dnd > 2023-08-12 Woods One Shot
Herein is the chronicle of the Woods campaign one shot, which ran at Geek Retreat, Coventry, on 2023-08-12.
A dragonborn sorcerer.
A half-orc barbarian.
A half-elf druid.
A gnome ranger.
Each character begins in their own time. Evelyn, a lover of the natural world, is chasing a frog through a forest. Islwyn Octavius, the local postman, is walking between two towns, carrying a sack brimming with post to be delivered. Bulveer and Sparky are both on their way to town, but hundreds of years apart.
A bolt of lightning contacts the exact same spot on the ground in front of each of the adventurers. For a moment, they are each blinded and deafened. When they regain their faculties, the world around them has changed. The trees around them appear to have moved and changed in size. The weather has changed. Most notably, however, each character can see three others standing next to them, despite being alone in the moment before the lightning bolt struck.
Each character introduces themselves.
Evelyn, a half-elf, takes an immediate dislike to the half-orc Bulveer. However, her dislike of Bulveer is not nearly as strong as her dislike of Sparky, the dragonborn. “What is it?” she asks, as though Sparky were not present and listening.
Though they are confused, the characters all recount similar stories to each other, and decide to work together to figure out how they got here, and more crucially, how they can get home.
“I was just delivering post to the next town,” says Islwyn, “These letters are going to be late.”
“I was chasing a frog,” offers Evelyn, to confused looks from Bulveer and Sparky. The half-orc and dragonborn are not lovers of nature, so do no understand Evelyn’s motivation.
“I was on my way to the pub,” says Sparky, which all of the party can agree is the only activity that’s still worthwhile in this place.
On the journey, they determine that they must have travelled in time. Evelyn, attuned to the landscape as she is, sees that the overall topography of the land is the same; the local hills are all where she’d expect to find them, confirming that she has not travelled far in space. Therefore, the only logical conclusion to draw is that she has travelled in time.
Islwyn is also somewhat attuned to nature. He often speaks to the small animals on his postal route, and has become friends with many of the mice and squirrels. He spots a squirrel, hopping from one tree to the next, and he does not recognise it as belonging one of the local squirrel families. Islwyn draws the same conclusion as Evelyn.
The four intrepid, though unwilling, adventurers arrive at a small town. It is walled by a strong but roughly built wooden palisade. The buildings inside are stone, which suggests that the palisade was a hastily built later addition to the town. Walking into the centre of the town, the group see people sitting outside in the sunshine, chatting as they work on handicrafts such as weaving and knitting.
A trumpet sounds in the distance. All of the people of the town head straight for the nearest door, wherever they are. The party spot what looks like a tavern, and try to open the closed door, but it is bolted. The sound of horses’ hooves follows the trumpet; at least two riders are approaching at a canter.
Islwyn and Evelyn manage to hide; Islwyn, his size being an advantage, remains invisible. Evelyn is hunkered down behind a barrel, aware that one wrong move might reveal her location. Sparky tries the tavern door again, but upon finding that it is still bolted, she marches proudly into the centre of the town square, Bulveer following her cautiously.
Two men, wearing bright, red military uniforms and sitting proudly on horseback, make their way into the town centre. One rides straight up to Sparky, whilst the other checks the perimeter of the square, only just failing to spot Evelyn.
“Identify yourselves!” shouts the first officer.
Sparky does so. “I’m Sparky,” she says, boldy, in the hope that her reputation and appearance will carry weight. They do not. “Who are you?”
The officer is taken aback by Sparky’s manner. Not because he is intimidated, but because he is not used to being spoken to in such a subordinate way, not even by someone on foot who matches his height on horseback. “That’s no concern of yours!”
Bulveer, unwisely, involves himself in the argument, until the officer sees that the two outlanders are no threat, and leaves them be. A platoon of soliders marches through the town, followed by a third rider on horseback. The two officers canter to catch up to the platoon. The town centre suddenly becomes quiet. Sensing that the soliders have left, the townspeople leave the buildings and resume their crafts and chats.
Islwyn, out of his hiding position, looks towards the tavern, which has so far been forbidden to the party. He climbs just high enough to look in through one of the small windows by the bolted door. He can make out the shapes of people in the tavern, but cannot discern anything else about them. Evelyn, equipped with this knowledge, tries the bolt once more. The door opens, and the party follow Evelyn into the tavern. Inside the tavern, they see that about half of the tables are occupied. In the corner, one man, wearing a long, stained duster coat, sits alone, staring solemnly into his tankard of ale.Behind the bar stands a tall, well-built, human barkeeper. Behind him, securely out of reach of the drinkers, is a stash of about a dozen simple weapons, as might be used by a local militia. All four of the adventurers walk up to the bar.
Evelyn asks for an introduction. “What’s your name, good sir? And would you tell me more about the town? And, if you don’t mind me asking, what’s with the weapons behind the bar?”
“Dafydd is my name,” replies the burly barkeeper. “And you’re in a tavern, ask any one of these people for information on the town. You must surrender you’re weapons if you’ll be wanting a drink here; we find they don’t mix too well with alcohol.”
The party are suspicious of Dafydd’s request to surrender their weapons, but it dawns on them that everyone in the tarvern with a tankard of ale in front of them must have done the same already, they hand over the weapons willingly.
“What’ll it be?” asks Dafydd. The party order their drinks, then join the lone man at the table.
“If you don’t mind me asking,” says Evelyn, “What’s your name? And what is it that’s making you so solemn?”
The man turns on his chair to face the party. As he does so, his coat shifts, exposing his leg underneath. It is amputated below the knee; something he had kept hidden from casual observers, but which the party cannot fail to notice. “My name is Aled, but that’s not important. For the price of a tankard of ale,” he says, “I will tell you my story.”
Bulveer calls across to Dafydd, “Another tankard of ale for Aled.” Aled shivers visibly at his name being hurled across the tavern for everyone to hear, even though most of the clientele are occupied with their own merriment. Dafydd obliges, coming out from behind the bar to deliver the ale. Bulveer hands Dafydd the four copper coin price for the ale. Second tankard in hand, Aled begins to tell the party his tale.
“I was an officer in the resistance. A platoon of soldiers were entrusted to me. I led them into a battle with the redcoats; some of them rode through town earlier today. Through my poor leadership, the platoon were decimated. It’s my fault.”
“Don’t be so hard on yourself,” says Bulveer, in the friendliest tone that any half-orc could employ. “I’m sure it wasn’t your fault.”
“Thank you,” replies Aled, comforted slightly by Bulveer’s remark. “But that does not change the fact that I am due to rendezvous, with a platoon of soldiers, at the resistance camp, and now I cannot. They will march into battle with only one platoon and be massively outnumbered by the redcoats. Unless,” he pauses.
“Unless?” Asks Bulveer, intrigued.
“Unless, if I could find a small group of brave adventurers, who could deliver a letter to the resistance leaders, warning them to call off the attack.”
The party all look towards Islwyn, upon whose face a grin has formed. He is still carrying his satchel of letters and parcels destined for hundreds of years into the future. The party agree to convey Aled’s letter, and use the time it takes Aled to write it to order and consume dinner at the Tavern.
When Aled hands the finished letter, which he has sealed with a wax seal stamp from one of the pockets in his long overcoat, he hands it to Sparky for safekeeping. Sparky says in return, “What sort of payment can we expect?”
“A good deed is its own reward. Make, now, like a bolt of lightning, and you will see.”
It is dusk. Well fed and watered, and carrying Aled’s letter, the party step out into the street. They follow the clear road out of the town, and back into the forest. Evelyn, as the one most attuned to the landscape, navigates, not taking her eyes off the map for any more than a moment to find her step.
Most of the journey proceeds uneventfully. Just a few miles from their destination, however, a goblin jumps out from behind the trees and blocks their path. He is wearing a bright red cape and brandishing a scimitar. The party are all quick to spot that the cape, as regal as it might seem, is actually a repurposed curtain or tablecloth. The scimitar, although basic and worn, is quite real. Evelyn notices that there are, looking out from the trees, at least one more set of orange, goblin eyes.
“Who goes there! Who dares enter my kingdom!” Shouts the goblin. “It is I, Amos!”
The party recognise the nerves in the goblin’s voice. Evelyn tries her best to persuade Amos to come to his senses and let the party pass unhindered, but it beomes aparrent that he will not yield. Islwyn climbs onto Evelyn’s shoulders, to give him a better shot at the enemy, whose number increases from one to three as two more goblins come out of the trees. Amos is wearing leather armour; the other two goblins, who stand either side of him as henchmen, are dressed in fabrics clearly not meant for fighting.
The three goblins take a run at the party. Islwyn looses an arrow at one of the henchmen, downing him instantly. Amos and his remaining henchman engage, their scimitars dealing damage to Bulveer and Sparky.
Evelyn also engages with Amos, striking him with her spear. In moving forward quickly, Islwyn tumbles from her shoulders, hitting the ground hard. The remaining henchman is eliminated. Sparky, Bulveer and Evelyn continue to fight Amos, until he is unable to continue.
Amos lays on the ground, incapacitated, but still making threats against the party. “I will destroy you! How dare you trespass on my land!”
Evelyn readies two healing spells. “Stop, I’m trying to help you!”
Amos, begrudingly, accepts Evelyn’s help. “Very well. I have but one demand; you return me to my castle.”
The castle, Evelyn realises, is a shack built on a wooden platform around one of the trees. She lifts Amos into the treehouse, and leaves him there to recover.
The noise of the fight with Amos has attracted the attention of a black bear.
Evelyn, insisting that the bear must not be harmed, jumps onto the bear’s back to try to guide it away from the party, but the bear continues its violent approach. It slashes at Bulveer with its claws, but they fail to make contact with the half-orc. It twists around, trying instead to bite Evelyn, but fails again in its motion.
Sparky, Bulveer and Islwyn are hampered in their attacks on the bear only by Evelyn remaining on the bear’s back. She climbs down, as safely as she can with the bear rampaging below her. To Evelyn’s dismay, the party manage to slay the bear.
Merely a few miles remain between Amos’s ‘castle’ and the resistance headquarters, as indicated on the map. These few miles pass, to the party’s relief, without incident. They make it to Castell Mold just before dawn, in time to deliver Aled’s important letter.
Castell Mold is situated at the top of a tall prominence. There is a single, rough track up to the front gate, the appearance of which would deter all but the most determined attackers. The opening is guarded by a portcullis. Above it, cannon poke out from the ramparts, to threaten invaders at a distance. Below the cannon, spouts poke out at all angles towards the ground, for pouring burning oil onto anyone daring and unfortunate enough to make it so close to the entrance. Either side of the entrace, a guard, half-asleep, keeps watch. They are clearly not expecting any visitors today.
“Who goes there!” shouts one of the guards, once the party are almost upon them.
The party introduce themselves individually. Islwyn, coming into his own, informs the guard, “We have a letter for the leader of the resistance, from one of their officers.” Islwyn takes the letter from Sparky, and presents it to the guard. The guard does not take it, but instead confers with his colleague.
“Follow me,” says the guard, simply. The portcullis lifts just far enough that the shorter members of the party can walk through. Bulveer and the guard have to duck slightly; Sparky crouches to avoid the fearsome spikes at the bottom of the portcullis. The guard leads all four of the party to the keep at the castle’s heart. They enter, and follow a warren of passages to a small room full of tables, covered in maps and charts that describe the resistance plans. In a darkened corner of the room, the resistance general lays, sleeping, in a cot. He has been up for most of the night planning his next offensive against the redcoats. The guard wakes him, and invites Islwyn to present the letter.
The general, still in dire need of sleep, rises from his cot and takes the letter from Islwyn. One of the guards places a candelabra on the table, providing enough light for his tired eyes to work. The general studies the letter carefully, and in silence. He turns around, facing all four of the party. “Thank you for bringing me this. You have saved a great many lives.” He nods to the guard.
The guard gestures for the party to follow him back out of the keep. Silently, the party are all expecting him to lead them to a dining hall, or perhaps somewhere comfortable to sleep after their overnight ordeal. Instead, he leads them back out of the castle, through the open front gate. The party are all too tired and nervous to argue about their lack of sleeping accommodation. They step out onto the path that led them into Castell Mold, as the sun tries to raise itself above the horizon. As it makes every effort to do so, a raincloud suddenly forms above the party.
With little warning, a bolt of lightning, like the one that brought the party to this time, strikes the ground. Everyone is blinded and deafened for a moment, before their own worlds materialise around them. Looking back to the castle, they all see it in various states of ruin.
Sparky, having been the only one of the party to succeed in her original journey to the pub, now seeks out a second pub for breakfast and a rest. Evelyn, with no hope of catching up with the frog she had been chasing, takes comfort in seeing animals she is familiar with from her own time. Bulveer begins the long trek back to the town. Islwyn, still carrying his satchel of letters and parcels, realises that he is many miles and nearly a whole day late on his postal round.