Forbidden Lands Session One

The trio of travelers pushed on through the listless plains of Margelda, trying to find their way to the Village of Werk. They had heard rumors of treasure nearby, and only the townsfolk there would know what tales were true, and which were false.

Two longtime comrades, Brock the Half-Elf, and Kristov the Peddler, had hired a young wolfkin by the name of Jabari to join them on their sojourn. Jabari led the group off-road, certain that his keen nose would be able to keep them in the right direction and shave time off the trip.

The warrior soon finds an old hunter’s trail and moves the group in a northwesterly direction. Brock tires of the wolfkin’s quick pace and turns to his wine cask for relief. Despite his indulgence, the half-elf can maintain his footing. Kristov looks on with amusement at his warrior friend, thankful for the trusty donkey that carries most of his load.

Shortly after midday, the trio spots a small copse of trees in the distance. It appeared that the path forked near the copse, but circling carrion birds overhead alerted them to trouble. Jabari smelled the stench of old blood, prompting Kristov to get out his spyglass. In his haste, the old traveler dropped his device, scratching the lens, adding one more item to his list of repairs.

Still, the spyglass did its work and showed him what was amiss in the road. In the middle of the path, he could see at least three bodies. As their astonishment wore off, Jabari moved ahead of the group, intending to stealthily scout the discovery. Unfortunately, his keen sense failed him as his normally fleet feet gave way to stomping as opposed to silence.

Moving into the clearing, Jabari spotted more bodies and the signs of battle. Just as he motioned to his charges to move forward, he heard the twang of a bowstring as an arrow whistled by his ears. Issuing a roar, the wolfkin charged forward toward the direction of the shot as two bandits came out of the clearing.

Kristov and Brock advanced slowly, keen to maintain their distance and gauge where their assailants were. Noticing the bowman, Brock issued a taunt at the lithe young warrior. Whether it was the vigor of his vile retort or the shame caused by Kristov’s laughter, the young man succumbed to his fears and took his own life with a slit to the throat.

The young bandit’s fellows didn’t fare much better. Jabari felled two more with mighty swings of his longsword, sundering shields, slicing through armor, and delivering a savage coup de grace to his victims.

The lone bandit leader, Jorath, swore bloody vengeance against the travelers. Charging at Brock and Kristov, he took each of them on in alone. The warriors traded a flurry of blows before Jorath was finally brought to the ground and his weapon struck from his hands. Just when it appeared the bandit was about to give up, Brock lost his mind to the

madness of battle and beat the bandit to a bloody pulp. It wasn’t until Kristov pulled a set of drums from his sack and played a timely battle hymn that Brock could be pulled back to his senses.

Surveying the carnage, the group was able to salvage some of the bandits’ weaponry and the silver coin that was left as a trap before heading on. It wasn’t too many more kilometers before they found themselves at the wooden gates of Werk. But from behind the tall wooden wall, they could hear the sound of the commotion, and the beastly roars of a man — or worse — that was in the throes of a rage.