Tag: Greyhawk

Beneath the Boughs and Roots

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Chapter Eighteen of Under the Goblin Trees

Campaign adaptation by Thomas Kelly

By scrapes and scrambles, shimmying down from branch to bark, I made my descent into the darkness below. One after another, my brave friends slid and dropped around me until we all stood once more on the forest floor, groping about and dusting ourselves off.

We suffered a few moments of blindness before our eyes adjusted back to the dim. It took some doing to find one another and all the things we had dropped in the descent. For minute, we thought we had lost William. “Now that we come to very porch of the Goblin Trees, he’s run off to betray us!” Myron bemoaned the trickster. He stomped his foot in childish frustration. Remember that, aside from Bruin, we had all become as children both in body and in mind.

In truth, we had not lost William at all. Rather, his leash had become entangled during the descent. He had nearly hung himself. Ivan had to climb back up to free the poor lad. As we collected ourselves, the nearby baying of wolves warned us not to tarry longer. Then the winding of a war horn sounded off close at hand. Too close. Up from the ground, a deep thrum thrum thrum of cauldron drums could be felt more than heard. The pounding reverberated up through the roots of the trees and tremored in the trunks.

All that while, the fight went on above us. The leaf-laden canopy between us and the battlefield muffled both the voice of the olven folk and the uncouth clamor of goblinkind with whom the elves contended for control of the high-limb road. The shouts of combat sounded faint, faraway, and unreal. At one point that same day, a victim dropped to ground with a heavy thud, nearly at our fee! The fletching of an olven arrow protruded from the unlucky goblin’s backside.

“Now which way do we go? I can see no road,” I observed. “How about some light?”

“Fonkin! You want to make yourself a target for the darts?” Myron scolded me.

Bruin stepped between us. “Don’t need light to find the den. I see what needs to be seen. What I can’t see I can smell,” Bruin’s words growled in his throat.

Continue reading “Beneath the Boughs and Roots” →

Witch Queen of Perrenland (Audio)

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The story of how Iggwilv conquered Perrenland, controlled that land from the Caverns of Tsojcanth, and ultimately fell from power is now available in audio. Using the magic of AI narration from Eleven Labs, this is the first official Greyhawk Stories audio story release, available only to Patreon Members. If you aren’t a Patreon Member, you can become one at https://www.patreon.com/cw/greyhawkstories

If you prefer to read the story yourself, you can find it as the third installment in Kirt Wackford’s series Knights of the Hart.

Click on the image before to get to the audio story.

Greyhawk Stories Patreon Launch

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I’ve had a few people ask about how to get a paperback copy of The Hateful Wars. I decided to try the Patreon option and launched a Greyhawk Stories Patreon page. I’ve kept the buy-in low, with only two tiers. We’ll see how it goes.

https://www.patreon.com/cw/greyhawkstories
  • At the $2.00 level, Tale Bearers get access to posts, advance content before it appears on the blog, and access to PDF and eBook formatted content.
  • At the $3.00 level, Lore Masters will get all of the Tale Bearer content and paperback hardcopy of The Hateful Wars and whatever else Greyhawkstories produces.
  • To start with, all tiers have access to download the PDF and eBook versions of the Hateful Wars, and a PDF version of Against the Reptile God. More content to be posted regularly.

I’m hoping that the Patreon subscriptions hold my feet to the fire to keep me pushing out content. Maybe we’ll finish the Iggwilv Saga, or the Daoud Stories, Under the Goblin Trees, or even the Great Northern Crusade. And don’t even get me started on the Quest for the Crook of Rao!

Become a Patron, and let’s see where the road takes us.

Children of the Wood

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Chapter Sixteen of Under the Goblin Trees

Campaign adaptation by Thomas Kelly

The dim morning found me waking lost in the enormous folds of my cloak and bed roll which had grown inexplicably larger in the night. How strange! My tunic now draped loosely over my shoulders and twisted about me, and my trousers too had become several sizes large. With a head still full of sleep, I puzzled over the mystery until I heard a child’s voice near at hand asking, “What deviltry now?”

A Straight Read

I wriggled myself free of the enormous cloak to behold the dim lit shape of a boy, a human child of ten years or so, swagged in a grown man’s undercoat and waving his arms about. The unfilled loose ends of his sleeves flapped comically back and forth. His ragged breath steamed in the morning air. The commotion roused the others from their bedrolls. A redheaded child rose from the place where Ivan had laid down the night before. A mishappen gangly boy with misshapen face came around clumsily tripping over the dragging hem of his philosopher’s robe, now several sizes too large for him. A wide-eyed girl yet untouched by the first blush of womanhood slipped from Cirilli’s place beside the fire and giggled at the sight of the rest of us, “Look! We are children!” Only big old Bruin and William the goblin seemed unaffected by the enchantment.

“Tut, tut!” I exclaimed. The squeak of my hobniz child’s voice surprised me. “There’s bound to be some explanation.”

Continue reading “Children of the Wood” →

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.

Continue reading “Covert of the Old Weald” →

Battle for Realbridge

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Chapter Thirteen of Under the Goblin Trees

Campaign adaptation by Thomas Kelly

Fireseek 27 of the common reckoning 575. I rose early, reluctant to leave the relative warmth of cloak and fur. The morning had a cold bite, and my breath steamed in the air. Despite the chill, I rose refreshed by the night. Pleasant dreams, no doubt inspired by the sacred stones, had washed away the previous day’s traumas. I communed with the divine as the dawning light broke into a magnificent sunrise over Gran March. Taking full advantage of the sacred stone upon which I stood, I beseeched my Lady of Changing Seasons and all the true gods of right and good that they might grant us success in our quest. Nor did I neglect strange Ehlonna of the forest who had summoned us hither and into the sanctuary of her favored folk.

We made a cold and numb-fingered breakfast atop Table Rock, loaded the horses, and began the descent down the western slopes back into the forest. Ivan’s charger, a native to the woodlands, carried him at the head of our troop. Sir Belvenore’s proud cavalry horse came next, followed by Sir Merciful’s which now bore young Cirilli in the unfortunate knight’s stead. My sturdy pony trotted after these, with William tethered to the horn of its saddle, plodding alongside us. Myron’s unruly mare snorted and bucked behind us, and last of all came Bruin’s stout warhorse under its heavy burden. William ran alongside as long as he could, but when his little legs tired, he consented to riding with Ivan. Now Myron rode up close beside them and took advantage of the opportunity to learn the goblin tongue. He passed the miles inquiring about the goblin word for this and for that. William happily obliged and proved to be a most capable tutor.

Realstream

Our descent to the Realstream took us on a steep plunge back under the forest canopy. We again found ourselves cloaked beneath the shadows, plodding along a well-trodden but narrow twisting pathway.All around us, the trunks stood like a sprawling colonnade, each pillar separated from the next only by the darkness of the Dim.

Continue reading “Battle for Realbridge” →

Nothing but the Truth

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Chapter Twelve of Under the Goblin Trees

Campaign adaptation by Thomas Kelly

Myron’s mare protested in terror, sidestepping, then stomping its hooves, but the illusionist maintained his seat in the saddle. Gripping the mare’s flanks between his knees, he dropped both the reigns and the flaming torch he had been carrying. He raised his hands and, with a few words of incantation, discharged a potent spell. A rainbow of colored light leapt from his hands and up into the dim canopy of the path behind us. Two of the giant spiders dropped to the path like chestnuts dropping from the tree in my garden back in Hochoch.

“They will pursue us no further,” Myron said confidently. He dismounted to retrieve his still-burning torch, clambered back onto the mare, and wheeled her about. We galloped after him, leaving the fanged menaces behind us.

After that, I looked on the spellcaster with new admiration, but Bruin scolded him, “If you had that trick up your sleeve this whole time, why didn’t you play it sooner?”

Continue reading “Nothing but the Truth” →

Naming Iggwilv

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Anna B. Meyer

Edited by Thomas Kelly

Truenames hold the immense power of the creature named. A truename might protect from the named, scry upon the named, exploit the power of the named, dominate the will of the named, or even banish the named. But it’s not an easy thing to obtain. The truename summarizes a being’s story in the form of a poem. The recitation takes at least a minute per level of the creature, and it needs to be recited in the native language of the creature. A truename can be found if you research the creature in question and identify the details of its creation, its kin, its birthplace, its development, its foes, its friends, its accomplishments, its afflictions, and its dominions. Even little details, like its phobias and quirks, can strengthen the true name. But be careful. Truenames keep changing as a creature remains active and adds chapters to its story. In that respect, a truename is only true for a short while before it must be updated in order to stay true. So let’s explore some of the story we might use to name Iggwilv.

She’s called Queen of Witches, Mistress of Demons, Matriarch of Diabolists, Mother of Iuz, Daughter of Baba Yaga, Apprentice of Zagig, the Witch-Queen of Perrenland, and Author of the Demonomicon. But her birth name was Natasha, and she was born into a very poor family somewhere in the Tuflik valley. The family’s situation was so dire that her parents gave the baby away, sold her off, or worse. She ended up in the hands of the legendary hag Baba Yaga. Natasha grew up in The Dancing Hut. At the age ten, Baba Yaga taught her how to summon demons. Natasha despised her adopted sister, Elena the Fair. 

Continue reading “Naming Iggwilv” →

Web of Shadows

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Chapter Eleven of Under the Goblin Trees

Campaign adaptation by Thomas Kelly

Snow fell again, heavier than the days before, as we bade our farewells and made our way again under the darkening canopy of the Dim Forest. Ivan, ever wary, rode ahead upon his fine charger, followed in order by Sir Belvenore, I riding upon Crilli’s pony, and she upon Sir Merciful’s steed. Myron still sat upon his unruly mare, and, last of all, came Bruin the Bear upon his stout warhorse.

Ivan led us deeper yet into the forest, under the heavy ceiling of winter’s withered fuinoria leaves, but soon he found the path he sought. He called it “the road,” but this road was fit not for cart or wagon. It was scarcely more than a worn path that snaked and wound through the darkness with many other possible routes branching off here and there and disappearing into the dim. No straight way seemed possible, and without an able guide such as our woodsman, one might quickly lose the road and wander hopelessly lost in that twisting maze of shadows though endless colonnade of enormous trunks. Many deadfalls hampered our way, again and again, forcing us to weave away from the trail and back, and I often feared we might turn about entirely in the darkness. Our way slowly climbed in elevation as we ascended forest’s spine up the Taura Ridge. From time to time I seemed to see dark forms lurking near the trail and eyes of unknown creatures staring from the shadows.

This deep into the forest, no flake of snow fell upon the ground, for the overshadowing canopy held it all aloft, forming over our heads a soggy dripping blanket which blocked out even more of the sunlight, leaving us ever in a perpetual dusk by day and a deep starless blackness by night as Nerull would have it. Thick silence muffled all the wood round about. As if the silence forbade interruption, none of us spoke a word to one another. Only the steady plod of the horses hooves upon the soil made sound. Despite the cold, dark, miserable nights, we kept our flickering campfire small and dim, both for caution and of a necessity, for dry wood consenting to burn proved scarce, and the smoke hung about us, choking the air.

A Cry for Help

So we travelled in this manner for a day and a night and half a day again, or so we believed from the turn of dusky half-light to absolute pitch blackness and back again. Then came a sound on that second day: a thin voice hallooing for help.

“Many wicked things dwell in these dark places,” Ivan warned. “Some ghost or devil calls out to us to lead us into his trap.”

Continue reading “Web of Shadows” →