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Flight of Fiends

I consider the “flight of fiends” that occurs between the Greyhawk Wars and the declaration of the Great Northern Crusade to be the most significant event to occur in the Flanaess. It’s scope and implications for the world of Greyhawk are enormous. In my mind, it’s on the scale of the War of the Rings and the destruction of the One Ring, a watershed moment when the plots of Iggwilv and Graz’zt (lived vicariously though their son Iuz) and the deviltry behind Ivid’s undead fever dream of an empire all go down the dung hole at once.

It doesn’t mean the end of great adventures and heroic deeds in the struggle against evil and malice, but rather the beginning of real hope in such ventures. It’s the turning of the tide. Only after the flight of fiends does the balance tip toward hope for pushing back the foul armies of Dorakka, prevailing against the arrogance of the Hierarchs, liberating the fallen lands from the giant hordes that stormed Geoff, shaking free from the conspiracies of Scarlet brotherhood, and putting a stop to cancerous corrupting collapse of the Malachite Throne.

But the story does not begin in the Carl Sargent Era. It begins in primordial times with the gift of Rao: a simple shepherd’s staff. I’ve been collecting the lore and putting it together in my head. Now its time to start writing it down.

Greyhawk Stories Patreon members are invited to enjoy early access to an initial draft of chapter one (audio version and text) from from the new saga, Flight of Fiends. The story begins with the a tale from The Book of Incarum that describes a long-forgotten battle between Deva Incarum and the spawn of the Slumbering One.

Again, this is a rough draft version, and initial pass at the tale. There’s room for lots of improvement. I’m always eager to entertain thoughts, suggestions, and corrections. Eventually, a finished draft will make its way to the free content hosted here on Greyhawkstories, but Patreon gives me a chance to test drive the material before committing to a final form.

Thanks for reading Greyhawkstories.com

Covert of the Old Weald

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Chapter Fourteen of Under the Goblin Trees

Campaign adaptation by Thomas Kelly

“Lords! My lords!” William fell to his knees, bowing and scraping before us, still trembling for the fright of the battle. “I swear by head and hide to serve thee, for I owe thee my debt of featly. But for thee, those captains would have flayed me! The ogre would crush me! The troll would tear off my arms and legs. Those bears—their claws—and that terrible eagle too! I am your servant, William, by my life!”  

“Swear to it against your own name! Swear by the ugly names of all your ugly jebli gods,” Myron menaced. “May hobgoblins ravage you, may bears maul you, may an ogre tread upon your torn corpse, may a roc carry your carcass away to feed its young, and may a troll grind his teeth on your bones if you prove false to us or do us any harm. Swear it now!”

Utterly in awe of our powers, the terrified goblin agreed to those stern oaths and swore them against his own head. Yet for all that show of fealty, none of us felt any need to unbind his wrists or grant him leave to go about as he would.

Wounds and Weals

Cirilli and I exhausted all our strength attending to Ivan, leaving Belvenore and Bruin without divine touch for their own wounds. In addition to Ivan’s sores, we had the matter of the woodsman’s horse. The troll’s great claw had raked the flesh and lamed the animal’s leg. The Backluni charger’s eyes lolled about, wild with pain. The animal staggered and stumbled, whinnying most pitifully. None could approach it to unsaddle it or remove the packs it bore. It seemed a kindness to release the poor beast from its pains, but Cirilli would not countenance it.

“Listen child. Is it meet for us to let the beast suffer?” Belvenore insisted. “Let me do the thing. She will scarcely feel the touch of my blade.”

Then rose Cirilli from Ivan’s side, drew near to the injured animal, whispered in her twitching ear, and calmed the poor beast. “She says she will suffer me to attend to her wound,” Cirilli explained. To my astonishment, the horse submitted to let her wash and bandage the torn leg.

“So she speaks horse now?” Bruin asked.

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