Chapter 3 / Episode 2 – The Watchtower Fallen
Coldeven 19–20, 576 CY
Weather:
Freezing — 21°F to 42.7°F
Light breeze (NE) | A few clouds | No precipitation
Players:
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Dog, Ranger of the Gnarley Forest
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Irving, the Reluctant, Paladin of St. Cuthbert
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TerryOr, Cleric of St. Cuthbert
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Dixon, Dwarven Fighter
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Oleg, Half-Elf Magic-User / Cleric of St. Cuthbert
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Tiger Wong, Monk of the Eastern Lands
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Muspell Heavyhand, Gnome Illusionist
The road from Hommlet was quiet but tense, winter’s hand still clutching the land in brittle silence. The party made good time across the rutted road and arrived in the hamlet of Humming’s End before sunset. A warm stable, a hot meal at the broken sword, and a fresh riding horse—newly purchased by Irving—marked the only peace of the day.
But dawn brought purpose.
Guided by grim intent, the adventurers turned east toward the Watchtower*—a site they had once cleared and left to the care of Dixon’s kin. Smoke greeted them before the walls did. And silence—too much silence.
The Ettin came with the wind, crashing through the tree-line. Twelve goblins followed, hurling spears and curses. Irving’s charge was swift, his lance piercing deep into the Ettin’s flank. Before it could retaliate, TerryOr invoked holy fire—Flame Strike—and the beast fell, screaming as it burned.
The goblins broke.
Dog and Dixon gave chase. Oleg whispered an incantation, dropping sixteen of the fleeing creatures where they stood. The rest were dispatched. One lived—to answer questions.
“They came from the Abbey,” a goblin would confess later—after its kin had scattered and bled. The garb of the Water Temple marked them, unmistakable now.
The dwarves lay slaughtered. The construction, razed. Blood froze in the mud. Dixon knelt beside one of the bodies, jaw clenched.
That night, beneath the fractured stars, the adventurers buried Dixon’s kin. No songs were sung. Only silence and the scrape of frozen earth.
The road to Safeton would have to wait. Vengeance had returned to the map.
Great Game Session! Dark and full of suspense.
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