The Wanderer - A Journey South

[Nuran]

The sun is rising.

Leif slowly opened an eye and ran a hand across his face. Where once had been little more than a mess of short stubble, now a blonde, bristly beard had grown. Slowly, he began to stretch away the aches that had returned after another long night on a cold stone floor.

The small window high above him was the room’s only source of light, and was angled in such a way that the small square of warmth raced across the floor at an alarming rate. Typically, Leif struggled to follow the light along its journey and fight off some of the chills, but this day he simply sat, half-propped against the wall, and mused about why the dawn would so quickly flee in a temple of the Morninglord.

He could not recall how many days had passed since he had been taken anymore. By his best estimate, at least one half cycle of the moon had passed, for most of his deep bruises had healed of their own power. Twice a day, he would be left a meager meal by what seemed to be a young acolyte in a crimson robe, and once every few days, a priest would come and attempt to pry information from him. He knew with certainty that he was a prisoner, but he gave occasional silent thanks that he was at least given meals, and had his more grievous wounds tended.

Leif turned his attention back to the square of light, as it neared the slight indentation in the center of the room. Each morning, as the square was illuminated, his first meal was delivered. This morning, however, the padded footsteps that softly scuffed down the length of the hall outside his door were different.

Harsh steps, heavy steps. Boots, armour, and the clicking of spear-shafts.

Leif had first awoke in the stone room to find his travel pack, sword belt, each piece of leather armour, and every trinket removed from his person. Still, he grunted to a stand and waited in little more than cloth pants and leather boots for his armed and armoured visitors. The lock protested loudly as it was turned, and the iron reinforced door groaned as it swung slowly open. The guards left in the door’s wake bore the sigil of a sun on their doublets and each clutched a wickedly tipped six foot spear.

Both men were shorter than their own spears by half a foot, and shorter still than Leif. The tall northman crossed his arms over his chest and seemed unimpressed, but did not otherwise move. New steps began to echo down the hall, and as the third guard came into view holding strings of iron shackles, both spears were lowered towards him.

“We’re to prepare you for transport.”

The newly arrived guard seemed to speak for the other two, and though he was no more physically impressive, his little eyes gleamed hungrily.

“Decide to fight, and I’ll gladly have them show you why they carry the spears.”


The sun is rising.

While much of the journey south had been calm, the dawn had brought with it choppy seas, and kept most of the other passengers below decks. Above, Leif stood alone save for the crew, and lightly held to the rigging as the sea-spray misted his stubbly face. The brisk winds fluttered his dirty blonde hair and tugged at his loose green tunic, but his lean, muscled body remained all but motionless. Silver-blue eyes shone in the new light as they stared into the distance. As day crept into the world, so had it slowly unveiled the form of the docks ahead in the distance.

The passage south towards Baldur’s Gate was one he had taken a dozen times over, and yet he still loved to see the city grow on the horizon. Square and triangular sails peppered the harbour in a hundred different colours as merchant galleys and small passenger skiffs came and went some narrowly avoiding collision. Towards the outskirts of the bay, the Baldurian warships sat as silent sentinels, rolling on the waves as their crews monitored the morning traffic.

Leif turned away as the ship neared its typical dock, and headed down the stairs towards the cabins in a controlled lurch reserved for men who had grown from a young age on the sea. His cabin was much smaller than many of the other passengers, and held room for little more than a simple, folding bed and a lockbox.

The ship had already begun to slow as Leif folded the bed up to the wall and latched it in place. While he had often sailed south to Baldur’s Gate, he knew this journey would be different. His nights alone on those wooden planks had been mostly sleepless, with his thoughts turned towards what he had left in the north. Alyra was as understanding as she was beautiful, but recently, the amount of time they spent apart had begun to outweigh the time they spent together. Still, Leif knew that this trip had a purpose, and that Alyra would be eager to hear of any information he was able to uncover.

He knelt and opened the lockbox as the oarsmen began to maneuver the ship into the proper place to tie off. He pulled from the lockbox a seemingly simple cloth sack, then tossed the lock and key into the box and shut the lid once more. As he climbed back up the stairs towards the deck, Leif twisted the sack by its corners into a tight bundle, and tied it across his chest so that it crossed with his sword belt. Above deck, the ship’s captain waited by the railing as the crew rushed along the dock, pulling ropes to tie the ship in securely.

“Fine sailing, as always. We’ve made good time from Waterdeep.”

The captain turned to regard Leif with a nod and a stern seaman’s gaze. “Shame you have to leave us, lad.” The corner of Leif’s mouth hinted at a smirk.

“Just a shame you don’t own any barges.”

The captain crossed his burly arms at this and narrowed his eyes, though his thinly bearded chin shifted under the seemingly unfamiliar motions of a grin.

“A *river* barge?!” he finally erupted, “I’d sooner be harpooned… or keel-hauled… or…”

Realising he was being goaded into a reaction, the captain fizzled into muttering a bit and tugged at his short beard in agitation.

“You never did tell me why you were heading down river. That lady-friend of yours getting to be too much to handle? I could ‘handle’ her a bit for you when I head back north…”

Leif put a hand to the railing and vaulted over it and onto the dock. He glanced back to offer a smirk and a chuckle towards the jesting captain.

“You are more than welcome to try.”

[Nuran]

The sun is rising.

The trip upriver had taken less time than Leif had imagined it would. The expert crew of the small barge had used oars and pushing staves to navigate the river as far east as the outskirts of Scornubel in only a half cycle of the moon. Leif had surprised the men by offering to row alongside them, and made quick friends of many by bringing a cask of ale aboard with him to share.

Despite its small size, the small barge left ample opportunities to be alone as well. Leif found himself unrolling and reading over the scrap of parchment that had set him on this course nearly once a night.

The city of Scornubel lies along the River Chionthar, east of Baldur’s Gate. There, you are to gather information on unrest in the local Lathanderite temple. Be thorough… be discrete.

-H

Scornubel, Leif knew, was a key caravan stop along the river. Her population waxed and waned not with the cycles of the moon, but with the cycles of the trade season. Ideal times to travel the Trade Way would bring merchants by the thousands past and through her gates at the right times of year, but even when traveling wasn’t ideal, she would not be a ghost town.

It was late into autumn, and the crew had explained that at this time of year, many of the caravans had moved on from the lands surrounding the walled portion of Scornubel. At their prompt, Leif noted the extent of the cleared land, where patches of near bare dirt marked where each wagon had sat, or tent had been erected. Along the bank, the remaining caravans began to pass, and at their leisurely rate, Leif could see crowds gathering around a stage where a chained bugbear was beginning to dance what appeared to be a Waterdhavian jig.

As they neared the city proper, it was clear that not all trade stopped come winter. The muddy river slowly became congested with other barges and skiffs as the city walls came into view. At the nearest dock sat a well used ferry, ushering a wagon and a group of merchants aboard who were destined for the southern bank. As the crew carefully found passage through the crowded river, it was made clear that the ferry dock marked the end of their journey.

Leif had already gathered his few possessions, and so stood ready to depart as the crew scrambled to secure the barge. His rolled travel sack and sword-belt remained secured about his shoulders and across his chest. Beneath the crossed belts, a well worn leather tunic had been pulled over his broad shoulders, and beneath the tangled mess of his hair, he had clasped on an ornate, golden headband. As the barge was finally secured to the docks, Leif clasped each of the men on the shoulders before tightening his dragon emblazoned arm-bracers and took his leave.

Just beyond the end of the ferry dock, the wharf erupted into a crowded fish market. While the smells of fresh and rotting fish had been noticeable as the barge tied off, it became invasive as Leif passed the first of the fish barrels. Stalls were arranged at random along the wharf and out into the small market square. Often packed close together, it seemed as though each merchant made his livelihood both by how good the morning catch was and how loud their voice was.

Leif tightened the crossing buckles for his swordbelt and travel bag, and kept a hand to the purse at his waist as he began to weave through the more crowded parts of the market. To one side, a tall woman held aloft a river turtle with thin arms, as her shrill voice told the crowd around her stall just how tender its meat would be. Ahead, Leif could see that the stall that held the clear advantage in the market. A massive half orc with a groomed beard towered over the gathering crowd. Even at a distance, his booming voice clearly brought the news of the morning’s catch to Leif’s ears.

Knowing that few people so enraptured by fish would be willing to answer any questions, Leif turned away from the wharf. The market seemed to melt away slowly as his feet carried him along the cobbled main road towards the city-proper. The morning sun seemed to have drawn many people towards the spectacle that was the fish market, and as such, Leif found he only had a few rumbling wagons and sparse foot-traffic to compete with.

As he passed his first large crossroad, he stopped to ponder his course, the smell of fish still close behind him. To the left, the intersecting street wavered drunkenly past warehouses and stables towards the West Green Gate. To the right, the street bent like the curve of a bow, rising up a small hill to the iron gates of a large building.

A tug at the skirting of his leather tunic offered a respite from the decision before him. Looking over and down, he saw at his knee level a dirty, raven-haired young girl. The girl was dressed in little more than grey rags which seemed to make her large, hopeful eyes the dead colour of fine slate. In one grubby hand, she clenched a small fish by its tail, and as he looked towards her, she thrust it upwards.

“Best fish o’ th’ mornin’ catch, ser! Only…” She seemed to stop and think at this, though whether she was trying to recall what price she was meant to offer, or determine what amount she could pry out of him was hard to tell. “…a gold bit!”

Leif raised a skeptical brow down towards the girl and was unable to hide a smirk. “You might have had better luck asking for a silver bit, but even then…”

A sudden thought had him move a hand to his coin purse, but he was relieved to find that it had not been cut. The charcoal eyes of the fishmonger began to well up slightly, and the fish she clung to so tightly began to make it’s way back towards her chest in defeat.

“It’s juss that… Ham makes me pay a silver for ‘em already, ser. He gives me the fish an’ says I needs find him a silver, an’ anything more is for me. Then he always laughs. If I come back wit’ the fish, or with less than a…”

A small saline torrent began to trickle down either side of her mud stained nose, and Leif found he could only sigh in response.

“I will give you a silver for whoever this ‘Ham’ is, as well as a gold to keep for yourself, if you can show me to a tavern where many of the frequent river traders visit.”

The raven-haired urchin’s face instantly brightened, and without word, she turned right on the intersecting street and hurried off. Leif took this as a cue and headed after her, his long strides making up the girl’s head start in only a few moments. As he skirted around a quartet of horses pulling a laden wagon and reached her side, both of their paces seemed to slow. Reaching into the coin purse at his belt, he pulled out the promised coins and pressed them into her eager hand.

“What you lookin’ to trade at the tavern the river rats go to?”

Leif smirked and shook his head.

“I’m on a very secret mission. Some important people want to know some things I’m hoping to overhear as gossip.”

Leif’s tone had only been mildly patronizing, but the young girl’s skeptical look was one born of years spent working the docks of a trade hub. He met the skeptical look with a broad grin, but when all he was given in return was a scowl, Leif sighed and admitted defeat.

“I’ve come to look into the state of affairs at the Healing House of Lathander.”

The girl looked Leif over shrewdly with slate grey eyes before seeming content with his answer and offering a nod in response. Their hurried pace slowed to a halt in front of the wooden double doors of a tavern. Perched on the roof of the building was a large purple statue of a unicorn, that while once had perhaps seemed majestic, now wore rouge, lip scarlet and eye shadow. The makeup was hastily applied, and running in more than one place, and yet none of the dozens of people passing by seemed to take notice of the spectacle.

“What is this place?”

The young girl’s dirty cheeks scrunched in a coy grin that bordered on mischievous. Still clutching the coins and the fish in one hand, she reached up with the other to point at the mockery of the statue.

“The Jaded Unicorn. No better place in the city to find river men, ser.”

It was Leif’s turn to appear skeptical as he followed her prompt and looked back towards the unicorn with silvery eyes. When he looked back down, the girl met his eyes with an inquisitive look.

“What you need to know about the temple that you gonna find –outside- the temple?”

Leif knelt for a moment and ruffled her raven hair. The girl’s face scrunched up in apparent displeasure, and she folded her arms, fish and all, in anticipation of a response.

“If you ask someone how they look in someone else’s eyes, they –always- tell you something different than the someone else would have.” A few vacant blinks was all he received by way of response for that, so he added, “Can’t always believe what you hear. That’s why I need to talk to a handful of people about the temple before I go to the temple itself.”

She seemed satisfied with this answer, if not still skeptical. Extending a hand towards the tavern door, she nodded, and flashed a too-wide smile. “Best not keeps yer handful of people waiting then, ser.” With that, she turned back the way they came and skipped off, vanishing down the crowded street.

Leif shook his head and glanced up towards the sentinel unicorn before stepping around the drunkard at the door and stepping into the tavern. As his eyes adjusted to the dim lighting, he slowly took in the single large room before him. As promised, a good sized crowd of river merchants had already made their way to the Unicorn, despite the early hour. A few were gathered about the long bar on the left side of the tap room, and many more sat at the random scattering of tables strewn about before him. Adopting a swagger, he approached the bar and began his work.

[Nuran]

The sun is rising.

Leif spent the better part of the afternoon becoming acquainted with the river merchants and deck hands, and the better part of the night lying restless on the straw mat in the room he bought for the night. Sleep came at last, though the pungent odor of the tap room was still with him as the rising sun stirred him from restless sleep.

Despite buying countless rounds of drinks, Leif had gotten very little information regarding the temple. While this may have been slightly strange, what was truly odd was that in some cases, he was met with such resistance, that he narrowly avoided a few fights. Still, the hard men who worked the river barges were not always the first to be swayed by the Morninglord, and many who nearly took up fists against him, took up fists against each other minutes later.

One sun-weathered old fisherman had given him something to consider however, and as he pulled back on his armour and tightened various belts and straps, he repeated his advice a few times.

They say the sun is rising, northman. Ask the right people, and you might learn not only what that means, but why thems here with life ahead of them aren’t keen on taking sides.

“Taking sides.” Leif said the words out loud as he descended the stairs that lead down to the back corner of the taproom. “Who is the temple taking sides against though?”

The sun had only just stirred from slumber, but already people were milling about the tap room. Some even seemed the same men and women as the night before, wearing the same dirty clothes. Leif paused at the base of the stairs and mused about how much the patrons might contribute to the smell, before spotting a door at the rear of the room and heading for it.

After letting his eyes adjust to the new morning light, Leif found himself in a narrow alley behind the tavern. The air was fouler in the alley than it had been at the fish market and inside the tavern combined. Leif took only a few steps towards the street before stopping in the realization that the smell was more than just rotting garbage. The smell of death seemed to hang all about him, and so it took a number of pained minutes to discern the origin.

A few barrels of rotting cabbage and fish sat near to the wall ahead, and as he approached them, it was not hard to spot the remains of a small body strewn carelessly behind them. In the north, some people called Leif a master swordsman, and along with the name came a certain disillusion to corpses. As he leaned slowly over the tops of the putrid, open barrels however, he found slate grey eyes and a filthy young face twisted in horror beneath a tangle of raven hair.

Twisted and broken, the girl’s rags had been shredded in some places by what may have been claws. Her neck had been cut ear to ear by something more finely edged, however, and it was clear that her last moments had not been pleasant. Leif recoiled from the sight in horror and instantly turned to flee the alley in search of help.

Racing through the busy street, he headed east, dodging a group of merchants lost in heated negotiation and a number of wagon laden horses. His gait brought him quickly to the eastern wall despite the obstacles, and he searched the length of joined wooden posts for the break that would mean both a gate, and guards. He found his salvation just to the south of his position, where an empty main road breached the wall to join the Trade Way. Both large doors had been shut, though Leif took no notice of this as he jogged up to a ragged looking man in watch-grade mail and pot helm.

“A little girl… she’s been murdered…” Leif put hands to his knees as he fought to catch his breath, though as he looked up panting, he noted that the watch guard seemed in as much of a panic as himself.

“You think I care ‘bout some flea-bitten whelp? The whole city’ll join her soon enough! A dozen bugbears’r coming out of the woods, an they brought a giant!”

Leif blinked a few times, and squinted at the man. Beneath his ragged appearance and city-lent armour, the man before him was younger than he seemed, and either untried in actual combat or a craven. Green or yellow, the young man hurried away and left Leif with the chaos developing at the gate. A scattering of other watchmen hurried up and down the wooden steps to the battlements while looking for someone to offer some direction.

There will be more deaths to mourn if I do not help here. Even a dozen bugbears could breach this gate with a giant in tow.

Leif felt a bit of remorse for the sudden shift in his focus, even as he steeled his resolve. The chill of the morning had clung to the air even as the sun rose further into the sky, and as Leif approached the gate, his voice was seen as well as heard.

“Soldier! Find a horn and sound it.” The man above who had noted the tall northman’s approach nodded, seemingly glad for some direction. Leif turned his attention to another guard struggling with the large beam meant to secure the gates shut.

“Make things easy and find some help. This gate needs to be secured the moment after I walk through it.”

The man startled at his words, and then stood as he digested their meaning. For only a moment, he seemed ready to try to talk some sense into Leif, but then simply shook his head dismissively and continued struggling with the beam. Leif turned towards the gates and inhaled deeply before pushing one side open and slipping out and onto the East Green.

The sound of the gate creaking shut behind him caused a handful of bugbears to look up from the wagon they were ransacking a few dozen paces away. Despite random bits of stolen armour, all of the hairy, hulking forms seemed to be clad in the same manner of dress, hinting at an organized clan. Behind the small group, the hulking hill giant stood to it’s full height of 10 feet and dropped the mangled horse leg it had undoubtedly been chewing on to stretch out arms thick with muscle.

To the right of the group, a single bugbear clad in the trappings of a shaman raised a skull clad scepter and bellowed something unintelligible out in a booming voice. All at once, the others sprang for long handled axes or brandished stolen long swords, then began to charge. As the first wave raced towards him in a chaotic surge, Leif quickly noted other groups sprouting from more distant corners of the abandoned caravan stop and shambling towards the gates.

The young fool was wrong. There are well more than a dozen.

There was little time to reflect on his serious error however, and no time to turn back for the gates. Instead, Leif charged straight at the first bugbear of the group. Some of his companions behind him slowed slightly in surprise, but the first bugbear reared back with his sword as Leif neared him, thinking to fell him with a single swing. Leif did not slow to loose his sword from his scabbard, though, and instead leapt into the air. Tucking up his legs, leather clad knees slammed into the broad, hairy chest of the startled bugbear, and before he had time to plant his powerful legs, he keeled over backwards beneath the weight of the northman.

Without stopping his momentum, Leif tumbled over his first foe and sprang towards the second. The startled bugbear barely had enough time to raise up the handle of his longaxe in front of him to deter the humiliation his clansman had endured. Leif skidded to a halt before this foe, however, and grabbing the handle with both hands himself, pried the weapon from the bugbear after loosening his grip with a swift head-butt.

The rest of the group began to stir from their shock, and as they converged upon Leif, the fight became a blur. Leif dodged a thrusting sword and spun to sink the head of his stolen axe into the belly of another attacker. Abandoning the axe and elbowing behind him, he caught the nose of the sword-wielder squarely and then deftly ducked beneath a careless wide swing of another axe. Raising up a bracer, he deflected the downward chopping swipe of a sword into the neck of the off balance axe swinger, and then spun away from the tangle.

Another bugbear from his side charged in with a sword swinging from above its shaggy head. Leif stepped into the swing and caught the bugbear by its hands. The immense strength of the creature was too much to overcome directly, however, so Leif slipped around behind the brute and used the momentum of maneuver to shift the blade and pull it into the bugbear’s own belly. Hands still clasped around the bugbears own, he pulled the sword back out and shifted again, pulling up the arm and blade to deflect an incoming axe. The creature, weakened by the grave wound to its stomach, offered little resistance, and with the axe swipe deflected, Leif planted the heel of his leather boot in the attackers groin and shoved him away.

A dozen paces away at the wagon, the giant had just discovered where he had stashed his massive club before his meal, and began to lumber towards the battle. Heavy steps shook the ground, and he only paused a moment to allow a chain clad bugbear brandishing a sword to charge into the fray before him. In the moment before the charging bugbear reached him, Leif lifted a hand to pull loose his long blade from its scabbard. The magical blade shone brightly in his hand and offered just enough of a distraction for Leif to move aside of his thrust and slash out with his sword.

A red line erupted across the bugbears throat, and Leif grabbed the front of his chain shirt and pull him forward. With the bugbear falling to one knee, Leif spun and rolled sideways across broad shoulders. His trailing hand brandishing the sword, Leif landed on the other side of the bugbear in perfect range for his thrust to come down on the leg of the hill giant. Letting out a mighty roar, the giant threw all of his raging strength into a downward two handed swing meant for Leif’s head. Narrowly avoiding the crushing blow, Leif swept his sword upwards and felt its tip bite into the massive arm just after the club slammed into the ground. The giant barely wavered though, and let go of the club with one hand to swiftly punch out at the northman.

The large fist met his chest with enough force to knock Leif from his feet and send him flying backwards to land with a thud on the cold ground. As Leif struggled back to his feet and shook off the daze of the blow, he managed to notice that more bugbears had gathered, and seemed content to stand watching the spectacle. Grunting and barking out shouts, they cheered on the giant as he lowered his shoulder and charged Leif. Still somewhat dazed, Leif jumped to the side only just in time, and swung low with his blade.

As the sword’s edge met flesh once more, the giant stumbled and fell to a knee with hands clutching at his ankle. Leif wasted no time in turning and flinging himself at the giant’s back, blade first. His sword sank to the hilt, and he clung to it madly with both hands as the giant began flailing about helplessly with his arms, trying to swat Leif away. The excessive twisting just drug the wound wider, however, and soon the blade came loose from the body as the giant collapsed face first, overcome by death shudders.

Before Leif could gather himself and let his victory sink in, the bugbears were upon him. Spearheads came at him from both sides and pierced leather to find flesh. Gasping, Leif collapsed on the ground in much the same manner the giant had, and watched a dozen pairs of hairy, monstrous feet encircle him. As his head rolled to one side, he saw the circle of feet part and the shaman he had noted earlier walked up to his side to examine him.

From somewhere in the near distance, a horn sounded, and a second answered from another direction. In a panic, the circle of feet dispersed and began thundering off in the direction of both horns. Leif’s eyes began to grow heavy and his vision blurred and then blackened as he slipped in and out of consciousness. The shaman had remained behind as the rest of the clan charged off to meet the new threat, and as Leif’s sight returned to him briefly, he saw the bugbear begin to melt.

Darkness took hold again, and as sight returned again, the bugbear shaman was no more. In its place stood a grotesque grey skinned creature who’s long, slender arms ended in sinister claws. The formless face stared down at Leif almost curiously, before it began to melt once more.

This time, the darkness was replaced by a blinding white, and Leif could feel his breaths becoming shallower. When his blurry sight returned, a familiar raven-haired girl crouched over him with tears streaming from her slate grey eyes. The sound of hooves approaching sent her spinning to her feet.

“I’ve found him, I’ve found him! O’er here!”

The hooves slowed, then sputtered to a halt and a moment later a man’s voice spoke the hasty words of a spell. A wave of soothing energy engulfed him, and Leif gasped as he felt his breath return to him all at once. The man took a step back into Leif’s line of sight, revealing a well polished breastplate emblazoned with a jewel crusted sun. The man turned then to the girl then and frowned.

“You have done well, though this is no place for a child. Run back to the gates, and I will see that you are found later and compensated for your assistance.”

The man then turned to regard Leif without further consideration for the raven-haired imposter. Leif gathered what strength he could and lifted his head and stretched out an arm towards the girl as she fled, but all that escaped his lips was an angry groan. Unable to form words, let alone stand as the pain yet tore through his body, he sunk back to the ground. Another set of hooves thundered in approach.

“We will take this one. Get a wagon… and some shackles.”

The man in the breastplate waited until the hooves had thundered off in the opposite direction before crouching down and lowering his head to peer into Leif’s listless silvery-blue eyes.

“The sun is rising, Leif… and you ask too many questions.”

[NESchampion]

((Save the town, get arrested. Great story so far.))