| |
Late afternoon was sunny and hot, but distant dark clouds in the West hinted at possible storms. After scouting ahead, the big warrior came riding back at a gallop. “Stop the wagon!” He didn’t shout the words, but there was urgency in his normally confident, if not boisterous voice.
The female driver pulled on the reins, bringing the wagon to a stop. Several hundred yards to the left was a small stand of trees. Otherwise, thistles and grass covered the flat terrain. The faint odor of decaying vegetation wafted in the breeze coming from the west, from the Dark Heart Swamp.
From his seat on the bench the druid asked, “What did you observe?”
“Dire Boar.” The warrior turned his horse to face back up the road. “Must’ve come from the swamp. The wind ain’t carrying our scent that way, is it?”
Normally unflappable, the female driver’s eyes went wide.
The gnome, sitting on her right, opposite the druid, looked from the big warrior to the druid and back.
“The breeze has tended from west to east the vast majority of the day,” the druid said, now standing. He apparently spotted the beast. “It will take notice of us visually long before our scent might reach his olfactory system.”
The elf, resting in the wagon, stuck her head forward. “What is it?”
The gnome looked back, getting a face full of elf bosom.
The elf shifted position. “Sorry, Jax.”
“Dire boar,” the gnome said.
“Dire what?”
The half-goblin stuck his head forward and asked, “Did someone say dire boar?”
“Yeah,” said the big warrior, pointing north.
The elf turned to the half-goblin. “What’s a dire boar?”
The half-goblin squinted his eyes, not yet adjusted for the sun. “Ever heard of a hogzilla?”
“No.”
Not taking his eyes from the distant creature, the druid explained. “Hogzilla, in some parts of the United States, is a colloquial term for an abnormally large feral swine, or hog.”
“A warthog, like Pumbaa,” the elf said. “Only bigger?”
“Dire boars are like hogzilla’s bigger, meaner brother.”
“Oh, I see it now,” the elf said. “It—it’s bigger than one of our oxes.”
“Oxen,” the druid corrected. “Dire Boars are nine hit-die creatures. If I recall, from the Monster Guide, they are foul-tempered beasts. Omnivorous, but with a preferential taste for the flesh of dwarves and cattle.”
In a matter-of-fact voice, the big warrior said, “They’re meaner than a hungover sorority girl with PMS.”
“That was rude.” The elf leaned on the gnome’s shoulders, knocking his head forward with her chest.
The half-goblin snickered. “Come on, Marigold. That was Kalgore talking.”
“Stop flirting with the gnome, Marigold,” the big warrior said. “This is bad. Lysine, you think we should work on turning the wagon around? That thing’s sort of wandering our way.”
“There’s five of us,” the gnome said. “Six, if we count Lilac.”
The driver glanced down at the gnome, a look of disbelief on her face.
The druid climbed off of the bench and hefted his spear. “Once a dire boar strikes successfully, it has a ninety percent propensity to attack the same target the next combat round.”
“Dude, each tusk does 3d4 damage.” The half-goblin followed the druid down. “That’s an awful lot for second and third rank characters.”
“This Wandering Creatures Encounter sucks.” The big warrior climbed off his mount, which had started to snort and show signs of panic. “Which means if it comes to a fight, we’ll eventually kill it.” He led his horse to the rear of the wagon and began lashing its reins to an iron loop.
The gnome gave the driver an apologetic glance before climbing down. “But it’ll probably kill one of us in the process.”