[GAME] Attack in the woods

Garf lay very still on the makeshift bed Lafayette had created for his injured companion. Brad was slumped and breathing heavily, leaning against a tree. The fight had been short but intense, and Garf had definitely come off worse in the group. "Stoke up the fire Brad, we need to keep him warm", said Lafayette as the snow continued to drift down from enormous clouds. Brad wearily got up and did as he was told, as Lafayette tended to Garf's injuries as best he could. His methods were rather rudimentary, involving cauterising the wounds with a rather hot implement (luckily for Garf, he was unconscious at the time). Given a little time, Garf began to come round groaning and complaining about the pain in his head.

After a decent nights sleep, the small group were once again ready to continue their journey. Garf's devotions to Kord had been very successful, and the Cleric was in a most chipper mood as the party set off along the well worn, but snow covered road. Before long, there came the sound of drunken singing coming from up ahead. Lafayette mildly suggested that Garf go forward to meet the singing stranger, so the man of the cloth nudged his horse forward to find out who was creating all the noise. At the side of the road sat a shabbily dressed old man, white hair and beard matted with the dirt of weeks without bathing. The old man introduced himsef as Garath, a storyteller of some repute, and offered a tale in exchange for an ale. Garf readily agreed, despite Lafayette's mild suspicion, and the four travelled until sundown later that afternoon.

As they sat around the fire, Garath regaled them with his tale. It seemed there was once a very powerful sorceror in these parts, but he had sadly fallen on hard times. His most prized possessions, an orb and a spell book, had been stolen from him some time past by persons unknown. The sorceror dreamed of one day receiving his powers back if only some adventurers were brave (or foolhardy) enough to get them back for the old man. Garf and Lafayette listened intently, and speculated as to whether there was a grain of truth in this sad tale, but the old storyteller was non-commital, presently falling off the log on which he was sat, and fortunately landing on his bedroll.

The talk lasted late into the night, but the party eventually succumbed to sleep. When they awoke the next morning the old man was gone, leaving very obvious tracks back further into the forest. Lafayette's suspicions were immediately aroused, and he began to track the old storyteller into the trees. Garf was busily watching him go, when very suddenly he received a blow to the back of his (already injured) head! With a flash, three figures leapt upon the unsuspecting Garf, Brad, and Lafayettes dog. A brutal fight ensued - the cleric focussed all his energy on the tip of his mace and breathed a spell of light into it - the whole area was illuminated with divine light as Garf swang the glowing mace at the bodies of their attackers. Brad quickly hefted his waraxe and leapt into the fray.

Some ways back in the woods, Lafayette abandoned looking for the disappeared old man when he heard the commotion back at the camp. He raced through the trees, his footfalls almost silent in the padding of snow that still lay thickly on the forest floor. Raising his arm, he hurled one of his tomohawks into the fray, narrowly missing the surprised Garf, then grabbed one of the attackers around the throat, wrestling him to the floor. The encounter was short, but bloody. It was quickly determined by the adventurerers that their assailants were of the same order of monks that attacked them all the way back at the tomb of Sir Arthur in Weddenvale. Two of the attackers were quickly dispatched, but a third was able to survive. Whilst trying to make an escape, Garf man handled him to the ground and Lafayette was able to get bindings around his neck. The monk said nothing, merely made a gesture towards his pocket. Quick as a flash, a vial of dark green liquid was in his hand, and with a quick movement the monk had taken the liquid.

Garf tried his best to save the life of the monk, but it was to no avail. The poison had an immediate effect. It was at this point that the old man, Garath, reappeared from the woods. "In the name of Kord, where have you been!", cursed Lafayette. Garath stared open mouthed at the carnage in the camp, and almost dropped the bundle of firewood he was carrying. Lafayette cursed again and set about removing the head of one of the dead monks. Garf was almost apoplectic at this mistreatment of the dead, and a compromise was reached. One head on a pole, the other two with a decent burial.

The party gathered their things together, and with Garath in tow set off again towards the palace of Lord Blenheim. The mood was as glum as the snow laden clouds that threatened again overhead, as Lafayette muttered half to himself, "Somebody knows we are coming".