked and scarred, and it wore a bit of leather. Felior, his heart moved by the plight of the poor creature, crept forward softly, his hand out, and spoke gently in the tongue of the forest elves, which all beasts know holds no danger for them. The badger proffered its sore muzzle, and allowed Felior to both unbridle and unchain it.

The rest of the party were engrossed in this act - all save Orik, who impatiently went back to the western passage and ventured down it.

Meanwhile, Felior, the others, and the badger, which they named Alfred, went onward towards the sound of mattocks. They found that the tunnel opened into a large, dimly lit chamber of rough-hewn earth and stone. Two goblins and four strange creatures were hard at work digging here. The four were scaled like lizards, with knobby protrusions and crocodile teeth, yet their heads were shaped like a dog's. They wore only loincloths and had slings and knives stuffed in their belts.

Of course, they were no match for the Boys. Felior's arrows downed one of them, and before they knew what hit them, the creatures were faced with a strange and terrifying adversary: a badger, rabid with rage and hunger, charging towards them, with a halfling riding on its back! Grumdo was having the time of his life. Alfred clamped his jaws on one of them and began to savage it greedily. Grumdo urged him on to further conquest. Unfortunately, Alfred was starving, and the kobold (for that was what the creature was), while scrawny and bitter, was food nonetheless. While the halfling attempted to spur Alfred onward, Monachus faced off against one of the other kobolds, which he downed with a swift one-two punch. Unfortunately, he was then met with a shower of stones from the other kobolds' slings and actually knocked unconscious. Thankfully, Grumdo left Alfred, frustrated, and, with the aid of Sojount and Felior, finished off the nasty little buggers.

It was only then, however, that the Boys realized they were short one Boy. Orik was gone! While Grumdo sliced goblin ears and kobold tails, the other three set out to find their dwarf companion.
 
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