Faroth: upcoming games

Foreseeable calendar of games. I think we should consider more costumes. and it’s getting warm enough we might consider holding one on the patio.

  • April 29: normal game
  • May 6: no game. Consider attending LinuxFest Northwest! That’s where most of the Reynolds family will be.
  • May 13 normal game
  • May 20 normal game
  • May 27 no game, Reynolds family vacation. Pickard family vacation. Memorial day.

Please contact me about your June schedule.


Faroth: ship is taken! 

The attack on the Jobin’Gahr pressed below decks. Thorfinn, Lothric, Cordelia and Girion immediately were sprung on by even tougher orcs below decks. Girion was hewn multiple times and Thorfinn was always able to heal hom up again. At the end of the corridor, they took down the captain, and the rest of the pirates cleared the remaining orcs out of the bilge deck. 

Interrogation revealed that both the senior orc wizard and the original captain, Garnoc Darkblud, were killed in the bombing attack by Eliza. Garnoc Ja’mail, Darkbluds son, took over. The crew of the ship was badly treated and down by 100 hands from raiding the Straight od Sing’jar the previous few weeks. Garnoc thought that taking on a puny lawful town would be fun. Unfortunately the old wizard on board was sickening, and the galleon was falling apart. 

There was treasure in the captain’s quarters : rings, wands and rods. There was about 100gp to go around for all who boarded and fought in the battle. 

Faroth: Gabindoor on the Alley Cat

Jon Gabindoor escaped from a mundane life of farming and hired on as a hand on a trading vessel years ago. He learned that a life of honest work was for suckers, his true skills were being strong and playing a poker face that could trick a soft captain. Until he met Captain Binlep Lavalier and crewed on the Alley Cat.

Captain Lavalier sat before him in the captain’s quarters as Jon gripped the gold piece that Lothric gave him to show sincerity of the fight against the orcs. Binlep, one of the few people who could read Lavalier during a game of cards, was not impressed. In fact, was so not impressed he was clearly hiding something. “Jon, I’ve faced off the Jobin’Gahr before, before she was supposed to have bought her chasers…and this was just to get by her when she was harassing Willow island. We had orcs swarming our deck before we were halfway past her.”

And why didn’t he hate orcs? “Cap’t…never have I seen as many of the other unlicensed going against the orcs before! There’s a good chance we’ll win!” But Binlep just gave him a flat look that soured into a frown and brushed his hand in the air, dismissing him. We’re not working for the orcs, are we? 

Faroth: Attacking the Jobin’Gahr

Session 4/8/17 (Sea Battle) from the landlubber Thorfinn’s perspective. Provided by Jesse Pickard.

Thorfinn was glad to be amongst is compatriots. Recent weeks had bonded them all in a short time, yet he was very uneasy about today’s turn of events: they were to take to the sea again and this time to join battle with notorious pirates…Thorfinn shuddered at the thought. He could think of very few places he would less rather be than bobbing around on the the thrice damned ocean let alone in a battle!

Thorfinn, a farmer turned priest of Chauntea, still had deep ties to the land and agriculture. He had never been in water past his chest until the terrible day that he had to flee to Faroth with all the other refugees. The fate of his dear parents still unknown to him. On that panicked voyage he had quickly discovered he had no stomach for sea travel (his stomach had let him know with a burning vengeance) and he had mostly lain in a miserable heap at the bottom of the boat. Coming above deck to see if the fresh air would help his condition only to be driven back below by weakness and nausea.

This subsequent voyage had gone somewhat better but still battled waves of nausea. Now he was heading into battle against notorious pirates and lives would be depending on him…he shuddered again. He boarded the Toothless Skull along with one of his newer companions, Eliza, a capable looking elven fighter. Apparently she was responsible for keeping that elven wizard, Simon, safe–so by proxy that would be one of his tasks as well.

Eliza bounced her two swords against her legs in anticipation. Even though she hailed from the forests of Sing’jar, she seemed at home on the rolling deck. Jealous, Thorfinn sighed to himself and unsteadily walked towards the bow, gripping the railing with each step.

Three craft of about 30 souls each sailed purposefully out of the harbor. The Red Hook and the Swinging Arm escorted them. Had the two other ships been commissioned by the mayor? That little gnome, Bogan, seemed to organize this right in front of Lothric, Eliza, and himself…yet somehow the mayor appeared in charge when they met at the harbor master’s office. Was Hollycrown really was in charge of this, or just good at showing up at the right moment? With all these acrimonious, distrusting sea merchants–somehow this mission unified them. Maybe orcs have that effect on people…

…by Chauntea, that ship is a behemoth! Thorfinn thought, forgetting his nausea, as he gazed across the presently placid waters of Bibbon Bay to the menacing, dark and tattered three-decked galleon in the center of the bay. Cannons lined its dark wood and metal hull. He didn’t need to make out the name Jobin’Gahr…it wasn’t there–the only markings were a crude silhouette of a skull and the orc runes for J and G. As the they drew closer, the hulking ships became hives of activity: sailors sprang up the rigging, cannons were packed and soldiers were mustering on deck…and staring at the orc marines packing the deck of the  Jobin’Gahr–Thorfinn’s nausea returned.

The ships quickly closed the distance: at 200 yards the three ships from Bibbon Bay turned broadside and let loose a volley from their broadsides, and cannon balls screamed towards the Jobin’Gahr! With a satisfying crash they struck the ship and orcish howls filled the air as debris crashed down upon the deck and into the sea. As the smaller and more agile ships turned back towards their target, brilliant bolts of energy streaked towards the galleon and into the horde on deck. More grunting bellows and cursing filled the air. But where one orc fell, seemingly two more would take their place…Thorfinn’s spirits started sinking again. How badly are we outnumbered?

Magic ripped through the air back and forth between the vessels, then another volley of cannon fire! Sailors and soldiers–screaming–fell into the water–or onto the decks. As the ships were about to collide a noxious green cloud of gas settled amongst the orcs. Only coughing and cursing could be heard from them until the cloud was blown away…and paused…and blown again by the sea air. Failed wind spells by the orcs? But its terrible toll was revealed: a pile of bodies…contorted, faces stuck in rictus agony. Thorfinn bent his head and whispered…or tried to, between urges to retch…prayers to Chauntea…our Great Mother…prayers asking for forgiveness for the suffering caused and prayers for the strength of heart to do what must be done.

The ships collided with explosions as their bowsprits splintered against the tin-plated hull of the galleon. The violence threw junior sailors off their feet to the decks, but the leather-skinned pirates that suffered the hate of the orcs cheered fiercely! Quickly overpowering them was the orcish roar coming from the deck of the  Jobin’Gahr. Men, elves and minotaurs from the islands swarmed up the sides of the galleon and onto the decks to take the battle to the pirates.

All…except Thorfinn, Eliza and Simon. Simon, swaddled in what must have been four cloaks and standing between two braziers on the aft deck of the Toothless Skull, was trying to continue his magic assault on the galleon. Thorfinn saw an opportunity to call down a sacred flame on a orc barking orders–but just as he was about to begin his incantation, bile and vomit filled his mouth and he gagged and vomited, his vision blurring… Chauntea, please…not now! He groaned as the sea sickness overtook him again.

As Thorfinn recovered, to his horror he saw three large orcs had jump aboard their ship,  advancing on him! Then two flaming spheres streaked down from the crows nests of the Jobin’Gahr and rolled along the deck towards Simon…so close behind Thorfinn he was convinced his own cloak was on fire! He spun to hear a pain-soaked scream from the aft of the ship as Simon was briefly engulfed…but Simon smartly flung off one of the burning robes to escape. With smoldering hair and scorched skin, Simon groaned but started casting another spell. Spinning…no…swaying…forward, Thorfinn hefted his mace and faced the boarding orcs.

A horrible cacophony filled the air as sailors and soldiers bellowed, screamed, mewled and weapons crashed. Thorfinn’s senses were overwhelmed with the chaos of the battle…but twisting back towards the bow, he saw Eliza battling for her life! He snapped back into action: holy words of life and healing were an effortless response to the jagged wound across her shoulder. Grateful for the Grain Goddess’s power, and seeing  Eliza healed with sacred energy, he shook his mace and loosed a primal howl!

Thorfinn reversed the words of healing into an ugly cant that made his fingers black with necrotic energy, he lept forward and desperately dug his fingers into the face of a broken-toothed orc, tranferring a burst necrotic energy! Twitching and gurgling, the orc fell to the deck, its face blackened and diseased. With swift and efficient sword strokes Eliza felled two orcs that stepped around and their blood slicked the deck.

From the Jobin’Gahr, Thorfinn recognized a familiar voice rising above the battle: his companion, Lothric, called: “Sailors of Bibbon Bay–press them! Forward and cut them down!” Eliza and Thorfinn glanced at each other and saw each other’s fear…but in spite of the dread in their stomachs, they began to scale the hull of the Jobin’Gahr

Faroth: Avo of Knives

One hundred years before the orc’s sacked Sing’jar, the elven tribes of the Sing’jar mountains ruled out to the plains far to the east. The crops were bountiful, and there was feasting every season. Thoughts of the fire giant were distant and dim. Ginndale the Swift, at five hundred years old, decided he would push the eastern border of further to the river of Y’lima. The quest was worthy and fighters from north and south trekked through the mountains to join up.

I was a child, and my father was tempted to join up as well. His friends would stop by our tree and ask if he were going, but I was always at his knee with my wooden play sword pretending to fight orcs. I’m glad he didn’t leave me, and those are my fondest memories. When the crusade to the east left, I remember trumpets playing to send our troops off.

I must have had two birthdays before we heard from them…of them again. A wildfire was set in the fall when the hay was dry, before winter began, and burned many farms on the east side of the mountains. Maybe a dozen families lost their trees and houses. The eastern foothills were black for years. The place where the fire started, there was a burnt wagon with the skeleton of an elf placed with a red sash over its rib cage, with the symbol of a serpent-haired monster.

My uncle told me that story, because he was right next to my father when they both discovered the wagon. The circlet on the skeleton was of Bindle’ti, a young second cousin that went on the crusade. The wagon was filled with elven skulls. The night my father’s patrol found that wagon, they were attacked by a hundred orcs, and he and the rest of the squad, except Feltor, were killed.

Only magic could have masked the scent or sound of that many orcs from an elven patrol. Since then, the orcs reclaimed the eastern foothills and have pushed west almost right through the middle of the mountains. With our best warriors lost, the camps of the Sing’jar elves retracted and became defensive.

I harnessed my anger and hatred and forsook Ehlonnah and all the spirits of the trees and I looked to the stories of Erevan to help me take revenge on the orcs. Down through the east foothills I traveled, constantly sharpening my knives, shadowing the orcs, flaying and torturing them to find which killed my father, and who led them.

In one midnight fight, a Drow priest of Lolth and an unnaturally ageless priest of Sevarash caught me in a magic circle. Playing up my madness, I tried to convince them we were on the same side: full of vengeance, powered by hatred. The priest of Sevarash said, “You lie, green stick of an elf. You love killing orcs, but you are not mad.” And the priest of Lolth said, “We plucked you up in the night, creature of the day. Your hatred is only a folly. If you drip your blood in this circle, you will be bound to powers greater than Ehlonna, and no orc nor man will stand in your way! But you will sacrifice your vengeance forever.” Faced with this dark choice, I rejected it and they released me.

Halfway to the river, I found a huge pit mine, home to a thousand orcs. The whole countryside stank of waste and was littered with corpses of starved and mutilated cattle and humans. This wasteland was an orc’s dream, but on a scale that no elf had ever told stories of. I only made it as far as the edge of the pit mine before some frightening magic  began to hound me…and I fled. Nightmares for two years drove me to the islands. The sight of trees made me break out in a sweat–trees felt like skeletons to my spirit–all my hope drained away for months.

The mountains have no love of me–I’m a bad example. I have no respect of those cowardly elves, either. These islands are full of survivors, and I respect that. So it is quite a surprise to see Simon here. It is time I related my story to Simon, of the dark evils on the east side of the mountains. The young fighter, Eliza, she reminds me too much of my youth and I don’t want her company. This Lothric and his gang…they can be my hammer to flatten more orcs.

Faroth: Bogan of Bibbon Bay Intrigue

You haven’t lived in a good elven town unless you’ve uncovered the juicy gossip that those righteous do-gooders try to cover up. Bogan of Bibbon Bay Intrigue here–have I got some dirt for you, my favorite listeners! It was not actually that big oaf Lothric that planted the bomb on the Jobin’Gahr…he would have made too much noise, right? No, it was this elven fighter, Eliza, from out in the northern Sing’jar mountains that pulled that off. (And she actually paid me to do something!)

Lothric wouldn’t have paid me anything. He just threatens people. That gruesome bugbear that attacked us? Don’t be fooled–he didn’t kill it. The killing blows were from the city guard who speared the beast. Lothric is just a meat head. He gets his way by hitting people: the innkeeper of the Grumpy Goat and his wife drove him and their ragtag band out of their establishment right before they attacked the Jobin’Gahr. He was so mad he punched the innkeeper right in the stomach before he left. Thorfinn actually tried to apologize. Thorfinn’s a nice human.

If I were Cinnitta Holleycrown–I’d watch out. That Lothric fellow is not nice. I’m convinced that he’s going to bring everyone around him a world of hurt!