The Tiamat Saga

The Death of Venomfang and Beyond...

Wherein our heroes, Tellaos Tessel and the Triboar Knights quest

Following the liberation of the Wave Echo Cave, the reknowned party of adventurers, the Triboar Knights, were told of the disappearance of the druid Reidoth. The party spent a few days resting, re equipping and rearming, in preparation. In Phandalin, the Knights were introduced to Pavel Graytail , Reidoth’s apprentice.

Pavel led the party through the wilderness to Reidoth’s grove, where they witnessed cloaked, armed men wearing dragon masks attacking an animate tree. The young druid summoned the power of the elements, covering the area with a sleet and hail storm. The storm extinguished fires set by the marauding cultists, surprising them. The Triboar Knights made short work of the enemy.

Exploring the area, the party discovers a hidden, underground chamber. It was Reidoth’s cache, contained powerful magic items that could be used against Venomfang, the green dragon. Knowing that the dragon laired nearby in the ruined town of Thundertree.


When the party arrived, the effeminate elf, Varis Liadon , used his owl familiar to scout the town for enemies. The wizard noticed two buildings: a large ruined tower and a building that appeared inhabited. Having visited the town before, the part knew that Venomfang the Green would be lairing in the crumbling tower. Flint slunk off into the darkness, attempting to get the drop of any hidden foes.

The rest of the Triboar Knights donned the dragon masks and cloaks pilfered from the dead cultists in order to perform a unlikely feat of infiltration.

Tellaos began formulating a plan, silently, as they approached the bottom of the tower.

“Kerig, you get ready with your bow. Wait for my signal!” The nobleman implored.

“Err, what’cha plannin’, Tessel? Me sphincter’s tighter’n an elf’s purse strings!” The dwarf asked, annoyed.

Tellaos gave the dwarf warrior a concerned look.

“You know how to use the bow, right? Don’t fuck this up!”

Kerig harumphed an acknowledgement.

The party entered the tower, and there, in all his splendorous evil, was Venomfang.


“What you have brought me, my servants? Perhaps a tasty elf prisoner?” The green dragon rasped. Stinking, green chlorine gas wafted up from his nostrils as he smoke. It’s large frame perched on the inside of the ruined tower’s far wall.

Paraphan pulled out the Tome he had acquired earlier. “A book, oh Caustic One! It tells the tales of the greatness of dragonkind!”

Tellaos kept silent under his mask. By Helm’s Hard-On, it was working! The other knights were taught with tension as the bard prattled on for what seemed an eternity. He didn’t know where that damned little halfliing was, but trusted him enough to believe that he’d position himself in time.

The tension became too much for young Tessel. He looked at Kerig and nodded slowly and then stepped forward, interrupting Paraphan’s verbal gymnastics. Speaking in courtly, ancient draconic, he addressed Venomfang.

“My Lord Dragon, Venomfang, this book contains not only general information on those of your mighty kin, but there’s a an interesting tale, in there, as well.” Tessel paused, giving a worried look to the now ashen-faced bard’s face. Again, he looked at Kerig. The dwarf stood, rock-like in terror. Sweat began to drip down Tellaos’s face, from his masked brow.

“Really?” The dragon said, clearly intriguied. “Please go on.”

“It is, my lord, the Tale of the Greedy, Green Dragon. It concerns a dragon who onced claimed these woods…he fought with the elves and humans of this wood, and was greatly feared.”

Tessel paused a moment and muttered to Kerig in Dwarvish, “Are you fuckin’ ready, man?” Seeing the dwarf stealthily knocking the magical arrow in his shortbow, he continued speaking.

“Well, it seems this green dragon was so STUPID and GREEDY, that he wasn’t even aware that a party of heroes infiltrated his lair.” Tellaos began to raise his voice to a yell. Giving one last, imploring glance at the dwarf, he turned back to Venomfang, who was seething with anger and having his terribleness derided and mocked. "Because, " Tellaos threw down his dragon mask and whipped off his cloak. “I’M TELLAOS TESSEL AND WE ARE THE TRIBOAR KNIGHTS!!”

Tessel leaped out of the way to give Kerig the opening he needed. The dwarf’s bow glowed with magical radiance as the Arrow of Green Dragon Slaying was set loose. At first looking like it was going to miss, the dwarf silently prayed for Marthammor Duin and Moradin to guide his missle. At the last possible second, the dragon’s underbelly was exposed enough, and Kerig’s shot found it’s mark. Venomfang was wracked with a pain it had never known. Kerig allowed himself a quick fist pump, in celebration.

The dragon poured gas out of his nostrils, and quickly took a great breath, preparing to unleash his wrath on the impudent humanoids before him. Venomfang extended his long neck which brought it’s jaws down to the party’s level for attack.


That’s right when Paraphan Elbereth, bard, par excellance, stabbed outward with a quick rapier strike! Venomfang shrieked and hissed as the bard’s needle cut deep under it’s scales to slice a vital artery. Thick, dark dragonblood spurted from the creature onto the walls and onto the bard, himself. Emboldened by the victory, the rest of the Triboar Knights unleashed everything in their power: sword strikes, arcane and sorcerous magic, druidic magic and axe blows.

Venomfang was completely overwhelmed. It tried to bite its attackers and it tried to fly away in retreat, but a final unearthly blast of energy (by the unnaturally dimunitive halfling) blasted the last sliver of life from the beast.

The Triboar Knights were victorious, again!


I’m fist pumping now! Awesome – we are the fuckin’ Triboar Knights!


Kerig turned from the druid’s disappointing cache of ‘useful’ items. “A single arrow and some baubles”, he had scoffed.

“Ah, but it is an enchanted arrow, friend Dwarf” the elven wizard had pointed out, as if he were a schoolchild being told which end of the hammer to hold. “And a powerful one, at that.”

“Wonderful!” Kerig mocked. “We’ll just shoot the dragon and be on our way, then?” He scoffed again, “Bah. Give me a sturdy axe any day.”

“Our thick friend is close to making a point, here.” interrupted the noble Tellaos Tessel. Kerig responded by beaming a ‘told-you-so’ smile back at Varis. “We have but one arrow. One shot to mortally wound the wyrm before we lose what little advantage we might have.”

Having the party’s full attention, Tellaos pried a short bow from the stiffening fingers of a fallen foe and held it, and the arrow before him. “I have only trained in the honorable arts of hand-to-hand combat. So, then, which of you will carry our fate?”

He pointed the arrow at each in turn. Paraphan cocked a brow and chuckled slightly. Good point. He continued. The halfling, Flint, just stared unblinking back at him. Tellaos shuddered slightly and continued. Pavel solemnly shook his head, and Varis gave a condescending and impatient glare.

“That leaves you, Weaponmaster.” Tellaos said with finality.

Kerig stared distastefully at the bow and arrow. “Moradin’s codpiece…” he grumbled as he snacthed the weapon from Tellaos’ outstretched hand. “I hope ye know what ye’re doin’” he said to no one in particular.


Sweat beaded and dripped from Kerig’s brow. It was hotter than a forge under the filthy cloak and mask, and it smelled like the wrong side of a donkey. At least, that have been his excuse, had anyone asked.

In truth, he was nervous. And terrified. Beneath the cloak, he cautiously knocked the enchanted arrow onto the stoled shortbow. He hadn’t had an opportunity to fire this particular bow, and had no idea how it would shoot. And it had been years – decades, actually – since he’d fired a bow at all.

His hands shook and he worried that the clattering of his weapons and armor would give them away. But the green dragon towered over them on its perch, intent on Tellaos’ speech.

Kerig didn’t hear any of it. He saw death all around him. He was back in the Vast Swamp, escorting a caravan. None of them had seen it coming. A terrible, multi-headed beast, kin to the great lizard now before him. Poisonous ichor dripped from fangs that were longer than their swords. Its heads struck with lightning speed, rending limbs from bodies as casually as one might nip the head of an asparagus stalk during a meal.

Limbs, organs and blood fell like rain, accompanied by the venom-soaked arrows of green-armored kobolds, hiding in the bog. The caravan and its guardians were ripped to shreds and looted, while Kerig lay pinned beneath the partial bodies of several of his former comrades.

Much later, he had finally stumbled, soaked with blood and piss, back to the nearest settlement. He fled in shame, determined to make up for his cowardice and inability to protect his friends.

The sudden commotion tore him from his disturbing reverie. He saw Tellaos rip off his cloak and challenge the dragon. Kerig fought the buildup of bile in his throat and the shaking in his hands. For a moment, he stood petrified. Then he remembered the bard’s words just before they entered the tower. He had placed his hand on Kerig’s shoulder and looked him in the eye. “I know you’re arrow will fly true. We are the heroes in this story, and we will be victorious. We are the Triboar Knights, and we can overcome any enemy!” He gave a quick squeeze and followed up by quickly adding “Oh yeah, and don’t fuck up.”

Kerig had grunted and shrugged off the bard’s hand, but now he knew that the bard actually meant it, and had confidence in him. He looked up and saw the dragon, quite pissed and preparing to strike at the bold Tellaos. At the same time, he heard a small voice very close to him say “Shoot it!”

Setting his jaw, Kerig roared and threw back his cloak, raising the bow and drawing the bowstring simultaneously. He exhaled and felt his hands momentarily calm themselves. Peering down the length of the arrow, he saw the dragon’s softer underside, and released the string. Unbeknownst to the dwarf, his beard had become tangled in the bowstring. The arrow flashed a green light, leaving a sparkling trail behind it. Magnificent as it was, all held their breath as it wobbled. Kerig said a silent prayer to his long neglected deity that transformed into a gutteral roar of triumph as the arrow buried itself in the dragon’s underbelly with a searing blast of energy.

The adrenaline slowly wore down as he numbly watched his friends slay what was left of the dragon before it even had a chance to react. He stood for a moment after the battle in disbelief before joining his companions in claiming a prize from the corpse. None of them mentioned it, but as he joined them he brought with him a faint scent of urine…


I’m just curious… how much of this was actually done in game, and how much of it was devised out of game by the DM/Players?

Either way I think it’s fantastic fun!


Also… I think its interesting that our campaigns are doing similar things. (Although, our team was called Knights of the Phandelver.)


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