Dolmenwood Campaign Diary: Part 4

This is the fourth post summarizing a campaign I run for a group of three wonderful players.

·         Want to read the previous entry? Check out this post.

·         Want to learn more about the campaign setting? Check out Dolmenwood by Gavin
Norman (the Necrotic Gnome).

Grendel, Gwomodom, and Lambob awoke the next morning and set out for the bakery, eager to discover its secrets. The morning was misty and had a slight chill, though excitement warmed the adventurers.

They followed the road east out of Prigwort towards Brackenwold. After six or seven miles, they came across a stone cairn. A cart-path led south from the main road there, just as Amonie explained. As they turned to their new direction, Gwomodom bid the party to halt.

“What is it?” Lambob asked, impatient.

“The birds… they sound strange,” Gwomodom explained. “I don’t think they’re birds.”

The party stopped to listen. The chittering of birds filled the air, as it was springtime. However, as they listened, they could tell that one of the whistles was not a birdsong. It was a signal.

They heard the click of a cocking musket.

“Stop right there.”

A woman stepped into the middle of the road, pointing a long rifle at the three adventurers. She wore high boots and a three-cornered cap. Black hair framed her face, which was half-obscured by a mask around her eyes.

“What’s the meaning of this!?” Lambob angrily exclaimed. You can’t just go waving guns around….”

“Not one more step!” the highwaywoman threatened, then whistled again. The sound of a half-dozen other cocking muskets echoed from the trees. “Keep your hands where I can see them.”

The party timidly raised their hands. Gwomodom’s eyes scanned the trees around them. The mists of the forest obscured the other shooters.

“Do you have any baked goods?” The highwaywoman asked.

The adventurers looked at one another, confused. “What?” Grendel asked, disbelieving.

The highwaywoman sighed, clearly annoyed. She enunciated overly clearly, “Do you have any baked goods?”

“Um… no,” Grendel responded.

The highwaywoman looked disappointed. “Fine, then. We’ll take some gold. A gold piece from each of you. Have you got that?”

The three adventurers nodded.

“Alright then,” she continued, “You’re going to reach to your purses – slowly, now – and take out a gold piece each. Drop it on the ground. We’ll pick it up once you’re on your way. And don’t try anything!” She pointed the rifle at Lambob’s groin. “You’ll regret it.”

“You’ve obviously never beheld a dwarf’s jewels before, woman,” Lambob told her as he reached to his purse. “They’re as hard as rocks.”

A small smile curved below her mask. “Would you like to test that?” She asked.

Lambob scowled as he removed a coin from his purse, never taking his eyes off her. Each of the three adventurers dropped their offerings in the mud.

“Right then,” the highwaywoman said, stepping onto the berm. “Off you go.”

The party walked away. They watched the woman keep her rifle trained on them until the mist clouded their view.

“We could’ve taken them,” Lambob grumbled. “Since I’ve joined this crew, my pockets have only gotten lighter.”

“They’ll be heavy soon enough,” Grendel promised.

“They were good whistlers,” Gwomodom added, obviously impressed.

The adventurers continued down the cart-path in poor spirits. Half a mile down the rutted road dotted with puddles, they came to a cozy, rustic cottage alone in the middle of a glade. Trees pressed close around its sides. Muddy boots and wet cloaks crowded its front porch. Leaves of lavender hung from its beams, scenting the air.

The voices of many women sounded from inside as the adventurers approached. When their boots stomped their way onto the porch, the voices fell still. Grendel knocked.

The door opened to reveal the Amonie, the young woman they met at the Frisk market. Her look of concern brightened into a smile when she recognized the adventurers.

“Good, you came,” she said, sounding relieved. “Come inside. Have a seat.”

She opened the door wider. The adventurers stepped into a spacious living room, dominated by an oak table large enough to sit twelve or more. The remains of a hearty breakfast laid strewn on it. Two china cabinets stood on one wall, decorated with doilies and silverware. A half dozen cats lounged in the rafters above, looking down with mild interest. Several doors led elsewhere, while a narrow set of stairs led up.

“I’ll go get Mother,” Amonie told the party over her shoulder. She called to the half-open door at the far side of the room, “It’s alright, you can meet them.” She then left up the stairs.

The party pulled out some chairs to sit as the half-open door fully opened. Three young women bustled out. Each of them could be no older than thirty. The first had blonde hair and carried herself with a proud air. The second had pale brown hair and a mousy look. The third had auburn hair, a white dress, and a pixie face. As they flitted out their door, this last woman propped it open behind them to reveal a cluttered kitchen.

Each quickly took seats beside the adventurers where they sat at the table. The auburn-haired woman in the white dress eagerly took the chair next to Gwomodom. The mousy, brown-haired woman took a seat next to Lambob, then removed some knitting from the folds of her dress and set to work on it. The proud, blonde one sat across from Grendel.

“Pleasure to meet you,” she greeted without a smile. “I’m Clune. This is Gertrwynn,” she said, nodding to the pixie-faced woman, “and this is Almony,” she finished, indicating the one with the mousy face.

Gertrwynn leaned towards Gwomodom, eating him up with her eyes. “You’re a moss dwarf!” she observed breathily.

“Um… yes,” Gwomodom replied, not used to this much attention.

“That means you’ve met fairies, right?” Gertrwynn continued, an eager look widening her eyes.

“Seen ‘em in passing, yes,” Gwomodom confirmed, “but never got to know ‘em much. Mostly kept to the trees. Minding their fairy business.”

“But you have seen them?” She pressed.

“Yep. Cute things. Their wings make a good snack when you fry – oof!” Gwomodom stopped as Grendel’s pointed elbow met his side.

She sat back in her chair, an amazed look on her face. “Wow…” she sighed.

“Why’re you here?” Clune asked accusingly, her eyes narrowing.

“Beg your pardon?” Grendel asked, trying to salvage the conversation’s politeness.

“We live in the middle of the woods. People don’t come if they haven’t got a reason. So: why are you here?” Clune elaborated, as if talking to a child.

“Your sister Amonie said your Mother might need our help with something,” Grendel responded. “We came to see if we could.”

Clune nodded her head slowly, understanding developing on her face. “She’s going to ask you to kill something,” she stated bluntly. “A monster. D’you think you can do that?” She tilted her head with feigned curiosity.

“Well, we’ve killed things before,” Grendel boasted. “Restless dead. Living skeletons. So, it’s not out of the question.”

Clune leaned back in her chair, seemingly unimpressed. “Hm. Seems to me like killing a skeleton would be pretty easy. Compared to killing a man, I mean. A skeleton’s only half a man, really,” she said, a smiling curling at the edge of their lips.

The adventurers looked to one another, unsure of how to respond, when they heard steps descending the stairs. A new woman came down. She looked a bit older than the rest, with a curvy figure and bright red curls. She led a man down the stairs with her hand. He looked about the same age as her and sported a neatly trimmed blonde beard that matched his hair. He wore fashionable clothes, including a blue bycoket. As they came into view, Clune visibly rolled her eyes.

“So, these are the adventurers Amonie promised us?” the red-haired woman asked, a smile on her face. “I thought you’d be a bit taller. No offense!” she added quickly, then ducked into a curtsy. “I’m Hilda.”

“And I’m Cranduil, certified bard and licensed performer,” the man said with a gracious bow.

“And the most good-looking man in the Wood,” the red-haired woman added, giving his behind an indiscreet squeeze.

 “I thought I held that title,” Lambob said, seeming offended enough that Hilda and Cranduil took him seriously.

 “Er… right.” Hilda uttered, her voice unsure. She turned to Cranduil, running her fingers through his beard. “Well, we met them. Can we go back upstairs, now? I’ve got something I… need to show you.” She then started up the stairs, giving him a playful glance over her shoulder.

Cranduil looked back to those at the table. “It’s been a pleasure,” he offered, tipping his hat before following her.

A moment passed. Almony’s knitting needles clicked. Gertrwynn stared at Gwomodom, her hands holding each of her cheeks, as Gwomodom helped himself to some leftover sausage on the table. Lambob leered at the cats in the rafters. Clune’s eyes stared at an undefined point in space, her mind seemingly on an unpleasant thing. Grendel tried to think of something that would salvage the conversation.

Abruptly, Clune turned to Grendel and asked, “So, do you fancy Amonie?”

Grendel’s face flushed and his mouth hung open as he stuttered for a response. The sound of more steps descending the stairs saved him from having to give one.