OSE Solo Campaign #1; Session Report#2: Things Get Complicated
The cleric opens his mouth and begins to speak. His voice comes out in a strange, ethereal tongue – sounding as undergrowth crunching and trees growing in fast forward – and the vines gripping at the party’s feet shiver and recede. The shambling mound stops in its tracks and responds in kind. The two have a short exchange in the language of plants, before the mound shuffles away, back toward the forest. The cleric beckons the party toward him.
Oglum stands stunned, “Did- did he speak to it?”
Jessamine nods, disentangling her feet from the now soothed vines. “He must be a powerful cleric. Worshipers of Orn have a temple in Uorek. He looks to be one of their order, and of high rank.”
Clarence cuts in, “Well let’s go – not stand around here waiting for it to come back!.”
The party makes their way to the river.
“Well met, travelers!” The cleric hails, “There’s no bridge hereabouts, but the water is fairly shallow! Ford across and let us speak!”
The water is not especially deep, but the strong current bowls Jessamine over. Oglum attempts to catch her before her chainmail can drag her under, but he slips in the silt. Fitzhugh quickly grabs hold of them at the elbows, and they safely cross the stream with injury only to their egos.
The cleric of Orn appraises the group, drenched and harried as they are.
“Lost in the Ancient Forest?” he asks.
“Yes,” Jessamine nods, we’re traveling to Uorek, but the forest-”
-had other plans. Yes, it does that. The secret is to follow the water, not the paths. The rivers all feed into the sea, and Uorek sits by the sea.”
“Thank you, friend,” Jessamine bows, “unfortunately we are very nearly out of rations. Do you know of anywhere to resupply?”
“I do. There is a fort nearby, maintained by my order. We’ll head there.”
He looks at Fitzhugh, squinting, as if he’s just connected something. “Ah, I see I’m in esteemed company. Mr. Fitzhugh Gruewater.”
The color drains from Fitzhugh’s face. Clarence looks befuddled. Ditto Jessamine. Oglum reaches for his sword.
Fitzhugh stammers, “I-I don’t-”
“Your reputation proceeds you, ser. But you are among allies, if not friends. The god of mysteries and hidden things has foretold your arrival. The quest to find you was mine, and I have succeeded.”
The man takes off his helmet. He is handsome and well groomed.
“I do not wish to be enemies, but I must insist you come with me. We will reach the fort by nightfall.”
The party travels largely in silence, eventually stopping to rest momentarily in a clearing. They watch small Rocs swooping above.
“My name is Egan,” offers the plate mail wearing cleric, “I have been a cleric of Orn for nearly ten winters. As a cleric, I hope you know I mean you no harm – any of you. But I think you, Ser Fitzhugh, understand why I must escort you.”
Fitzhugh nods solemnly.
Oglum scowls, “Well I’d like an explanation, for one.”
Egan’s eyes shift from Fitzhugh down to Clarence.
“Clarence here was also lost in the forest. We stumbled into each other. He’s not… involved.” Fitzhugh explains.
Clarence raises an eyebrow “Involved in what? I might just be an apprentice, but I am a member of the Guild, you know.”
“I told you,” Fitzhugh bluffs, “I’m on a mission for the Guild. Top secret. No business of an apprentice who can’t follow his mentor’s orders as it is.”
Clarence looks ashamed. “I was only trying to prove myself to Master Thaddeus. He never lets me do anything. He-”
“Hush!” Jessamine holds up a hand, “I hear someone coming this way.”
At first the rest of the party can hear nothing over the sound of the creek alongside them. Then, in the distance, a voice and the sound of underbrush being trampled underfoot.
“-and the damned boy can’t do as he’s damned well told. Read over some notes, I said. Practice your surveying around the estuaries and I’ll be back in a few weeks, I said. But no! He has to wander off, probably eaten by damned wolves-”
Clarence brightens, “That’s the old man – er, Master Thaddeus!”
Egan and Fitzhugh exchange a glance.
Fitzhugh clears his throat, “Clarence, why don’t you meet the ‘old man’ up ahead and guide him here? He sounds like he could use a hand.”
Clarence nods, “of course!” then hesitates, “only… he does sound angry…”
Egan grins, “Part of growing up, my boy, is facing the consequences of our decisions.” He speaks to Clarence, but his eyes are on Fitzhugh.
Clarence sighs, nods, and rushes on ahead.
“What now?” Egan asks, “we can only move so quietly through this brush.”
“I’ll… I’ll cast a spell! When they arrive. Not to hurt them – just to put them into a sleep so we can get away.” Fitzhugh whispers.
“Wait, why are we ‘getting away’?” Jessamine interrupts, “I thought these were your friends?!”
“Enough!” Oglum looks from Egan to Fitzhugh, “Do what you have to, but no one gets hurt! And when we reach this for I expect a thorough explanation.”
And so the crashing of Thaddeus’s footsteps grow louder, as does his voice, frantic and ranting. “Fitzhugh?! Fitzhugh the traitor?! You expect me to believe a fugitive of the Guild saved your life and is just sitting in a clearing upstream?! So help me boy-”
Fitzhugh, chanting under his breath, makes a sign with his hands in the air as the pair break through the trees, graceful as a conductor in front of an orchestra.
To Jessamine, all seems to happen in slow motion. The old man – who is truly old, with a weathered, lined face and white hair, with long eyebrows – leaning hard on his walking stick as he steps into the clearing with Clarence stammering behind; Thaddeus’s eyes going wide; and then, suddenly, both of them swaying as if under great weight and slumping to the ground, asleep.
“So,” Egan looks impressed, “you are a magic man.”
“I know a little,” Fitzhugh admits, looking exhausted.
“Let us away from here, quickly,” Oglum insists.
And so the party heads onward, toward the fort.