The sky above Black Peak was the color of old steel, sallow and streaked with the dying light of an indifferent sun. From the dark mouth of the mine, the air reeked of damp earth, blood, and the musky stench of wolves. Felrick lay motionless at its threshold, half-buried in the grasses and gore, his face caked in soot and blood, one eye scorched shut, the other dimming with the pain of a buried shot. The others—Wanda, Qavitrae, Nora, Thindruk—stood not far, panting and smeared with the grime of battle, their forms sagging with fatigue and wounds, their retreat desperate and chaotic.
It had been a bloodletting. Goblins and their dire-beasts had surged from the deep like a flood of teeth and fury, and the party—so recently full of confidence—had found themselves overwhelmed. They fled, dragging the ruined, half-dead gnome and hauling a headless goblin corpse for proof. Qavitrae carried the grotesque trophy on her shoulder with grim resolve, her mind already weighing what words might sway the town to act. Wanda barked orders as she held Felrick aloft, barely keeping him from crumpling. Nora and Thindruk kept pace, eyes casting back toward the mine with dread and something else—grief, maybe, or shame.
They reached the Bischoff farmstead first. The farmers stared, aghast, at the gore-covered strangers and their twitching cargo. “You’ve got goblins in your mine,” Qavitrae declared, dumping the corpse at their feet. The truth, plain and ugly.
Panic simmered. The villagers packed what they could and followed the party down toward Grissenwald, a clutch of scared souls trailing wounded warriors. At the town gates, guards hesitated, disbelieving—until the blood, the bandages, and the bisected goblin corpse forced their hands. While the militia stirred and messengers were sent to raise the alarm, the group demanded healing. They were sent to Ingolf, the so-called town surgeon, whose trembling hands and bleary eyes bespoke more spirits than skill.
Felrick, barely conscious and carrying an infection burning behind his ruined eye, muttered of black powder and doom. “I think I’m dying,” he croaked, before collapsing.
And he nearly did.
The goat butcher in a surgeon’s smock did what he could—which was not much. He botched the first surgery with enthusiastic confidence, then made it worse on the second. Felrick’s infection bloomed. His sight faded. As he lay shivering on the blood-slicked table, Qavitrae tossed gold across the room with a sneer and gathered what dignity remained. “Get him to Nuln. Now.”
They sailed immediately, short-handed and weary. Wanda, uninjured but imperious, remained behind to liaise with the town’s powers—militia and dwarf alike. The others bent themselves to the oars, grim-faced. The wind was unkind. The river, endless.
But Nuln was salvation.
The Temple of Shalya took them in. White-robed clerics gasped at Felrick’s state. Under soft light and whispered prayers, healing hands worked miracles. The infection ebbed. The ruin in his eye could not be undone, but he would live. They bound his wounds with skill, and when Qavitrae and Thindruk returned, they found Felrick seated beside a stained-glass window, light filtering over his bandaged face. One eye was milky and ruined. The other held a spark of life—and vengeance.
Back in Grissenwald, things moved without them. Wanda, steadfast and flinty, stood before the town council, not asking for action but demanding it. “Four farms are lost,” she said, “and if you wait for the Empire’s legions, there’ll be none left to protect.” She held her ground. She intimidated. She persuaded.
And when word spread to the dwarves that greenskins had overrun their former mine, Clan Great Hammer answered. Every able-bodied dwarf, from beardless youths to elders with silver-threaded beards, took up hammer and axe. Gorim, their chieftain, pulled Wanda aside. “How much gold did you see?” he asked, voice like gravel over bone. When she answered truthfully—“We didn’t reach that far”—he only grunted. “They must be deeper in. We always knew there was more than coal in that hill.”
The militia massed, forming a rough wall outside the mine. The goblins, harried and afraid, broke. Some fled, scattering on wolfback into the woods. Others died in a tide of blades and fury. But not all were accounted for.
The tower up the hill—Herzen’s Tower—still stood.
The militia stormed it. Its door was barred. They broke it open.
Inside: shattered mirrors, strange angles, soft carpets stained with goblin filth. A boudoir above held a goblin in a noblewoman’s gown. When cornered, the creature shrieked in some profane tongue and exploded in a wash of light and shrapnel, hurling a soldier across the room. Wanda searched the upper levels with methodical care. In a desk she found letters—most dull, but one peculiar. It spoke of agents in Kemperbad, of expeditions north to the Barren Hills, and something only obliquely referenced as “progress.”
Dumpling Hayfoot, the tower’s halfling cook, emerged from the kitchens, seemingly unharmed by the occupation. “Mistress Herzen?” she said, eyes wide and blank. “Oh, she’s off traveling.” Wanda studied her closely, seeking signs of deception, but found only clueless cheer. If there had been a demon here, it was gone.
Back in town, as the wounded were counted and the dead buried, Felrick returned, upright, slow-moving, and swaddled in bandages. One eye now filmed over with the murk of a black cataract. He grinned as he approached Wanda and Qavitrae, teeth white in a battered face. “Miss me?”
Qavitrae gave a tired smile. “Only the smell.”
They drank that night. In the dim light of the inn, they tallied the cost—three goblins slain, four townsfolk dead, one eye lost, and no sign of the noblewoman whose name had started it all. Still, the mines were theirs again. The threat, at least for now, was ended.
And in her pack, Qavitrae carried the letter. North, it whispered. North to the Barren Hills.
Opening field report & recap Coin pool refresh & initiative discussion Felrick’s fate-point choice & Toughness test Luke offers Felrick two options after a fatal arrow hit: Felrick opts to roll Toughness; succeeds, elects the second option, and declares a wait action to act later. Party wound status check Combat round—Wanda Combat round—Qavitrae Combat round—Nora Combat round—Thindruk Felrick’s improvised pipe-bomb gambit Felrick grievously injured Party withdrawal & pursuit Bischoff farm encounter Town gate confrontation Surgeon Ingolf’s house-surgery sequence Ingolf: elderly “physician” (actually butcher/vet). Felrick first on table: Thindruk moderate wounds: first fail 88, coin re-roll 98 (crit fail) → no improvement. Nora moderate wounds: Ingolf success 13 → steps to Lightly Wounded. Qavitrae serious wounds: Ingolf success 13 → down to moderate. Infection rule explained (requires bloodletting with leeches, hard if grievous). Baron Hockbaum & Watch-Captain Schurz arrival Great-Hammer alliance Temple of Shallya journey Temple healing Shallyan healer (80% skill) treats Felrick: Remaining companions receive competent care, clearing to Lightly Wounded. Militia assault on mine (off-screen to sailing party) Assault on Herzen’s tower Evidence collection After-action outcomes Session wrap-upSession Notes