5 Leagues - Turns 4 and 5 East to Ironvein and the Weight of the New Moon

 

Turns 4 and 5: Goodbye Mirefield Farms, hello Ironvein Trade Hub

If you missed it, Turn 3 Cruel Deserters at the Crumbling Inn is here 

The Blightburners would leave Mirefield Farms under a sky the color of old bruises. The fields behind them looked a shade less rotten, the people a shade less broken. They had cut the Curse of War down a peg—threat reduced to a low growl of 2—and the village breathed easier for it. But the note from the dead robber captain still burned in Sigrid’s pouch: Deliver the strong ones and the hunter alive to the shrine in the Hollow before the new moon. The Womb hungers. More meat means more coin.

The new moon was coming fast. No time for rest.

They would ride east. First stop: Ironvein Trade Hub. Then the blackthorns and the sink beyond.

No Hard Times bit them this stretch. Bringing Bren Carver home alive had bought goodwill and full bellies. While the warband saddled up, Grimwald drilled like a man trying to outrun his own bones. The old mystic’s spells came sharper afterward—his casting stronger by a full step. Finn and Dust ranged ahead, slipping through the wild like ghosts. Nothing on the road smelled of ambush. The way stayed clear.

Before the dust of departure settled, Bren Carver approached them in the muddy yard. The farmer pressed two gold marks into Sigrid’s hand, eyes steady. “More than thanks,” he said. “You pulled me out of hell.” The coin went straight to a battered but serviceable shield for Garric. The big man strapped it on without a word, testing the weight like an old friend returned.

 

 

Brenn Says thanks 

 

Scouting the way 

The journey passed quiet. No blood, no screams. Just the green river sliding beside them, thick and watchful.

Ironvein greeted them with open gates and wary respect. Tales of the Blightburners had already reached the smoke-choked hub—the ogre’s fall, the inn slaughter, the rescue of Mara Reed. Supportive locals meant open doors and loose tongues. One more Adventure Point slipped into their tally just from buying drinks and listening. Sigrid paid the crew two gold marks from the purse. Small wages for hard steel.

They earned a little more by swinging blades with the town guard—two fat sacks of rations for their trouble. Grimwald buried himself in old ledgers and whispered lore but came up empty. No new secrets from the books. The warband felt well-equipped enough; they left the traders alone.

 

News travels, welcome Blightburners 

 

Then came the research.

A quiet word in the right ear led them to a secretive knot of men in a back room thick with pipe smoke and iron dust. They had a contract: recover an item from an unexplored site northwest of town. Dangerous work. Worth it. Three more Adventure Points hit the ledger, and a fresh mark appeared on their map—unexplored ground in the direction they were already riding. Toward the Hollow. Toward the new moon.

Sigrid didn’t hesitate. “We take the contract.”

 

 

contract offered 

The decision was made.

Now the Blightburners gear up for blood at a forgotten treasure site. Lurking foes wait in the dark—giant bugs scuttling through the ruins, and a handful of imps twisted into the mix. A site battle with fat loot rolls on the line. The shrine in the Hollow still calls, but first they sharpen their steel on whatever Ironvein needs dead.

The green river flows on. The Womb still hungers. And the Blightburners ride straight into its teeth.

Relicblade: The Cart of Cursed Cargo – Cyclopean Ruins

Relicblade Skirmish in the Cyclopean Ruins

A little departure from the Five Leagues Blightburners Campaign. Wanted to do a quick post as this was a fun game.  Below- couple of glamour shots, the table set up then the story and pictures.

 

Lady Aurelia and company

 

Dark Prophet and minions 

 

Table Set Up 

Two warbands converged on the vine-choked ruins from opposite sides. Lady Aurelia’s Advocates struck with precision: her Bounty Hunter claimed the high rampart, trading sharp crossbow bolts with the enemy Iguan Marauder. Above the fray, the Elf Witch magically chinooked her Gnome Grenadier onto a commanding perch, his gun covering the field.

Both sides secured two loot tokens each after cautious checks for ancient traps. Then the brutish pig snatched the final token from the center cart. Under the Gnome’s covering fire (which barked and staggered the pig), Lady Aurelia charged in — a whirlwind of steel — and engaged the beast in a brutal scrap right beside the abandoned wagon.

At that critical moment Griksek the Crab erupted from the ruins and slammed into her. The Dark Prophet appeared like a shadow and hurled vile poison at the Gnome. A fierce melee erupted. Though Lady Aurelia’s faithful Billman was ambushed and knocked senseless by a pair of slinking lizard hounds, the Lady fought on valiantly. Griksek was finally disabled at her feet — a hard-won triumph.

But the distraction let the pig slip away with the prize. The lizard hounds melted back into the stones before the Witch could finish them. The Bounty Hunter, having bloodied the Iguan, exchanged a respectful nod with his foe as both adversaries faded into the ruins. The Dark Prophet vanished last with a mocking snicker.

Outcome: Adversaries escaped with the dangerous cargo, but Lady Aurelia left their strongest fighter broken in the dust of those ancient stones.

 

Adersaries spread out

 

                                                                                 Bounty Hunter Overwatch

 

                                              Gnome perch

 

                                                   Here piggy piggy

 

                                                             Griksek snickity snack

 

                                   Crab down....pig gone...

Ambush!

 

Lady Aurelia attends her man

 

Scenes from the table

 

 Thanks for looking!!! 

5 Leagues Turn Three - Cruel Deserters at the Crumbling Inn

Turn Three – Preparation at Mirefield Farms

If you missed Turn Two and the ogre in the hollow, you can find it here: Turn Two The Ogre 

The Blightburners rode back into Mirefield Farms under a bruised sky, still carrying the stink of ogre blood and sour smoke from the last fight.. Three gold marks left the purse before the saddles came off—Sigrid’s order. “Good steel deserves good ale,” she said. No one argued. But they could only watch the villagers bartering with the trader caravan that had rolled in while they were gone. They were lean on coin

They drank with the locals that evening. Garric’s mace rested against the table like an old comrade. Finn’s easy smile loosened tongues. Rose watched everything with narrow eyes. Dust nursed one mug and kept an ear on the wind. Rough laughter rose and fell—the kind men share when they know the dark is listening. Another Adventure Point slipped into their tally.

By the time the lanterns burned low they had what Mara was looking for: whispers of Curse of War deserters moving north. Men who’d drunk from the green water and now craved more than coin. They meant to hit Mirefield before the week turned—burn the stores, collar the strong, feed the rest to whatever waited downstream.

They laid it out for her. Mara pressed two gold into Sigrid’s hand. “For pulling me out of that mess back when you first rode in. And for this.” A Story Point joined their ledger with the coin.

Come morning, Sigrid was in the muddy yard behind the longhouse, bastard sword rising and falling against a straw-stuffed post in brutal, precise arcs. Each strike landed cleaner. Harder. One more scar of experience carved into her. (+1 XP)

Later that evening Mara found them again. The hearth fire spat and hissed.

“They’re coming,” she said, voice low. “A sergeant and his pack of deserters. Curse of War filth. They’ve drunk from the green water and now they crave more than coin. They mean to hit Mirefield before the week turns.”

She slid another small pouch across the table. “For pulling me out of that mess back when you first rode in,” she said quietly. “And for what’s coming.”

Sigrid took the pouch, drained her mug, and set it down with a heavy thud that cut through the noise. Rose’s fingers brushed her fencing sword. Grimwald’s hand stilled over his mug. Dust’s ears twitched. Garric and Finn traded a single look—old soldier and old rogue, both smelling the fight.

Sigrid’s voice was flat. “Then we meet them head on. Before they reach these fields. Before they make any more widows.”

The warband rose as one—hard-bitten, blooded, and already leaning toward the next fire. The Marches were watching.

 The Table Set up

Turn Three Battle – The Crumbling Inn

The cruel deserters had holed up in an old wayside inn a short ride from Mirefield Farms. The place was rotting from the inside—timbers sagging, roof half-collapsed, the kind of ruin only desperate men would claim. Finn and Dust slipped back from the treeline, the air crisp on an unusually chilly spring morning.  I light late snow had dusted the area during the night.

“They’ve got a captive,” Dust said. “Man. Looks like the one the woman in the ale-house was asking about last night—her husband, snatched from his fields.”

Sigrid’s jaw tightened. The Blightburners gathered at the edge of the woods, weapons loose, eyes hard.

 Cruel Deserters at the Crumbling Inn

Blightburners make ready 

Round One Grimwald muttered and marked one of the archers perched in the rafters with a sickly glow. Finn took cover behind a tree and put an arrow into the bastard’s shoulder. The man staggered, stunned. 

Dust stood tall, out of range, and loosed with Swift Eagle. The arrow took the second archer clean through the eye. He toppled from the rafters with a wet crash that woke the whole nest.

The deserters roared and charged into the courtyard like mad dogs.

 

Deserters charge howling 

Round Two Dust shot again and missed, cursing under his breath. The wounded archer answered, his shaft punching through Finn’s cover and hitting the rogue, wounded and stunned. Finn shot Dust a filthy look.

The deserters came on hard, baiting a fight. Sigrid answered. She met their sergeant head-on, blades ringing. Her bastard sword found the gap and opened his throat. He died choking on his own blood at her feet.

 

Garric crashed into a swordsman. They traded brutal blows that ended in a draw, both winded. Rose stepped up beside him, smirking. “My turn.” Her rapier slid between ribs. The man dropped. She glanced at Garric. “You’re welcome.”

Grimwald moved to cover behind a tree. He never saw the deserter slipping through the brush behind him.

Round Three Finn and Dust went fast. Finn missed the last archer. Dust did not. The scrawny woman fell from the rafters with a final crash. Sigrid stepped over the sergeant’s corpse and cut down another swordsman in two savage strokes.

From the treeline a deserter sprang on Grimwald, hacking wildly. The old mystic met her with his staff. A wet crunch later the woman lay dead, skull caved in.

A foul dark-skinned dwarf charged Sigrid. She ran him through before he finished his roar. 

 

The last deserter rushed Garric, landing a ugly blow that left the big man stunned and bleeding. Rose snarled, “Fuck this and fuck you,” and put two quick thrusts through the man’s chest. He bled out at her feet. Garric could only nod thanks.

The field fell quiet. 

Resolution They cut the captive free. His name was Brenn Carver, a farmer snatched the day before while working his plot. Shaken but alive, he swore he’d repay the debt however he could. The Blightburners had a new friend in Mirefield.

They stripped the dead and found a fat pile of stolen furs worth five gold marks. Six Adventure Points joined their tally for a hard-fought victory and holding the field.

Garric stood a little taller that night. The fire of the fight had forged him into a full hero. Sigrid moved easier in the captured knight’s plate—her stride now carried her further each step. Rose felt the weight of battle settle into her bones and grew tougher for it. Dust and Finn both sharpened their aim, each gaining a surer hand in combat.

The warband rode back to Mirefield under a bruised sky. No fresh rumors reached them. For once, no news felt like good news.

The wound in the land still bled green, but the Blightburners had drawn first blood against the Curse of War. More would come. They would be ready.