Lonhall Adventures, or, Crime Pays

We decided we'd had enough of the dungeon so we went on a manor raid instead.

The Party

A Fateful Decision

In Lonhall, a motley party of semi-veterans and adventuring greenhorns discussed the possibility of descending into the dungeon below. Their seniors and betters having scoured most of it already, this was decided against. They next turned their minds to the possibility of a nearby sea cave. "We'll probably all drown," said one of their number, and he was right, so they did not.

Instead the large, largely inexperienced and utterly directionless mercenary party ventured south, then changed its mind and ventured north-east, looking, quote, "for trouble."

That's a Nice Manor You've Got There…

At the end of the day, the party chanced upon a pretty nice manor house. Wanting to get out of the rain, they knocked upon it's front gates, asking, respectfully, for shelter. The guard promptly and politely warned them of werewolves. A new recruit to the company, seizing the critical moment, flashed the guard. This only served to terrify him more. The gate was shut.

Wet, tired and freshly afeared of werewolves, the party had to make a decision.

…Shame if Something Were to Happen to It.

Befitting their aspirations to heroism, the decision was to break into the house. An advance party of halflings was sent over the outer wall to unlock the gate. Guards were sent to sorcerous sleep or stabbed in the back. A breakaway band of fighters ran around the back of the manor house to prepare to pincer those inside. A science-loving dwarf was captured.

Further dispatching numerous guards and their captain - all of whom, it should be noted, were acting reasonably and furthermore were perfectly innocent - the lord himself emerged. In a fit of irony, he drew his magic horn of blasting and razed half of his own home in an attempt to crush his marauding houseguests. By the time he fell and the rubble of his former demense was thoroughly searched, many died. Gallow, crushed under a mass of stone and wood, suffered a panic attack.

Victory was bittersweet.

And the Night was Utterly Consequence Free.

Despite their best efforts the party slept in the rain. It was very ironic.

In the morning the band (possibly known, retroactively, as Archibald's Antagonists?) made merrily off with countless gems, a hoard of coins, a suit of magic chainmail and a horn that ruins houses. Helping them carry this ill- but awesomely-gotten gains were the lord of the manor's twenty fine riding horses, which the party stole, and the ten surviving men-at-arms, who immediately swore fealty to the company upon witnessing its unjustified disrespect for both life and property. Gallow walked off his panic attack.

Having presumably abandoned their dead, they returned to Lonhall rich. The trip was completely without any incident that would suggest their actions were ill-advised or cosmically wrong in any way.

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