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Strontium Dogs: The Next Generation / Re: HALL OF FAME (Strontium Dogs)
« on: September 23, 2020, 05:30:48 PM »
More Veteran Dogs - The Next Generation

(for Jones the Voice, see above)

‘Dapper’ Gaston de Noz
Veteran bounty hunter and expert tracker, de Nez is known for both his olfactory skills and his suave, elegant style dress-sense. Has no mouth and thus cannot speak, only make nasal noises. Gaston knows a lot about alien flora and fauna. He was recently hit by a time weapon and lost 3 years of time.

Hans Oslo
Mercenary, ruthless and with a reputation as much for smuggling, extortion and blackmail as for bringing in warrants, Hans always has an eye on the main chance. By nefarious means he owns – through third parties and dummy companies) his own ship, the Centenary Hawk. He’s disliked by many other Dogs, and not just because of this dodgy reputation; he never fought in the Uprising or rebellions.

Lester “the Jester” Claypole [Deceased]
Lester is dead – an ignominious end for a long-serving Dog who survived the turbulent Uprising, Final Solution, and life on the rim> He was semi-retired to the Unclaimed Artefacts office, where he sorted through various alien junk dropped off by fellow Dogs. He rarely left the Doghouse, but did so with an apprentice for one last adventure. He did not return. The Frenchman drinks a lot – could be related.

The Lump
The Lump is relatively young but a competent bounty hunter and an all-round decent guy. Unfortunately, his shambolic mutation (a massive corral-like, cancerous mass swallowing his shoulders and head) means he’ll never be accepted by the norms. Lacking any peripheral vision and unable to turn his ‘head’, the Lump has been shot in the back three times by bounties.

Scab Jones
Born in the infamous Milton Keynes ghetto, Scab is a tough, no nonsense ‘street ronin’ familiar with the neon alleys and cheap motels of near-earth. Scab is the brother of mutant criminal, Impetigo Jones, who was killed by Jonny Alpha. When Jonny came looking for information on his brother, he was forced to shoot Scab and beat him within an inch of his life. Scab has hated Jonny ever since.

Classic-Era Dogs (some still around)

Durham Red
A female mutant ‘haematovore’ (vampire), possessing blood fuelled strength, endurance, and immortality. Worked with a number of other mutant bounty hunters over the years. Subject to obscure prophecies about a vital role in the future. Present whereabouts unknown.

Evans the Fist
Welsh mutant and former S/D agent, now ‘retired’ after his licence was revoked. Immensely powerful right arm, which grows directly from his head.

Frinton Fuzz [Deceased]
Son of Clacton Fuzz, a general of the first mutant uprising. Exceptionally hairy, obscuring his whole body. Killed in action while working with Durham Red. His younger brothers (twins) are newly fledged S/D agents.

The Gronk [Alien]
Pacifistic alien from Blas, in the Gallego system. Fur-covered, tentacles, conical humanoid. Long-time companion of Johnny Alpha, despite his ‘poor weak heartsies’ and utter lack of courage or combat skills. Skilled physician.

Johnny Alpha [Deceased]
Famous mutant bounty hunter and hero of the mutant underground army. Possessed x-ray vision from his glowing mutant eyes, and limited telepathic powers. Due to time travel and paradoxes, the exact circumstances of his life and death cannot be 100% determined. Most people agree he died saving mutants from Arcadia, during the Second Mutant War.

Jones the Voice
Welsh Mutant, still a Strontium dog despite showing little apparent talent for the job. His snout-like mouth can emit subsonic tones to induce headaches, nausea, and perhaps shatter fragile objects. Claims to have once been the boyfriend of Durham Red.

Lionel Death [Deceased?]
Unpleasant ‘living skeleton’ S/D agent, an expert in torture and interrogation. Died in an ‘friendly fire incident’ between his team and Durham Red/Johnny Alpha. Some recent stories suggest he may still alive… probably just rumours.

Middenface McNulty
Ageing, hard-talking, alcoholic Scottish mutant, long time Strontium Dog and former insurgent of the mutant army. Has fungus-like growths on his cranium. Recently lost an arm and had the stump augmented with a bionic replacement.

Precious Matson
Mutant journalist. Her mutation is that she has a third, centrally located breast. Which is not terrifically useful but is probably a conversation starter.

The Torso from Newcastle [Deceased]
Headless mutant resistance leader and former Strontium Dog. Killed bring down Nelson Kreeler during the Doghouse ‘civil war’ of 2182.

Vince Scampi
Bounty Hunter with a prawn-like crustacean head. Good with a gun, they say.

Wulf Sternhammer [Deceased]
Norm, actually a Viking from the year 793 AD, brought back to the present. Best friend and long-time partner/sidekick of Johnny Alpha. Famous for his strength, tolerance of mutants, and “happy stick” (a massive, two-handed hammer). Murdered by Max Bubba.

Strontium Dogs: The Next Generation / RECOMMENDED MEDIA
« on: September 23, 2020, 05:12:19 PM »

I am sure I can add to this list as time goes on, but these are the movies I have been watching to get in the Strontium Dog movie.

The Nuclear War
The War Game
First, an important public service announcement....

The Earth
Blade Runner
Children of Men

Mostly This
Battle Beyond the Stars
Spacehunter: Adventures in the Forbidden Zone
Total Recall

The Strontium Dog Life
Cowboy Beebop
Guardians of the Galaxy
Space Rage! Escape from Prison Planet

The Weird Stuff
Thundar the Barbarian

Strontium Dogs: The Next Generation / Re: PROPAGANDA + OTHER IMAGES
« on: September 01, 2020, 02:10:14 PM »
The Seek and Destory Agency

(AKA 'Strontium Dogs')

The Hall of Fame:

The "Doghouse"... Newly Moved to orbit of Pluto

Escape the Mutant Ghetto: Join Today!

Strontium Dogs: The Next Generation / Re: PROPAGANDA + OTHER IMAGES
« on: September 01, 2020, 02:01:00 PM »
Welcome to the W.Y.R.M

(West Yorkshire Reservation for the Mutated.... AKA 'NewHuddersLeeds')

Strontium Dogs: The Next Generation / PROPAGANDA + OTHER IMAGES
« on: September 01, 2020, 01:56:11 PM »
Welcome to New Britain!

Warrants & Weaponry

Out in space, every man and woman has the right to bear arms. This right does not extend to mutants and it has been illegal for mutants to carry weapons of any kind for many years. S/D agents are an exception to the rule: Licensed S/D agents have the right to carry and use weapons in the execution of Search/Destroy duties as long as the following directives are followed (as decreed by Galactic Statute):

• No S/D Agent should discharge a weapon save in self defense

• Weapons, if displayed, are to be contained in appropriate holsters or carrying rigs
• When travelling on any form of starship, commercial, public or private, all weapons are to be surrendered to the appropriate ship’s officer.

• If caught with concealed weapons aboard any space-going vessel or station, S/D agents face losing their license as well as arrest and up to 10 years detention in a penal institution.

• All S/D agents must declare their presence to the local S/ D agency upon arriving at a particular world. They must declare what weapons they are carrying and all Time and Dimensional weapons must be logged by the authorities.

• S/D agents must surrender weapons to the authorities if ordered to do so.

• Whilst licensed to use weapons in the execution of S/D warrants, agents must abide by the specific terms of the warrant: any fugitive who is terminated when termination is not explicitly stated as part of the warrant means that the S/ D agent, unless he can produce incontrovertible supporting evidence, will be subject to the full weight of the appropriate law.

Note: In reality,  to quote S/D agent Middenface McNulty: "Fehk that shayt"

Most Strontium Dogs flout these directives on a daily basis, such is the nature of their work and such is the fractured nature of law enforcement throughout the galaxy. However, every Strontium Dog is aware that most people hate and fear them and local law enforcement offi cers resent their presence and involvement to the point that even the pettiest bureaucracy will be used to hinder and penalise S/D agents in the course of their work. Flouting the guidelines becomes a matter of making a point, as much as getting a job done.

Strontium Dogs: The Next Generation / Re: LIFE IN THE 22ND CENTURY
« on: August 14, 2020, 07:15:50 PM »
The Seek and Destroy Agency
(AKA: "Strontium Dogs")

Established in 2167, the S/D Agency is a semi-private organisation operated from a massive orbital habitat known as the Dog House – even thought its official name is S/D Central. The S/D Agency is the only organisation with a trans-galaxy sanction to seek-out and capture or kill criminals and fugitives from justice. Technically it has no powers of arrest and its agents can only apprehend subjects or return fire upon them if they are executing a specific warrant.

The S/D Agency is not a police force; neither is it, officially, a part of the galactic executive or administration: if it were, then the GCA would be sanctioning murder directly and many of the S/D Agency’s operating practices (hiring mutants, for example) would be vulnerable to government scrutiny. Instead, the S/D Agency works in a shadowy position somewhere between government partnership and private bounty hunting company.

The S/D Agency operates from S/D Central - AKA "the Dog House". The Dog House contains the administrative offices for the entire S/D Agency, which still relies on human executives to assess incoming warrants, assign them to specific Strontium Dogs. The Dog House is currently in orbit around Pluto (apparently that’s some sort of old earth joke?), far from earth. It is divided into three sections: Red, White, and Blue.

White is Administration and Operations, reserved for “norms” and houses non-mutant administrative staff, in strict segregation from their mutant employees. They keep the agency running and are also charged with keeping their mutants in line.

Blue is for mutant bounty-hunters; living quarters, mess halls, practice gyms, etc. Living quarters have various name, official and otherwise, often based on ghettoes from back on earth, or famous deceased Dogs.

Red section contains cells for prisoners, and, a recent addition, barracks for “Pen Dogs” - mutants serving prison sentences, who are offered time off their (usually excessive) sentence, in exchange for various “community service” which amounts to unpaid labour, black ops and wet-work. All Pen-Dogs wear an explosive collar to guarantee their obedience.

FIDO is the agency's computer system and the primary interface between S/D and the GCC for administering warrants. F.I.D.O. stands for Federal Information Directory of Operations and holds detailed records on every criminal and fugitive that has ever been made the subject of a GCC warrant, pulling-in information from hundreds of thousands of System Law Enforcement computers from across the galaxy.

This means that, as soon as the GCC issues a warrant for a particular criminal or fugitive, S/D has, via FIDO, a complete history of that criminal’s activities, known movements, habits, sphere of operations and so forth. All this information is beamed directly to Strontium Dogs’ Warrant Units – the handheld computers that are slaved directly to FIDO. The minute a warrant is accepted by a Strontium Dog, he has access to all pertinent information for his quarry. Changes to this information are constantly relayed via FIDO and any changes (such as an increase in the reward) made automatically.

FIDO also monitors the location of S/D agents via their warrant card, meaning that urgent warrants can be directed to Strontium Dogs in the right vicinity (or even directed away from them, if a particular agent is more of a liability than an asset). The GCC insists on knowing where licensed-to-terminate mutants, carrying exceedingly sophisticated weaponry, are at any given point in time.

Ultimately, all Strontium Dogs are on a very long leash.

Life in the 22nd Century

World War III pretty much wrecked Earth. 70% of the population of Britain and other First World countries were wiped out, and the rest forced to rebuild amidst nuclear winter, mutation, and lawlessness. In New Britain this led to fear, xenophobia and a domineering, fascist government determined to reclaim the glories of its pre-war ‘empire’ in space. Many people out in teh galaxy now think earth itself is a bit of lost cause.

Earth is only one part of a galactic community, encompassing dozens of species and hundreds of colony worlds - many of them dusty rocks from dubious terraforming, or abandoned planets that suffered their own apocalyptic wars. Earth is but one planet among many, and a damaged one at that, but humans... humans get bloody everywhere. Earth has several colonies - many now controlled by the empire of New Britain or humanity's surviving gigacorporations.

New Britain is backwards-looking; they rebuilt with unpleasant, brutalist architecture modeled on the 1970s, reusing old ideas or literally re-purposed, old technology rather than innovation. Technology is spread unevenly – lunar bases, major corporations and star-liners have access to high technology; backwoods colonies and slums have little more than early 21st Century tech and a weird scattering of hi tech devices. It is a future imagined in the 1980s, where CDs are the hot new thing. Computers and robots are somewhat clunky, with odd personalities, modern smartphones don't commonly exist (mobile phones never really recovered from the nuclear EMP).

Lasers have fallen out of favour. Blasters are the most common firearm, with the rich favouring ‘combi-weapons’ and variable cartridge blasters. Many melee weapons are enhanced with high tech capabilities - sonic batons, electro-knuckledusters, laser-whips, the vibro-cosh. Deadly 'time weapons' were common in the 22nd centuries wars, but are now strictly limited after a number high-profile incidents. ‘Pocket nukes’ are the terrorist’s weapon of choice.

Space! is firmly split between the haves and have-nots, the colonisers and the colonised. Humans being what they are, crime has been a major interstellar export. The extensive, chaotic, network of partly governed colony worlds, conflicting stellar empires, and lawless asteroid belts has given criminals the perfect environment to escape to escape the law. Just as the frontiers of the old American west offered sanctuary for outlaws, desperadoes and fugitives from justice, so too do the colony worlds.

The Galactic Colonial Authority (GCA) is a vast and sprawling secretariat that functions (barely) as the unifying bureaucracy for the galaxy. Strangled by its own red-tape and corruption, the GCA has turned to private law enforcement as a means to police the worst sectors of the galaxy. Enter the Seek & Destroy Agency.

Strontium Dogs: The Next Generation / Re: WHAT THE HELL IS THIS GAME?
« on: August 14, 2020, 06:45:03 PM »
Also, I made a Spotify list for last time's soundtrack.

Classic 80s (and others, there is time travel after all)

Strontium Dogs: The Next Generation / Re: WHAT THE HELL IS THIS GAME?
« on: August 14, 2020, 06:43:50 PM »
 Oh no, that option remains in my campaign notes from last time.... ;D ;D ;D

Strontium Dogs: The Next Generation / THE PITCH
« on: August 14, 2020, 03:37:16 PM »
Yeah, the Dogs are back baby!  8)

Strontium Dogs: The Next Generation (Nearly)

Technically this is the campaign after the 'Next Generation' campaign from 2018, so I was tempted to call it 'Deep Stront 9' but that sounds like a mutant porn movie. I digress.

The Actual Pitch...

So, what is this monster? Well, it's a uniquely British satirical post-apocalyptic dystopian sci-fi spaghetti western social commentary. So easy to explain...

Imagine the X Men did Cowboy Beebop. Imagine Alan Moore Wrote Guardians of the Galaxy as a sequel to V for Vendetta. Imagine the crew of Red Dwarf were caught up in Star Wars. Imagine we had World War III and only Tories and Republicans were left to rebuild.

Strontium Dogs is a game of mutants, bounty hunters, and the bad end of space - where every planet is Jabba's Palace or the cantina scene from Star Wars. Set in a dystopian post-atomic war 80s retro-future, your characters are mutants - warped by nuclear fallout but granted strange powers and abilities. You're outsiders, disenfranchised, vilified by the media and victimised by New Britain's fascist government.
Your fellow mutants are herded into ghettoes and oppressed by the state. The only job mutants are allowed, the only way for you to escape the poverty and desperation of the ghettoes, is to become a Search & Destroy agent - a 'Strontium Dog' - and chase down the scum of the galaxy while protecting themselves and their fellow mutants against prejudice and oppression by the ‘norms’ back home.

The  Strontium Dog Comic from the creators of Judge Dredd, was a genre-busting space action adventure strip that tackled prejudice and apartheid alongside the blasters and hoverbikes. Its satire, social commentary and comedy, a little bit Red Dwarf do Flash Gordon, with a Kurosawa and Clint Eastwood movie vibe. You don't need to know the comic at all to play. It should be violent and funny and gross and fun action adventure... but it also has things to say about politics and prejudice and being different.

It'll be fun, come play!

But hey, don't take my word for it: Watch the Awesome Fan Film.

PS - happy to answer any questions!

The Throne of Thorns / Re: Crackbones Expedition Journal
« on: July 27, 2020, 09:12:16 PM »
Day 36, The Morning After

We passed the patch of corrupted forest we skirted coming in, and somewhere off in the forest is the place where Constance died. We’re making good time.

We passed rapids yesterday, an exciting trip. Every limb on every one of us is aching. Every one of us took hours upon the paddles and poles to keep up off the rocks. We’re taking a few hours on the bank to rest and replace our lost and broken poles. Feeling the winters in my bones. So tired.

Aluin has returned! He was just… there on the raft when I looked this afternoon. Strange boy. He enjoyed sticking his face in the water, looking for fish and toads after I told him the story of our river crossing.

Sarvola just shrugged. He is not concerned for his safety, so I shall waste no worries over him. He is what he is. He’s a harmless lad, at the same time knowledgeable but naïve. I know he makes some peoples’ heads hurt, but I don’t mind him. I think I like him.

Day 37, Evening

More miles beneath our paddles today, I think we have covered a good five days tramp today – although we have taken turns to keep paddling through the night. I pen this as I take my rest hour. Sarvola is splashing a bit – not a natural rower (none of us our), but he’s a game old fellow. I like him too, I think. But maybe I am just used to meeting priests that are haughty bastards… Ulavan excepted. Most of the time.

An unfortunate encounter this afternoon. We heard sounds in the underbrush, but as we poled away from that bank, a couple of panicked Ambrians appeared, shouting for help, and apparently fleeing something. They were too exhausted to match our speed and no one else seemed inclined to stop, fearing a trap. The Huldra advised that it was too dangerous to stop, but I could see that Sarvola was as troubled as I by ignoring their pleas.

I did the only thing I could think of, pulled our faithful canoe from the baggage, and hurled it towards the bank. “If you can catch up, you can join us!” I yelled. It was all I could do. I am all for helping if I can, but sometimes all you can do is hope to do better next time.

Turns out even that was a wasted canoe. As the scrambled for it, something large enough to throw the underbrush around seemed to eat the very bank from below, so they fell into its maw. Farina flew over to take a look, but says the unfortunates were already dead and eaten. BY something called a “gua”, she thinks.

Sarvola and I talked about it for a little while. It bothered both of us. Nothing we could do, but that doesn’t make the poison any sweeter. Sometimes you just have to chew it best you can and try to keep it down.

Day 38, Afternoon

Another night of paddling in turns. No one wanted to hang around this deep in the forest or near the gua’s hunting ground.

We carried on right through the night and next morning, but have paused here, mid-afternoon. The next stretch of river runs along the black pitch mire, and we want to take that in one stretch. A few hours of hunting and some fresh, hot food is the best way we can prepare for that.

I have often wondered about Skaramagos, so I asked just in case he might take exception to our passing or be tempted by our treasure, which is the sort of thing I imagine dragons can sniff out. Not to mention Odralintos’ pickled head, which might offend him. Nobody else seemed too keen on the prospect of fighting a dragon – not even Korik, with his scale-breaking spear. Sometimes I just don’t understand people. I mean, what is the point of having a magic dragon-killing spear if you’re not going to use it?

Maybe it’s the other dragon that is preying on my mind. What did Korik call it, Forfar the Corrupted? I wonder where that made, blighted worm has gone. Over the Ravens by the look of it.

Ammanmar says that Scaramagos is taking the long sleep, so we probably won’t see him. The same thing Odralintos did, though no one knows what a dragon might turn into.  Sleep and change. It strikes me that a lot of things turn into something else while they sleep. Dragons, goblins, elves (I think), maybe changelings if they live long enough? It might mean something that humans don’t. Dwarves don’t either, but I am fairly sure that’s because dwarves are creatures of Wielda, made rather than born. Made by men, or at least the men of Symbar. Interesting. A cleverer man than I should think on that.

Day 39, Black Pitch Mire

It was a grey, rainy morning when we awoke, but Yagaba worked her witchery and the bright sun came out. Its an odd power, weather-working, for one I think of as a witch of the dead, I’ll have to ask her where she picked it up later.

Hard pole-work again today, for the river here was full of mud and silt. The air was full of midges and other tiny flies – no spites, thank goodness so they were only mildly annoying for my impenetrable hide - but oh dear, some of my companions were bitten to shreds by the swarm.

Things cooled under the starts and we eventually pulled away from the mire, dragon-less and free of the muck. Free from the mire, we decided to rest for a few hours, with a campfire, talk and songs to celebrate. Sadly, we have no ale left to toast our temporary companions, for the time is almost here for them to depart. We will reach the brightest Davokar soon. The Huldra and her servants will break off for Karvosti (still surrounded to the north by the Sovereign Oath), Sarvola and Eliana for more distant Ravenia.

Day 40

Bloody elves!

Another day on the river. The Malgomor is wider and slower here, not such good time but less danger and paddling to go with it. Now at least I can call myself a boatman. Speaking of which, it was at this point we noted that our raft was starting to list a little at the corner.

Then the elves attacked. Again. As I write this, hours later, it occurs to me that these are probably exactly the same bloody band that shot at us on the way in! Life’s a circle, not that its much help or comfort.
Forty bows or more this time, a rain of arrows into just about everyone (although damn, Kit is fast on her feet and wasn’t even scratched). I saw Pullu get hit and Aluin too, though he seemed surprised more than injured. Pullu toppled over the side and went under – I went in after him as more shafts flew. I feared I would lose him in the murk, as we did the king toads, but I managed to grab him and kick downriver, staying under and out of sight.

Catching up to the raft, I hauled Pullu and myself onboard. There were things like leeches clinging onto my legs, with drill-like bony teeth. I yanked them off and threw them into the water, and noticed we were no longer being loosed at.

By some miracle no one was dead, and the raft was full of fresh flowers. Aluin it seems, had transformed the arrows into flowers, and the elves (I imagine rather confused and impressed) had withdrawn. Lucky us. Aluin shrugged off my thanks humbly or perhaps unknowingly, but without him they might all be dead.
Like I said, I think I like him.

Day 40, Later. Goodbyes

And so, we reach the end of this journal.

Once the elves were far behind us, we brought our raft into the bank and cleared off the source of our listing – more of the drill-leaches, but easily dealt with. The forest is lush but lighter here, you can tell that we are getting close the edge again, the lands where I was born – or rather, where the Karohar found and enslaved me.

Which brings me to this very journal. Never have I written so much, but this is the end of it.

Forgive my terrible script, Ulavan, for I am writing these words in great haste as our friends prepare to depart for their own homes, while we push on to Thistle Hold. I have decided to give it up. It is my gift to you, my old friend, because you could not be with us on this trip. We miss you and hope we will see you soon, for a new adventure.

Korik has asked me to tell you “fuck you, Ulavan” which I think is his way of saying he misses you too.
So, I will hand this book to father Sarvola, who can read my words if he wishes and know the mind that drove me to my deeds. If we are all murdered by elves in the might, well then at least this book will continue on after my death. I think I see the point of them now, my old friend.

Say this for old Crackbones, he’s had a grand adventure at least, and it’s been his pleasure to share it with you. All this is true.

See you on the next adventure.

Crackbones, Finder of Symbar

The Throne of Thorns / Re: Crackbones Expedition Journal
« on: July 20, 2020, 07:09:27 PM »
Day 31, Back on the Canopy

The silence is deafening.

No more warbands, no more attacks. No more fools trying to claim the blighted Throne or murder everyone just for finding it.

There’s no victory without cost in this place. We lost people: Sarvola’s knights, our old friend Vernon the Handsome among them. Our friend, Crooky, bled out gutted by the dracwyrm. Our guide didn’t want to fight, but she came along anyway; without her mighty blows, Odralintos might have made it. Farina and Miralba’s familiars too. They tell me they will return – if only people worked that way.

We’re all bloody, but the rest of us are alive.

Marvello and his magician are still out there. They fled when we broke the back of their killers. Leaving now, by the look of it. Tearing down their camp and heading out. Not enough of them left to kill anybody. Good.
Fresh air above the canopy is like the first day of spring, bright and clean and full of life. You never love the world more than emerging form the stinking depths of Symbar. That’s probably a, what do you call it, metaphor?

Today we searched the canopy for dangers. No sign of the dragon, no more sorcerers or sun-knights or Sovereign Oaths. No fools who laughed at death and came for adventure. Only us. I think this is victory.

Day 32, Homeward Bound

We saw Ardil again, brought news of his victory. We confirmed we’re the only survivors. He is not exactly given to passion. I wouldn’t say we parted friends but did as allies at the least. He understands us a little better now, maybe. Don’t know if that means his people are less likely to try and fill us full of arrows or not. He wanted rid of us from here, I think. He promised to have his people guide us to the river, but no more help than that. I have had more conversation with people I bumped into in the street. That’s elves for you.
We burned Inga in the afternoon, along with Crooky and Vernon and Eliana’s knights. It seemed for the best. Sarvola spoke the Prios-words.  Not sure what good they did, if he listened, but they were well spoken, and it was sunny. And its real hard for ashes to get raised up by a sorcerer, so it was probably for the best.

Shigg’s head we buried on the cliff, overlooking symbaroum. A good view. I promised I’d come back and tell you how we did. In the meantime, keep an eye on Symbar for us.

We burned Inga in the afternoon, along with Crooky and Vernon and Eliana’s knights. It seemed for the best. Sarvola spoke the Prios-words.  Not sure what good they did, if he listened, but they were well spoken, and it was sunny. And its real hard for ashes to get raised up by a sorcerer, so it was probably for the best.

Shigg’s head we buried on the cliff, overlooking symbaroum. A good view. I promised I’d come back and tell you how we did. In the meantime, keep an eye on Symbar for us.

Here’s another new thing to have seen. I watches our witches mutter and bleed over broken fur and bone, and their familiars live again. They didn’t return to life (we’d burned them) but sort of grew suddenly from nothing from the earth they poured blood upon. Impressive. Ola is back but doesn’t seem quite the same – its like she’s having to learn about us all over again. She has not been brought back to life; I think rather she has died and been born anew. That seems more the witch’s way.

So, home we go with elves for company (at least for a while), and Sarvola, Eliana, and the Huldra and her people too. Envy me, my fellow treasure hunters, I have all the best companions on my team, ha!

I am cautious, despite being pointed homeward. Too many people I do not know for sure are dead. Marvello and his remaining rangers could still come at us if they want to hold a grudge. I am hoping our elven guides will help us make good speed passed any trouble, and hopefully the river current will do the rest.

Day 34, Travelling

Bloody forest. Full of surprises.

The elves have gone home, back to Ardil. We made damn good time – not sure if its magic, or simply great bush craft. I think they were navigating from memory, bloody hell. Wish mine was that sharp. Anyway, they left, and we managed almost a full hour on our own before getting into trouble.

During our nighty check of the camp site, Bran and Korik saw what they thought was something golden sparkling in the evening light, high in a mighty tree. Turns out it was a ravenous willow, which just for the record feels like something between an angry troll and a lightning bolt when it thumps you.

Canny fucking tree, full of tricks. Big bastard too. Not fun.

Still, we’ve reached the river.

Day 35, Back On the River

Bad night’s sleep, no good camping spot and all the trees looking pretty bloody suspicious after the ravening willow. Still, today we reached our hidden raft, still in one piece, and the ruined manse with the jetty where we crossed on the way up.

This is the plan, use the big wide Malgomar to speed us on our way. Should save a lot of shoe leather, if we don’t all drown or eaten by king toads.

Just taking a rest before we set off. A hard day’s work today, chopping logs and whittling oars and building up the raft to something we can ride on for longer than a bowshot. The raft looks fairly good: A solid frame, high sides, the gaps all filled in by Balon and Ammanmar’s witchery. Front end’s not pointy enough, but you cannot have everything. For safety, I have empty barrels and blown-into skins tied to the treasure (and Korik’s armour) to keep them afloat should we take a spill.

Now, if only we can steer the thing worth a damn, we might get somewhere!

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