H O M E P A G E

T E A C H I N G

W R I T I N G

R A D I O

W E D D I N G

R O L E P L A Y I N G

T O Y S

M I S C .

Last updated

March 2002

by

david.tulloch@
paradise.net.nz

Dragons in the Borderlands

Volume One of the wandering adventures of Vasaän, Shylock, Khalid, including how they were joined by Co-lin, Shaba, Athora, and Niathe, and featuring the tale of the Fall of the Northern Fortress

DISCLAIMER: This is not a novel. It is a recounting of the sessions of a roleplaying group done as a narrative. Like most tales based on roleplaying adventures it contains many cliches, has a non-linear plot, includes lots of pointless bickering, and may never finish satisfactorily. In other words, read this at your own risk. Having said that, should anyone desire to be informed when new chapters appear, email me and I will let you know.

Below: Prologue and Chapter One
Click here for Chapter Two: Inside the Tree of Morella

Prologue—The only Good Lizardman . . .

Vasaän scanned the line of trees near the riverbank. Movement. Her right hand went to her quiver of arrows, she notched an arrow, and drew the bowstring back. Soon she would be a fully fledged warrior. She was as tense as the bowstring. Sweat formed on her brow, glistening on her pale skin.

A hand tapped her shoulder, and she turned to see he father crouched next to her, one hand over his mouth to indicate the need for silence.
Vasaän nodded, and her father gestured toward the river, then held up five pale, slender fingers. He gestured for her to follow, and Vasaän nodded once more.
They slipped around a clump of elvish oaks then, keeping low to the ground, used the depression of a small stream to approach their quarry unseen. They went slowly, for while her father was almost silent when he moved up the streambed, Vasaän’s footsteps we more audible if she went faster than a walk.
The pair emerged out from behind a small rise, and there in a clearing near the river’s edge were five lizardmen. They were obviously part of a raiding party, decked out in warpaint, and all wearing their trademark bone jewelry, which Vasaän knew were made from previous victims. Vasaän thought of her mother. She had been slaughtered by lizardmen such as these. Perhaps one of her bones was being worn as a trophy by one of the reptiles. Well, soon they’d wear it no more.

Vasaan sneaks up on a lizardman. (Playmobil don't make lizardmen, so I had to make do.)
Click on the picture to see a larger version.

Another tap on her shoulder, and her father indicated that she should prepare herself for combat. Vasaän smiled a thin smile, and drew back her bow once more, aiming at the largest of the lizardmen.
“Now!”
Two arrows sped to their marks, but only one found its target. A lizardman clutched his neck, then fell in a spray of blood, the arrow shaft sticking up from his expiring body. Next to him the largest lizardman looked about, and saw that a tree had taken the arrow meant for him. Vasaän cursed under her breath, and quickly notched another arrow.
The lizardmen charged towards the two bowmen, and Vasaän’s father dropped his bow in order to unsheath his longsword. Yet before the short distance between the two groups could be crossed Vasaän had loosed another two arrows, this time the third finally finding its mark. Then, with a swiftness that bewildered even her father, she was standing by his side, armed with shield and sword, ready to fight hand-to-hand.
Closing without any tactics the first lizardman to arrive was met by Vasaän’s father. Parrying the wild blow with his shield he then stabbed passed the lizardman’s guard, his sword thrusting into the unprotected side, and drawing blood. Immediately he turned to a new foe, leaving the first stunned. This time the force of the collision was enough to send him reeling a half-step backwards. But his shield held firm, and with a push the two combatants were separated, and the sparing began.
Vasaän was faced with a single foe, her arrow having slowed down the other lizardman. Her opponent seemed unsure of itself, slowing down before engaging her. Vasaän tentatively thrust out her longsword, and the lizardmand replied in kind, its spear testing out her defences. Each combatant thrust and parried, and thrust again, circling each other, looking for a weakness. Then Vasaän slipped on some wet leaves, falling onto her back. The lizardman leapt in for the kill, roaring out a triumphant cry in their guttural tongue. But Vasaän twisted out of the way of the spearpoint, feeling it glance off her armour just below her ribs. She grimaced in pain, but knew it could have been much worse.
The thrust had overbalanced the lizardman, and he hung over Vasaän, his spear sunk into the ground on her left, his feet up on their toes on her right. She thrust upwards, and her blade bit into the chest of her opponent. Vasaän twisted the blade, and yanked it free, and the lizardman collapsed on top of her, soaking her clothes with its foul smelling blood. She lay there, unable to move, and heard the dying sounds of her foe, gurgling from its throat. For a brief moment she felt regret. She had taken another life. But then she remembered her mother, and a cold bitterness returned to her heart.
Her father helped her out from under the corpse. When she regained her feet Vasaän saw there were two more lizardmen bodies close by. Her father was a seasoned fighter.
“The last one ran off,” said her father. “I don’t think he liked being hit by your arrow.”
“More likely he didn’t want to face you and end up like his comrades,” said Vasaän.
“Are you fit enough for a chase?”
Vasaän grinned.
“Let’s go,” she said, and the pair shouldered their bows and took off into the forest.

GM’s Note: this was the first session I ran with my wife Jo. She had never roleplayed before, so we had a quick go at combat, just so she’d feel more confident when the group began to play together a short while later. It does have some bearing on later developments, at least in terms of her character.

Chapter One: Well met at Rudbar

The place smelled bad. That was the first thing Vasaän noticed as she entered the Rudbar trading post.
“Humans,” she snorted under her breath, conveniently forgetting half her own heritage. Her mother, was only a faded memory, long since gone from the mortal realm. She remembered the feelings of sadness and vengeance at her death, but the details of her mother’s life were hard to recall.
The second thing she noticed was the closeness. Nine others already in this dark space. And she was expected to push up to them and spend the night.

One of the humans nodded to her, and started to approach.
“Greetings, fair one,” he said in her native tongue. Not many humans bothered to learn other languages, being sure of their own importance and superior numbers. The man shirt bore the crest of the Gereshk Trader’s Guild, and his fair beard attempted to disguise his young age.
“Well met,” Vasaän replied in the human tongue.
“My name is Shylock, and this is Khalid,” said the human, pointing to his companion, a bearded man dressed in black. “I am a trader from Gereshk, and my friend has been accompanying me on my travels.”
“There is always safety in numbers,” said Vasaän.
“Quite so,” agreed Shylock. “Perhaps you would care to join us?”
Vasaän gave him a cautious stare.
“If only for a meal,” he added, sensing her reluctance.
“I’ll break bread with you,” she said, “and who knows what will transpire after that.”

The Rudbar trading post, as seen from across the river in the elven lands.
Click on the picture to see a larger version.

Khalid watched with interest. He had a fondness for the fair folk of the woods, and Vasaän was certainly fair. Although it was obvious that she had a streak of human blood in her, she retained the striking features of the elves, the slightly pointed ears, the fair complexion, and a slender grace of form and movement.
“Greetings fair one of the forest,” said Khalid, his grasp on the elven tongue not as sure as Shylock’s.

Vasaän smiled, and returned his greeting, and the three of them sat down in a corner of the one room trading post. The others in the room kept their distance, occasionally glancing over at the trio sharing a loaf of bread and a jug of wine.
“Where are you from?” asked Khalid of his new companion.
“Nimruz. I am of the Margow tribe of elves,” replied Vasaän.
Khalid’s eyes flashed in hope. He had long heard tales of the wonders contained in the forest of the Margow elves, and had been persuaded to come to the Rudbar trading post only because of its closeness to the great forest. He knew enough about elves not to enter their territory uninvited, but here it seemed was someone who could gain him admission to the closely guarded secrets of the elven woods.
“What brings you to the lands across the river,” asked Shylock.
“I am seeking to emulate my noble father,” said Vasaän, “and find my way in the wider world.”
A typical elvish answer, thought Shylock. It answers the question, yet it doesn’t give away any useful details.

A basic map of the area our heroes are in.

“Perhaps we can be of some assistance,” suggested Khalid.
“In what way?”
“Well,” continued Khalid. “We could show you the way to Gereshk, and keep you company on the road.”
Vasaän was about rebuff the man’s suggestion when she remembered a phrase her father often used. “Always accept the offer of company, for travelling the roads is a lonely and dangerous business.” Perhaps these somewhat smelly humans would be of some use.
“What would you require in return,” asked Vasaän.
“Why, merely your company,” said Shylock. “Our company in exchange for yours."
“Certainly,” agreed Vasaän.
“And I would add that we get the better part of the bargain,” added Shylock.
“How so?” asked Vasaän. “You are two, whereas I am but one.”
“Ah,” said Shylock, “but Khaild here smells of week-old fish, and I must admit that I snore loud enough to wake the dead.
The meal was eaten with laughter, and washed down with plenty of wine.

The morning found Shylock bartering with Faranza, the trading post owner, for provisions. Some arrows, a couple of spare water-skins, some paper and cloth for Khalid, and rations for three. Shylock paid for them all. He saw both Khalid and Vasaän as investments. Vasaän was someone who could get him access to the lucrative elven market, and was also an educated and pleasing travelling companion; a rarity in the wild borderlands. Khalid was a knowledgeable woodsman, with a keen eye and a strong arm. They could help Shylock make some coin, and in return they would share in the spoils.
They set out immediately after the trading had taken place, all three glad to leave behind the cramped quarters, and the suspicious stares. The borderlands bred a mistrusting kind of person.
“Where to?” asked Khalid.
It was a question not easily answered. None of the group had strong convictions.
“We could travel to on to the Charhar Borjak trading post, and see if we can buy furs or other trading gods,” suggested Shylock.
“We could go hunting in the swamps to the northwest,” suggested Khalid.
But neither suggestion was warmly received by the others.
“There’s always the Tree of Morella,” said Vasaän.
“What’s that?”
Vasaän looked puzzled by the remark.
“It is a tree,” she said, wondering if perhaps she had used the wrong word of the confusing human tongue.
“So we gathered,” said Khalid. “But why should we go there?”
“It is a eithaphia questing place,” said Vasaän.
"What’s Eeth-a-fi-ah mean?” asked Shylock, puzzled by an elven word that was beyond his learning.
“Um,” Vasaän scratched her head. “It is an old word.”
Shylock was impressed. Old to an elf could mean many thousands of years.
“The best translation I can come up with is ‘fellowship forging’,” said Vasaän.
The two humans merely looked confused.
“It gives out gifts,” said the half-elf.
“Great,” said Shylock.
“Let’s go,” said Khalid.
Vasaän thought a note of caution was needed to balance the sudden enthusiasm of her companions.
“It can also kill those it finds unworthy,” she said.
There was a moment of thoughtful silence.
“Do you think we’re unworthy?” asked Khalid.
“I don’t know,” said Vasaän, a little too truthfully.
“Could you take a guess?”
Vasaän looked into to worried faces. She had little experience with humans, but these ones seemed more open and trustworthy than most she had met. She had always been taught by her mentor that humans were a plague on the world. Multiplying out of control. Cutting down the forests. Breaking their word. Always thinking in the short term.
Yet her father had taken a human as his bride. This was not something done lightly, for most elves only ever married once. He had always said you should never judge a race, merely the individuals you meet.
“I guess we would be fine,” said Vasaän, “providing we work together.”

GM's note: We started roleplaying as a group just after Christmas 2000. It has taken me almost a year and a half to start writing up the adventures as prose, but at least I won't run out of material for a while. Hopefully there will be a new chapter each month.

Now available
Chapter Two: Inside the Tree of Morella

The party are greeted by a pair of flying faeries as they approach the Tree of Morella.