III.
Frostmere 15, Goldday, Year 731.
On the surface, Maelen was thoroughly annoyed. She was adamantly not going to die on the bloody Greenwood Rise, off trail, where no one would know or find her body to bury it. She sure as bastards wasn’t going to die because of a lamed pup of a scribe who didn’t know the pointy end of a sword from the holding one. None of this was worth the promised hundred silver thorns she and Vessa were getting paid (though, to be fair, it was a lot of coin), and she was not going to die in debt to the gods-cursed, bloody Latchkey Circle.
Below the annoyance, though: Maelen was excited. Violence was her purpose in life, her profession. She’d never known her Tideborn father, and her mother was a knife-for-hire who ran numbers for no less than three gangs. From age nine, Maelen performed “errands” for rough men and mean women. By thirteen, she was knocking out the teeth of men twice her age. By sixteen, she was running a gang of canal-cutters who’d dubbed her Marr the Merciless. Truly, Maelen Marrosen was a fighter to the core, and it had been too long since she’d wet her blade.
The lad’s eyes were bulging out of his head, but he was doing a fair job of keeping quiet. Damned if she hadn’t been impressed by his lack of complaining and dogged perseverance up the hill all day. The pace was slow as sap, sure, but the lad couldn’t help that. Maelen had pegged him as a soft book-boy, but he’d shown a spine again and again and again, and she’d reassessed her first impressions. There was iron in his heart, and iron was the only thing that Maelen respected.
Tatter, probably sensing her mood, scampered out of her belt pouch and onto her arm. The mouse sniffed the afternoon air. Maelen paused for a moment amidst her thoughts and grinned down at the mouse.
“You take her,” Maelen whispered, extending a hand towards the scribe. Tatter knew the gesture well and ran along the length of her forearm, across her hand, and onto the boy’s shoulder. He startled, looking dubiously at his new companion, and then nodded silently at her. Good lad, able to roll with the situation. Maelen liked him far more than she expected to.
“Keep her safe or I’ll gut you,” she hissed. His face paled, and she felt certain he’d gotten the message. That done, Maelen gripped her sword with both hands and stepped cautiously forward to the tree with the black circle.
Quiet as a shadow, Vessa appeared out of the brush. The scribe squeaked in surprise but slapped a hand over his mouth to keep quiet. She stepped close to Maelen and the unwashed smell of urine, vomit, and sweat rolled over her. If they survived, she’d drag the girl to a stream and wash her herself if she had to.
“There’s four of them,” Vessa whispered close, lips near Maelen’s ear. “Look like outcasts. Criminals, maybe. Three look like they could fight, one old woman, but no armor and only one obvious weapon. They’re sitting around and drinking, but it’s not a permanent camp. They have black smudges on their cheeks, like a cult or something.”
Vessa darted ahead to scout out the situation. Let’s do a Stealth roll for her to see how that went. She has a 16 Dexterity and +1 for the Stealth skill, for a 17 DC. Meanwhile, the group will oppose her with a 10 Perception and I’ll give them a -1 because they’re eating. This is an opposed roll, which means that whichever party succeeds by more wins the contest.
Vessa rolls a natural-1, which usually makes me wince but in Tales it’s amazing! That’s a Great Success. The group of humans, meanwhile, roll a 10 and fail their Perception check. Vessa could have drunk their friggin’ wine and they wouldn’t have noticed her, and the PCs will gain a surprise round if they want to attack.
Maelen frowned, absorbing this new information. “You think we can get around them?” she breathed close to Vessa’s ear.
The lass shot a meaningful, disapproving look at the lad and shook her head once. She leaned forward and said in a whisper, “They’re scouts, Mae. Talking about a leader they’re scared of: Sarin. If they find us, they’ll loot us and worse. And there was something weird…” Maelen raised an eyebrow and waited. “They seemed scared to make a fire. Said Sarin would be mad.”
Maelen pressed her lips together and nodded. “Not so weird. They’re hiding. Good work, Vess.”
“What’s going on?” The scribe whispered, urgently and too loud, like he’d never once played at sneaking through an alley in his life. Maelen shot him a quick hand gesture to shut him up.
“You stay put with Tatter,” she whispered, pointing at his nose and scowling. Maelen cocked her head and listened to decide whether they’d been heard. Comfortable to continue, she said quietly, “I’m going to talk to these people. Vessa’s got my back. You hear me yell, you hide. Clear?”
Sweat on his face, the lad nodded, already crouching low behind a tree. Good. He wouldn’t be underfoot, then. Maelen jerked a chin to Vessa, who nodded and disappeared back into the brush as quietly as she’d come. She was touched by The Claw himself, Vess was, able to blend into shadows better than anyone she’d ever met. It was one of three truly useful things about her.
Maelen cracked her neck and strode, quietly and purposefully, up the wooded hill, her long blade held out in front of her. She wasn’t nearly as stealthy as Vessa, but she knew how to plant her foot in pine needles and twigs to keep quiet.
Sounds like it’s time for another skill check, this time from Maelen. Her Dexterity is 14 and she also has Stealth, so she needs a 15 or less on her d20 roll. And… ha! I roll a natural-20, which is on the far end of the spectrum from Vessa: Normally in a d20 game I would be psyched, but for this check it’s a disaster, a Critical Failure. I’ll cancel out the surprise round from Vessa’s roll, which will mean that when we get to combat—which is now, since I already determined that the outcasts would be hostile—we’ll be doing regular initiative. I’ll keep Vessa hidden, though, which only seems fair. Despite the lack of surprise, I’ll allow her to Backstab the first opponent she attacks.
In fact, let’s handle initiative now. In Tales, one PC rolls initiative for the whole party, aiming for equal or under their Initiative score. For Maelen, that’s a 13. This time I roll a 6, which is a critical success (sheesh it’s feast or famine with these guys!). She and the rest of the party will go first in combat, and each character is allowed one action and one move.
Maelen “charges” from Far to Melee (like in Crusaders, my last game, distance in Tales is abstracted, and a charge allows her to cover two move increments plus attack). There are four outcasts, and I’ll have Maelen attack the first one I rolled to give a name and personality: Jassel the Smudged. She will roll 1d20 + 3 (her class bonus and Str modifier) +2 (for the charge), trying to hit Jassel’s AC of 11. I only roll a 7, but with the +5 that’s enough. She rolls a d8 + 2 (her Str modifier) +1 (two-handed) damage: 9 total damage. Since the outcasts only have 1d8 hit points each, Jassel is dead.
“Off camera,” Vessa will sneak up to the second outcast, named Bran, as he charges down the hill and Backstab him (I’m saying that she had already moved to Close before Maelen failed her Stealth roll). With her shortsword, she has a +1 to hit, plus +4 for Backstab. She also rolls a 7, which is also just enough to hit. Her attack does 2d8+1, 12 damage. We will not be meeting Bran.
Also off camera, Alric won’t quite do as told. He’ll use his move to get to Close range, and then hide. Unfortunately, he only has a 7 Dex, though the Stealth skill will help a little. He also rolls a 1! Great Success. Wow. Not even his allies notice his approach.
Because half of their number has fallen, it’s time to do a Morale roll for the outcasts. One of two survivors rolls a Will check, which for them is 10. They roll 3 and will stay in the fight. Maybe they haven’t yet clocked either Vessa’s presence or Bran’s death.
Now it’s the outcasts’ turn, and the first one up is Karn. He brings his heavy cudgel spiked with nails (the obvious weapon Vessa had spied) to attack Maelen and receives a +2 because of her charge maneuver. Maelen’s AC is 14, and Karn rolls a 16 and hits. The weapon does 1d6+1 damage: 6 total, which drops Maelen’s hit points to 10. Ouch.
The final outcast is Old Yara, the old woman Vessa had seen. Rather than charge in, she’ll keep her distance, draw a small paring knife, and ready an action to attack anyone who gets close.
Round 1 is done and, overall, it went well for the party. Maelen is hurt, but they’ve halved the number of opponents they’re facing!
So, of course, she tripped. Like a bloody amateur. A root just below a cover of fallen leaves snagged the toe of one boot, and Maelen went down hard onto one knee. Worse, she yelled in surprise and pain. There was a series of frantic shouts from up the hill as the four outcasts that Vessa had spied realized her presence.
“There’s someone here!” a woman yelped, her voice cracking. Others cried out as well.
“Get your weapons!”
“Gut ‘em!”
“For Sarin! For the Lanternless!” There was more fear in their voices than faith, but it was no doubt they were coming to fight.
Gritting her teeth, Maelen surged up, rage flaring hotter than the ache in her knee. No more mistakes. Not today. She charged up the hillside, her sword held in two hands. As the first of the outcasts stumbled down the hill towards her, she raised the blade high. Maelen briefly registered a wiry, pockmarked woman with greasy, dark hair tied back in tattered clothes. Her cheeks were smudged by tar or soot to look like black tears running down her face, and her eyes were wide and scared. She carried a rusty knife that looked more like a kitchen tool than a weapon, and Maelen realized with grim confidence that this ragtag group wouldn’t last long against her and Vessa. With a shout meant to attract the other outcasts and distract them from Vessa and the lad, she slashed her bastard sword down, cutting the woman from shoulder to hip in a single, practiced stroke. The outcast shrieked and rolled down the hill past Maelen’s boots, dead.
A man with sunken cheeks and a long, tangled beard, the same black streaks on his cheeks, appeared behind a tree and roared with outrage. For the second time, Maelen’s footing betrayed her and she stumbled. A heavy cudgel wrapped with iron nails slammed into her ribs. Her leather vest caught the worst of it, but the blow still stole her breath and pride. Maelen decided then and there that she’d spent too much time on the flat streets of Oakton and had gotten too soft for these overland jobs. She was going to get them all killed if she didn’t get her bloody feet straight.
It’s Round 2, and it’s Vessa’s turn to roll initiative (yes, you roll every turn as a party, and it rotates through the PCs). Her Initiative is 13, and rolls 19. Ouch.
So, it’s the outcasts’ turn. Karn will try to take out Maelen while she’s recovering her breath and footing. This time he has no modifiers to his attack and still needs to hit Maelen’s 14 AC. He rolls 12, missing. Old Yara, meanwhile, has seen Vessa cut Bran’s throat. She attacks with her knife, rolling 12 and just missing Vessa’s 13 AC.
Maelen is officially furious and will try and cut Karn down. With her longsword, she has a +3 to hit his 11 AC and rolls an 8, which hits exactly. Since she’s still wielding the sword two-handed, her damage is 1d8+3: Only 4 damage (minimum!), and I rolled 7 hp for Karn. Both combatants are wounded, but neither is out of the fight.
…That is, until Alric sneaks up and bashes Karn with his staff. He has no modifiers, so it’s a 50/50 shot to hit AC 11. He rolls a 19, which in Tales is almost as cool as rolling a nat-20. Since Alric is wielding a staff, he rolls 1d12 on the Blunt Trauma table: Broken ribs, which means any time Karn suffers physical damage, he must make a Con or Will check to not lose his next action. I roll 3 damage on the damage roll, however (1d6+1 for wielding the staff two-handed), so it’s a moot point. Karn is down and out – technically dead, but I’ll have him bleed out flavor-wise.
I’ll use GM fiat here and say that at this point, Old Yara surrenders.
The bearded outcast’s next swing with the spiked cudgel was a competent one and would have caved in one side of her head if she hadn’t brought her sword up to block it. Maelen thrust low, the tip of her blade slicing clean through his thigh muscle. The man shuffled backwards, trying to get out of her sword’s reach, and Maelen saw in his eyes that he knew he was going to die here. That leg wound would kill him if he didn’t tend to it, and Maelen was the better fighter, with the better weapon. She knew it, and so did he. With a malicious grin, she caught her breath, straightened, and leveled her longsword at him.
The last thing she expected was the soft-footed scribe suddenly looming behind the man, walking stick clutched tightly in both hands, Tatter riding along on his shoulder. The lad gave a wordless yell and swung hard, his stick slamming into the outcast’s ribs with a crack. It wasn’t elegant, but it did the job. The bearded man went down, curled in a ball and bleeding out from his leg.
The lad, Alric, panted like he’d run from a troll, staring wide-eyed and crazed down at the fallen outcast between them. If possible, Maelen found even more admiration for the scrappy lad for joining the fight. It was a pathetic swing, but at least he’d swung.
“Are you mad, idiot?” she barked. “I said hide.”
“But…” he said, confused.
“Come on,” she huffed, stepping past him to continue up the hill. As she passed the boy, she extended a finger and Tatter scampered onto her arm. “Let’s go find Vess.”
“By the Herald…” she heard him whisper in horror as he stepped past the dead woman and dying man.
“Heh,” she chuckled darkly. Doing so hurt her side. Damn her fool footing and getting herself clobbered by an idiot outcast. “The gods don’t come to the wilds, lad. The Herald isn’t watching. Now keep up and stay sharp.”
They strode up the incline of the wooded hill, slipping around trees and bushes with weapons raised. In no more than ten paces, the hill leveled briefly. In a small glade, dirty, ragged packs were strewn about. A smudged green bottle lay on its side between two rocks, a few drops of whatever was inside soaking into the dirt.
Standing at the edge of the clearing were two women. One was an elderly, bent-backed woman with wild white hair, the same black streaks on her face as the others. She wore a stained, simple shift and a blocky necklace of some kind. At her feet lay a small paring knife. Clutching the old woman from behind, one arm wrapped around her shoulders and another pressing a short, chipped sword—more oversized dagger than proper blade—beneath the old woman’s chin, was Vessa.
“Look what I found,” the young woman grinned at her, looking smug.
“Good,” Maelen nodded, and sheathed the bastard sword onto her back. She cracked her neck and stepped closer, studying the old woman’s wide, unblinking eyes. “Let’s hope she knows how to talk.”
Before we sign off, let’s do some housekeeping on my first Tales of Argosa combat. First, each PC receives 1 xp for the fight, which is Maelen’s first and Vessa & Alric’s second (the PCs will reach level 2 at 10 xp).
Second, it’s time to look to our Mythic GM Emulator clean-up activities after a scene. I’ll keep the Chaos Factor at 5 (what it had been once they left the Root Gate). The PCs now have someone to question, which means they’ll have information about the area before plunging forward, but they’re still in the wilds, with more of the outcasts’ gang around somewhere.
Finally, I take interesting bits of the emerging story and add them to my a) Threads List, a growing table of plot threads I can pick up if I’m inserting a random event, and b) Characters List, a growing table of people, organizations, and things that I can use when needing a tie to someone. These two lists are getting beefy enough already that I will make a mental note to start asking more Fate questions, starting next week! That’s right, unlike Age of Wonders, my “reflections” posts are going to be fewer and farther between in Tales of Calvenor. Less personal rambling, more story.
Next: Old Yara [with game notes]
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