Running In Blind (Chapter 1)

   Our story begins at the break of dawn.  The small farm town of Duskwood, population of about maybe 200, was already busy at work.  Farmers had been tending the fields since before the sun had begun to rise, getting as much work out of the way as possible before they'd be working the fields under the hot sun.  In the dimly lit sky, merchants were slowly setting up their shops in the market, preparing their wares for the next weary traveler.  Travelers who had long distances to travel checked out of their inns and made way for their next stop.  Though the morning mist still hung overhead, the town was bustling before too long.  

    Duskwood was a fairly new-founded province, having been started only twenty years ago. Despite that, it's popularity grew very quickly.  Duskwood boarders the Whitewood forest to it's East, and is one of the furthest most Eastern of provinces within the Avandrian Empire.  This far out, the towns are further spread out than the Central and Western parts of the empire, where travel between towns could be as little as a few hours on foot.  In the East, however, travel to another town could take days, even with a mount.  Sitting on a crossroad between 4 major townships, Duskwood became the ideal stopping point for travelers in the Eastern side of the Avandrian Empire.  The income made from sales to travelers through provisions, goods, or the Inns are the second largest form of income for Duskwood.

   Duskwood's primary income are from that of it's rich soil.  The ground is fertile enough to grow many different crops that are rotated from season to season.  Anything from tomatoes to cabbage to pumpkins.  Farmers tend to the fields year-round.  Duskwood's placement in relation to the equator grants it the benefit of being spared from harsh winters.  Snow rarely sets in the Avandrian Empire, save for the higher peaks of the Central Mountains.  Because of this, the income is steady and prosperous for the town.  Only when the weather has been dry does it ever pose a problem for the town's income.  The last three years's crops have been underwhelming and this year's drought has proven to be problematic.  If that wasn't enough of a problem, the insect problem was getting out of control.  The number of insects devouring crops was a rising number.  Crops were their food, their export, and their provisions for travelers.  

    While the citizens of Duskwood could handle their problems, nobody on the entire continent was prepared for what was to happen next, for the Dungeon Master was about to let the players control their characters.
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    The Avandrian Empire's official religion is debatable and incredibly convoluted.  When founded 800 years ago, most of it's citizens worshipped Avandra, the goddess of luck, change, trade, and travel.  This was mainly because of the founder worshiped Avandra and wished everyone to do as he did.  Unfortunately, it never really caught on.  Over time, many different religions manifested themselves throughout the land.  The majority of the populace are that of the human race, but there are some small communities of Tieflings, Orcs, and Elves.  Because of this, the majority of religious views are of gods commonly worshiped by humans.  As such, one may find the stray shrine to Avandra on the roads here and there, but a temple to Pelor, god of healing and light, can be found in almost every town.  Almost, because there hasn't been one built in Duskwood.  When the town was founded and land was being sold, one of the first buildings to be built was a Church for the worship of Bahamut.  Bahamut, otherwise known as the Platinum Dragon, is the dragon god of chivalry, justice, and protection.  Within the last century, followers of Bahamut have become more frequent.  As daybreak approaches, Father Matthews concludes his morning prayer.

   The doors to the church swing open, and out steps Zanfire Razortooth, the single Paladin trained in Duskwood's Church of Bahamut.  Zanfire steps into the street, raises his head, and takes in a long sniff of the crisp morning air.   Right behind him was Alain, a black mute who was also a subject of the church.  Alain was more of a caretaker, as giving sermons was beyond his capabilities.  Alain and Zanfire grew up together under the church, so the bond between them was like that of brothers.  Wherever Zanfire goes, Alain is there silently following him.

    "Ahhh", he sighs, "I wonder if there's anything worth our time at the Inn today."  Zanfire, a well built man standing at about 5'11'', stood and stroked his shaggy facial hair.  He stretched his arms out, did a few neck rolls, took a deep breaths, and felt the invigoration he would need to start his day.  And so he walked off towards the Old Horse Inn.  Something told him that it was just THE place to be at that moment.

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    In the Old Horse Inn, Vreal awoke in his bed.  His head pulsed in agony.  For the life of him, he couldn't remember what happened the night before, but judging by his aching body and his smell, he had a pretty good idea.  The evening had probably consisted of plenty of drinking, fighting, and debauchery.  Feeling directionless in life, he started to wonder if he had lost sight of his purpose for traveling.  He started to, at least, if he didn't suddenly realize that if he didn't find some food soon, he wouldn't have the energy to leave the bed later.  

    He sat up and sat at the edge of the bed, groggy and droop eyed.  He assembled his belongings, checked for his bow, slung his quiver over his back, laced up his boots, and headed downstairs. A barmaid called out to him,
"Gonna have something to eat, young man?"

Vreal raised his hand and pointed to his arrows.  
"I'll find my own food."

The woman looked a little taken aback by the blunt response.  She stood for a moment, not sure what to do.  She smiled.
"Alright then!  Suit yourself!  Thanks for staying!"

Vreal sat on a stool by the window and began restringing his bow.  He hated hunting with a hangover, but it was better than spending money he didn't need to spend.  Especially if he didn't even have it in the first place.  

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     Satomi Saya sat with her back up against the Old Horse Inn.  She usually slept behind the tavern, in the shade of the building.  She felt ragged and weary, but invigorated to know that a new sunrise meant another successful escape from her horrific dreams.  She slowly raised herself up to a wobbly stand, and made way for the market.  As she walked through the town, people seemed to part around her, either not noticing her, or trying as hard as they could to pretend they don't notice.  Satomi was rather used to not being noticed.  In fact, she was rather good at it.  As a psion, she of all people knows that the mind is a fragile thing.  And it can be easily manipulated.  If she had ever been approached by anyone, she need only a whim to create a hole in their memory.  Rumors spread throughout Duskwood of the strange Tiefling woman, and of those who had spoken to her only to have totally forgotten having ever met her.  Rather than viewing this woman as a threat, the general consensus of the township is that she has no intentions of upsetting town order, and as a result is left alone.  

    Another strange rumor that surrounds Satomi is of her telepathy.  Among the many races throughout the world, there are some that can only communicate through telepathy.  Some however, are not born with it.  Having gained the powers of a Psion, it is rumored that Satomi has, on occasion, spoken to other people in the town through telepathy.  Supposedly, she sometimes asks questions, gives the occasional word of advice, and even more frequently sends criticism.  Despite these short mental conversations, nobody really talks about them.  Some are self aware that it would sound crazy to say that they had a conversation with the voices in their head.  Others just want to pretend that it was imaginary and it was merely their conscience raising it's voice.  Regardless of the case, the ending result is that Satomi Saya is both infamous and unknown. 

    She sits at an unoccupied table outside the front of the Inn.  She leans her staff, usually presumed as a walking stick, on her lap.  Some mistake Satomi for an elder at times.  Always wearing her long cloak, always hooded, many are unaware of her appearance.  Tieflings, usually uncommon this far East, are usually distrusted outside of their own communities.  Not to be misunderstood, Tieflings aren't exactly trusted within their communities either.  This dates back to the birth of the Tiefling race.  The first Tieflings were humans who had made pacts with Devils.  The humans who made the pact were nobles who became corrupt with power.  Powerful devils from the Nine Hells agreed to create this pact if every member of the noble household participated.  Those who refused were slaughtered.  The ritual was supposedly horrible, but they were given powers that their descendants would have forever, but at a cost of their appearance being warped forever.  The resulting race of Tiefling has a devilish appearance with horns, tails, sharpened teeth, and red skin (which now tends to vary in many different shades as the generations continue).   That being said, Satomi fears less the unlikely racism she may encounter as much as she does the interaction.  

    "..."  She stares into the sky and watches the rising sun.

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Zanfire had just about cleared his plate of breakfast

Vreal had just finished restringing his bow.

Satomi was gazing into the distance.

Suddenly, faintly, in the distance, a voice was heard yelling.  

Moments later, the number of voices grew.  As the number and volume of the voices grew, they became more and more panicked. 

Zanfire, holding a strip of bacon, froze in mid-bite.

Vreal turned and held his bow in a readied position.

Satomi's perked her head up, drawn out from her daydreaming.

    Vreal, holding his bow in a lowered stance, pushed through the front door and stood in the street.  Zanfire tapped Alain’s shoulder, motioned his head towards the door, and followed behind Vreal.  As the three of them began heading in the direction of the shouting, Satomi joined the newly formed group. 

    They followed the shouting till the edge of the farm fields.  Farmers wielding mundane tools  were defending their crops from what appeared to be giant beetles.  These beetles, a bright vibrant red in color, were around three feet high and nearly four feet wide.   They came in a large swarm.  There must have been at least 40 beetles, all gnawing away at the crops with their mandibles.  The farmers had taken up arms to fend off the beetles, but to no avail.  The beetles that were distracted from their meal fought back.  The party witnessed a farmer take a swing with a shovel that snapped on impact.  The beetle turned its attention to the farmer and from its mouth it spewed what looked like a molten flaming substance.  The substance stuck to his skin and as it landed on his face and his chest, he let out an agonizing scream and fell to the ground writhing in pain.  Some men continued to fight as reinforcements were arriving.  Some were fleeing for their lives.  It was then that the party, this mismatch group of unlikely heroes, charged together as a unit. 

“Without the crops, the town will starve!  We have to stop these beetles!”, shouted Zanfire zealously.

Zanfire drew his greatsword and charged in headfirst with Alain following right in tow. 

*Fwip!*  *Fwip!*

    Vreal began his attack and fired two arrows, the first ricocheting off the tough shell of the beetles, the next catching right in the soft exposed spot beneath the shell. The beetle let out a hiss and recoiled.  All of the surrounding beetles stopped eating and began looking at Zanfire.  Slowly, but quickly building pace, a horde of 10 beetles charged at Zanfire.

    Zanfire took a swing at the front member of the horde, and left a crackled gash in the shell of the beetle.  The beetle slowed, but did not stop.  The other beetles did not falter and made no hesitation from their charge.  Within moments, Zanfire was overcome by the number of beetles.  Helpless and on his back, Zanfire was swinging his sword around frantically.

“Fuck, get this shit off of me!”, shouted Zanfire.

Alain raised his hands and began muttering a prayer.

Satomi, not totally sure what to do, ran up to where Zanfire was being gnawed on and tried to figure out how she could help.  A couple of beetles noticed her, and began scuttling over to charge her. 

“Uhh…?  Ah!”,  Satomi yelped.

She let loose with a Memory Hole, and the beetles had completely forgotten her, and stared on as though she was invisible to them.  They sat for a moment, saw the other beetles continuing to overwhelm Zanfire, and remembered what they had been doing before.  They joined the others and continued to bite away at the still now hardly standing Zanfire.

Satomi stood there, feeling totally useless.

Vreal, still keeping a distance, kept firing away at the beetles.  While he was doing considerable damage to them, slowly whittling their numbers down, at this rate Zanfire had little chance of survival.

Zanfire, now bloodied, continued to cleave away the beetles one by one. 

The beetle’s mouths began frothing with the molten fluid.

“Oh fuck!”, yelled the Paladin.

Alain’s hands began to glow, and a pulse of light emitted from them. 

    The beetles were pushed back with a great force, and Zanfire was engulfed in a warming light that healed his wounds.  Feeling invigorated, Zanfire took a stance, ready to continue the fight. 

Alain’s prayers became louder.   Zanfire brandished his weapon, and it began to glow in a holy light bestowed through Alain’s prayers.  With mighty swings, Zanfire began swatting away beetles like flies, and tiny ones at that.  Vreal began unleashing a barrage of arrows, impaling the beetles from above.   

It was as though the DM had to lower the Armor Class of the beetles to keep from killing his Level One party. 

Satomi attempted another Memory Hole, doing next to nothing to the already incredibly unintelligent creatures.  The results were underwhelming, even for expecting to yield very little result. 

Soon, the fields had been cleared, the crops littered with giant beetle carcasses.  The surviving farmers congregated around the four unlikely heroes, and thanked them heavily.

An old farmer, clothes stained in the guts of the beetles, spoke up.

“You’ve saved our crops!  In all my years, I’ve never seen such bravery.  How can we ever repay you?”

Zanfire laughed.

“Throw us a feast in our honor!”

A booming voice, seeming to echo throughout the skies addressed Zanfire.

The DM doth spake, “Matt, you’re a Paladin of Bahamut.”

Zanfire mumbled, “Ah fuck…  NOTHING.  IT WAS OUR PLEASURE.”

And on that note, the four of them were brought to the Old Horse Inn, where the town celebrated their victory.  That evening, a feast was thrown, drinks were served, and merriment was made.  The four of them were given free boarding for the night. 

When the party began to die down and the Inn began to return to its regular business, Vreal headed up to his room with one of the barmaids.

Zanfire, Satomi, and Alain sat at the Bar Table. 

Zanfire, incredibly drunk, turned to Satomi and spoke in words that seemed as though he was living in another world.

“Pat, I’m going to fuck your character”.

Satomi cringed.

“Uhh… Memory Hole?”

Zanfire had forgot what he was doing.  He turned to Alain, who stared on baffled as to what had overcome his companion, both by what strange words he had spoken and how he had totally forgotten about Satomi. 

 “My good friend, come, share another drink with me!” 

    Satomi began heading for the door, determined to investigate the attack of the giant beetles.  She knew there had to be a reason the beetles had strayed so far from the Whitewood Forest, their natural habitat. 

Alain was speechless.  (Ha, ha.)  He motioned to Zanfire and pointed to Satomi, as she was walking out the door.

Zanfire fought to remember.  He stood up and began walking towards the door.

“Was that the woman from before?  Where is she going?”

Zanfire followed her out the door and into the night.