Our unlikely group has been hired to guard the caravan of Taba Marchand, a man who sees a profit, possibly a fortune, to be made bringing the cure for a plague that has recently ravaged the Nentir Vale. The original of the sickness is not known, but it effects have been felt everywhere; the wealthy and the unfortunate alike have been afflicted and the toll, in lives and morale has been devestating.
After travelling almost all the way to Winterhaven, an attack on the caravan by a kobold raiding party grabbed their attention and also the chest containing the ingredients for the cure. Taba made it very clear that their compensation lay in recovering the chest and they gave chase up the crest.
Following their prey to a small and smouldering campfire alongside the crumbling ruins of an ancient keep, they cautiously descended into the unknown.
Caution served them well, a torch and then a rock into the centre of the entry room revealing a pit-trap, but also alerting the nearby goblins, who proceeded to turn Draak the dragonborn warlord into a pin cushion.
The party warlock cursed all and sundry, pointing his clawed finger and spitting: “You can get f#@ked!” Well, tieflings can be like that. His hard-to-pronounce was shortened to “Eki-gee” very quickly, which he accepted with equanimity. Mistrust between tiefling and dragonborn was an ongoing problem, but they pulled together to stay alive. Mostly.
Urdanh, the high-born half-elf Swordmage was starting to come into his own, his long blade wreathed in brilliant green flame as he scorched goblin hides. With the goblin vanguard put to the sword, they continued their search for the stolen chest.
They stumbled upon a torture chamber and were attacked by a sneering hobgoblin sadist and his sharpshooting hench-goblins. The constant flood of injuries finally outdid the dragonborn and he was felled by a crossbow bolt between the should-blades while his clothing was aflame. His comrades managed to staunch the wounds (and douse the fire) and patched him up enough to find somewhere to hole up for the night.
Nearby, in the containment cells, they met a pathetic, starving wretch called Splug. His freedom conditional on his good behaviour, the party convinced Eki-gee not to gut him like a fish and let him out to be their trap-springer and treasure mule. None of them trust him, but they feel that he might be of use.
Now they are making use of a reinforced storage room near the cells to get some rest and plan their next foray into the dungeon…