SKT.1.1 Giants in Goldenfield

Session Preface

The year is 1487, The Year Yet to Be Named. It is the 19th of Hammer, the sun sets, veiled behind storm clouds, which are drenching the fields below with torrents of rain.   As the night grows darker, six individuals gather around a table at the Northfurrow’s End, the tavern of Goldenfields. Together, they celebrate the completion of another successful delivery of harvest to Waterdeep. Yet for several of them, the celebration rings hollow.   Days of ceaseless marching, interrupted by the increasingly dangerous assaults on convoys by goblins, hobgoblins, bugbears, and the like has left each with aching muscles, weary feet, and a disheartened spirit.   Ryden Hawkwinter, fiddling with the clay mug of goldengulp before him, finds his thoughts drifting to his hometown of Waterdeep. He and his convoy have been in and out of this gleaming city without a glimpse or even whisper of Mya. For being closer than he has in a year, she seems particularly distant on this Deepwinter night.   The cleric sitting next to Hawk too thinks of Waterdeep. In weeks of searching for leads to the raksasha he has sworn to defeat, little knowledge has been gained. Sure, fingers have been pointed and accusations hurled, but nothing concrete. And still, the bodies in alleyways continue to mount. As he drinks, Tristain carries the weight of these lives on his shoulders. With a deep sigh, he closes his eyes and mutters a silent prayer to Tyr for guidance, peace, and clarity.   The half-orc next to Tristain thinks not of Waterdeep, but rather, how empty his own mug is. Looking around, he doesn’t see any of the nice people carrying the large pitchers honey water. Noticing Tristain’s eyes closed, Bobo reaches across and takes a deep, sweet gulp of his friend’s mug, froth foaming around his lips as if he were enraged.   Across from Bobo, an old man looks through his spectacles. He moves stone chess pieces in front of him with conviction whilst considering his opponents moves, winning and losing matches by the dozen. As Amarin looks around, he sees pawns, knights, and bishops, but not nearly enough queens for the difficult days he anticipates.   Next to Amarin, a firbolg reflects on his youth growing up in Ardeep Forest not two days south of where he now sits. This stormy night is reminiscent of the same night upon which the nobles attacked his village. Visions of playing hide and seek with his father Thamior in the farm fields replay in his mind, bittersweet, much like the drink before him.   The last at the table, across from his new friend Hawk, a construct runs his fingers over the threads of his tapestry-cape, adorned with embroidered accounts of his adventures. He scoffs at the thought of including a stitched portrayal of the recent ambassador trip to meet with the Open Lord of Waterdeep. For even after a full year, Lady Laeral remains skeptical of Second’s motivations and authority. His claim of godhood did little to help his case.   As each of their thoughts wander, the pensive moment is shattered not by booming thunder nor crackling lightning, but by a distant bell clanging and a closer voice shouting, “Giants! Within the walls!”

Session Summary

• Protected Goldenfields from the Hill Giant assault
• Amarin's Wild Magic causes him to be unable to cast spells if clothed (yeah, it's a problem)
• Acres of crops scorched, several homes collapsed and many ransacked, but in defeating the Hill Giant's the party prevents the entire harvest from being stolen or otherwise destroyed.