Recap of The Twitter Thread:
Last time, The Harbingers responded to rumors of orcs murdering the town's foresters. Lead by Drago, they returned to the cavern, where Throk had been confronted and killed. As they explored the cavern more deeply, a small dragon demanded a bribe, offering to let them walk free if they did. Now destitute, The Harbingers fought their way more deeply into the cavernous lair, accidentally alerting an Ogre. After a hard-fought victory, Dimitria Nightshade cast her escape spell on the group, infuriating Drago, causing a rift in the Harbingers. Having no money for an inn, weakened, beaten and battered, they retreat into the forest, unable to afford another night at the inn or the services of a healer.
The Forest Near Ferrymoon Village: Two Weeks Later...
Thorin Fireforge sat at the fire, stroking his beard. His war axe hadn't exactly been ideal for processing wood for a fire but it was what they had. He sat next to the sullen Drago. His own wounds had been healing far more quickly than even he'd expected. He warmed himself near the fire.
"If you're looking to console me again, Dwarf," he said, "do us both a favor and keep it to yourself."
Thorin looked at him, shaking his head and stroking his beard. He wouldn't make the attempt.
Dimitria sat under the constructed shelter, settled back from the fire. Drago's eyes seemed to peer past the flames of the burning campfire to her. She was deep in study of the Book of Skalitos.
"We face monsters, Thorin," he said in a low tone, "and she spends her hours going through that damned book."
"I suppose you believe she shouldn't," he said sardonically to Drago, "The Elf hunts for our food, Dimitria studies her magics and you sit here sullen, lamenting your lost glory. Tell me something, Drago, your people, there are songs sung of their mighty deeds, yes?"
Drago's eyes turned toward Thorin and narrowed.
"Mind your tone, Dwarf," he warned, "What of it?"
Thorin stood up so that he could finally look Drago in the eye as he sat on the logs he and Drago had hefted and rolled into place.
"Suppose for a moment," he said in his normally gruff tone, "That a man of your tribe dies in battle. How do you know?"
Drago's eyes had never left Thorin. When the dwarf had stood, he'd straightened himself even as he sat but now, he hunched at the question, thinking about it momentarily
"Others sing of his deeds," he says, "If they're worthy of song. Many of the skalds of our tribe go forth with those warriors. Whether the warrior comes back or not, their deeds are committed to song. Those songs are passed down. We have an entire protected group of those people in our tribe to ensure their legacies are carried on."
"And where are your skalds now?" Thorin asked, "We were nearly mauled to death by an Ogre we surprised. Had we all perished, had you told anyone in Ferrymoon where we were going? I've not seen a skald with you. None of us had time to let anyone know, we followed you, at your request, taking your leadership, your initiative to go back but had we perished, Drago, there would be no one to carry any of us out of that cavern. There have been no orcs out here in the fortnight we've been encamped, resting, healing...and spending our time trying not to piss you off."
Thorin took a seat next to Drago, who's face, frowned deeper in thought at his words. He hadn't moved and his eyes were now directed into the center of the campfire.
"Drago," Thorin said, "we're fighters in this. I've spent my life either fighting or crafting weapons and armor that would make my family proud. You're young, still. You and I did the heaviest of work building this site an easily-defended position. Tauriel hunts, fishes, we cook and take care of the water but what's most important is that Dimitria saw to it that we fight another day. Dying in there a fortnight ago would give us no glory, Drago. She knows it's important to you. Glory, that is."
"Someone telling tales again?" a female voice emerged from the twilight, carrying a few dead rabbits by the ears, "Fireforge, now is certainly not a time to rub it in the Barbarian's face when his pride remains the one wound that refuses to heal."
Her jest earned a groan from Thorin and an irritated glance from Drago.
"Ohhhh, go back to your stories, Dwarf," she said, dismissively, "I was hoping the boys wouldn't mind helping me dress these rabbits so perhaps we can eat?" Tauriel's smirk was playful as she brought the rabbits over.
"What I was saying, Elf," Thorin snapped, "was that we had been chosen. Carefully selected by the man who carried the very book Dimitria is deeply studying right this second. We didn't know each other. Until that night, none of us had ever met. At the end of any given day, we all would have parted ways, would we not?"
Drago and Tauriel looked at each other as they began to prepare the rabbits for the night's meal. Drago's curiosity was now creeping in, pushing the empty self-pity out.
"Go on," the young warrior said.
"I agree," the elf maiden replied, "You have me intrigued."
"Drago's raw power, Dimitria's magic," Thorin replied, "Tauriel, you're a graceful fighter with some magical ability and my ability to both fight and," he said spreading his arms at their campsite, "construct things. Only recently did we know that Dimitria is well-versed in herb lore as well."
"Admittedly, the dwarf has a point," Tauriel said, one of her eyebrows lifting as she smiled, looking at Drago.
"Don't encourage him, Tauriel," he said.
"Tell me the food has tasted better elsewhere!" the elf said, playfully, "All four of us fit together better than we thought, is that what you're saying, Dwarf?"
"That is exactly what he's saying," said Dimitria as she took her place next to Tauriel with a bag of gathered herbs she'd dried and crushed, "We spoke of this earlier. Thorin's theory holds up well though there's little in the way to prove it, save for what he's pointed out."
There was a hush among the Harbingers as they silently processed the rabbits Tauriel had caught for the meal. Drago had taken the pelts with Thorin's help and had them stretched for selling later. Being broke, they'd need every gold dabloom they could get. Trapping animals would fetch them at least a meal, maybe two and that may be enough. Tauriel and Dimitria discussed matters of magic as the meat cooked over the fire.
The four enjoyed dinner. None wore armor or weapons. All accoutrements of battle rested in their respective shelters. For the first time in two weeks, they conversed between each other. Playful banter, questions to each other, discussion of when they first met. Thorin sat back with his waterskin and watched them, smiling. Drago's steel-grey eyes seemed to sparkle when he laughed, provoked by Dimitria's impression of Thorin with Thorin interjecting "I don't talk like that!"
As the conversation wound down for the night, Drago offered a song of the founding of his people. Driven from their original home by one of their own who turned to necromancy, they had settled in a part of the north called Boreal, they vowed, after having lost so many and defending themselves from Martin and his hordes of undead, a blight upon honored warriors, it caused them to form a new burial custom of cremation so that no warrior would ever be desecrated in such a way ever again.
They each came to understood that Drago's indignation at having magic used as a means of leaving a deadly situation quickly came from a place of generational trauma and a deep sadness among his people. A brief and terrible glimpse into the Borealean Saga that left an indelible mark on them all.
When the song ended, no one spoke. As they fell asleep, one by one, only Thorin stayed awake. He sat, taking watch from his shelter, glancing at Drago.
"Gods, protect you, boy," he said, his dark eyes squinting in the firelight, "May the glory you seek find you while you still live to enjoy it."
Soon, Thorin grimly understood, there would be a reckoning. The Harbingers would be going back soon. Whatever evil lurked in there, it would regret ever crossing any group with Drago as it's leader.
To Be Continued...
Author's note: This particular entry wasn't accompanied with photos of actual play because this is a story of how they finally begin to come together. It's an attempt at telling the story that took place entirely in my head between Session 2 and 3 of my Four Against Darkness adventure. The thing is, the characters were rolled and very little was chosen by me. Most of what you see is a result of dice rolls. I really let a lot of randomization happen and then let the text decide much of the rest. They're a mismatched group that didn't exactly trust each other. They're as dysfunctional as The Companions in The Dragonlance novels, however, their stories are beginning to form, they don't have a history at all. At present, the mysterious stranger who selected them and put them together has yet to be seen or heard from again. I hope you enjoyed that because the next installment of this story will be a full-blown battle report in story form with the images of actual play to accompany it.
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