Zubatai, The Karakhim thief, and Ketil Gravelborn, his
Dwarven muscle, were along with the foppish fighter Jacques Roqumare the only
survivors of a band of scoundrels that had left Tal Skallar to set up a trade
route with drug smugglers in the Far Eastern City of Jade.
They had taken with them Sir Unvelt, a female knight and
wife of their patron Clarissa Griever, for whom they’d blackmailed noblewomen,
disposed of bodies and assorted deeds that made staying in Tal Skallar
unwise. They also had with them three
children who they had redeemed from Ghoul Slavery, including the savage
halfling Prany, who Ketil had taken under his wing.
The party had reached a village below a monastery in the
mountains that divided The Rus Empire from the Karakhim horde, which stood
between them and the Jade City in far off Mu-Leng. They had promised Clarissa they would hide
Sir Unvelt the monastery, as he’d been accused of murder in Tal Skallar and she
could not afford a scandal.
When they arrived at the village, it did not seem to be the
safe haven they sought. The villagers
had sealed themselves in their home, and the howls of wolves could be heard,
along with the neighing of horses and the screams of Karakhim horsemen and
women.
Ketil and Jacques dismounted their war ostriches and headed
up steep stone steps carved into the mountain, escorting Sir Unvelt to the
monastery, where she hoped to be protected by Brother Gregor. Together they had fought against Koschei the
Undying in the Battle of 1,000 nights.
Zubatai stayed on ground level, telling the children to stay
with the mounts as he stealthily scouted ahead to see what the howls and cries
were all about. He found himself looking
at three of his fellow Karakhim horsemen, led by Monkhbat, who had the body of
a horse but the legs of a woman. Aided
by a shaman, becoming one with one’s horse though a sacred right was the
highest honor a Karakhim horse lord could earn save becoming a God-khan.
Gut neither Monkhbat nor her men, one of who had just been
eaten, were concerned with honor. They
were too busy battling two werewolves in the narrow mountain pass behind the
village.
Zubatai knew he had to help his kinsmen and let an arrow
fly. From up above, on the steps midway
to the monastery, Ketil and Jacques could see the battle. Ketil knew he’d be useless with his cursed
shield, so he led Jacques and Sir Unvelt in trying to hurl rocks down at the
lycanthropes, all unsuccessfully.
Jacques and Sir Unvelt started running down the mountain to enter the
melee. Ketil followed, encouraging young
Prany to join the fight.
One of the werewolves grievously wounded another Karakhim
warrior. Our crew then noticed the Karakhim
held two prisoners. Quofalcon
Serpenthelm, a footpad, and Old Boggy, a Karakhim veteran. Both had been former accomplices of the gang.
Having lost their comrades to Mardak Hawklight and Jotis the Knife to ghouls,
Zubatai, Ketil and Jacques were glad to see them.
With the Karakhim distracted by the werewolves, Quofalcon
was able to slip his bonds, while Old Boggy was able to break the ropes holding
him. Quofalcon grabbed his crossbow and
started firing at the werewolves, while Old Boggy drew his two-handed sword and
joined the melee on behalf of his former captors.
One of Zubatai’s arrows found its mark, and Old Boggy was
able to behead one of the werewolves.
Freed from its curse, it transformed into a bald, naked dwarf.
Sir Unvelt was till rusty from being a kept woman, unable to
land a blow on the other werewolf.
Neither was Ketil’s young halfling, Prany, try as he might to stab it
with the little dagger his new master gave him.
Quofalcon was able to land another hit, and together with the Karakhim
they were able to badly wound remaining werewolf. But as he did against the ghouls earlier,
Ketil saved the day by summoning his war ostrich Brutal Master to bit the
werewolf, finishing the job.
This was no cause for celebration. Monkhbat has lost one of her men, with yet
another badly wounded. And when the
second werewolf transformed upon death, Sir Unvelt recognized it has her old
friend, Gregor the Monk. If they needed
further confirmation that the monastery was occupied by werewolves, two more
were headed down the mountain for the party and the Karakhim.
Monkhbat, the half-horse Karakhim agreed to let Quofalcon
and Old Boggy go. They had trespassed in
Karakhim lands without a Khan’s passport.
Zubatai showed his, and but Monkhbat warned him it was outdated. Gurag, the God-Khan that commissioned Zubatai
to scout Tal Skallar had died, and a civil war had broken out among the
Karakhim.
Still, Zubatai and his friends were intent on heading
there. Monkhbat pleaded with Zubatai to
help the Karakhim here defend against the approaching werewolves, but instead
he gathered his crew and the children, and they went off on their war ostriches
through the mountain pass towards the land of the horse lords. Only Sir Unvelt stayed behind, determined to
find out what had befallen Brother Gregor, and perhaps make up for her poor
showing in combat.
Our party left the horsemen and werewolves behind to head
through a narrow pass to the steppes of Karakhim, which they reached at
dawn. There they found some marmots
trapped as game, and a crater filled with acid, a remnant of a magical war. They rode towards Kuzla Ka, a war camp about
three days journey.
The further into Karakhim they plunged, the stranger the
sights that greeted them. A Siberian
ibex that had somehow wandered far from the tundra. Stranger still – seals, sea turtles and other
creatures of the sea. They were hundreds
of miles inland, and yet here these aquatic animals were, wallowing in the
hilly grasslands of Karakhim. No one
could determine what had caused this occurrence.
After party camped for the night, a giant hedgehog
approached the party, watching them but not daring to get close to the light
cast by their fire or their magically glowing horse. Ketil thought fighting this cute little
creature would be a good way to toughen up Prany, the halfling slave child he’d
redeemed, and sent the boy forth to fight him with his dagger.
Quofalcon tried to bet Old Boggy on the combat, but Boggy
would not take him up on the offer. “Let
nature take its course,” the veteran said.
Prany stabbed at the hedgehog with no effect. But the startled hedgehog swiped in
retaliation with his little claws, gravely wounding little Prany. “Did I die bravely?” he asked Ketil. Ketil said nothing as the life passed out of
the child’s eyes.
Old Boggy was injured trying to avenge the boy, and Ketil
and Quofalcon had to step in to prevent the hedgehog from killing them. When the wounded giant hedgehog finally
curled up into a ball, Old Boggy poured oil on it and lit it on fire.
By the light of the smoldering hedgehog corpse, Ketil built
a cairn for Prany. “Not a word,” he warned
his companions.
At daybreak, more strange sights on the steppes. A pile of hundreds of severed right
hands. And soon after creature with the
body of a horse, but instead of a neck, a human arm that ended in a hand.
Jacques tried to speak to the hand centaur, but it had no
ears. Finally he touched his hand to the
creature’s. The hand centaur reared back
and first, frightened. Then, it wrote
the words “curse” and “help” in the dirty.
Jacques pet and reassured the hand centaur before putting the remaining
freed slave children on its back, which seemed pleasing to all parties. They lead it with their mounts towards Kuzla
Ka, hopeful that Zubatai’s shaman uncle could lift the curse on the hand
centaur, as well as the one keeping Ketil from parting with his kite shield.
They reached Kuzla Ka the next day, finding a giant wooden
stockade containing and surrounded by many hundreds of yurts. As they approached, Karakhim horsemen
surrounded them. “Are you with the Brass
Horde or the Bastard Horde”, they asked.
No comments:
Post a Comment