Session 8 Going to Blood Ax

Session #8: A Powder Keg in Blood Ax

The Deputies of Monroe strode into Blood Ax late in the morning of the 16th of Aers, 530. Wasting no time, they carried the hand-written papers taken from Ma’ Hog Farm straight to Sheriff DeRook. Around town, rumors churned like storm clouds—word was that the Cowboys meant to strike Blood Ax to free Nolan Hardin from his cell. Sheriff DeRook wasted no time in response. He ordered the town militia to hold the docks and riverside while dispatching the Deputies east along Blake Road to intercept another band of outlaws said to be approaching.

The Deputies gathered supplies swiftly and set out. The sun was low and the air thick with dust by the time, just before sundown, they caught the sound of many boots and wheels approaching from the east.

Taking cover among the trees, they lay in wait as Fourth-Knife slipped into the shape of a wolf and crept ahead. From his vantage, he spied the outlaws: more than a dozen men, some on foot, with a wagon drawn by a weary horse. The wagon was stacked high with kegs of smokepowder. An ogre with a greatclub lumbered in front, while two scouts skulked a ways ahead of the main group.

The Deputies’ ambush, however, unraveled too soon. Cordoch, fumbling in his effort to hide the burning sigil of continual flame upon his shield, sent an accidental beam of light flaring across the woods. The outlaws saw it, and the fight was on. The wagon screeched to a halt as the outlaws scattered for cover. The ogre bellowed a war cry and charged forward into spellfire and arrows alike.

The brute’s rush nearly tore a hole straight through the Deputies’ line. Imaranger fell beneath its mighty swing, but Twig’s healing pulled him back from the brink. Fire, steel, and sorcery rained down, and the great beast toppled at last. The outlaws’ crossbow volley broke harmlessly against armor and cover, giving the Deputies the chance to press forward.

Kruk the Vengeful skirted to the north, moving nearly behind the enemy. With Alaric’s spell granting him a breath of searing dragonfire, he laid waste among the clustered brigands. Fourth-Knife, still a wolf, harried one knot of outlaws until none remained standing. Suffering Succotash wove flames into the fray, scorching both the ogre and the fleeing men. Simon called down radiant judgment and lent blessed healing to the wounded. Alaric too worked havoc across the battlefield, conjuring flame, hurling grease across the road, and strengthening his allies. Imaranger and Cordoch pressed with bow, spear, and steel, driving back the disordered foe.

The tide turned, and one outlaw after another fell. At last the survivors broke ranks, scattering into the dark forest. Only Riley, locked blade-to-blade with Cordoch, held ground. But as Cordoch’s final strike came down, Riley clutched a strange bottle from within his coat. The glass shattered as he died, unleashing something far fouler than any outlaw.

From the shards rose a creature of pure fire—living flame, writhing and surging into humanoid form before rippling apart again. It lashed at the Deputies, searing all too close to its flickering body. Arrows, blades, and spells passed through, sometimes striking, sometimes dissipating. For a moment it seemed to toy with them, flaring from man to man. Then, with sudden purpose, it vaulted toward the wagon.

The fire elemental struck the powder kegs. A thunderous explosion ripped through the night, the wagon vanishing in a cloud of fire and black smoke. The horse was consumed where it stood, but fortune spared the Deputies—none were close enough to take the full force.

In the aftermath, the heroes bound their wounds and searched the fallen. A handful of coins and a single carefully folded map were all that remained of value. Taking both, they turned their weary steps back toward Blood Ax, the smell of smoke still thick in the sky behind them.