Over the past several weeks Thora had been making the way from the Sakhar mountains through several towns along the main roads, heading south and west, with no particular direction in mind. It was so strange to have the sun in the sky, blindingly bright, all day long. The first time the sun set Thora nearly cried, having never seen something so beautiful. The blaze of colours across the sky painted a moving canvas, shifting and settling amongst the clouds. When the stars came out, the blanket of sparkling points reminded Thora of the mithril veins of Sakhar… a million veins of silvery points glinting and winking for all to see. Thora did cry then.
Finding work was easy. Most of the town blacksmiths were happy to have a helping hand in exchange for food and supplies. Thora’s mark was now borne upon several basic weapons in these towns, even now likely to be in the hands of would-be adventurers trying to make their own way. It was in one of these such towns, as Thora headed west towards the desert, that news of adventuring opportunities in the kingdom of Enker had been posted on a sign board. Another posting, touting the promise of an adventuring permit for the Enkerian Empire, pointed the way to a town named Wilted Gulch. The locals had limited information about the desert town, but it was generally considered a good idea to get a ride to make your way through the desert lands. Only the brave or the foolish travelled that dry heat by foot.
It proved more difficult than Thora had imagined to hitch a ride on a wagon headed west, but eventually a kind driver paused to let Thora climb aboard and ride in the back with the sacks of grain and gear. As the hours passed, the gentle rocking of the road lulled Thora to sleep. Nightmares clawed into dreams, like they did most times. This time the green-eyed beast was advancing slowly through a tunnel with Thora running away from it for the exits, never quite able to get away. A claw grasped Thora’s shoulder, shaking roughly…
“Git up, dwarf, yer here.” came the gruff voice of the driver.
The arrival in Wilted Gulch
Thora shook off the panic and clambered down to the dusty road below. The sun was getting lower but was still up, meaning Thora was not late yet. There weren’t many folks around in the streets but it wasn’t hard to find the inn that promised Ale, Whiskey, and Ale+Whiskey. Just what Thora could use right about now! The feel of the dust spinning up into the air with each step was an odd feeling. After weeks seeing the lush forests and dales of Rhime, this town felt dry and lifeless. At the same time, a reminder of home. However, Thora wasn’t here for the sightseeing.
Pushing through the swinging doors, Thora was directed to the meeting room in the back by a fluffy Tabaxi bartender who seemed to be serving some creature with a large shell and a peg leg. Thora hadn’t seen such a creature before, but it looked tough. The room in the back was filled with chairs and would-be adventurers milling about, all waiting to hear more about this adventuring permit and the promises of great riches. Returning to the bar, Thora dropped a gold piece for ale and some news. The feline bartender seemed nervous about something and was babbling about Cavendish folks who were pushing for something. Thora had only been half-listening, for there was something about the bartender’s speech pattern that seemed hard to follow. Was the name Crumbs? Krumps? Thora decided to not bother with using a name and made sure to thank the Tabaxi for the ale and picked up the generous pony keg with both hands.
An elderly gnome sat at the back of the room with a large grin over his face, a perfect place to sit and share some drink. Sliding into a nearby seat, Thora offered the gnome a mug and poured one out for each of them. It had been a long ride and, while the liquid did burn going down so quickly, Thora knew the numbing effects could eventually take the edge off from the soreness of the ride and the harshness of dreams. Thora’s gnome drinking companion was a talker and, like many of the others in the room, was eagerly looking forward to a chance to go off on a great adventure. Thora understood that feeling all too well, thinking back to that moment in the Sakhar mountains with the pack and a decision.
Glancing about the room, Thora noticed several humans of various ages. A talkative kobold was likely the most out-of-place in the room, but the drummer with dragon scales definitely made it a strong second running. Of course there was that creature with the shell as well. Sizing up the warriors in the room, Thora decided that the elf in the hood was likely the one to watch. The elf reminded Thora of one of the members of the Grey Ghosts who favoured a short bow and always told stories of elven warriors of the forest, though the dwarf himself had never left the mountains of Sakhar to meet one.
A chaotic turn of events
When their host finally arrived, it didn’t take long for chaos to break out. The human spoke with a drawl, likely common in this part of Rhime, and was dressed well enough. But he wasn’t here for any adventuring permits. It seemed this was a way to get rid of pesky do-gooders, as the trap was sprung. Their host disappeared through a trick wall as gas began to pour in from a pipe and into the room. The elf reacted quickly, as metal gates started to slide down over the windows, by slamming an arrow into the window pane to stop the nearest gate from crashing down and sealing the window.
With no time to think, Thora broke into a run, pony keg in hand, heading for one of the window exits from this cursed meeting room. With a quick flourish, the pony keg flew across the remaining distance landing nicely on the sill as the steel gates came crashing down. Just in time! Many of the would-be adventurers began coughing, some falling over unconscious. As the dragonborn drummer broke open the window to the outside, Thora ran to bring the old gnome over to the window, watching as others started falling down. The gas was spreading too fast, it was going to take too long to get them all out!
A crash from across the room indicated that somebody had broken open the other window. A quick glance up showed a the peg-legged shell-wearer dropping a chair and starting to move their hands in what Thora could only assume was some sort of mystical incantation. A gust of wind started to form within the room, pushing the noxious fumes out the window, temporarily relieving those still trapped in the room. As Thora tossed an unconscious monk out the window, the drummer was muttering something and playing a quiet beat. The next moment there was some sort of movement, that Thora couldn’t quite see, closing off the pipe that was sending the gas into the room. For the moment, they were safe.
As the remaining conscious heroes got everybody out into the fresh air, Thora discovered that the elf had captured the coward who had started the whole mess. Going by the name of Harley Hob, the gibbering fool seemed to be working for the Cavendish folks that the Tabaxi had mentioned earlier. APPARENTLY… heroes weren’t good for business and the big boss wanted an easy way to deal with the trouble.
Returning to the bar, and a few menacing threats later, Thora got the Tabaxi bartender to spill the beans about what had been happening in Wilted Gulch recently. These Cavendish were ruining businesses, using force, and killing any who stood up to them. Including multiple sheriffs.
Thora chuckled silently… the Cavendish were going to be in SO much trouble now.
The making of a plan. And dinner.
Most of the other folks who had showed up to the meeting didn’t seem to have the ores to take on the Cavendish folk, but that small kobold had extra to spare. The little one didn’t look like much but he knew a lot about the ranch and the kobolds that were working it, and was eager to join in for some revenge.
Extra info was going to be needed, though. And wheels. They weren’t getting to that ranch on foot anytime soon as it was quite a ways away and it was getting late already. Given that this Harley fellow was expected back at the farmhouse the next day, the posse started to form a plan. The crew hit up the old deputy’s office to look for clues and found a wagon with a cage in the back. Unfortunately, no horses, but that was a problem easily solved, given a few bits of coin and some nice words.
Tonight, it was time to relax, prepare, share stories, and get to know this strange group of travellers that Thora had stumbled across. The peg-legged Tortle (as Thora learned they were called) was extremely hung up on these strange things called “Sharks”. Based on the telling, they must have been like some of the creatures from the depths of the Sakhar mountains, except in water. Thora shared stories of the great beasts of the under mountain. It was nice to share stories like this again.
The elf and the Tortle proved to be good strategists as well. It wasn’t long before a plan came together. Thora and the elf, who called themself Zaereck, would travel in darkness under the guidance of Munch, the eager kobold. Additionally, since one of the group had managed to contain some portion of the poison gas trap that had been used on them earlier, they would bring the cannister and gas the barracks while many of the Cavendish foot soldiers would be asleep. Meanwhile, the dragonborn bard and the peg-legged Tortle would ride the wagon up, pretending to be prisoners of Harley. It was a risky plan, splitting the party this way, but it allowed the elf and Thora the best chance to do what they do best.
Tomorrow night, these Cavendish folk were going to pay.
Credits:
- Cover image: Andy Deen’s watering hole, created by John Richardson
St-Cyr Thoughts 
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