Chapter 1 / Episode 7 - Day 9

Kure Acolyte (Cleric 1)
Lornan Calihye Level 1 1/2 Elf AC 9
Slash the Bard 1
Xanthus the Elf

Chapter 1 / Episode 7: "The Flare of Fire"

Fireseek 9, 576 CY

A Dreary Morning

The ninth day of the journey dawned cold and grey, with temperatures hovering barely above freezing. The southwest trail twisted and turned under the canopy of the Kron Hills, its muddy surface bordered by steep embankments and rolling hills. The caravan pressed forward with weary determination, their oxen trudging onward despite the strain of the journey.

The group, now led by Kure the Acolyte and Lornan Calihye, remained alert. The events of the past days—the undead ambush, the loss of Craddock, and the bandit harassment—had taught them that danger could strike at any moment. Slash the Bard kept a sharp eye on the road ahead, while Xanthus the Elf, a recent addition to the group, moved quietly at the caravan's rear, his bow at the ready.

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The Watchtower Bandits

Late in the afternoon, as the trail narrowed between a series of steep embankments, the ambush came. Bandits poured down from the hillsides, their leader shouting commands as arrows rained upon the caravan.

The adventurers responded swiftly. Lornan and Xanthus returned fire, arrows thudding into the bandits’ ranks. Kure stepped forward, his shield raised and his mace swinging with righteous fury. Slash used his bardic magic to bolster the group's resolve, his voice cutting through the din of battle like a blade.

The skirmish was fierce but brief. When the dust settled, three bandits lay dead alongside their leader, a grizzled warrior whose armor bore the emblem of a nearby watchtower—likely a long-abandoned one now serving as the bandits' lair.

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A Costly Victory

The victory came at a price. Amid the chaos, a group of bandits had managed to detach the fourth ox cart and escape into the hills with it. The loss of supplies was a heavy blow to the already-struggling caravan, and the adventurers knew they couldn’t afford to lose any more.

As they searched the bodies of the fallen bandits, they discovered two items of interest. The first was a crudely drawn map found on the leader, its markings suggesting the location of their base to the northwest. The second was a magical flail, its head glowing with an inner flame that shimmered like embers in the cold air.

Kure held the weapon aloft, its fiery light casting long shadows in the fading daylight. “This will serve us well,” he said grimly, passing it to Xanthus, whose deft hands seemed well-suited to wield it.

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The Day Ends

The group pushed onward as the light waned, eager to put distance between themselves and any surviving bandits. Night fell heavy and cold, and the caravan made camp in a shallow vale, surrounded by the hills that had sheltered their attackers.

As the adventurers settled in for another uneasy night, the flickering campfire reflected in the polished surface of the fiery flail. It was a small glimmer of hope in the darkness—proof that even in the face of loss and hardship, they could emerge victorious.

Ahead, the trail to Hommlet stretched on, promising both answers and greater challenges.