The Company of the Manticore

This is a page for the entire party

Description:

The Company Bank

Click this link to view the collection of group items and money.


Contacts

-Met an aging warrior at The Blunt Nail in Port Parlone. He asked to be called “Sir” and gave us a detailed map of Parlone.
-Made friends with Mayor Pete in Tundrein.

  • Deals made
  • Properties owned
Bio:
The story of The Company of the Manticore.

Adventure Log
Chapter One

The March North
Day 1. Destination Deerford
Day 2
? -Early journey is uneventful.
-A carefree night in Veniset is followed by the discovery of goblin tracks shortly before Tundrein. Ranger and Thieves follow Goblins, rest of group continue on to Tundrein.
-Trackers find evidence of Goblin tribes working together in large numbers. Others run into the Tundrein “militia”.
-Meet Mayor in Tundrein then set out after the Goblin band. 5 days in, run into Ranger Kandure who tells them where to find the Gobs. Now ready to attack Goblin camp.
-Launch attack on the goblin camp…
-In less than a minute our mighty band tore through the Goblins and captured their camp. Now what?!
-Alma and Cora make a quick trip back to Tundrein while the bulk of the group pushes on till they arrive at the edge of the Blackstone Wood.

The current year is 418 LE of the Lucidian Calendar. Many things have transpired in the world including the death of kings, battles of passion, and even the intrigue of an embattled court of nobles desperately trying to start a new dynasty.

But, all that is peripheral to what these eight young men and women have come to find: adventure. We must go back a few years to see how these things start.

The Merging of the Noble Four

Alma Errante, breathless and tired from a long run through the narrow back streets of The City, came to a quiet little tavern just before the ramshackle slums of the Warrens. Heaving a last sigh to catch his breath, he decided to sit back and pour himself into where he was going to go from here. Baron Cantwell of Lenturburg was a powerful man…with many retainers: wine was definitely needed.


Trouble was afoot. There was too much noise. Were those calls for the watch? Cora Higglemoor was standing in the middle of Sir Bantrum Navier’s Salon, holding a rare ceramic—almost as big as her entire body. She knew it was worth a fortune. The yells and and clashing of men running in armor was definitely echoing through the great room. Gods! This racket was going to wake the whole household!

Sure enough, the first trickles of lamplight poured down the stairs. Quickly she put the vase down and ran for the window she had meticulously disassembled earlier. Peering out the window she could see a dashing-looking cyonian throwing clothes over his naked body whilst running down the lane. Peeking over the hedge at the window height, she could tell that the guards were running the wrong way toward the front of the compound. So, she quickly scaled down the wall and followed the running cyonian through the winding streets of Thrayce.


It was a dreary mess of a place. They hadn’t changed the straw floor in far too long. the sick smell of vomit and sweat permeated the whole place…though you were offered a free meal you politely declined.

Just for the one night, Sebastian Magnussen, told himself. I’ve been paid up front…I just need to make it through the routine and then I’m off to better fairs in the Gilded section of town. Perhaps I will even play a few manors for an assembly of noble guests. That will fill my purse for a good while. So, with the dour thoughts fading Sebastian took out his banjo and started to work the crowd…mindful of who was in a good mood and who was not to be disturbed.


This was easily the biggest city Terrance Hornwood had ever seen. He had hobnobbed with nobles in Fairngo, and Fallwar…and even once in Grinhein; but, nothing compared to the size and grandeur of Thrayce. ‘The City’ the locals called it: like there was no other city in the world, not like it just happened to be a city. It was strange here, even peasants had an air of superiority about them that only nobles seemed to possess up in Bellweather.

Wandering the streets somewhat randomly, trying to get a feel for the place, Terrance came across a tavern in a fairly rough-looking part of town that had a sign that looked familiar. The tavern was called The Lock and Key and it had a picture of a lock with a key sticking out of it. Nostalgia hit Terrance like a hammer. His father’s business was called The Lock and Key in Williamburg. Shaking his head in disbeleif, he found himself entering the ugly building to the sound of a strangely fast, twangy, stringed instrument and a rousing song about bedding shepherdesses.


Fore on that night did the four member meet for the first time in the grimy Lock and Key Tavern…and through a rough two days including a bar brawl, two gay lute players, a half dozen city guards, two dozen militiamen from Baron Cantwell’s compound, a wagon full of watermelons, a u-turn in a sewer, and a city block caught on fire did they form a friendship that would last them far into their long, or short, lives.

Travelling together, north across Pax and into the service of a Duke hellbent on ending the turf wars in the area, barely escaping into the Plains of Delphan were They convinced a Horse Lord that they were the last remaining royalty of the Northern Angrovian Empire (never existed), to mingling with the small lords of Angrove and Bellweather, dancing at their parties and drinking their wine before emptying as much of their coffers as possible.

The far became known on the side as people who can get things done. Not afraid of a fight or a little investigation, the Noble Four risked life and limb…not only for profit: but for piece of mind. It was this that brought them to the boulder ridden and rocky hills of Fort Speer; in search for a plague of ogres—who had not been seen in the area for some fifty years. The councils of four villages had pooled their money to compensate anyone brave enough to rid the land of this scourge.

The Joining of the Driven

It had been 3 moons since blood had quenched the thirst of his spear. Lornall Iceraker was not happy. To go this long without contest leaves a man weak and untried in combat. He felt like he could feel his arms and legs starting to lose their strength and power. ‘It will not be long’ he spoke aloud to his muscles.

He knew the greenskins were close. He hadn’t been aware that there existed any Loddites this far south until he came across an abandonment encampment that could have only been goblinoid. The scat and fire had been side-by-side and blood soaked all manner of grass and bush amidst the camp…only a Child of Lodd would shit were he eats. Making a sign of warding over his chest and thanking the spirit of the bear for giving him the opportunity to kill goblins again, Lornaal climbed up to the crest of the hill and stared down into a group of perhaps 15 goblins…perhaps more…Lornaal was bad with numbers.


It had been only a few weeks since Matrim Taim had decided to start tracking the movement of the goblins out of northern Gromolikland. There seems to have been some attempt at organization; but, different tribes were heading different directions. Now it is widely known that most goblin tribes don’t cooperate well with each other…but there seemed to be something else, something elusive.

Matrim chose a small tribe to follow at first. Thinking that perhaps he could use guerrilla tactics to widdle their numbers down enough for him to attack. For make no mistake, he hated goblins with a passion. The one group calling themselves the Razor Fangs started out with 25 strong, 20 of them full grown warriors. He had manged to stealthily dispatch of 5 of their number before they made it out of the country. They were very alert now and when they made camp there were guards and multiple fires lit.

At the darkest hour of the knight Matrim saw something quite unusual. Sitting on a branch, high up, in a close by tree, Matrim watched as a single man armed only with spears and hides charged into the camp and started battling the goblins in a mindless fury.


T’alen and Talton had just been from the Allistare’s manor house just a days ride from here. Lord Allistare had congratulated T’alen on his hard studies and welcomed him again into his home. He then introduced him to Brother Talton a travelling priest who was trying to study the habits of the Gromolikland Goblinoids for a paper he was writing to send to the Lucidian Brotherhood in Vintara. He asked T’alen if he would mind showing the young priest some of the areas that the gobins tend to inhabit. Insisting that they don’t dare come onto the lands of the Allistare’s—T’alen couldn’t help but think of his orphan-like past.

Sitting wide awake in the dead of the night both men heard the screams of battle not far off. Kicking their small covered fire both men armed themselves and head toward the turmoil. Coming to the edge of a small ridge they looked down to see two, well beaten, men struggling with perhaps a dozen goblins all viciously taunting the warriors in the midst of the fray. Looking over at T’alen Brother Talton displayed a large impish smile that split the bottom of his face, ’Come on Son. Care to get your blade wet?"

With that he charged down the dark ridge and into the fire-lit goblinoid encampment.


Minds and bodies met that night forged in blood and action. Four men who deep in their hearts of heart consider the Children of Lodd to be a pox on the land to be studied and extinguished met in the heat of battle. Knowing that their destinies had forever changed, unspoken, they began travelling north together tracking more tribes…and losing others. As they sought shelter from town to town they would find chores or missions to better the areas and keep the peace. But, ever at the back of their minds, they knew they traveled north: north to where there was home, north to the answers of the mysteries of Lodd, and north to where Naylia might be discovered.

For some time the Driven Four helped the innocent and sussed out the wretched as they crossed the golden plains of Velestra, temporarily hunting greenskins on horse back with the Tribe of Selmar the Great. Wandering into northern Angrove to discover that a group of deserted Sandorian soldiers had taken over a small village and was demanding royalties. Entering southern Bellweather to discover a rash of strange giant insects infesting three large manor houses and finally finding their way to Fort Speer where a marauding group of ogres were terrorizing four small villages.

Four Plus Four Equals Adventure

Only two groups were brave enough to accept the call at Fort Speer. Both groups had their strengths and weaknesses. During that faithful week of hunting through the craggy hills and valleys of northeastern Bellweather not only did they find a compromise they found the ying to their yang. The passive wandering yet charismatic strength of the Noble Four met the sheer blunt and honest strength of the Driven Four. Where slight of hand might hold sway honest passion might blunder; while the need for sincerity might blossom even the best of lies can’t crack the dome of integrity. The eight gelled together to form a single unit. After dispatching with the ogres the coin was split and the unknown became a driving curiosity.

Travelling east toward Fallwar and up to Fairngo, down into Grinhein and finally up to the desolate Port of Parlone, the Eight Adventurers shared many a battle and test, from a cadre of bandits, a rescue of a Noble from the clutches of a rival house, a mysterious route of a manticore deep into a hidden forest cave, and a call to arms against the threat of a Sandorian invasion (that never came). Now, sitting in a tar smeared tavern on the docks of Port Parlone listening to the words of a grizzled old man tell stories about the Northreach and the treasure to be gained.

The Company of the Manticore

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