Session 1

It is early morning in the arid town of Eredin. Our adventurers wake to find themselves in their own rooms after a long night’s rest.

Coming down the stairs first is a very eagle-like Aarakocra, a longbow slung on his back with a full quiver of arrows. He heads to the bar, orders a beer, and drinks in silence.

Second to descend is a hulking, 8’ 10” ashen-skinned Goliath man, his short brown hair still sleep-tousled. He, too, approaches the bar, asking for a stew containing, at the very least, a whole animal.

“Sorry,” the man behind the counter says, “all we have is this beef stew.”

[Largo rolls perception, learns the stew is really just reheated

from the previous day, but still okay.]

He accepts the stew, mumbling to himself, and the two have the bar pretty much to themselves.

After their stew and breakfast beer, Largo and K’sagsoda leave the inn and walk about town. They find a bulletin board where jobs are posted but find it empty. An older woman, perhaps in her sixties, is approaching with a sealed envelope in her hands.

“Got somethin’ for the board?” The ranger asks.

“Oh my yes,” the woman replies, “would you happen to be headed west? You see, I need this letter delivered to the little camp of Leed, but I’m afraid none of the mail seems to be going through. Could you deliver it for me, please?”

“That won’t be a problem. How far is it from here?” The Goliath pipes in.

“Two days’ walk. Surely no trouble for such long-legged lads as you two. I need it delivered to Father Orren in the church.”

“Hang on,” K’sagsoda says as he puts his hand on Largo’s shoulder, “what’s in it for us?”

“Five gold.” The woman says with a nod. “Now. You get another five when you return with proof of delivery.”

The two men nod to each other, coming to an agreement as they accept the letter.

“See you when we come back.” Largo says as he strides confidently, stepping over the woman while K’sagsoda follows him.

The woman blushes slightly as she caught a peek beneath the Goliath’s loincloth, fanning herself quietly before going about her business.

Leed, 2 days later

Meanwhile the unlikely pair make their way toward Leed, a small outpost in the middle of the Sorrow Swamp, without incident. They arrive and gain entry relatively easily, having stopped along the way for food and rest.

The camp consists of only five buildings: an inn with stable nearby, the church, an open-air smithy, and a little tent between the church and the inn that serves as a grocery. Two of the fortifications on the east side of the camp are damaged, while four cannons guard the fore and rear of the encampment, atop the twenty-foot wall made of logs.

Both head to the inn.

“Howdy there!” The bartender greets them in a light brogue, “An’ welcome to Leed. What c’n I get for ’ya?”

Largo takes a look at the stools provided and scoffs. “Got anything bigger like a soap box I can sit on?”

“Hm, no. Sorry. Can I git you anythin’ else?”

“What’ll you give me for this?” He asks, unstrapping an empty cask formerly filled with poor-quality ale.

“What’ll I give you fer an empty barrel wha’ smells like piss tha’ I don’ want?” The bartender asks, looking Largo up and down with an, “Are you serious?” expression.

“Yes.” The Goliath nods, leaning forward until his elbow is on the bar, bent at the waist just to meet the other man’s gaze.

[Largo rolls a 17 on intimidation.]

“You c’n have a room. Normally cost you about 2 silver per night, but that cask’ll get you the one room for one night. S’pose I can use it fer… somethin’.”

“What’s your name?” Largo asks, standing upright and stretching after being in that cramped position longer than he expected.

“Aigen.”

“Do you know where we can find Father Orren?”

“Sure, he’s likely at the church. If he’s not there, then he’s in the swamp. Goes there sometimes.”

“And is he there now?”

“Don’t know.”

“Right. Thanks.”

Leaving the bar, K’sagsoda stops at the grocer and manages to pilfer a glass decanter of whiskey that the shopkeeper was trying to hide and save for himself. He’s a nervous fellow, short, wrings his hands while watching to see if there’s anything he can show the archer. Largo soon joins in looking for anything useful but, finding nothing they really wanted among the rope, shovel, pickaxe, or other things of miscellany, the two leave and head to the church.

Once there, they find it completely empty, though all the candles are lit and it seems recently swept. Searching for anyone present, they come across a young half-elf man rifling through some papers.

“Father Orren I presume?” Largo asks.

He jumps, standing at 6’ feet tall and brown hair loosely braided down his back, smoothing his robes idly.

“Huh? Oh… oh no, no. I’m Dax Ferdelas, I work with Father Orren. He isn’t here right now.”

“Where is he?”

“In the swamp, but,” he pauses, shifting his weight to his other foot, “but I haven’t seen him in a few days. It isn’t rare for him to be in the swamp, but he’s never been gone this long before.”

“Did he say where he was going?”

“No.”

“Do you know about where he’d be?”

“No.”

“Why didn’t you report him missing to the guards?”

“They’ve got better things to do and besides, Father Orren goes to the swamp often.”

“Here’s what we’re gonna do,” Largo speaks slowly so the half-elf can process his words, “I’m going to throw you in a sac and carry you if I have to, and we’re going to find this priest.”

“W-What? No I… I can walk by myself.”

Largo finally notices the young man isn’t nearly so small as he had thought, and reconsiders. “Fine. We’re leaving.”

“Let me just pack my things, I’ll be right there!”

Within moments, Dax is packed and exits the church in armor that appears borrowed, a mace at his side, and a small bag held firmly in place on his back.

The group wanders over to a small group of tents gathered on the northern side of the camp, a man shorter than Dax seeming to be in charge as he barked orders left and right.

“You there,” Largo calls out, “you the captain?”

“I am. Who’re you?”

The Goliath points a finger at the damaged towers. “Pretty banged up, eh? What caused it?”

“None of your business.”

“Be happy to take care of it for you.”

“We can handle matters on our own; we have no use for outsiders like you meddling in our personal affairs.”

“Oh sure, yeah, you’re handling it real nice.”

He sighs, looks from side-to-side, and lowers his voice. “Look, you didn’t hear it from me but it’s the gnolls. They came around, took out the supply carts, and headed east. If you get rid of them, I will pay you out of my own pocket per ear.”

“How much are we talking?” K’sagsoda inquires.

The captain pats his belt and the light sound of jingling is heard; there isn’t much in there. “Uh… one gold per ear.”

“Deal.”

And with that, the newly-formed trio makes their way into the swamp…

[Well, after Largo throws Dax over the twenty-foot wall, leaps over it himself, and the Aarakocra merely flies over it. Poor Dax takes 4 points of falling damage.]

Swamp, 3 hours later

After several successful survival checks to evade surprise crocodile attack, Largo is wading through the river and is (finally!) ambushed by one of the scaly beasts… and promptly kills it all by himself while K’sagsoda and Dax watch on from the shore. He then drags it behind him and only stops when movement catches his eye.

He moves in to investigate.

A small encampment of about twenty orcs rests here nestled in the thicker trees. Largo approaches it, the crocodile held aloft in his hands as he sets it down on the ground.

“I offer you this gift to your chief in exchange for information.” He says, ignoring the orcs who are readying their weapons.

The orcs advance, silent.

Dax is panicking silently while K’sagsoda tenses, ready to fight should the need arise. Largo backs up.

One step. Two.

He readies his lance as the orcs come ever closer, wanting to provide the other two a chance to escape, to stall the orcs however long he can to ensure their safety.

He throws his two handaxes, felling one of the five orcs that are now pursuing them, the other fifteen lagging behind.

Four orcs left.

The Aarakocra knocks an arrow and fires, hitting the big-tusked menace in his shoulder while Dax swings and misses, Largo finishing it off.

Three left.

Largo is furiously brandishing his lance, another orc falls, and the last two are focused on the hulking Goliath before them. He’s the one taking down their bretheren, it’s him they need to get rid of. The other two will be no trouble after that.

The second to last orc rolls a natural twenty. Largo uses Stone’s Endurance to halve the damage at the last second. Dax manages to cast Healing Word to restore most of the health lost.

Both orcs fall to Largo and K’sagsoda respectively. Dax is staring at the carnage and barely resisting the urge to throw up. The large barbarian takes a greataxe and an extra lance for himself, 5 silver pieces, and – with the remaining fifteen orcs retreating back to their camp – retrieves the crocodile he’d slain earlier.

Heading off a ways from the camp and the patrol, the three make camp for the night to rest and get a good night’s sleep.

In the morning, Largo makes a stew with the crocodile, binds some of its bare ribs together with its own sinew, and invents the “croc” pot.

And that, dear friends, is where we are picking up next week.

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Definitely going to try and take better notes so I can better relay the story for you guys! Let me know in the comments what you think. It's my first time DMing as well as my husband's & roommate's first time playing D&D so please be kind and considerate. I didn't mean for this to go over multiple sessions, and all of this is only 2.5 hours in itself, but we were all pretty tired and agreed that we could stretch it out to the next game. 😃

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