# Soanso's Fireside Chat: Rise of the Runelords (AE)



## soanso (Jun 18, 2013)

Greetings Stranger, from a Stranger! Never do we know more than the cards can tell, and such is life, is it not? I hope this is not my first tale to tell by the fire. Be it known to all that this journey is but one yarn in the tapestry of Life, and the fellows whose tales I tell are but threads of one yarn; as I digress we shall learn how strong the One makes the Whole.

Forgive me my impertinence, as I am still younger than my Family when I tell the tall tales of Varisia! I am Sivoulette, one of the last of the Farateldi in my homeland. I have traveled far from the Plateau, and learned much in my time. You know there are giants and worse in the hinterlands, yes? I lost much to them, and find myself here in Sandpoint for many reasons; none I’d choose given a blind test, though.


Oh, don’t get me wrong. I’ve been through and over Sandpoint these past few weeks, and it’s a charming place. The new Cathedral is amazing. But so is Junker’s Point. The people are friendly enough without intruding- seems like passers-by are a bit of the norm in Sandpoint. I’ve noticed several myself, part of my nature I guess. 


Mum was right to come here so many summers ago. Though now I know exactly why she did, I’m not as bitter; it’s but another thread in this yarn. Shaiira came back here, too, in a fashion of my own. To find Mum. She’s passed on, and the Tale of Two Strangers is not one I’ll tell now. Be it said that Mum is strong in her daughters, and they love her for that.


Mum’s gone, and tomorrow awaits.


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## soanso (Jun 22, 2013)

*Swallowtail Festival Part 1*

[Hope I'm doing this correctly; if not please help!]

The journey is long; we shall shorten the road.

These past few weeks have seen the town of Sandpoint slowly fill to capacity. The Swallowtail Festival is close, as is the dedication of the new cathedral. Shaiira and I are camped at the edge of town, conserving our meager funds by batting eyelashes and laughing bubbly laughs at the local taverns for food and drink; I’ve earned some meager coin with stories of the Giants of Storval, a fictitious tale of a brave girl who tracks down the brutes that destroyed her village. Shaiira and I have spent most of our free time wandering Sandpoint and taking in its subtle grace. We like to sit and watch the crowds, rub elbows with the travelers and the sellswords, and trade yarns with our fellow travelers. We’ve met several sympathetic sorts who’ve given us a meal or an ale along the way; may Desna keep them.

Shaiira first pointed out the dwarf. We had been treated to a few rounds in the late afternoon after a wonderful caterwaul with the midday drunks at Cracktooth’s, and merrily made our way through the streets back to camp when she noticed him leaving the Sage. We giggled as the well-armed and armored man stormed out of her quarters and loudly questioned the Sage’s competence. He headed back to the Rusty Dragon as fast as his dwarven legs could propel him. Shaiira took a slight fancy to the situation, and tailed him enough to reveal his name was Mundin, and was in town by way of Magnimar. Bellhops are such easy marks.

While Shaiira followed the dwarf, I decided to check out the new cathedral. Though it’s consecration wasn’t for a few days, the apse was open for public viewing a few hours each evening. I also needed to ground myself; playing happy-go-lucky with my heavy heart was taxing. We came across some information that has erased my confidence concerning Mum’s life in Sandpoint. But that is another yarn. 

The apse was a splendid affair, giving a small shrine to the many gods therein. A light crowd strolled through as casual observers, but I was caught up when a bald Vudrani man entered the apse, obviously awestruck by the gravitas of its holiness. He carried a staff, and I could just make out some armor under his robes. It was his calm aura that drew my eyes to him, much as one is drawn to a painting or sculpture; a sense of calm followed him as he walked. He stopped at each altar and bent as if in prayer to each god represented.

He was… interesting. Grandy Vin held the Vudrani in high regard. He was calm and stoic, as I would expect a man of faith to be, but he wore no trapping of any local clergy. I followed him long enough to “accidentally” lose an earring near the Dedication to Erastil. He handed me my bauble, and simply said, “May the winds bring you peace.” If I had to guess, he was Gozrehn. They tend to be calm storms, weird dichotomies of peace and destruction. But they tend to be outliers and not fond of civilized affairs like this cathedral. Although, there are also devout souls who find favor without a patron; but such clerics are rare…

Shaiira and I have spent some time in various shops and halls poring over old maps and documents; seems to be a mutual interest. We are looking for Mum. We received some disheartening information and our research is part of the corroboration. I’ve embroidered a few new glyphs on Shaiira’s scarf, and added a runic sister to my own.

There is one particularly dusty and unkempt place in Sandpoint that few know of- lucky for me, I hit the right note at Cracktooth’s and a whiskey-riddled old timer passed it on to me. We weren’t there for an hour when the doorbell chimed and a very tall, scarred and tattooed man entered. He was dressed in silks of bright gold and deep orange; I recognized several Varisian symbols tattooed on his forearm, notably a butterfly stylized with lightning bolts in its wings. His dark hair had hints of auburn. 

“Sorcerer,” whispered Shaiira, following my gaze.
“How so?” I whispered back.
“Scars, dagger sheath is brand-new, no armor, silks, VIP treatment in a hole-in-the-wall library. Duh.” She sidled a smirk my way. Sha is funny like that.

He is either a Varisian or is close to one. He was tall and thin, and covered by burns and tattoos. He moved with a natural grace, though, as if he were the type unfettered by pain, or obstacle. He was also very friendly with the librarians, and they ushered him to the lower levels after a brief conversation. He did not emerge from the bowels of the library for some time; as our search for Mum’s path again stalled, we decided to tent out a few more nights. I’d work the crowds at the upcoming festival to scrape a few coins together and Shaiira would do her best to work a few favors at the Feedbag for vittles. I hope to soon be resting properly at Cracktooth’s. They seemed to fancy having ladies at the bar to entertain patrons with stories and to join in at cards, dice, and darts. Sha’s already made a few marks; Mum would be proud.


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## Peteinmaine (Jun 22, 2013)

I feel as though I'm already here.

My name is Caramour, although I admit most of the people I have crossed paths with in the past call me C.  I learned at a young age that priests and those who hold strong faith can keep a community together, and even make it stronger.  As such this is my mission.  I am not the least bit ashamed to say that I revere many gods equally.  How can you not seeing the similarities and differences in the power held by their holy men and women?
The new temple in Sandpoint is everything I expected and more.  There are many weary people about, and yet I feel comfortable and at home in these strange streets.  I beg of Desna to enlighten me to the wonders and sights I have yet to see, and speed my feet to wherever it may be that I am destined to do the most good.  I look to Abadar, to show me the wonders that a civilized culture can become.  I see great things in the combined will of common interests....whether they be faith, protection, magic, music, or even the little hiccups that occur among the dark alleys.
As long as we respect one and other, and work to better life as a whole we prevail.

_-Caramour is a long way from Max...I only hope that I can bring an air of personality to a character I hope will have a lot of depth...._


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## soanso (Jun 29, 2013)

*Swallowtail Festival Part 2*

I decided to temper the news regarding Mum with a proper celebration. I could not bring myself to tell Sha exactly what my late-night rendezvous gleaned; instead I treated us to a few Bloody Kobolds at Cracktooth’s. We raised a toast to new roads; it was as fitting a good-bye as I could give a sister I barely knew. My plan was to leave Sandpoint, and Shaiira, following Mum’s trail. Before I could leave, though, I needed to take in the Swallowtail Festival. My prayers to Desna were for light feet and a clear heart for the days ahead.

The festivities were set off by a round of obligatory speeches given by the Mayor, the Sherriff, and others. Watching the Swallowtails released was like having my own soul lifted upon light towards the stars- I knew then that I had a journey ahead of me, and that Desna would guide my steps.

After the butterflies were released and the new temple consecrated, there were games of chance and skill, as well as culinary offerings from local establishments. The Tian family that runs the Rusty Dragon put out a salmon dish that won my heart. Sha and I took a few quaffs of a stout dwarven spirit she’d liberated during the opening ceremony, and we happily caroused with the locals, taking defeats in many events. I noticed a few familiar faces among the participants; I was surprised when the Vudrani paused long enough during the spin-a-bout race to graciously allow us to try and catch him. We did not.

While we spent a few coppers to play the silly -and likely rigged- games of the day, I also noted that both the hot-headed dwarf that Shaiira had tailed and the tall, awkward sorcerer we’d seen at the sideways library were mingling with the Festival’s patrons. Both the Vudrani and the dwarf tried their hand at the test-of-strength. Sad to say they lost that one; but Sha and I got close enough to cheer them on- after all, levity was the course of the day…

Shrill screams and plumes of smoke shattered that moment, though, as horrible bands of chanting goblins suddenly descended on the town. As the festival crowds whipped into panic-fueled hysteria, a few of us kept wits enough to battle the little bastards. The nasty little creatures took blade to man, woman, horse, and dog. If cats weren’t smarter, I’ve no doubt they’d been part of the macabre, disorganized orgy of violence these goblins brought to Sandpoint.

I found myself slashing at a few with the dwarf and Shaiira, and the Vudrani soon waded into battle, using magic to heal a dog struck down by the hateful green goblins. He healed a few in the crowd as well. 

“Stranger, do you have a name?” I yelled as I used magic to make myself fleet of foot. 

“Caramour!” He yelled back as he kept a goblin at bay with his quarterstaff.

A goblin launched himself from a rooftop, deadly blade in hand- and landed in a crumpled heap. A few more smashed into the crowd wielding all sorts of bizarre and unfit weapons- wicked knives, bombs, flints and steel, unlit torches- trying to set everything and anything on fire. 

The tall and tattooed sorcerer waved his hand and several goblins fell into magical slumber; as they dozed another squad arrived on scene; I noticed them descending upon a wagon, trying to set it ablaze. One seemed particularly adept at “singing”; I drew my blade for it. I tapped my reservoir to give my allies strength in battle- I belted out “Cut Them to Ribbons,” a folksong of the lumberjacks deep in the woods near Celwynvian, an inspiring lyric to steel them against capricious fey therein. Had I a fiddle, lute and drum, I’d be making coin. But squashing goblins would need to be a fair enough trade here. 

The dwarf ended the goblin’s first assault, as did Sha, and again the tall arcanist put our foes under his restful thumb. I made sure to skewer the one that had the bardic touch with my rapier. The rest were subdued in time by my sudden allies. Shaiira proved competent with a blade- I didn’t doubt her, but a girl’s stories are just that; and she is proficient, to say the least.

Next followed an influx of injured and fleeing people. It seems that goblins have indeed struck several parts of the town in a coordinated attack, but our small square is safe. The Vudrani, Caramour, began to help the injured as I searched the goblins for coin and a clue as to their identity. I’d seen them at work at Junker’s Point and have seen a few markings that might be tribal or clannish. After that, I walked up to the tall arcanist and stuck out my hand.

“Sivoulette Farateldi, last of many. Your time is convenient.”

“Vohoi. Pleased that it was time to be here.” His response tells me he is Varisian, or close enough.

“It was, Vohoi, it was. Here is my sister, Shaiira.” 

I noticed the dwarf, standing off a ways, awkwardly proud but alone. 

“You there, Dwarf! You bring your clan honor!” (I was told by Grandy Vin that this is the proper way to greet a strange dwarf.)

Slightly puzzled, the dwarf lowered his axe and approached.

“Name’s Mundin. How many more critters are buggin’ about, d’ya think?”

Typical dwarf, all business. (Though I’ve never met but three dwarves; they were always about the moment at hand.)

“Sivoulette Farateldi, last of many- call me Siv. This is my sister, Shaiira, and the tall man there is Vohoi. Seems he’s an arcanist. Myself-“

The dwarf spit and said, “Yep, you’re a yarnspinner. Good, let’s keep close. Who’s the Good Shepherd over yon?”

I smiled, watching as Desna laid a new road. “He’s a Vudrani. Caramour, though I may be pronouncing it wrong-“

“He goes by C in the temple,” Sha interjected.

I smiled. Good, we’ve got quorum. “So, C I guess.”

The dwarf hefted his axe once more. “Get the healer, I hear more goblins.”


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## soanso (Jun 29, 2013)

And so the characters are-

Mundin dwarf fighter 1
Caramour human (Vudrani) cleric (other) 1
Vohoi human sorcerer (stormborn) 1
Shaiira half elf rogue 1
Sivoulette human (Varisian) bard 1


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## Mundin (Jun 29, 2013)

*Mundin's Journal - Sandpoint day 10 - swallowail festival*

Been 10 days since arriving in Sandpoint, and I'm no closer to me goal, to avenging the death o' me clan.  The local sage proved madder than a tree hugging dwarf, kept talking about ancient ruins built by giants, nothing bout where they might be now.  Torag damn all giants, if I had me way, I'd see me axes buried deep in every one of 'em.  Me patience with the sage would have run out if it weren't for Amieko's Rusty Dragon Tavern.  Fine Dwarven stout and spiced salmon reminds me o home, enough to make up for that whelp trying to pass for a bard, someone needs to teach him a few good ballads.  Tomorrow is some kind o festival to Desna, too many people for me liking, but free food and drink aught to make it worth me time.  Torag willing, someone at the festival will know of these giants.  Perhaps once I've found their leader and introduced him to me axes, I can return to Janderhoff and rally me allies to rebuild the Halls of Ironhand, but not before me clan has been avenged and its honor restored.


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## Abciximab (Jul 1, 2013)

End of Session 1​
I say “Session One” but it was really half a session as we spent the first half wrapping up Soanso’s Serpent Skull Campaign. 

We had a little time left over so we swapped seats and went right into the intro for Rise of the Runelords (Anniversary Edition). He had told us ahead of time that we might finish early, so everyone had their characters and I was prepped and ready to go. 

We got through the speeches, some mini games and the first set of goblin encounters. The action is underway and we will be picking up where we left off tomorrow!
Short session, so only two pictures, the crowd gathered for the speeches and then the first set of goblins arrive on the scene!


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## ibayboy (Jul 2, 2013)

Consider me hooked!


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## Peteinmaine (Jul 3, 2013)

I've only been in town a few days.  I cannot help but feel as though my path has led me to this town.  A great temple built to revere many faiths.  A town beset by goblins, and an irrationally well matched group coming together at the perfect time of need.  I shall not resist the hands of fate, and whatever path the gods see fit shall be what I walk.  Still I cannot help but feel as though there is a lot more going on in this town than what I am seeing.  Old fires and deaths, new buildings, ghastly goblins brazenly committing murders.  The acts I saw perpetrated by goblins today tells me all I need to know about them.  They are evil vile creatures, I ask any god that will listen to guide my staff in protecting good humanity from them...
Something here does not sit right.  I will maintain vigilance and let history unravel before me...darkness must show it's hand at some point, and then we who wish to preserve life shall be there to rise.
-Caramour....lamenting by candlelight, wondering what game the shopkeeper is playing, and intrigued so far.


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## soanso (Jul 10, 2013)

*Session 2 part 1*

Before Mum went away, she told me stories. Everything, really. Family tales of honor and adventure, fey tales to lull me to sleep- or keep me awake with wonder; nightmare tales of giants, orcs, and ogres. She had stories of elves, dwarves, and halflings. Ancient tales of the Shoanti, their lore, history, and traditions. She told me tales of the forgotten places of Varisia, the ancient empires of the Pharaohs far away in Osirion, and of the magnificent city of Absalom. She told me stories of true love, of captivity, tales of honor, grace and beauty, of evil and wicked ways, of loss and sadness. Her voice was magic to me, and lingers with me still. 

I admit that combat is not my card-in-sleeve, but my new-found comrades are ready and able for it. PopPop always said, “If your wits be sharp, then a blade twixt you and danger.” I think he meant being strong is smart, and being smart is strong, too- at least in the case of us Farateldis. I prefer a punctuated comment over a punching fist. Shaiira, though, is as quick at Shells and Find-a-Jack as Grandy Vin was, and is true with her wicked scarf. Her time with the Sczarni is evident, and I’ve made a promise to myself to remind her that she’s Farateldi, not Sczarni. I need all the support I can get.

I digress; the firelight leads me like a moth, fluttering to the point without touching it. I have a tale to tell.

Having dispatched the goblins in the square, we quickly made our way to the new cathedral to find Sherriff Belor, and report our situation. The square seemed calm, but the goblin attack was obviously a shock for the town. Sandpoint is an idyllic place, and has crept like a kitten into my lap as the embers of the fire smolder; I want to keep her innocent and free from danger to see her again tomorrow.

  We were greeted by the town’s elite and hailed for our efforts- Belor gave us a courteous nod- his eyes tell me there is much on his mind. 
  Ameiko Kaijitsu, owner of the Rusty Dragon Inn, graciously offered our lot room and board as a reward for our efforts against the incursion. I’ve heard she was an adventurer and is quite the singer. 
  Father Zantus of Desna’s Grace told us that the townsfolk have incurred minimal damage, and that he is available if we need any clerical assistance in the future.

Mayor Kendra Deverin commended our actions and assured us the community appreciates our efforts, and also asked us to remain vigilant. 
  “You are the Heroes of Sandpoint! I ask you to tarry from your journeys, please- be what they may, and stay a few days to bolster the morale of Belor’s men and the town in general; it would mean the world to us if you stayed a few days to reassure Sandpoint’s citizens of their safety and well-being.” We looked around the room, and then at each other. I shrugged and smiled, hoping a courteous “Why not?” might be implied. C bowed low, Vohoi smiled and agreed that Sandpoint could use some vigor. Shaiira and Mundin were in accord. We will stay in Sandpoint a while. 

Leaving the Cathedral, all is not well- again we race to the sounds of goblin marauding. 
  A well-appointed man and his fancy canine were besieged by goblins, including one riding a goblin-dog. Across the street, one goblin set another on fire; I shook my head and my new-found mates rushed into combat. A goblin slayed the man’s dog. Caramour and Mundin dropped goblins like flies, yelling out numbers- I think they’ve got a side-game going. I sang of glorious deeds to assist my comrades, and the poorly armed goblins were quickly subdued. Shaiira and I focused on the rider, after Vohoi put him to sleep with magic.

I approached the victim for assessment. I hoped his dog could be saved; C’s attention to a dog struck down by goblins in the last fight really resonated with me.

As I approached, I noted the pedigree of his fallen companion, a well-bred hunting dog. It was dead.

“Are you wounded, citizen?” I asked as I approached. It seemed the buggers had him in their crosshairs; but, as we have witnessed, goblins are sprack at best when left to their own designs.

One does not walk the line if one cannot read the eyes of the other. One look at the handsome and well-dressed man told me what I needed.
  “Is your hound okay?” I shouted over the gurgling death throes of the goblins in the background.

“Hound? Oh, yes, dead as a doornail, I’m afraid,” he said. His eyes forced themselves into mine. “I can buy another. Thank you and your company for saving me! I am Aldern Foxglove, and what pleasure do I owe you?”

A Chelish greeting. I loathe their type- two-faced and always binding their words to subtle questions hoping to catch you in a spot. Grandy Vin warned me of these types. Likely a Magnimari or Korvosan noble-type, guessing from his dress. Play the Game, Mum said. So I did. His eyes took me like a wolf does a hare in the scree. I steeled myself, though not for my safety, but for what such a man might provide us. Odd to say “Us” again, after so many months alone, and to have something behind that simple word.

“I am Sivoulette,” I said. “Yon is my sister, Shaiira. Also Vohoi, Mundin, and Caramour. I am glad to see you standing, do you need healing?”


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## soanso (Jul 10, 2013)

Welcome, ibayboy! I still owe you a reply in Arendel's SS thread. What a fun AP, I'd like to compare notes or at least trade tales. I'm percolating a "post-script" adventure for the Shiv'ers for this winter...


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## ibayboy (Jul 11, 2013)

I'm thinking of that too. Either destroying the skull once and for all, or a delve into Savith's tomb. I'm a PC in S&S at the moment, then i'm gonna run Reign of Winter. After that i'm hoping to get my 'paladin' on as a PC in Wrath of the Righteous. We were thinking of re-running RotR, with the anniversary ed , but everything coming out is too interesting! The quality of Paizo's products seems to just get better and better.


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## Klobberschmitt (Jul 11, 2013)

I will just chime in and say that I am loving this so far.


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## soanso (Jul 13, 2013)

*Session 2.2*

“Nay,” Aldern bowed deep in respect, and then stepped close to me. “To be saved from such savage beasts by a woman of your, countenance,” he said as his eyes explored my body freely, “is truly a blessing. Be you a citizen, or a traveler of the open road?” He read my roots right and I found that fact, at its base, charming. 

Many treat us Varisians as though we are a fog. Seen but ignored, an impediment rather than an accoutrement in the landscape. But it is our land, our story, our history. 

“I am quartered in the Rusty Dragon, perhaps you will come by for dinner?” His intent was laid out in his eyes. Mine strayed to his poor companion before returning his gaze. He had dark eyes and brown hair worn long, as is the style among Magnimar’s socialites. His fair skin told me the light of day splashed off his finery, not his bare skin. He was a noble, or at least wanted to be. Perhaps a merchant, but traveling alone dismissed this thought. We could use a nobleman…

“We-” I caught myself. That word again. I glanced over my shoulder as I pretended to check the battleground for signs of life, watching as Mundin, Shaiira, Caramour and Vohoi guardedly approached myself and the stranger. 

Steady. 

“We are also taking rooms at the Rusty Dragon. It would be an honor for us to dine with you,” I said, loud enough for at least Shaiira to hear, and glean my intent. 

Aldern seemed nonplussed that I invited four others to dinner on his doubloon.

“Yes, it would be welcome company to have you and your, associates, for dinner. This evening, then?”

The dwarf spat onto the dusty street. “We ain’t associates-”

Shaiira simultaneously squashed her heel -hard- into the dwarf’s boot while wrangling him in with an awkward side-hug “Yeah, we’re practically family. We are the Heroes of Sandpoint, ya know.”

Vohoi and Caramour picked up on what Sis was saying, nodding and trying to look as heroic as they could. If only I’d mastered _prestidigitation_ to make us all glow…

  But the scene was apparently enough for Aldern. We exchanged pleasantries (he and I) as we walked back to the cathedral, parting ways as he headed to the Rusty Dragon and we headed to the North Gate, which we heard from some militia guards we’d passed was abandoned this morning. 

We stopped briefly at the White Deer Inn and spoke to the establishment’s owner, Garriden Viskail, who confirmed he did not see guards posted at the Gate, but chalked it up to the Swallowtail Festival. “I dunno- maybe they wanted more of a presence in town. It’s odd, sure, but Sandpoint ain’t exactly a hotbed of intrigue, ya know? Plus, the militia’s volunteer, it’s possible they stole away or didn’t show to get down to the festival- who wants to work on a holiday, right?”

We found the North Gate manned when we arrived, but the guards there reported the post was abandoned when they arrived for duty. Sandpoint’s militia is largely voluntary, it seems. We gathered that the Sheriff has records of the daily watch in his office, which is staffed by a solitary secretary. Sherriff Belor Hemlock is assisted by two deputies, Gomer and Goober, regarding the full-time policing of town. All three were present at the Swallowtail Festival ceremony, leaving volunteer militia covering all the accessible byways and inroads to and from town. Caramour scouted the area outside the Gate and found that at least 10 goblins were on scene this morning, as well as a ladder, perhaps used by the melon-headed monsters to infiltrate the North Gate. We also learned that there is local “goblin expert” by the name of Shalelu, but the elven ranger was on assignment at the time of the attacks. Through accounts given to us by Belor and our own tally, 36 goblins attacked Sandpoint today. This is a dark cloud. 

We finally headed back to the Rusty Dragon to relax, thanks to Ameiko’s generosity. Mundin wanted to pass by Savah’s Armory, but we convinced him our meager coin, and the meager daylight, assured she’d be closed for business. We entered through the tavern and found Aldern had set out a modest feast for us, including Ameiko’s award-winning salmon, a few quails stuffed with cornbread and hot peppers, Parson’s cabbage, Korvosan-fried potatoes, wild kale salad, fey noodles with scapes, gold tomatoes and black truffles, and several carafes of fine red wine. 

A tall mug of stout lager kept place for Mundin, who was more than happy to oblige. I must admit, I find the dwarf a welcome, if aloof, ally. Shaiira took to him instantly; I think young and reckless suits the dwarf just fine. It seems they both take to things with abandon, as if nothing holds them to this mortal coil; I wish I were as free. The Vudrani does not eat much; perhaps his culture forbids certain foods. Vohoi takes to the repast like a proper Varisian, indulging food, drink, and host with a wanton lust of life and frivolity. After a few glasses of wine, we all felt much better about the day and ourselves. 

Aldern, of course, reserved a seat for me at his right elbow. I was happy to oblige- I am no fool. But I had already batted the nobleman about my head for the afternoon previous. What to do with him? Tis nice to be appreciated; but again, I am not an easy mark. It would be simple to turn his game around, to make him the fool, but then what? Passing on a friend to gain an enemy is not a circumstance I wish to visit. He made mention of Magnimar, perhaps I will leave it at that.

  Over dinner, he asked after my family, my origin, but always politely. I simply told him that I was in town for the festival, and that I had relatives all over Varisia. He pressed to find if I had ties to Magnimar; I saw through this, based on what he’d already said. There’s Old Bull Farateldi there, but he’s more a headache than a relation, always whacked out on pesh or worse.

Foxglove then invited me to his Magnimar estate, if I ever found myself in town, as it were. I smiled and thanked him. Sinister or delusional on his part, it was the right response as his guest. During an interlude in the meal, he pressed a small pouch into my lap under the table. I felt its weight before he spoke- “The first part of your reward, for saving me,” he whispered.

First part? Time to shorten the leash on this hound!

Aldern then asked me if I’d accompany him on a boar hunt in the Tickwood. He suggested that success would let us bring it back for a feast, prepared by Ameiko. A small assumption for a nobleman; I’ve field-dressed many kills, and prepared the meal as well. I hoped for his sake Aldern had already asked Ms. Kaijitsu about this endeavor; but I assumed he had not. I saw Vohoi whispering something to Bethanna, the halfling matron of the Rusty Dragon. I hope he overheard Foxglove’s intent, Vohoi seems the type to advance plans, as it were.

“We’d love to!” I said, fueled a bit by the wine but more so by feeling suddenly alone. That word again. 

  Sha and Mundin were engaged in some sort of shenanigans across the table; intoxicated whispers led me to believe there was some sort of wager placed on the Foxglove incident. Caramour and Vohoi were all in for the boar hunt.
  “Great! We’ll leave at first light!” pronounced Aldern.

“Actually, we have a few things to take care of in the morning, if that’s okay,” I interjected.

“Of course, dear Sivoulette, as long as we get out before noon. The quarry sleeps the afternoon away.”

  There was a boar/boor/nobleman joke there, but I bit my tongue. I could not place Aldern. On the one, he found me attractive and interesting, a parlay I held at arm’s length, and one I’d not experienced in some time. This made flirtation fresh and exciting, but I had a We, an Us to once again consider. I played the passing-through card, and he read my tell and offered his residence in Magnimar. He is obviously of noble rank, or at least has the means to pretend such. 

***

  Wine tends to distract me from time, but nonetheless after the banquet, as we took brandy in the Great Room, I noticed a rather well-endowed and flaunting young woman approach Caramour. A semi-whispered conversation was, to my ears, a poorly laid attempt by the lass to rope the austere Vudrani into some sort of shenanigans. As the others embraced the fireside chat, I made note, and followed C as he left the Inn. Of course, I signaled the others to follow at a distance. Sha and I crept close, when I realized he’d been courted by Shayliss Vinder, one of Venn Vinder’s daughters and heir to the Sandpoint General Store. She led C on, claiming giant rats were attacking the stores in the basement. Caramour was wise to take his staff and leave the door to the store open.

I padded inside, and got close enough to see the pair head down the stairs, C’s demeanor certainly not of the bedside sort. Knowing Mundin, Shaiira, and Vohoi were outside meant nothing when I heard the front door open with a bang. Praise Desna, the lamps were still burning low in the store, and I was a traveler. I feigned surprised as the man strode in.

“Oh, um, are you still open? I am in search of a few candles so that I may write in my journal tonight. I am sorry to bother-”

“Meh!  How’d you get-”

My voice was loud enough to reach the basement, as Caramour led the young lady up the stairs while saying, “So I think the large rodents are gone, ma’am, and if they do recur, perhaps there is a local pest service you can reach.” I’m guessing by the bodice beneath her nightgown that there are no rats. I looked at C, and he looked at me. It was time to go.

“So, sorry if you’ve closed, I saw the light-“

The merchant shrugged. “Meh, have a few on the house. Be on your way, we’re closed.”

We doubled around back and took the long way back to the Rusty Dragon, hooting as Caramour told us of his night that almost was. There are many cards here in Sandpoint, I must be sure to count them all.


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## soanso (Jul 13, 2013)

Thanks K-lobb! This campaign is from a players' perspective (a bard nonetheless!) Drop in whenever! This will continue to be a frequent Story Hour- a bit jostled to begin- as are most- but we'll settle in. This AP has a very dynamic set of players/characters, and will be a ton of fun!


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## Peteinmaine (Jul 14, 2013)

There is no longer any doubt in my mind that everything going on here in town is deeply connected.
The goblins, the tomb, the family history, all linked by something.  Both past and present.  I am also certain that the group coming together now have had their fates placed on a firm breeze.  We are all destined to drift where the wind from rising fires takes us.  The bard lives by her whits, as does her sister, but in vastly different capacities.  The dwarf is holding rage and bitterness back, but both are consuming him.  I haven't figured out the sorceror yet, but I know his strange path is meant to fall in these same footsteps, which at the moment seem to be vile little goblin tracks.  There is blood and evil that will continue to poison the earth beneath our feet in this town.  I hope for the sake of the good people we have encountered that we are able to cleanse it of it's curse and allow it to thrive once more.  I hope Siv's insightful gaze helps us avoid the pitfalls my naive mind misses.  I hope we can show Mundin that working together doesn't replace family, but it does reinforce what family meant, we are going to need him, and I think he will also need us, whatever evil he's looking for is probably going to be dangerous.  I think Shaiira might be the key to unlocking the dwarf's story, and Vohoi's turbulent ways will be invaluable as this path takes us into stranger territory yet.  These goblins are despicable creatures...


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## soanso (Jul 16, 2013)

*session 2 part 3*

As we approached the Rusty Dragon, Belor and Father Zantus greeted us. Tis nightfall, and it’s been one helluva day. “Can we ask your assistance once more, Heroes of Sandpoint?” said Father Zantus, sincere in his greeting. He is a keeper of Desna, to whom I trust. Sherriff Belor bustled at the formalities.

“There was a disturbance in the boneyard. With all that has happened here in the last day, we thought it prudent to seek your help,” Belor interjected, somewhat annoyed by the priest’s dallying. We agreed to help and hurried along to the boneyard.

Father Zantus told us that the grave of Ezakien Tobyn had been disturbed. Known as Father Tobyn in life, he was Sandpoint’s holy man when the old church burned to the ground, five years ago. He and his adopted daughter, Nualia, were the only victims in the blaze. A chill ran up my spine; the coincidental timing was eerie. To disturb the tomb of a holy man is an evil act. 

We soon met Naffer Vosk at the boneyard. He gave me a solemn nod; Shaiira’s eyes noticed and I reminded myself we needed to have a chat about Mum. I asked after the Tobyn funerary, and Vosk, the boneyard’s attendant, noisily cleared his throat, “I been at the Festival all day, seen what happened there. Nothing strange to report here until just now, when I made rounds. I do not judge, I leave that to the Lady. I can direct you to the yard, though.” Pharasma’s faithful make the worst informants.  

I should ask Father Zantus about Tobyn tomorrow; we may need some information about the deceased preacher. Vosk told us where to find the crypt, but politely declined our invitation to investigate. Sherriff Hemlock escorted us, leading the way with his lantern.

We wound our way to the Tobyn mausoleum, and found the door ajar. Shaiira noted goblin footprints as well as a set belonging to a larger humanoid. The size of human feet, but unintelligible beyond that. So the goblins have a friend, how nice. We were met with a few skeletons, one of the wolf variety and the others humanoid. The lid of one of the two sarcophagi was but a smashed heap on the crypt floor.

Mundin led the way into the crypt, shouting “Bones! Fall in mates and we’ll be to another flagon of ale!” I took this to mean that he saw some skeletons and we should smash them. We obliged. He’s aloof like that. Having such an ally is proving its worth.

My rapier is a weak weapon against this particular undead horror, though I struck true in battle but to little effect. Mundin laughed and later agreed to make room in his pack for some of my gear, so I might carry a cudgel should the need arise. This dwarf is Desna’s blessing, I swear. 

The skeletons were dispatched in short order.

Inspecting the sarcophagi, we found Father Tobyn’s coffin empty save a few scraps of cloth. We did not remove the cover of the other. We found a discarded robe in one corner of the crypt, likely the spent effort of a Robe of Bones. Hmm.

The construction of the new cathedral and its consecration today, mirrored by Tobyn’s missing body amidst an incursion of goblins, plus a set of tracks decidedly bigger than a goblin at the crime scene, raised an alarm in my mind. So much has happened so quickly, I need time to process this deluge of information. We agreed to head back to the Rusty Dragon for a well-deserved nightcap, and a night’s rest in a warm bed.

Bethanna, Kaijitsu’s halfling maid, greeted our arrival. As she helped us settle in for the evening, I passed her a note to slip under Aldern Foxglove’s door; a simple reminder we would meet him tomorrow for the boar hunt. As we padded off for the night, I noticed Vohoi tipped the matron a crown. Inside I smiled.

  ***


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## soanso (Jul 21, 2013)

*Session 2 fin.*

Finally, sleep. 

Awake, and surprisingly refreshed. I headed down to a full breakfast courtesy of Ameiko Kaijitsu and her attentive staff which included Osirian-style cinnamon griddlecakes, Kyonin pheasant sausages, Mwangi fruits-de-freche, Galtan muddled eggs, and Taldoran breaded squash studded with sweet wild berries. About halfway through our late-morning repast, the double doors of the inn were suddenly kicked in. We sat, half-chewed mouths agape, as a stern, older Tian man strode through the commons toward Ms. Kaijitsu. 

He unleashed an arsenal of tense and heated words upon her as he strode across the floor. Though Tian dialects are foreign to me, the bluster was obvious. Bethanna circled toward Vohoi, and provided us with a broken translation. It seemed that Lonjiku, Ameiko’s father, was berating her about something she had done, insulted her ‘wandering ways’ and scoffed at her business ventures. Bethanna gasped after one particularly biting comment- “Mr. Kaijitsu just said, ‘You are as dead to me as your Mother-’ a grave insult to Ms.- ” 

Caramour moved to interject, with Vohoi close behind. I moved towards Ameiko as well, but the seasoned adventurer trumped us all, smacking the man on the head with a peppermill. He stormed out, infuriated. Afterwards, we found Ameiko unoccupied, and offered our help, whatever that may be. She politely declined, citing a longstanding feud as the cause of the morning’s interruption. Having been around town for a short while, I knew Lonjiku owned the local glassworks factory, and was absent from the Swallowtail Festival events despite being a long-standing businessman of good repute in Sandpoint. 

We tarried long enough to help Bethanna with the linens; before she shooed us away, she told us the gravity of Lonjiku’s epitath: Ameiko’s mother, Atsuii, committed suicide, and her home life was complicated further by an estranged half-elf brother, Tsuto. Her brother lived in Magnimar, and was shunned by Lonjiku. He and Ameiko were once amicable, until he struck her during an argument. This prompted her adventuring career, and Tsuto further complicated matters at their mother’s funeral, when he all but accused their father of pushing Atsuii to turn her hand, leading to a near-brawl. We thanked the halfling and left to meet with Belor and the mayor. Vohoi tarried slightly, and I caught a glimpse of him reaching into his coin purse, pressing his hand into Bethanna’s. Desna’s grace.

Kendra, Balor, and an armed and armored elf sat at a long table in the mayor’s office. The elf stood to greet us. “Heroes of Sandpoint, I thank you. I am Shalelu. Mayor Kendra and Sherriff Hemlock tell me you are responsible for saving the town from the goblins that I track all along the coast.”
Shalelu sat down and we obliged, asking her questions about the local goblins and of any motives she might suspect.

We learned that there are five major goblin tribes, and that goblins are generally sloppy, disorganized, and lazy. But the attack on Sandpoint coincided with raids on the Lost Coast near Nettlewood, and in the Mosswood where a farmhouse was burned to the ground. 

“The five tribes are united- as best as goblins can achieve such a state- by some outside source. There are the Mosswood- by far the largest tribe- the Licktoad, the Seven Tooth, the Thistletop, and the Birdcruncher. The Birdcrunchers are the closest to Sandpoint, but the least aggressive. The Seven Tooth often scavenge Junker’s Beach here in town,” she said, standing. “But for now I must go, I myself have yet to rest; I also have some leads to track down.”

We thanked Shalelu for her help and proceeded to meet Aldern Foxglove at the Goblin Squash Stables. I noted that Shaiira and Mundin tarried a bit behind us, and caught more than one pass of the dwarf’s flask.  

Aldern was waiting, and was as gracious as ever. “Greetings, Heroes! I’ve taken the liberty of preparing your steeds. Please accept them as my thanks for saving my life yesterday. And for you, m’lady,” he bowed low and presented me with an ornate crossbow. It’s craftsmanship was exceptional. “I hope you strike true today, Sivoulette.” 

I was impressed but did my best to hide it. I am a Farateldi, not Sczarni- I do not have a price tag. Still, I was not foolish enough to revoke his offer. I smiled and said, “Your Grace is too kind.”

“M’lady, please, simply call me Aldern,” he returned. “I am not your Lord, nor you my serf; just… a happy acquaintance.” I could live with that.

We traveled to the Mosswood, and soon happened upon a fat wild boar. Aldern, being the expert, declared it Dinner, so we approached it, weapons drawn. Shaiira was the first to make a move, and wildly dismounted and charged the beast. I flashed a hot glowering stare at the dwarf, who pretended to not interpret my ire. I looked back to Sha, drawing up my new crossbow; to my horror the beast gored her straight through the chest. She dropped to the ground, blood leaking from her like water from a broken barrel.

My sister was dead.

My scream may have startled the pig; C brazenly dismounted and quickly moved to Shaiira’s side, using his healing magic to steal her from Pharasma. The pig fell quickly to our efforts. Shaiira and I rode side-by-side on the way home, silent.

It wasn’t until after we’d returned to the Rusty Dragon with our prize, and after Ameiko and her staff turned it into a true feast, accompanied by a radish, watermelon and spinach salad, honey-drowned golden beets, truffled fiddleheads and carrots, and a cask of fine Tian ale that I could approach Sha about the incident. I took two glasses of red wine and found her in the corner, chatting with Vohoi. He excused himself, and I handed her a glass. 

“A toast,” I said, raising my glass. “To tomorrow.” We drank. “You got lucky, there, this morning,” I said.
“I always do,” she said.
“But you might not.”
“Or I might.”
“I need to talk to you about Mum.”
“Of what? She’s at peace now.”
I paused. “Her grave is empty.”

Shaiira’s expression will never leave my soul, it was so wrought with energies too complex for words.

“We need to help Sandpoint, then we can find her,” I said, trying my best to remove my foot from my mouth. Why did I say that? Why now?
“Aye,” she said. “Well, we’ve got good company, so let’s make haste while there’s oil.”
“Aye,” I said, a smile in my eyes. 

She used one of Mum’s favorite phrases. It’s a Varisian trope that means when you have the opportunity to make a play, do it. Life is imperfect, so take advantage of the situation as best you can. 

Many of Sandpoint’s elite arrived courtesy of Aldern Foxglove for the feast. We sat with Shalelu, who gave us more insight into the goblin ecology of the area. Both Kendra and Belor were present; Hemlock excused himself early because he is travelling to Korvosa or Magnimar to garner support for the local militia. I find him boring. His deputies, Gomer and Guber, are in charge in his stead. 

Shalelu gave us a fine introduction to the Sandpoint Goblins. “Something- or more likely someone- got to these little buggers and set them to task. There are several champions- if you will suspend disbelief- in the goblin camps. Perhaps one or several of these leaders is responsible for the raids.

“First is the Mosswood champion, Big Gugmut. Legend holds he’s the offspring of a hobgoblin and a wild boar.    

“Next is a Seven Tooth legend, Corivus. He wielded a magic longsword, but disappeared into a cave in the cliffs of Junker’s Beach, and is rumored to be a ghost, or worse.

“Vorka lives in the Brinestump Marsh, duly noted as the haunt of a powerful witch. Vorka is a goblin cannibal, feared by the Licktoad tribe that calls the Marsh home.

“Gutwad, chief of the Licktoads, isn’t afraid of anything that he can send a pile of minions to deal with.

“Ripnugget is the bloodthirsty warchief of the Thistletop clan. He typically leads the charge, and they prefer dogslicers, and I’ve seen examples of their handiwork in Sandpoint.

“Last is a bugbear. Brethazmus is brutal enough to forge such an alliance of goblins, and  cunning enough to pull off such attacks. He and I battle regularly along the roads and dens of the Lost Coast.”

I hoped the wine ingested wasn’t too distracting to the elf’s assessment; any errors in my recordings will likely play themselves out.

We lingered after the feast for a nightcap; Aldern bade us goodnight and Bethanna busied herself with our low-key fireside session. Suddenly a woman and her young son burst in- the boy had made claims of a monster in his closet. His dubious parents ignored him, until the father was indeed attacked! We rushed to the residence, and came to a scene of horror. C was the first one to discover the goblin hiding beneath the closet floorboards, and made short work of it. The gnawed, mangled body of the father was beyond our ability to lend aid. The goblin was likely a Seven Tooth, as it bore a necklace of seven teeth. We returned with the sad news, and Father Zantus took the widow and the boy to the temple for the evening.

The next morning sprang us into a din. Vohoi had been awakened by the halfling, Bethanna, bearing news that Ameiko was gone as well as a letter addressed to her from her estranged half-brother, Tsuto. She translated the letter for us, and in it Tsuto implicated Lonjiku as the man behind the goblin raid, and asked Ameiko to meet him at the glassworks this past midnight to “Make sure he faces the punishment he deserves.”

The tone of the letter is smattered with arrogance and a selective distaste for both Lonjiku and Sandpoint. Tsuto apparently finds the local populace to be racist and stupid, and Lonjiku to be tied in so tight that he can escape punishment by the local authorities. I am a bit taken aback that Ameiko would fall for such an obvious trap; but she has. We thank Bethanna and race to the glassworks. It is agreed that the authorities should be notified; Vohoi and C convinced a few itinerant watchmen to follow us to the Kaijitsu compound. 

We arrived and broke into two groups, trying both the main entrance to the shop and a back door into the foundry. Shaiira unlocked the foundry entrance, and we proceeded in to find smashed glass everywhere. The pressed-men were sent back to alert Gomer and Guber that something was happening. 

We opened a door that led to the glassworks foundry itself and came upon a horrific scene. Shattered glass was strewn about this long room studded with glassmaking kilns on its walls, and long, low crafting tables occupying the center of the room. Butchered bodies lay among the shattered glass, and Lonjiku Kaijitsu sat in a chair in the middle of the room, his visage a twisted horror of unbelievable pain and bloody viscera encased in glass. The low chant of goblins rose from the macabre scene; I counted ten goblins as Mundin’s axe followed his war-cry into the thick of it.

I sang The Way, a chanting type of short melody Filly Wax would sing on long journeys, through the swamps or low mountains especially. It kept us on pace and vigilant. Mundin fell in with his axe, I drew my rapier, Vohoi prepared a spell, C waded into danger with his walking stick, and Shaiira happily jumped into battle, and the bastards obliged our assault. 

A terrible evil vexes Sandpoint.


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## soanso (Jul 27, 2013)

*The Sandpoint Glassworks*

I steeled myself against the gory backdrop of the fight; a dozen melon-headed goblins occupied the foundry, which was littered with glass, tools, materials, and the limbs and scarred bodies of the innocent dead; simple craftsmen cut down in some bizarre, destructive fracas. I asked Desna to take them under her wings. Low tables occupied the length of the room, and smoky fires choked the breathable air. We fought our way through the workshop, C and Mundin waded into battle as Vohoi cast another _sleep_ spell, giving Shaiira an advantage as she followed into the fray. My blade struck as true as my voice more than once. We noted one goblin slipped out the doors at the back of the room; our injuries were minor. 

My heart cried out to Kaijitsu, a man of whom I knew little. His family was irrevocably lost, and his anguish was his lasting testament to the fury and futility that sometimes is the life lived. Being stripped of family, of normalcy, of the fundamental control of your life is a futility with which few can empathize. I couldn’t imagine Ameiko mixed up in all this, and Mundin echoed my thoughts with his words- if my thoughts were as bereft of sentiment as were his words. But he had the right intention.

“Let’s follow the gob, he’ll lead us to the Bastard!” (I must remember to sit down with the dwarf over a bottle of wine and discuss the finer points of Subtlety. Sha didn’t blink, but I did.) We concurred and followed the goblin’s trail through the double doors. We found rakes, shovels, brooms, and a few wheelbarrows strewn about disturbed piles of sand, as well as a safe on the floor, its door ajar.

The placement of the safe seemed odd; perhaps it was carried here? A utility room is an odd place for safe-keeping, so close to the foundry itself. Nonetheless, the safe was empty and there were several doors as well as a staircase descending to the basement. Of course, we chose the stairs.

We found ourselves in a set of tunnels leaving at a right-angle. A goblin and a human stood in one. Mundin charged the goblin, and the human drew a short bow. A second goblin flanked Mundin from the other side; between the three he took a beating. I came to his side and stabbed one before he cleaved the other twain with his axe. C came forward to heal the fighter as the human and the wounded goblin took off down the opposite corridor. Shaiira padded off after them, quiet as a cat.

She got the drop on them both and dispatched the goblin in one quick swipe from her bladed scarf. Mundin had doubled back as well, and met the human- or so he thought. “Tis the Brother!” he roared, bringing his axe to bear. 

Tsuto. 

“Don’t kill him!” Vohoi and I called sharply as we raced to the fight, not doubting the dwarf. 
“No promises!” he yelled back. “He hit me first!”
As I entered range, Shaiira said, “He only hit his beard.”
  “I think that’s close enough,” I said. 

“Tsuto! Lay down your weapons and come with us,” Vohoi’s booming tenor echoed in the cramped corridor. “We’ve made arrangements for your safety.” The Tian half-elf- his identity illuminated in the incandescent circle provided by the sorcerer’s _light_ spell on my drawn rapier- ignored the request and instead swung his fists again at the dwarf. Tsuto may be practiced in the martial arts but he was unable to land even a glancing blow on the dwarf. I echoed Vohoi’s call for surrender; the sudden appearance of goblins and an estranged family member in the same place warranted a story.

“Master Tsuto, there is no other way out. Come with us, the glassworks is surrounded. Please, keep your health. It is the best way.” My plea fell to deaf ears- it was obvious he was determined to make a foolhardy stand against overwhelming odds, here, in the belly of his father’s legacy. Axe poised, Mundin hesitated but one second before none called him to stay his hand.

The dwarf’s axe struck true, and Tsuto Kaijitsu was dead. His story over, at least in life. My mates lingered over the body as I approached. Cousin Max had a saying, “The most awkward moment of the hunt is the dressing.” I knelt down beside Tsuto and lidded his eyes; I offered no sentiment, his soul was already given. I rifled through his pack and clothing, handing a bow and arrows, a sword, and the contents of his pack over my head; each was taken in turn. I took his ring and handed it to the sorcerer. 

“Tis a fine ring for an unmarried man,” I said as I winked. “Perhaps it’s enchanted.” The ring was; Vohoi gladly accepted the piece of finery, giving him some magic protection from our enemies.

Tsuto’s fine thieves’ tools were given to Shaiira, who in turn gave me her more mundane set. We also recovered a hefty load of gold and silver dust, likely stolen from the safe.

I recovered Tsuto’s journal and quickly flipped through it. He was involved in many dark plots against Sandpoint-
  Ameiko.

Several doors punctuated the squared corridor, most contained nothing more than glass-making supplies and equipment. One served as Tsuto’s study; for how long he tarried here is not known. I rifled through his desk and snagged a half-full bottle of wine, a recent Magnimar blend. I made note to ask Aldern about the vintner. Shaiira inspected the doors and hallways for traps until we finally found Ameiko- bound, gagged, and unconscious in a storage room. After healing her, we gently broke the news to her. She was, surprisingly, not stunned.

“Aye, I am sad to see Tsuto has fallen finally to his wicked ways. My father-“ she paused long enough to compose herself. “My father. When I met Tsuto here, he told me of a plan to sack Sandpoint, to really stick it to ‘them’, as he called the townsfolk. He had joined a mercenary party, and worked for some sort of demon…” 

She trailed off, and we decided it best to return her to the Rusty Dragon for recuperation. I retired to my room to study Tsuto’s journal.


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## Azkorra (Jul 27, 2013)

Oh, yes! I think I like this journal even better than Arendel's Serpent's Skull story (which BTW I followed from the very beginning to the end). Great job! Keep it up!


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## Abciximab (Jul 29, 2013)

The Sandpoint Heroes are…

Vahoi – Human Male, Stormborn Sorcerer (Brent)
Shaiira – Half-Elven Female, Rogue (Dave)
Caramour – Human Male, Cleric (Peteinmaine)
Mundin Ironhand – Dwarven Male, Fighter (MundinIronHand)
Sivoulette – Human Female, Bard (Soanso)

We’ve had a good start to the AP. Session 2 was the first full session, with a lot of good Role Playing with some combat mixed in. The PCs are creating bonds with the residents of Sandpoint and have quickly become the true Heroes of Sandpoint.

Highlights of Session 2. 

Investigating the goblins.

Sivoulette running interference for Caramour as he went to investigate the “Rats in the Basement”. Quick thinking and Diplomacy saved the day on that one. 

The whole party coming to Amieko’s defense at the rusty dragon (I think they earned more XP from this one non-combat encounter than any other single encounter). 

My crit from a boar vs Shaiira. 12 hp (I believe it was max dmg) to knock her well into the negatives. Ouch.

Everyone did a great job, not just staying engaged, but smoothly moving the story forward. On more than one occasion, I had to jump to an encounter as one of the PCs decided to go in just the right direction. It was an interesting experience, having the players seamlessly driving the story forward. I think it was one of the smoothest sessions I have ever GMed. Hopefully everyone else had as much fun as I did. Session 3 on the other hand… Well, let’s not get ahead of ourselves .

Session 4 will run tomorrow.


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## soanso (Aug 1, 2013)

*Summertime and the living is easy*

Hello, hola, willkommen, greetings, salutations to you all!

First, thanks for following our Story Hour! To write is a selfish pleasure, to share is a simple one. Soanso here, dropping in for a quick IRL note:

What a great group we have, truly thankful to have played with the same core group for almost 5 years- or is it over 5 years? Anyways, 

Rise of the Runelords has been fantastic to play, and I'd like to credit Abciximab with running it so well. The players are digging it- it's our first turn through for all but one, and the outlier is really doing well as the super-non-spoiler. 

We are taking a short break from game-play; our next game is 20 August. In the meantime, I will be posting everything we've experienced up until last night's near-TPK....

Oh yes, I just teased you a bit.

IRL, I'm a session behind in the Fireside Chat. For me, "summering in Maine" means working like a dog, so I'm taking this brief hiatus to bring everything current.

If only it could be "summoning in Maine"... ooh, the minions, the minions!

And when was the last time I saw a dog work? What the-

Anyways, keep an eye on this thread, it will weave a tapestry before your eyes. Grandy Vin told me so.

-Soanso


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## soanso (Aug 6, 2013)

*Beneath Sandpoint*

Tsuto had little affection for Sandpoint. His leather-bound effort was part military campaign journal, part bad poetry fawning over one referred to as “My Love”, and part half-lucid daily entries. With so much information in it, I took my time reading and noting what seemed important. 

The attack on Sandpoint was deliberate and coordinated by Tsuto at least, and perhaps others. His notes detailed the attack, marking the Smuggler’s Tunnels beneath the glassworks as well as a riverfront approach at the town’s eastern border. He listed Brethazmus and Ripnugget as allies; two names I recognized from our chat with the elf ranger, Shalelu. Tsuto paraphrased His Love, writing that once “Malfeshnekor is released and under her command, we won’t need to worry about being subtle.” This Malfeshnekor is an entity worth researching. 


He also hinted at another raid with 200 goblins backing it, something to consider going forward. He also mentioned a being simply called “the Quasit”, whose lair was beneath the town- “Send her freaks up from below via the Smuggler’s Tunnels beneath my father’s glassworks…” Tsuto had a grand plan for invasion; I wondered what kept him from executing these orders to their full extent. 


The next entry chilled me to the bone- Nualia, the adopted aasimar daughter of Father Tobyn, is alive.


We never checked her tomb in the family crypt; it was undisturbed and that was how we left it, in deference to the deceased. Tsuto wrote that the invasion was simply a distraction to gain Tobyn’s body, so that Nualia could sacrifice it - “She remains obsessed with removing what she calls her ‘Celestial taint’ and replacing it with her Mother’s Grace. Burning her father’s remains at the Thistletop shrine seems to have started the transformation, but I can’t say that her new hand is pleasing to me…. Maybe I’ll luck out. Succubi are demons, too, aren’t they?” Tsuto’s obsession was Nualia, who seems to be bent on destroying Sandpoint, or at least herself, in some macabre ritual.


Tsuto also mentioned Nualia’s “obsession with the lower chambers”, perhaps another tie to the Quasit. A thick plot of intrigue, sabotage, and death plagued my mind; I stepped out to find my friends and to share my findings. Surly as Tsuto might have been, something must have warped his mind to this nefarious plot.

  I told myself that perhaps Tsuto’s death was necessary; a splinter of doubt in this evil cabal’s paw. I struggled to find a parable for the event; I found none. This is how tales begin, then. In a moment of necessity, to be forever celebrated or reviled for the outcome.

My friends reclined in the common room; I brought the journal with me and we began in earnest to decipher the text. Shaiira recognized the sketches of Nualia, which surprised me. We decided to further explore the glassworks, hoping to find the goblin’s entry-point and close it. 

  Before we turned in for the evening, we asked Bethanna if Ameiko would see us. The halfling said her mistress was in good health and would meet us in short time. She met us in the drawing room, and said she was as well as could be expected. She told us that Tsuto tried to recruit her to the Thistletop goblin’s banner, and that Nualia did indeed guide her brother’s hand. She refused his offer, of course, and the goblins attacked and captured her. We bid her goodnight, and retired to our chambers for some true rest. 

We awoke, refreshed and ready for the day; Mundin was uncharacteristically jovial at breakfast. I took this as a good portent- a happy dwarf means no rain. A common Shoanti saying about gray mornings near the Storval Plateau; its veracity is questionable, but tis a colloquialism I’ve come to embrace. The more time I spend with the foul-tempered dwarf, the more I find his dour visage a mask for something else, something deeper than the disdain he projects. I wonder if my conviviality strikes him similarly. I respect his prowess in the field, and we’ve yet to sit by the fire to share yesterdays, but I know we both share the tragedy of loss. Tis in his eyes, and likely mine.


We made cursory stops at a few shops in town to pick up some trinkets, and headed back to the glassworks. Descending deeper into the basement, we came to a crossroads of three tunnels. The tunnels leading forward and to our right continued on into the darkness. The third tunnel, to our left, was bricked up, but a hole had been punched through from our side, leaving an opening. We went left.


A humanoid advanced upon us; a zombie, most likely. To our surprise the thing was quick and struck with nasty claws. Combat was over in two blinks of an eye, but I stopped to study the body. C and Vohoi thought it to be a sinspawn; not an undead beast but something warped by the powerful magic of the ancient Thassilonian Runelords. I recognized the reference, but could not believe this was such a creature; my scholarly friends’ gravitas gave my own mind doubts.


We followed the natural cavern until it ended abruptly; a door in the rock to the right was unlocked. Shaiira opened it and we entered a small room of worked stone, a grand statue of a woman holding a finely wrought ranseur in one hand, and a tome embossed with a Thassilonian rune in the other. Vohoi noticed the Sihedron, a rune associated with power in ancient Thassilon, and I noticed the ranseur as being particularly ornate. Sha freed it from the statue; we held our collective breath as the stone continued to stand guard. We studied it briefly, but made no assumptions about it beyond that this was, indeed, an ancient place. When Vohoi tried to determine its arcane potential, nothing but the walls were imbued. Odd to find magic to keep things current, here.


Another door in the tunnel; Shaiira again led us in. This opened to a wooden scaffolding, maybe ten feet above the floor of the room. A horror stood on it, and we advanced.


Twas the size of a man, but odd. Once I met it with my rapier, I knew it to be another sinspawn. 


Its mouth was double-jawed, one set opening onto another, with a set of feelers, maybe tiny hands, set about the chin. Red eyes that absorbed light and flickered with hate. Arms too long, ending in wicked hands tipped with three vicious claws; legs that bent back like a dog’s; deathly pale skin, the kind of pale you expect from a derro, or an undersea fish beyond light. And the tenacity of the walking dead, but fast. Faster than a wight, and more wicked, more hateful in its approach.

  We fell to the beast as another crept up from beneath the scaffolding; I struck true more than once. 

This hero business is an easy sell to myself when I harness the emptiness left by the giants; each time my blade draws blood, I feel the sick pleasure of contrition. Panting, we surveyed the room, what must have been some sort of prison. Empty. This is my family, now. Vengeance grows in my heart, a dark spot I have not felt before. I will not let them die.


----------



## soanso (Aug 15, 2013)

*Foul Water and Bad Portents*

The haunted stone walls howled in mourning, like a far-off hound baying in the fog-shrouded night. Though at the edge of perception, tis real enough. Vohoi has noted the magic aura of this room seems to shift and pulse, as if some ancient magic preserves this place. We quickly searched the room beneath the scaffolding, finding iron pins and hooks in the walls that were once used to hold prisoners in chains, but little else. 

Back up to the scaffolding and to the door, which Shaiira opened with ease.

The next room was some sort of torture chamber. Its archaic apparatuses were in poor shape; though whole, they looked as if they’d crumble with the slightest touch. Again, the walls were in good repair; it was obvious that the architect of this place cared more for the bones than the organs. Another door, another entrance.

This room had a vaulted ceiling, and was fairly rectangular, opening lengthwise to our position. The floor was marked by what seemed to be circular wicker or wooden disks, about five feet in diameter. At the far end of the room stood a goblin, but at the same time, a not-a-goblin. Hands moved to weapons.

Though his melon-head, pointy ears, sickly grey skin and nasty breath were certainly goblin, he was easily twice his kin’s usual size, standing nearly as tall as Vohoi. A third arm branched from the right shoulder, ending in a normal hand, holding an ornate longsword. And a fourth arm, though it was shriveled and seemed useless. His other hands wielded a fine dagger, likely silver, and a well-made hand axe. I sang “Verses of Honor”, an uplifting hymn from old Taldor. Vohoi enchanted Mundin’s axe with an electric charge; this baddie was in for a surprise, should the dwarf hit.

Mundin led the charge, and the beast immediately vomited a string of gore and puss I wish to never see again, stopping the dwarf in his tracks. As he retched, I remembered Grandy Vin’s Forever’thing Recipe, and quickly flashed a magic pulse at the dwarf, who immediately recovered from the vomit-spray and struck the too-big goblin with a vicious hack from his axe, following with an electric charge that scorched the scant hair it had on its back. Shaiira, as always, was in perfect position to strike the enemy; his retaliation missed. Mundin dropped his axe again for the kill.

We stood over the horror, wondering what, exactly, it was. I remembered Shalelu’s assessment of the goblin tribes as my eyes fell to the ornate longsword. Koruvus, the Seventooth champion who disappeared, wielded such a weapon. Shelelu said he was considered a ghost or worse; such details matter little as a foul champion is gone. Mundin now has an enchanted hand axe and a silver dagger, his jagged grin wearing the sum of the battle. The ornate longsword called to me, but my rapier is quicker. We decided to keep the blade until it serves a purpose in battle or on the market.

C and Vohoi consulted for a few minutes, and told us of a powerful mutagen known as “Waters of Lamashtu.” This unholy potable purportedly imbues one with supernatural mutations, such as extra limbs or a larger size, should one survive the ritual. It originates from an uncommon spell of the same name; was this was a deliberate action by some foul soul? Nualia? This might explain Koruvus’ disappearance and transformation- perhaps the Mother of Monsters called him to service, and he imbibed these waters and became an abomination. We should tell Shalelu of Koruvus’ fate, should we meet the elf again. Finding Koruvus here, then, made sense; Lamashtu is revered by the goblins because she freed them from the diabolical machinations of the Prince of Hell, Asmodeus.  

Back to the wicker carpets. We braced ourselves as C tipped one over with his walking stick-a pit in the ground about eight feet deep and under five across, with a zombie shuffling hungrily within. Perhaps once a macabre garbage disposal, now an afterthought. We shuddered and moved on to the door.

The door opened onto a weird, circular room. The floor was checkerboard, and in it several items floated in midair. The walls were plated in red metal, and embossed with strange runes. Vohoi identified them as Thassilonian, and interpreted them to be those of anger, rage, and wrath. 

Suspended in midair were a dead raven, a scroll, an iron bar with a forked metal tip, a book, and a glass bottle filled with liquid.

None were brave enough to step into the room. The angry runes and the hatred exuded by the red metal gave us all pause. C went back to the previous room and purloined a zombie lid, attached it to the end of his quarterstaff, and batted the items our way.

With a simple game of rebound and deft hands, Caramour was able to position the items towards us. We recovered a scroll ensorcelled with _burning hands_, a wand of _shocking grasp_,  a holy book dedicated to Lamashtu, and a bottle of Magnimarian wine- the same style and vintage we found on Tsuto’s desk. The raven was left in orbit; if only we could speak with the dead or see its last moments. 

Two bottles of wine with the same vintage and vintner- I should drop in on my friend Aldern Foxglove; perhaps he can shed some light on this coincidence, being a nobleman of Magnimar. I am haunted by the raven, a portent unheralded and undisclosed.

The next room was small, and presented three doors, each marked with the seven-pointed star of wicked blades; PopPop and I once encountered the symbol as we trekked across Varisia. His blood ran cold and we hurried from the obelisk bearing its mark. The brave man spoke no words. I recalled the same symbol emblazoned on the book held by the statue holding the ranseur. I would need to ask Vohoi about the history of this mark.

The room itself was a graveyard of crumbled furniture; though a sheet of paper discovered on the floor held a _flaming sphere_ spell. We opened the three doors in succession; each contained the mutated skeleton of some sort of humanoid. I guessed Waters of Lamashtu gone wrong. I closed the doors on the grim remains, wishing them to never again see light. Perhaps these were to be the meals for the pit-zombies we encountered. 

“Vohoi,” I said, closing the third and final door. “You seem to know much of this mark. I have seen it, too, in my days. What of it? I know it is a terrible portent for travelers.”

Vohoi thought a moment, and said, “The Sihedron, as it is known to history, is the mark of the Runelords. We must be in some sort of ancient temple or stronghold, for it to be so freely displayed. The seven points of the mark represent the seven schools of arcane magic practiced during the time of the Thassilonian Empire.”

“Divination was not a school then,” C added.

“Correct,” said Vohoi. “But now is not the time for a history lesson. We must proceed- the correlations in Tsuto’s journal to the foul fiends beneath the glassworks gives us great cause for concern for Sandpoint.”

“Aye,” Mundin said, shadowed in the darkened room. “We must rid this place of evil.”

“Follow me,” Shaiira said, setting off deeper into the complex. The tunnel brayed with energy. At first I thought it sad mourning, now I am almost convinced it is the maddened howls of the hateful spirits spawned, trapped, and killed here; the spirits of spite, evil, and wrath.


----------



## soanso (Aug 19, 2013)

*From Sandpoint to Thistletop*

The tunnel ended in a chamber that featured a stone basin and several carvings of monstrous abominations and prayers which Caramour identified as sacred to Lamashtu. This, then, must have been the source of the unholy potable. A set of double doors were summarily unlocked and untrapped, and Shaiira carefully opened them. We readied ourselves for any horror we might encounter beyond the ancient portal.

The long chamber’s walls were covered in large, spiked runes, some painted, some carved. They were similar to the ones we met in the 
checkerboard-floating item-weirdness room, but were scribed with a more agitated, angrier serif.  

The room’s vaulted ceiling traveled the entire length. Across the room, a short stone staircase led to a pool crafted from polished humanoid skulls; a small, winged being hovered over the roiling liquid, and two sinspawn flanked the pool.

“What is it?” Shaiira asked.
  “Likely a demon,” Vohoi answered.
  “Might be Tsuto’s ‘Quasit’,” I said. 
  “They are small, winged demons,” C confirmed.
  “It’s dead,” Mundin answered as he hefted his axe and strode towards the beast.
  “Who dares enter the Mother’s Sanctum?” the demon shrilled, her tiny knife held to her wrist.

We followed the dwarf to our foes, quickly cutting down the sinspawn. The demon took the wee knife and cut itself over the pool, droplets of blood splashed the surface; another foul sinspawn rose from the waters to attack. It was quickly felled. We surrounded the pool as the quasit took to the far corner of the cathedral-ceilinged room, and became invisible. A pair of dire rats appeared and were quickly dispatched. The demon briefly appeared but disappeared again. Vohoi attempted to track it with magic, but was unsuccessful.

Several of us succumbed to magical stasis while our spells and weapons glanced off its wretched hide. The battle wore on, and it became quite apparent we were unprepared for the demon. Its ability to incapacitate us with its magic, in combination with our inability to penetrate its abyssal hide with our simple weapons, was trying. Grandy Vin was telling me to focus on its powers, to figure out its game like hide-a-shell, but the idea fell to the floor- a casualty of my inexperience with such a situation.

“We cannot strike it,” said Vohoi.
  “My arrows are useless, and it’s flying about, I think,” Shaiira said, “and it’s enchanted itself invisible.”
  “Aye, Sister, tis too much for now,” I concurred.  The three of us slowly backed ourselves to the doors; Mundin and C tried again to engage the demon, who threw a needle-like dagger at C, but missed. 
  “To us!” I shouted, motioning to the dwarf and the Vudrani.

Mundin spat; the bloodlust was in his eyes. “Nay, child, I can slay this beast, I just need to-” the clang of his enchanted hand-axe against the floor echoed in the cavernous room “- hit it! Damned beard of Droskar! It was just, it was just right there!”

“Mundin- to me, now! We must go! Caramour, what are you doing?” I shouted to the far end of the chamber, where Caramour tarried by the dread cistern.

A pair of eagles flooded in golden light appeared from thin air; C moved towards the dwarf, stooping to grab the silver dagger and hand-axe. Each was an unsuccessful attempt to strike the demon, and the eagles fared no better, striking as it came visible again but with little effect. Shaiira, Vohoi, and I moved out of the room, waiting for the cleric and the fighter. Mundin shouted what I can only imagine to be an insulting and profanity-laced tirade in his native tongue towards the thin air as we slammed the door behind us. I grabbed my hammer and iron spike and slammed the piton home, hoping to seal the “mother” and her “children” within for at least one night. 

Mundin paced, muttering, “By the corpse of Dravik, I could’ve had the thing! I only needed time-” 
  “We had no time, friend,” Shaiira said quietly. “Were we to wait a fortnight for you to strike the beast, then what?”
  “A fortnight without ale,” C said. Mundin stopped his pacing and his head snapped up, staring at C in disbelief.

I laughed, hard. I had to. Vohoi chuckled, C’s eyes reflected a humorous light, the dwarf seethed.

Then he laughed, too. 

“Aye, let’s be to the Dragon, fill our bellies with ale and our scabbards with a proper demon-killing arsenal,” he said.

A fine idea. We quickly swept through the ruins we’d already mapped, leaving the few unexplored spurs for later. We asked Gomer and Guber to post a watch at the glassworks, and to alert us immediately should anything raise their suspicion of the place. They acquiesced, and we headed to Ameiko’s for rest.

We arrived late in the evening, and a platter of cured meats, cheese, and crusty bread greeted us, along with a savory silver beet relish and smashed black mustard seed tapenade, a mug of fine dwarven stout, and a bottle of Sargavan croix-de-guerre, a blush wine with a complex nose of apple, Thornberry, thyme, and a coppery undertone culled from the bloodrose, a blossom native to Garund. The savory, tangy relish met the smoked meat and strong cheese head on, a delectable supper for such a trying day. The Garundi wine was a strong compliment to the repast, respecting everything at the plate.  Mundin drained his mug in one slow, satisfying draught.

After we ate, we talked strategy. I had a bounty of coin, and offered it for whatever we might need. I planned to purchase cold iron bolts for myself and Mundin, as well as some arrows for Shaiira- at least we could hit and likely damage the flying demon with cold iron. Caramour, always quizzical, simply stated he would be ready tomorrow. We agreed it best to start early, and to speak to Father Zantus. We had no magic to counter the demon’s invisibility; perhaps he did, or could provide us guidance with a prayer.

A few rounds of brandy saw us to sweet, silent sleep.

When my eyes creaked open with the rising daylight, I was secretly happy that nothing disturbed my slumber. I rose and stretched, reasoning that either nothing had crawled from the depths beneath Sandpoint- or it had, and everyone lay dead. I assumed the former as I padded to the washroom. At breakfast we quickly ate and hit the market for supplies. We met with Father Zantus and told him what we found beneath Sandpoint.

“A corrupt place, Father,” Caramour  said, calmly. “Myself and the scholar both believe there is a danger in this place.” 
  “Indeed, Father,” Vohoi said. “I recognized some of the runes to be those of wrath, anger, and the like.”
  “The walls hum with hatred,” I added.

We described the statue of the woman holding the ranseur and the book carved with the sihedron, the altar dedicated to Lamashtu, the twisted goblin, the quasit, and the sinspawn.

“I would like to follow you into the dark,” Zantus said, “so that I may see with mine own eyes what it is you speak. Should I prove a burden, I will return topside.”
  “Desna’s Chosen are never a burden, Father,” I replied. He smiled.

Back to the glassworks; we met the sentry and found they’d be on watch for a few more hours than promised. I passed each a few silver and thanked them for their vigilance. When I was young, maybe twelve summers, we made several monthly trips to Riddleport. I was old enough to see things. PopPop knew that and winked, once, and came to me sitting on the drover’s plank, and said low, “A silver in hand can spring a sword in need.” He had just given coin to a few guards to keep them dumb enough to the Sczarni’s questions, sure to come after we’d left the city. 

  We made our way to the quasit’s lair; the door had been jacked open enough to allow a small creature to slip through. I silently cursed my cheap Korvosan iron spike. Next time I’m in Janderhoff…

We entered the seemingly empty room. Vohoi searched it with his magic, but we found nothing hiding. We brought Father Zantus to the skull-pool, I was suddenly struck by a fear that he knew something nefarious, and that we might be in grave danger. The waters were less violent than they had been yesterday.

“A summoning pool,” he said. “My guess is that it has a limited functionality, that it summons a finite number of creatures.” My heart tightened with apprehension. 
  “Let us draw blood to test this theory,” Zantus said, looking us all in the eye. No one blinked. The cleric shrugged. “Then I guess it’s my turn,” he said, drawing a knife to the tip of his last finger, squeezing drops of blood into the pool. It roiled and a sinspawn emerged, only to be hacked down. 

The pool went dark, ceased its noxious roiling and lay still. Father Zantus, to my relief, did not turn into an abomination. 

We moved to explore the last region of the complex. Travelling down a corridor and up a set of stairs, we met a circular room occupied by another pool ringed by skulls. This time, one rose to attack. The vargouille was surprised by Shaiira’s cold iron arrow and my rapier, and quickly fell. The door across the way opened onto a rockslide. Doubling back through the dungeon, we could not find the quasit; it had escaped either physically or through subterfuge, as our combined magic could not place it. Caramour burst positive energy unto the pit zombies, ensuring further explorers would not need to hassle themselves with that hazard.

We headed back into the main tunnel that extended from the glassworks. One branch travelled about a half-mile until Shaiira found a secret door; 
it opened onto a circular cave that held evidence of goblin activity- smelly pallets, rat and bird bones, other refuse. Goblin tracks led from the beaches to this point, and then through the secret door; but none led back to this place. 

The final spur leading from the glassworks ended abruptly in a rockslide. We returned topside and searched the river banks east of town for any continued goblin activity, but found none. Father Zantus thanked us for our efforts and returned to the temple. Being early evening, we took to the cliffs, and a fellow named Gorvi met us.

“Aye, an’howyado. Gorvi’s de name, been here junkin’ forebber.” Gorvi stank of trash and rum.
  “Gorvi, seen many goblins about?” I asked.
  “Neh. They been gone since ah since the battles, yep. Us’lly three, five days they junk.”
  “Ever notice particular marks?” I asked. 
  “Summa have a necklace with teeth. Ottern’ that, naw. They’s far out, I don’ pay much mind ‘cept for the Dealer.”
  “Who’s the Dealer?” Shaiira asked.
  “Da gobby who tries to sell his finds,” Gorvi coughed a lung. “Sometimes he’s got real cheese.” We took our leave, none the wiser.  

We decided to meet with the local sage, Broddart Quint. He seemed to recognize Vohoi and Mundin, but I could glean nothing by that. He met us in his well-stuffed home, more museum than anything. Charts, maps, thick leather tomes, a ball on a spike that spun – a “globe” he called it. Piles of papers, documents, scrolls, a suit of Taldor armor, and floor-to-ceiling bookshelves crammed with books, documents, and scrolls circled an overstuffed armchair attended by a squat, wide-topped mahogany table, also covered in books and scrolls.

We described all we had encountered in the dungeon below Sandpoint.

“The statue you speak of, it is likely that of Alaznast, the Runelord of Wrath. The Thassilonian Runelords have a varied, compelling history in Varisia. 

“It seems you found what is known as a rune-well. A sacred place for the Runelord Alaznast, the recent activity here must have stirred up the place’s power.” We chatted for a fair time about the town and any details he could give us. His eyes lit when we produced the ranseur we freed from the statue. He stood firm on the price, which we decided was good enough.

None of us lived here previous, but Sandpoint has taken us in because we happened to be here when the town needed help, and rose to serve. We stopped the goblin invasion, only to learn that the tide pulled harder. Unable to convince Tsuto to turn himself in to the local authorities, we found his absolute distrust of anyone, even his half-sister, had driven him to deplorable moral depths.

There is a danger hovering over Sandpoint, and her name is Nualia. The fire that consumed the old temple supposedly included the pastor and his daughter, an adopted aasimar. We know from Tsuto’s journal she lives and is attempting some sort of transformation.

We know, too, that Thistletop is the linchpin in many of Tsuto’s ravings in his journal; he says the ritual to remove Nualia’s celestial heritage took place there. We decide to travel on horseback.


----------



## soanso (Aug 20, 2013)

*Trouble at Thistletop*

We set out from Sandpoint as soon as Sheriff Belor arrived with a small detachment of soldiers from Magnimar. I expected more, but this should be enough to keep the town safe. We travelled east, wary that without a guide the goblins would be difficult to track. We took the Lost Coast Road, chatting up the few isolated farmers and travelers we met. All agreed that the Nettlewood was infested with goblins, but had no more knowledge than we about their situation.

Aptly named, the Nettlewood was a hardy, dense forest of close-knit trees and burly shrubs, hugging the road and obscuring the sea from our view. Vigilance was essential, and we were able to find a switchback trail in the heath. Following what seemed to be a deer path deeper into the wood, we came to a small clearing. 

“Walls,” Shaiira said, taking a moment to soak in the sun that leaked through the towering canopy. Raising nearly two stories, such a collection of scree and shrub growth I’d never seen in my travels. Shaiira stood a moment, pointing out the structured vines, brush, and trees that formed a natural border. “Walls have doors, and… here!” She said quietly, pointing to a peculiar square in the bramble that made me wish I had gauntlets. The sharp thorns in the Nettlewood are enough to draw serious blood. Mundin opened the thicket door for us, revealing a cramped tunnel of underbrush and thorns. My stomach turned, but I followed the rest into the small corridor.

We made our way by taking left turns through the tunnels. We reached one point that appeared to be a lookout post over the sea; we could see the rock spire of Thistletop if we craned our necks hard enough. This was something else, then. We continued on and reached another lookout rook. We could clearly see the island. Another thistle-barbed door greeted us; Mundin threw it open and we happened upon nearly a dozen goblins. Shaiira and Mundin set themselves to the doorway as we tried to pick them off from behind. 

I sang a lullaby to enhance Vohoi’s _sleep_ spell, which dropped many of them into slumber. Mundin’s axe was true, and Shaiira fought valiantly. One of the goblins aided the effort by striking down one of his own for his weakness against us Longshanks. I heard the far-off braying of goblin dogs. Mundin, Shaiira, and Vohoi held the goblins in check as C and I turned to cover our flank.  

Despite the cramped quarters, we were enjoying great success against the bastards; a quartet of goblin dogs appeared, and C and I decided to wade in against them. We knew our allies would wipe the floor with the goblins in no time, and we could engage their dogs and draw them back to the rest of the party. Shaiira joined us across the room, leaving Mundin and Vohoi to mop up the incapacitated goblins.

A big, mangy, yellow-toothed cat slinked around the corner, red eyes pulsing anticipation. I took pause.

Something was wrong.

And I did not hear the sounds of success from the far side of the chamber I expected.

We tangled with the dogs until another goblin came to the scene. Its raiment was enough to panic my heart- an ensorcelled goblin. As it chanted, my heart sank. The living walls of the warren reached to grab us, entangling us with their dangerous nettles. 

Too quickly the tide turned; now we were in danger. Split by the goblin’s magic, things fell apart. Shaiira, C, and I were taking real damage from the goblin dogs; the cat was devastating. Caramour dropped first, being closest to it. The cat ravaged him with its claws and then dropped him with a vicious bite. It prowled the battlefield, stalking its next kill. Shaiira and I exchanged a glance; we would survive this.
  Meanwhile, Mundin and Vohoi attempted to finish off the remaining goblins on their side of the battlefield, but met little success. The goblin’s spell gave us all pause to rendezvous.

The cat next pounced on Shaiira, swiping and biting with its vicious attacks as its goblin master gleefully danced. In a few seconds, my sister was dead. I had seen her fall once, and it scared my soul; this time my soul echoed the dull thud of her body to the packed earth of the warren. She was dead. Enraged, I attacked the goblin, striking true. 

“Mundin!” I called as hard as my lungs could.

I knew there was too much between us to survive. The goblin’s magic was too much to overcome- the very wood could kill us if given the chance. This, and the large cat; in my falling mind, ‘twas the first goblin druid I’d ever seen; hopefully my last.

I was torn down by the pack of goblin dogs, I think. I know I crumpled into a heap. 
  *
  Mundin heaved a sigh, looking towards the entangled growth that separated him from Shaiira and the rest. He and Vohoi were trapped on the wrong end of magic.

His heart skipped when the dire nettles were dispelled- it was the worst of all scenarios. The others were captured, or worse. He hefted his axe and turned to Vohoi, a stranger barely known but an ally now.

“Ye might best say a prayer now. You’ll die alone.” Mundin walked towards their allies’ last known position.
  Vohoi pulled himself up to his full height, nearly another dwarf taller than his companion. “Ye best say a prayer now, friend, for we die together.”
  The dwarf stopped, and turned his head. “Aye?”
  “Aye.” Vohoi met Mundin as the goblin shaman and its cat moved in for the kill.

Mundin traded blows with both goblin and cat, who ravaged him with claw and tooth. Vohoi, sensing the battle was out of hand, made one last attempt to turn the tide.

Focusing his last spell, he jolted the druid with a cacophony of electricity, sending the howling goblin slinking away, cat protecting the retreat.


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## Azkorra (Aug 26, 2013)

Ouch!  

Even though this ominously sounds like a TPK, I sincerely hope it hasn't been one as I really dig this journal and the characters involved!


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## soanso (Aug 28, 2013)

*Thistletop Blues*

Mundin and Vohoi waited what seemed a lifetime, until all they heard was the sonorous crash of waves upon the rocks far below. The dwarf unstoppered a potage and poured it down Caramour’s throat. In a moment, the cleric was restored, and he immediately burst positive energy.

I came to, groggy and heavy-headed. One look in the direction I did not want my eyes to turn to confirmed what I had not forgotten-

Shaiira was dead.

Caramour’s energy burst did not affect her. I moved towards her like a drunk on the heaving deck of a storm-tossed caravel, keeping my left hand low for support; I had tarried at death’s door too long. My mind was still blasted by battle and trauma as I approached her body. I put my ear on her chest and begged Pharasma for Shaiira’s life.

All for not.

My sister was dead. The family was shattered, again. I was alone, again, without identity, without my sister, left alone, again. Am I the curse, the unlucky soul that steals away my own kin? Am I the facilitator of the Farateldi demise?  My heavy head held so much. My eyes watered, and I lifted them to the sky, hoping that Desna might give me a sign.

Halfway to the heavens, I saw Caramour. And Mundin. And Vohoi. Each knelt at my sister’s side. Why did Tsuto turn on his kin? How could you choose pride over family? I- no, we- found each other, so how can you turn away family? I’d already lost everything once, landed in Sandpoint on a whim, and then found my sister. And then I found this band; I’ll be shouldered with each of them to the end. They had gathered at Shaiira’s side because it was right. 

“Desna, keep her in your grace as she walks to the Boneyard,” I whispered, passing my hand over her face, closing her eyes to the world. We stood, silent as stones. I prepared my bedroll to transport my sister back to Sandpoint.

Shaiira’s eyelids fluttered for an instant, as if they were butterfly wings. Then they shot wide open and she vomited blood; C quickly cast a healing spell on her before she passed out. I shrieked with joy; her heart beat echoed in my ear as we burdened her steed with supplies, and she rode, unconscious, in my arms for the long trek back to Sandpoint.


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## soanso (Aug 28, 2013)

Welcome and stay tuned!


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## Abciximab (Aug 29, 2013)

End of Session 4.​
That was a close call. Luckily C and Siv were able to stabilize, but Shaiira had to be saved with Hero Points. 

There _are_ some new characters coming up… That’s all I’ll say about that for now.

That covers everything up to Session 4. We played session 5 on the 20th of August and the next session will be the 3rd of September. 

My favorite sessions so far have been session 2 and session 5. Session 3 & 4 had some _really_ tough encounters that took up a good chunk of time. The Quasit in session 3 was a stalemate that dragged on and on without either side being able to cause any real harm to the other. The Goblin Druid in session 4… that was a tough encounter and, as Azkorra observed, very nearly ended with a TPK. Almost as stressful for the GM as it was for the players. 

Contrary to popular belief, I actually want my players and their characters to succeed and survive the entire AP.

The combined penalties for Squeezing and being in the area of an Entangle spell really taxed the player’s mobility and led to the dreaded “splitting of the party”. Though they were separated by only 20 to 30 feet, it might as well have been a mile, with the front line fighter unable to close with the enemy. This left the cleric, the bard and the rogue confronting an overwhelming force. (Players: “How long does Entagle last?!?” GM: “For this battle? It might as well be forever.”  )

Once they were down, the Goblin Druid and his cat (Fear the Cat!) dropped the Entangle and closed with the fighter and the wizard. A critical hit from Jolt (one of the Cantrips left out of Ultimate Magic) brought the Goblin down to single digits (3 hp to be exact) and the Goblin and his pet beat a hasty retreat. 

Luckily, after having faced two frustrating and difficult encounters back to back, the players returned to the table for session 5. What happened then? Stay tuned, Sivoulette will be back to tell the tale! (Unless she died, or was knocked unconscious, or lost her voice, or…)

(My apologies if I spell character names wrong from time to time, the players have some very creative names and I can’t take the time to look them up every time I mention one of them…)


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## soanso (Aug 30, 2013)

We rode straight to the Cathedral, where Father Zantus greeted us and restored our health. We told him of our tribulations, and he was kind enough to listen. We left his good grace for our beds at the Rusty Dragon. The newness of the adventuring life is wearing off, and we sat together and created a crude memory-map and discussed the goblin warren at Thistletop. 

“Ya should’ve doubled back to me,” Mundin said, his eyes meeting mine.

“We couldn’t, between the goblin dogs and the great cat,” I paused, looking into my wine before lifting my eyes to meet his steely gaze. “We’d have perished, all of us.”

“The cat shoulda been your target, what happened?” he asked. And he was right to. Uncle Max was our leader when swords were drawn; he often marshaled us to strike the greatest foe in unison, to show our own ferocity and bravery to whatever bandits or monstrous creature assaulted our caravan. A strategy that worked well until the giants struck near the Storval Plateau.    

“We couldn’t hit it. Between the cramped space, the druid’s spell, its own natural grace, and the angles in that warren, we were trapped,” I said.

“I’ve fought many battles,” Mundin said, draining a healthy portion of his ale. “Take out the biggest hitter first, and you survive the longest.”

“Mundin,” C interjected, “though your strategy is viable for a platoon of warriors, we were a trio simply outmatched at the end of events. Everything was in hand until the druid cast its spell. Perhaps we should have retreated.”

“Aye,” said Shaiira. “Though I cut the cat good, it was stronger than its master.”

“I’ve met many druids,” I said, “And their pet is their strength. But the pet is nothing without its master. The entangling magic is of great concern-”

“The master is of no consequence,” Mundin interrupted, “The spell would still stand, druids can pass through such difficult terrain should-” 

“But _entangle _affects everyone, including the caster,” Vohoi added. “Movement would likely be as difficult for them as for us. Perhaps retreat was an option. Maybe it would have dismissed the spell if we came together.”

“Or you could have moved to us,” I said, feeling stung by my poor tactical choices. Singing about fighting is easy; doing it is proving harder than I thought. An awkward silence hit the table. We had survived, but at great cost. Perhaps I am cursed. It was my idea to take C and Shaiira to quell the goblin dogs; the druid and the great cat were a deadly surprise. I sometimes forget I am not all the Farateldis, just one who knows them all.  

Bethanna, as always, waited patiently in the corner. I waved her over.

“Yes, Madam?”

“Ugh, call me Siv, I’ve never run a whorehouse in my life,” I said, winking. I have taken to teasing her for her impeccable manners. I respect how hard she works, so I try and have some fun. She blushed. “If we could have a round of brandy, an ale for the dwarf, and are there any sweets in the pantry tonight?”

“We have cocoa-infused angel food cakes filled with a tart cherry and toasted hazelnut butter-cream,” she replied.

“We need some angels, if the staff is still about,” I said. “Chocolate makes everything better.” 

“Yes Mada- Yes, Siv,” she said, smiling broadly. 

Bethanna returned with brandy, ale, and cake. “You are an angel yourself, dear,” I said. She bowed and retreated to her corner, always vigilant. We were the last party in the main hall. I stood and raised my glass.

“To Mundin and Vohoi,” I said. “Because if not, we’d be dead. Your bravery accounts for our lives, and for that I vow to keep us all safe, and to sing songs of your valor should the fireside ever present a moment of rest. We have left Sandpoint and now walk with the wolves. What awaits us is unknown; what we have is skill, steel, and soul. Salut!”

Mundin then stood, raising his mug. “Aye, here’s to us. Nothing can keep us apart, and ev’ry battle brings us closer together,” he paused, odd since the dwarf never spoke more than one thought at a time. “I’ve kin, too, but I raise a mug to you all, you are my brothers and sisters. Together we fight the dark tomorrow.” He drank a long haul from his tankard. I looked askance at Shaiira; she also recognized the gravitas of Mundin’s words.

Caramour was next. “A great trial lies before us. This druid is of great concern. Perhaps we should try to recruit another to our cause.”

“It makes sense,” Vohoi said. “We were taken for dead last night; another sword might benefit our cause.”

I smiled; men who think before they act are a rarity in my circle.


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## Abciximab (Aug 30, 2013)

Here’s Tae Us – Wha’s Like Us – Damn Few And They’re A’ Deid

Here's to Us! Who's like us? Damn few and they're all dead!

For a moment I thought that's where Mundin was headed 

(Anyone know the video game reference for a cookie? (The translation, not the original Scottish))


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## ibayboy (Aug 31, 2013)

Mass Effect 3?


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## soanso (Sep 11, 2013)

*A New Blade*

My thoughts traveled to Aldern, wondering where he might be; alas, he had left the previous morning, presumably to his family holdings near Magnimar. I must make a point to call upon him there; such a tree might bear fruit should our travels take us west. After a breakfast of boiled bread, soft-cooked eggs, rashers and cantaloupe, we headed to meet Father Zantus for Desna’s blessing before we once again took to Thistletop. 

Zantus met us in the apse, excited to see us. “Friends,” he said, exuberance spiking his tone, “I’ve great news. Two itinerants sheltered here last night, thank Desna- an elf and a dwarf- I made mention of your trial, and both were eager to lend their service.”

“Did ya broker their wage, too?” Mundin said as he spat to the ground.

“Easy, he’s here to help,” Shaiira said. “We need what we can get.”

“Rest yourselves, both tarry less than a fortnight in Sandpoint. I can tell you the elf is quickly gone. Likely a stock-and-supply visit; he is an outrider for a group I do not know fully, but know they battle goblins and strive to keep the northern woods friendly for the farmers and merchants living and traveling through the region. He carries a token from Shalelu, and bears no malice in his tone. The dwarf…” Zantus paused, his loss of words not lost to us.

“Go on,” Mundin said.

“She does not speak. At least, not to me. Her weapons and armor have seen little battle, but are not new. She bears the crest of Sarenrae on her armor and on a chain about her neck. I’d wager she is a holy warrior of the goddess, but if she speaks the trade tongue- she hides it. She has respected the cathedral itself, and prayed to each of the gods housed here. Ah, here is the woodsman,” Zantus raised the greeting of Erastil to a tall elf exiting the shrine of Old Deadeye.

I felt Desna smile upon our band. We Farateldis never turn away a hand; the road is too long for disdain. One day at the markets in Riddleport, we were having incredible unluck. The supply wagon’s axle had split, and our guide, a Kellid sellsword, sprang from the lead wagon and disappeared into the crowd when a gang of three Izaraldo thugs sauntered up. Of course, PopPop put them in line and they went on their way; he was never afraid of the Sczarni. But we were without a wagon and a guide. “The Abyss can take cowards, give me a dwarf any day,” Grandy Vin said, spitting into the dusty road. “Jaff, you’ve the hand at cards and ale, rustle the leaves and find us a craftsman.” Sure enough, Shadow Jaffy found a dwarf cartwright at a taphouse around the corner sober enough to mend the axle. Krodar traveled with us for a few weeks, leaving us at Janderhoff.

To add an elf to our family history is a grand thing; the elves are not the kind to meddle in our petty affairs. C was first to engage him, greeting him with an antiquated but respectful flourish.  

The elf was at least amused, if not impressed by the gesture, as archaic as it was. “Those who know me call me Jae,” he said plainly. “I am only passing through Sandpoint, but the good Father said you might need an experienced guide.”

“Aye,” Caramour said, “We could use one familiar with the area. Though we dodged goblins yesterday, today leaves no promise.”
  “Eyes and ears are yours, then,” Jae said. “I frequent the wilderness north and east of Sandpoint, and am familiar with the cruel habits of the Thistletop tribe.”
  “We face grave danger, your presence is timely,” Vohoi said.
  “Jae, welcome. We will be fighting goblins, and who knows what else. Your guidance is Desna’s grace,” I said.
  “Aye,” Shaiira said. “But you have no bow, elf.”
  “She was sundered a few nights back fighting a werewolf,” Jae said. “I have commissioned another here in town, till then I’m yours.”    

Meanwhile, a low conversation crept to me in a dialect I barely knew. The two dwarves had found an alcove just outside Sarenrae’s chapel. Mundin took it upon himself to meet the holy warrior; I watched quietly as the dwarves parlayed and exchanged the formal greetings of traditional dwarven society. I then realized there was much about Mundin I did not know. We had traded stories of our travels throughout Varisia over several brandies, but I knew next to nothing about him. After they had finished their ritual, they strode towards the rest of us, milling about.

“I would like to introduce Noria Rockbottom, paladin of Sarenrae,” Mundin said. Noria bowed low. Her armor showed some signs of battle, and her blade was well-made; she is a dwarven warrior. “Her family traces a holy lineage back to the days of Taargick, the revered king who led the dwarven nation out of darkness and into Golarion.” Knowing some of the dwarves’ predilection for pomp, I bowed low to Noria, a sign of both respect and fealty to her lineage. 

“Welcome to us, friends,” I said. “Today we distill hindsight for our journey. We face a tremendous challenge- an unknown evil called Nualia rises somewhere in the Thistlewood. She is at least aligned with demons, and might be one herself. The goblins are her distraction, but also a real blight for the people living here.”

“We’ve already explored part of the Thistletop warren, and were routed by a goblin caster, likely a druid. Its _entangle_ proved deadly, and its firecat accomplice is a fierce combatant. We can expect the same from the druid- a cramped space further complicated by grasping nettles. Our best tactic is to try and break free of the spell and meet master and cat evenly.”

“Aye,” Mundin said, spitting. “We laid low many gobby fighters despite our struggles, but the druid and a few gobby dogs remain.”

We set off for Thistletop once more. Jae scouted ahead, but found no other entrance save the one we knew. We entered and were beset by a lone goblin dog; Jae quickly put it down. We heard the far-off sound of a horn, and were quickly met by a small pack of goblin dogs, the druid and its cat. Though we managed to spread out, the _entangle_ spell still wreaked havoc on the group. We circled around or battled through it as best we could.

Shaiira, Mundin, and I skirted the area of the spell to reach the cat and druid; meanwhile the elf had burst through the spell to land a solid blow on a goblin dog, but was swiped hard by the druid’s pet. The cat then moved to my sister and swiped at her; I saw the blood and gripped my rapier. I wasn’t singing as much as I was shouting verses of The Old Black Rose at this point. 

I’ve seen this before, and it won’t happen again.

C appeared out of the briar, a welcome sight. How he moves so quickly is a testament to faith. He healed Shaiira and then made his way to the elf, still standing but the cat was on the prowl. Shaiira dropped to a defensive crouch- she is learning.

Vohoi lobbed _magic missile_ at several goblin dogs, and the druid, helping to weaken the enemy. The cat swiped the elf again, and our guide fell to the ground. Mundin then raised his axes and split the cat twain, finally killing it.

“Where’s Rockbottom?” Mundin yelled over the battlefield as the druid scampered away.

“More like Leadbottom,” Shaiira said to me, a laugh in her eyes. I laughed, too. Where was our new blade? Likely as frustrated by the druid’s sorcery as Mundin was last time we encountered it. “Noria, follow my voice!” I shouted, as I doubled around the spell to where the goblin had scampered. I was met by Jae as the paladin of Sarenrae burst out of the entanglement.

“You call this a challenge?” she growled. “Let’s end this right now,” she lowered her blade, pointing it at the druid. 

We had it cornered; I struck first and quickly dealt it a deadly thrust from my rapier. Noria then struck true with her greatsword; I could not help to notice the wave of satisfaction that was Jae’s face as he ran the goblin through with his longsword. He had clearly won a personal battle with the druid’s demise.

We then moved through the compound to the open air; freedom never felt so good. We stood on a precipice about 60 feet above the crashing waves; a precarious rope bridge connected the warren to another island, upon which sat a squat citadel, its guard towers looming. Mundin was the first to cross.


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## Abciximab (Sep 17, 2013)

Nope, sorry ibayboy. I was gonna give you xp just for guessing, but apparently I need to “spread it around”. The game I’m thinking of is pretty old. (Hint) It was a sequel to an old text adventure.

So the encounter with the Goblin Druid (Take #2) had seven PCs! One was only a one shot addition as peteinmaine’s son was around for that game. The other add on should be more permanent, Seth has returned to our game table after a long absence! He bailed just after the end of our Kingmaker campaign (in which he played a witch) due to real life time conflicts. 

So now the heroes are:

Mundin Ironhand - Dwarf Fighter 3 (Mundinironhand)
Caramour - Human (Vudrani) Cleric of Good 3 (Peteinmaine)
Vohoii - Human Stormborn Sorcerer 3 (Brent)
Shaiira - Half Elf Rogue 3 (Dave)
Sivoulette - Human (Varisian) Bard 3 (Soanso)
Noria Rockbottom – Dwarf Paladin of Sarenrae 3 (Seth)

They should hit 4th in tonight’s game. Soanso’s running about 1.5 sessions behind at this point.


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## soanso (Sep 23, 2013)

As Mundin lumbered across the rope bridge, Jae scouted the fortress.

“Two towers, of course, and a main gate with no guards. I see a circuit of heeled grass around the fort that suggests regular patrols. No windows, no lights from the arrow slits. I see some activity atop each tower, but it appears we have not yet been spotted.”

  As Mundin reached halfway across the bridge, a pair of goblins atop goblin dogs rounded the corner of the fortress to our right.

“Ready?” Vohoi asked me.
  “Ready,” I said, chanting a soulful _lullaby_ across the chasm, focusing on the patrol. The goblin riders noticed our presence, but not before their dogs succumbed to Vohoi’s _sleep_ spell. The riders were tossed from their mounts, and Mundin charged towards them; his axe struck true and one goblin was dead.

Jae and Shaiira next stepped onto the swaying rope bridge, and then I. When I was but a few paces along, the left side of the bridge’s supports gave way, and we were turned to the crashing sea below. I instinctively grabbed at the bridge; being raised in a bucking wagon has its advantages. I looked to my companions, relieved that they, too, clung to the bridge, dangled precariously over the rocks and heaving surf.

I moved back to Vohoi and C, and made landfall. There, the three of us pulled in enough slack to make possible a repair. I remembered the tool kit Sha had given me after our battle with Tsuto; his was of finer quality and she kept it, and we made a joke of her gift to me as it being our first heirloom. Using a few pieces of wire, a short iron bar the length of my fourth finger, and a small wad of resin, I was able to repair the rope enough to shore up that support.

Meanwhile, Vohoi cast _sleep_ once more, causing the goblin sentry to drop to the ground.
  Shaiira scampered to the far side with Jae, where Mundin assisted and together they, too, repaired the bridge in a similar fashion. C, Vohoi and I decided to traverse the void singly, and each made it across. Noria Rockbottom brought up the rear, and C cast _mending_ on all the rigged supports for good measure. 

The commotion had alerted two goblins stationed atop the right tower; Vohoi and I combined forces to lull them to sleep. A beaten path circled away from the main doors to both sides; predictably another sentry appeared from the left, goblin riders atop their foul mounts.

Vohoi and I again connected on a tranquil note, putting all four to sleep. 
  We made quick, deadly work of our foes. I felt an odd twinge inside me, and my mind leapt down a dark hole tacked with memories I had long wished forgotten. 

“Sivoulette, is it?” A voice brought me out of that dark place. Noria stood next to me. “You seem shaken, are you fit for battle?” Her words weighed heavy with dwarven context, but her tone was gentle.
  “I, I have suffered much death. I wonder how dealing it makes anything right,” I said. “Death is like a stone in a placid pool, the ripples travel forever.”
  “Aye,” Noria said. “Death is ne’er jocular. But there are times when we must understand that we each create our own ripples in the placid pools of our lives. Sarenrae teaches we are each a stone in the pool of Life, that each action affects another. These are times of peril,” the paladin said, sheathing her sword, “And Evil must be swept aside to keep balance in the world.” 

“Is it wrong to meet them unaware?” I asked.
  “Would they not do the same?” Noria countered. “There is a time to judge, a time to act, and a time to reflect. We are asked only to do what is right and just when we can. The goblins of Thistletop harbor no good will towards Sandpoint; our actions will help keep safe the town and its surroundings for years to come.”

“Everyone okay over there? ‘Cuz we got a tower to scale, this gate’s barred from the inside,” Mundin shouted.
  “So, I take it stealth is out,” Shaiira said, glowering at the fighter.
  “I’ll check the left side of the compound,” I said. Moving along, I found no other entrances. Mundin and Shaiira decided to climb the wall of the right tower, since we’d incapacitated the guards there.

“Up we go!” said Mundin. Noria handed over a length of silk rope attached to a grappling hook.
   “What’s the wager?” I asked as I approached my sister and the dwarves.
  “It’s a sovereign if Mundin can get up the wall before I can,” Sha said.
  “I smell whiskey, you two good to go forward?” I asked.
  “We’re like Cayden Cailean on a Moonday, relax,” Mundin said. “Besides, I got this.”
  “So, if you have one rope, and a fort full of goblins, how is this a competition?” I asked, truly stunned.
  “If I fall, it’s her turn,” Mundin said plainly.

Should you ever get the chance, watch a dwarf climb a thirty-odd foot high wall on a dare. It’s hilarious.

And damned if he didn’t nail it.

Mundin heaved his dwarven frame up the rope and hefted his bulk over the crenellation, and Shaiira quickly followed. We heard the sound of steel scratching flesh and the howls of goblins as we each scurried up the rope to the top of the tower.


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## soanso (Sep 25, 2013)

Both goblin sentries were dead when I reached the top of the tower. We crouched low, keeping cover between ourselves and any sentries in the left tower. Playing cards were scattered across the floor; none of us was surprised to find the deck short. We saw the other tower, an open courtyard, and the steep drop from the fortress to the sea. 

Jae took a moment to scout the area. “There are two figures in the courtyard, likely goblins, crouched by a far door leading back into the compound. Two sentries man the other tower- beyond that, I do not see further patrols. Our approach has likely alerted the compound. I will take post here, to guard your pass through the courtyard; should you encounter resistance, draw them out and I will lay waste to their villainy. At dawn I must send word to Shalelu; my absence is a blessing. You have allies in these woods.”


Jae looked Shaiira in the eye, a gesture missed as the rest worked a trap door leading to the bowels of the tower, but I saw it. The ranger picked a short bow off one of the goblin guards, and up-ended a crate, setting both quivers in it. He looked ridiculous holding the pea-sized bow, but his hands were steady as he nocked an arrow and whipped around, firing the too-small bow at the opposite tower. I heard the arrow ricochet off a helmet or a shield, and the far-off curses of the goblins in the other tower. “Desna smiles,” I said. Jae did not look up, but busied himself with securing the tower.


The trap door led us to the ground floor, and an unlocked door led us to a room decorated with a garish and chilling display of primitive taxidermy. The walls were adorned with crudely taken trophies, mostly horse and dog heads; but a curious pair of black-feathered wings were also pinned to the wall, a pearlescent-handled dagger struck though the left wing. I recognized their span at once.


“Harpy wings,” I said low; not that it mattered. The room was already stirring with goblins.

  “A rally or release point,” Shaiira said, nodding to the barred double doors that likely led outside.
  “A bottleneck,” murmured Mundin, axes raised to the horde that descended upon us.

The fight was bloody and quick. Seven goblins fell dead on the hard-packed earth of the gatehouse. Of all, one carried a horse-chopper- yet another cruel goblin blade. I tossed it aside for a scavenger’s eye. We had already refused to bring the makeshift dogslicers popular among goblins to market out of self-respect. Though the ‘chopper is a rare find, I’d rather it rust than collect dust in a shop or on a collector’s shelf. Shaiira pulled the pearl-handled dagger from the wall; though exceptionally crafted, it was not magical. She kept it anyways.


We made our way to the next tower, carefully ascending the ladder before bursting open the trap door and surprising the pair of goblins atop the tor. They were quickly dispatched.


“Pickles?” Caramour’s voice was at once surprised and confused.

  I looked around. Dozens of pickles littered the floor, most having but one or two bites from it.
  “Well, they aren’t magical,” Vohoi said, equally confused and serious.
  “Looks like they were licked clean,” Noria said. We burst into laughter.
  “Let’s head down to the courtyard,” I said; I tarried long enough to see Noria gather a handful of pickles into her pack.

We crept through the open-air courtyard to an outbuilding; Jae’s surveillance was spot-on. Two goblins lay dead in front of a large door that had been nailed shut. It appears they had died from the crushing blows of horse’s hooves. Knowing their hatred of the noble beasts, we decided to pursue the interior of the fort before forcing open the doors. 


We swept through the north and west sections of the fortress, finding only the unholy commode of the Thistletop goblins, and a stairway to the depths. We abandoned this place to further explore the fortress. Nothing of note save a goblin-dog kennel. We released the rabbits held there and threw the tack and harnesses to the ground. We pressed deeper into the compound.


“It’s locked,” Shaiira said, a light dancing in her eye.

  “Well, open it,” Mundin said, bringing his axes to bear. Noria unsheathed her sword and C calmly meditated. I drew my rapier, and Vohoi fell into a short trance before life again filled his skin. Shaiira deftly manipulated the tools she’d lifted from Tsuto’s body. In the silence, a soft click made my sister smile; she quietly opened the door.

A few goblin dogs suddenly shifted from sleep to attention, and five goblins’ heads snapped to our intrusion. One sat upon a throne of bones, itself topped by a bleached horse skull. A battered metal crown sat on his head and a large gecko lashed its tail at his side. Three goblins held weapons, while one stood off to the side.


“You there you, interruptingness! Say what is and unless okay we chop so hard!” The goblin wearing the tattered crown spoke in halting Varisian, and then sat back in his vile throne, expecting a reply.


My companions stood, eerily silent. I waited but a moment before I understood.


My cares were always Grandy Vin’s, my fights were always PopPop’s, or Uncle Max, or Cheevie, or Ant Grazine. My lessons were market days with Lizelle, or card halls with Shadow Jaffy, spellcraft with Jarna. And they are all gone. I can never depend on them again, they will never step into my mess, my fight, my victory, my growth. They are gone, and it is only me, looking after me. So now I am their mouthpiece, their guiding star, their history, their record, them. I am them. I am the last of me. My voice struck the air.


I looked at the goblin king, and I knew what fate had spun for us. I chose to spin another tale; I kept my rapier drawn, but dropped it to my side. He would fall, but perhaps I could convince him to concede first.


“Ripnugget, we seek nothing from you but parlay. We are looking for the one called Nualia. We know she has been seen in the area, and we seek to bring her to justice. Many deaths can be avoided if you help us.” As I stepped into the chieftan’s lair, I knew my words fell on deaf ears. I repeated them in the goblin tongue, which impressed him.


“Inside you go and we get talky,” he said in my native tongue. Quickly, Shaiira and Mundin filled the small chamber by my side; Noria waited at the doorway. As we entered and lowered our guard, Ripnugget hissed, “Stabby!” The goblin chief leapt onto the giant gecko as his guard advanced; the goblin dogs bayed and nipped at us. The goblin at the back of the room began inciting a terrible war-chant I recognized from my youth.


“Kill the bard!” I yelled to my allies.

  “Will do!” a goblin grunt chortled in his own tongue as he brought his blade to me.

The battle was a flash of movement, shouts, and blood. Ripnugget took to coursing the walls and ceilings on his lizard mount, slashing at us as we fought his minions. Vohoi was the first to go down by the chief’s blade; C was able to bring him back up to fight. Vohoi’s _magic missile_ proved potent against the lizard, while I sang a Kellid ballad recounting revenge against evil winter fey. Mundin waded through the mire to meet and drop the goblin bard; unfortunately that prompted Ripnugget to slash me at the knees. Desna keeps Caramour close, and I was back in the fray. Noria, Mundin, and Shaiira made quick work of Ripnugget’s guards, and one of Vohoi’s missiles dropped the chief’s mount. Surrounded, I cast _ear-piercing scream_ on Ripnugget, waffling him while the dwarves flanked; Ripnugget fell to Mundin’s deadly axes.


The Thistletop goblins were defeated. We celebrated briefly, and Shaiira went to signal Jae; the elf was already gone, likely delivering the news to Shalelu. Noria shuttered their eyes, so Pharasma could judge them. 


We explored the rest of the compound, finding little of interest, unless one is a goblin-obsessed scholar. We came across their larder and their workshop, and their living quarters. In one room we found an ornately carved but sundered headboard, behind which a silver plate carved with the likeness of Lamashtu with garnets in its eyes was hidden.


We doubled back and pried open the nailed-shut door near the stomped goblins. Inside, an irate and beautiful horse stamped and whinnied, obviously distraught. I saw the wild look in its eyes, and prepared Uncle Max’s Harvest Tamp by summoning a small drum, always a remedy for an unruly animal.


  But then Noria approached the wild beast, speaking calmly. The horse tempered a bit, and Noria produced- of all things- a pickle, which the steed graciously devoured. With some coaxing and a few more pickles, she was able to lead the horse over the rope bridge and through the briar to where our own mounts rested. As we watched it majestically whinny and kick its forelegs in the air, the name Shadowmist came to mind. We decided to rest- it had been an important day. Ripnugget was dead and the Thistletop goblins are no longer a threat to Sandpoint. Nualia remains, and we know she is at Thistletop; two staircases await us when the morning comes.


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## Abciximab (Sep 30, 2013)

The party did really well here. First they cut a swath through the fortress, and then (after picking the lock to the throne room) take on Ripnugget and his guards. It was a tough fight, even for a party of six. The fortress was on alert, since they had been warned by the Goblin Druid that longshanks were attacking. To challenge a party of 6, I relocated a few goblin dogs to this chamber. 

Sivoulette, apparently a rather humble Bard, understates her involvement here, as one of her best abilities (next to Inspire Courage, which was already providing bonuses to all at this point) came into play. Mundin actually went to kill the Goblin Bard only after having failed a Save vs. Hideous Laughter. I was a little surprised he failed the save, what with the Dwarves Hardy Bonus against spells and all. As I went to knock over Mundin’s Mini, Soanso interrupted.

“Wait! I have a spell here… where is it… Ah! Saving Finale!”

As an Immediate Action a Bard can cast this spell to allow an ally to reroll a failed save, which Mundin promptly did with much rejoicing, as he was successful this time. 

What a great spell! I was looking for something like this for my wizard in Soanso’s game, but alas, it is only found on the Bard’s spell list (Though Protection from Evil & Dispel Magic came through for me time and time again). It ends the Bardic Performance, but that is easy enough to start up again. 

Ripnugget caused the most trouble, charging about the walls of the room slashing at all within reach from the back of his sticky-footed mount. Killing his steed was the way to go. Vohoi’s Magic Missiles did most of the damage and finally dropped Ripnugget right into the midst of Noria and Mundin, the Dwarven Hack & Slash team. That quickly brought Ripnugget’s reign to an end.

Then there was the taming of Shadowmist using goblin supplied Pickles! Who knew Handle Animal (and pickles) could be so useful? 

We should Wrap Burnt Offerings and start the next chapter (we’ll skip the spoilerful title for now) tomorrow. I’m sure Soanso is diligently working at his keyboard at this very moment, so stay tuned!

P.S. Return to Zork was the game I was thinking of.


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## mundinironhand (Oct 5, 2013)

Mundin's Kill Count through 1st module is 40!.  These are all of the enemies that Mundin Ironhand got the killing blow with his axe    Goblins (regular)= 23.  Skeleton Wolf= 1.  Skeleton =1.  Sin Spawn = 2.  Korvus (mutated by waters of lamashtu) = 1.  Giant Rat=1.  Goblin dogs = 5.  Tangletooth (Firepelt Cougar animal companion) = 1.  Orik Vancaskerkin (human merc.) =1.  Yeath Hound =2.  Chief Ripnuget = 1.  Nualia = 1.       (full disclosure, there were probably 6-8 coup de grace due to sleeping enemies, thank you Bard and Sorcerer for your lullaby & sleep combo.)


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## soanso (Oct 6, 2013)

*Facing Brethazmus and the old contracts*

We pressed on, taking the second set of descending stairs near the front entrance; we chose this set over the one near the goblin commode for obvious reasons. 

We moved through the hall, noting three doors to one side. Remembering the chilling skeletal remains beneath Sandpoint behind three doors, we pressed through to a natural cavern. Shaiira held her right hand up, and we stopped. 

“Something’s wrong,” she whispered. “It’s too quiet.” 

She led us into a natural cavern. To our right, a curtain of vines and nettles covered the cave mouth; the ocean crashed below. Suddenly two rubbery tentacles lashed out at my sister from the ceiling. We fell to battle, spying a dark blue conical mass perched on the ceiling, covered in small red lights and lashing out at us with two prominent appendages. The battle was swift and the thing was dead; what it was remained a mystery. None of us had seen such a foul creature before. I made a crude sketch and wrote approximate details of its size and description, a squidish thing with red eyes proliferating its body, several smaller tentacles in addition to the pair of larger ones. Perhaps Quink or Ameiko would know more.

We swept aside the natural curtain, and surmised we were about forty feet above the waves. “Good to have an escape route,” C said. 

The dwarves looked at each other. “I pray we need not such a course,” said Noria, shifting in her armor. 

  “Aye,” Mundin chimed.

We followed the progression of the dungeon to a set of double doors that opened on a foul chapel. Stone fonts spewed brackish liquid into shallow pools at the sides of the entrance, and a crimson light dimly lit the room. Atop a dais stood an intricately designed statue depicting Lamashtu, the Mother of Monsters. Each hand held a kukri, one wreathed in red flame, the other in blue flame.

  “Illusions,” Vohoi said as he passed his hand over the plane of the statue. 

A stone altar sat before the statue of Lamashtu, its surface covered with the burnt remains of a humanoid. I sucked in my breath as I was taken away by the history of the place- this must be where Nualia sacrificed her father’s body.

Before I could say anything, three wiry, hairless dogs attacked us. 

These were not ordinary strays. They took to the air and their howl was devastating. The fight dragged on as we tried to gain separation from the hounds; Vohoi dropped before Noria used her divine might to turn the tide to our favor. The dwarves rallied and killed the beasts. C was able to heal Vohoi.

We paused for a moment, weary and worn. Our battles are hard-fought and hard-won; nothing is as simple as it was in Sandpoint. We rely on each other when the thick is thickest; PopPop would be pleased to have these friends fireside.

We circled around to the first chamber, and were greeted by a hulking bugbear and a half-dozen of the goblin version of painted ladies. The nefarious energies in the room shook me to the core, and we waded into battle with a frothing ferocity. The bugbear was none other than Brethazmus, another local terror to end.

We were able to keep Brethazmus stymied as we cut through his harem; his bow was ineffective as the dwarves sliced into him in melee. Vohoi cast _flare_ on Brethazmus, disorienting the thug and I cast another _ear-piercing scream_ on the bugbear, and he fell.

We quickly moved on, opening the next door. A man sat on his bed, his meal of smoked salmon and chived cream before him. He seemed puzzled. I immediately recognized him- the Kellid sellsword. Suddenly something made sense- he was working for the Sczarni, he sabotaged our wagon. He bolted when the Sczarni showed up, not for fear but for payday. And again, here he was.

He seemed genuinely surprised. Hot blood flowed through me; and I made a mistake.

“You, there, sellsword, do you not see me?” I said, reaching for my blade.

  “I, eh, I see you,” he countered.
  “Did you forget me?”
  He moved to his sword. “I’m not sure I’m looking for trouble,” he said.
  “Come with me and face justice,” I said. My blood boiled, and I stood alone. I cared not for his innocence, only sensing the treachery in his presence here. I was also angry with myself. Have I always lived so stupidly? Has my vision always been clouded by virtue?
  “Who do you work for?” I said, drawing my rapier.
  “None of your concern,” he replied, standing to face me. His bastard sword’s hilt found his hand.
  “You must be involved with this evil cadre, to be supping here, alone,” Noria said, moving to the doorway.
  “If I surrender, can I take my weapon with me?”
  “No.” I said.
  He sighed. “Then my answer is also no,” he said as he raised his blade high and swung it to me. My heart skipped a beat as the blade crashed into me; I had forgotten my greatest weapon was my voice, my conviction, and my patience. I let anger and wrath control my actions, feeling power through conduits I do not properly understand or control.

Then darkness.


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## soanso (Oct 12, 2013)

*Almost there*

My eyes opened as divine light coursed through my body. C offered a hand, and helped me rise. I could tell from the faces of my companions I was lucky to stand again. We were upstairs in the keep’s left tower. Morning broke over the Nettlewood’s twisted canopy.

Mundin spat on the ground. “Ya may be pretty, ya may be brave, and ya may be pretty brazen, child, but yer also pretty tough. That was a swipe that would’a ended many young dwarf’s lives.”

I looked at Shaiira, wondering what she thought, after my many lectures on even-handedness and cool-heads-prevailing. She shook her head and smiled. “You’re a fool to come back,” she said.

I grinned at PopPop’s favorite welcoming to the hunters, and that she knew it, too.

“I lost my voice,” I said. 

C clasped my shoulder. “All in stride, Siv. Sometimes the fire makes us.”

“OK, which way now?” Vohoi said. The sorcerer was correct, it was time to press forward. Noria had kept last watch, and reported nothing new afoot in the keep. We returned to the dungeon.

We noted that upon passing Orrick’s room, his body was missing. We found no drag marks or further signs of struggle. Odd.

The next door opened to a modest bedchamber, with a sitting chair and a desk. I found more notes in Tsuto’s handwriting, some detailing the attack on Sandpoint we helped defend, some with vague plans for future attacks, and a litany of scornful, hateful passages in what could only be the scrawling of a half-mad man. These haphazard entries depicted a man swallowed by anger, railing against his sister and father especially, and against Sandpoint; yet again singing the praise of Nualia. Knowing what I do now about Tsuto, I was sad to read these notes. I decided to take them to Ameiko; if nothing, it would give her a chance to lay to peace to what has been a difficult chapter in her life. 

Another room was evidently the War Room, with detailed maps of Sandpoint and surrounding areas spread across it. One tattered note revealed some future attack, to be executed once the “whispering beast was tamed.” This coincided with what we already knew and met, the quasit and sinspawn beneath Sandpoint. I took this beast to be the last unmet enemy, Malfeshnekor. Who or what it is remained a mystery.
  Unmet by foes, we continued on at our leisure, finally coming to a room where a human woman was examining an unusual staff on a long table. Several chunks of rock also lay on the table, and she was surprised to have visitors. 

“Who are you?” she asked sharply.
  “Um, Brethazmus sent us,” I said. 
  “To make sure you were all set over here,” Noria added.
  “Shaiira sidled up and smiled. “Oh it’s good to meet you, uh, wow, I’m sorry I’m new here and I already forgot your name.”
  “Lyrie. And I’m, ah, yeah, I’m good,” she said, stiffening.
  “I see you are researching something,” I said. “Ancient Thassilon is a hobby of mine. What are you looking for?” I could see the chunks of stone were etched with runes.
  The woman was overtly annoyed and suspicious of us. “Dwarves? I don’t think so,” she said, blasting Vohoi with a quick magic missile. We fell to arms as she vanished from sight, but being a small room, we quickly cornered her.
  She re-appeared, her hands in the air. “Don’t kill me!” she shouted.

“Why not?” Mundin snarled. “Being mixed up with the evil here, we best chop you down now.”
  “Let her speak,” Noria said.
  “Aye.” My voice had weight, and I wanted to see where the paladin was going with this.
  “Who do you work for?” Noria asked.
  “I am just a researcher, an archaeologist. Nualia hired me to explore these ruins. I harbor no ill will, I swear,” the woman said. I saw her eyes and believed her.

“Ya work for the primest of evil here and wanna leave unscathed?” Mundin said, his hand moving to his axe. She was afraid, I used my voice.
  “What will you give us in exchange for your life?” I asked.
  I have no ties, I swear. Here,” she said, turning out her pack and pockets. “It’s all yours, just let me live.” A pretty pile of coin and a few scrolls now littered the table. Noria looked at me, I looked at Mundin. He looked at C, who looked at me. I looked at Noria. She closed her eyes for a brief moment.

“Go,” she said. “Never come back, this place will be gone.”

The woman bowed and scampered past us, her feet finally climbing the stairs.
  Caramour moved to inspect the staff that lay on the table. It flickered with a grey flame as he approached.
  “ ‘Tis yours,” Vohoi said. “Such a piece will complement your arsenal.”
  “A sturdier walking stick,” C said, grasping the quarterstaff. “Thanks.”
  “You’ll find it suits your fits,” Vohoi added. “The weapon channels your energy.”

We gathered the explorer’s wealth and moved on.


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## soanso (Oct 26, 2013)

*Back in the saddle, again*

We retraced our steps to the tentamort’s lair, where horror met us; several desiccated corpses, including birds, Orrick, an unknown goblin and the strange hounds lay in macabre silence, as a strong ocean wind billowed the vine-and-nettle curtain sequestering the cave from the waves below. Wandering sometimes brings luck, if Desna is watching. We crept through the room.

 “Found it!” whispered Shaiira as her fingers followed a near-invisible seam in the stonework. She manipulated the stone to open a hidden hatch in the wall, which led to a set of stairs descending into the inky dark. 


“This stonework is ancient,” Mundin said as we descended the well-carved staircase. “Likely dwarven work. Note the precise cuts in the granite on each step, uniform.” I nodded, trusting his senses.


Frescoes were defaced by hammer and chisel; likely Lyrie’s handiwork. A hooded lantern hung by a nail on the wall, so I grabbed it. Illuminated by the glow were four statues of exquisite artistry. Identical to every detail, a man, certainly a human, holding a book in one hand with a sihedron carved onto the cover and a glaive in the other.


The similarity of his accoutrements did not escape any of us, though the man himself was a mystery. We decided to approach the rest of the dungeon cautiously, should some rune-aided adversary come round the bend. I was elated- this was the stuff of my youth, prancing about broken tors and forgotten graveyards with PopPop, him prattling off stories of this and that, me pretending that I was my mother, a flashy sword and a lewd word for my imaginary foes. But to the truth, it was the history of the moment, now, that brought me current. Everything I knew is lost, everything I find is new; it is my task to connect yesterday to now. I focused on the statues, but could not bring to light their significance. 

  We traversed the short hallway to another small alcove. Two statues similar to the previous sat buffeting the hall in recesses, another stood several feet ahead of us. Shaiira was first to traverse the polished floor; her usually nimble feet set off a trap, and a pair of portcullis crashed down on either side of her.

Vohoi noticed a strange carving on the statues as they animated and slashed at my sister with their wicked glaives. “The Rune of Greed!” he shouted as he prepared to cast a spell.


Trapped between the gates, Shaiira lost a lot of blood. “I ain’t one to leave a wing man in the dust,” Mundin said as he heaved open the portcullis closest to us. Following the dwarf I quickly swept my sister from further harm. C restored her, and we continued on, wary of the floor trap.


As we padded down the corridor and took the appropriate left-hand turn, I fell into my own mind. What am I now? Once I was a daughter, then a ward, now an orphan. Suddenly and as quickly I was a sister. I was a child, then an adult. The songs, the gestures, the culture of my lost family, the Farateldi vivacity bursts from my seams and not by my choice but from something else. History courses through my veins. I am nothing, really; I am without property, honor, grace, or title, yet I am. I am alive, I exist, I am something that is the sum of many beautiful things, and many terrible things all at once. But I am. I exist, and I feel no pull to be something else. Perhaps I am lucky, maybe Desna smiles on me each day. Remorse and guilt hold court in my head daily; yet I have obligations. People rely on me and my abilities, much as they did before, in my past life. There are stories to write, songs to sing, odes to be found among the  blood, fire, steel, and darkness. Why not meet the challenge of tomorrow?


A door stood closed to us, and Shaiira opened it. The room before us was some sort of chapel. Frescoes of hideous monsters ravishing humans and other races, scenes of destruction, madness, even cannibalism assaulted us from the walls. The room was lit by humanoid skulls ensorcelled to glow a disquieting red, and a low basin of roiling, foul-smelling liquid stood in the corner.


“The farcking quasit,” Mundin heaved the words into the doorway as he followed them. Indeed, the quasit flitted about as another strange hound growled low, and a beautiful aasimar woman, with a face twisted by madness and a deformed hand, ending in a weird claw, raised her sword at our approach.


Nualia. I grinned, knowing we had found the source of Sandpoint’s woes. Swords and axes clashed against defenses and spells flamed the room. Noria dipped into her divine reserve to attack Nualia, while Mundin followed with a tremendous clamor of axes. Vohoi used _flaming sphere_ to attack the enemy. C and Shaiira danced into and out of the battle, positioning and repositioning themselves to maximize the group’s attacks. I sang Mother’s Lament, a new piece I had recently written, to inspire my friend’s alacrity and effectiveness. The hound fell quickly as Nualia and the quasit held their ground.


Then the quasit blinked out, invisible to the naked eye. I realized my grave error- I should have read Grandy Vin’s magic book and not relied on a week of dreams for my spells. Despite this failure, I decided to use my voice against my foes; though the quasit remained aloof, I dropped Nualia with a potent _chord of shards_. 


“The door!” Caramour shouted. Vohoi moved to shut it and read a scroll to see invisible subjects, but the quasit was nowhere to be seen. We gathered up the scant valuables in the room, including an amulet that pulsed with power. Vohoi, C, and I collaborated to discover the sihedron medallion was a powerful magic item that could protect its wearer with necromantic magic. I also found a pile of notes on a desk that should bring to light Nualia’s fall from grace.


We stood over the body, a long silence between us as we each gathered ourselves and reflected on our journey. My thoughts traveled to Shaiira. Would she come with me after this? Sandpoint was a lovely little town, but I yearned for the open road. 


“There is one last piece to the puzzle,” Shaiira said, raising her head and adjusting her scarf.

  “Malfeshnekor,” Mundin said. Indeed, the beast referenced in Tsuto’s notes, and hinted at in the goblin drawings at Thistletop; some sort of terrible, four-legged beast with lupine features and a vaguely goblinoid visage. 


We headed deeper into the dungeon, finding a hallway that ended in a large pile of coins, all ridged with tiny spikes and a sihedron rune carved into the wall behind it. Sadly, C found the pile was illusory, and something about it rankled me, but we moved on. Across the way, two beys-relief skeletons joined their outstretched arms over a doorway, a single skull clutched by the pair over the door. We entered cautiously and found the room contained four standing sarcophagi, each featuring a man holding a book emblazoned with the sihedron rune and a glaive. He was different from the previous statues, and these crypt lids were of high quality. We were attacked by invisible foes that drained our strength with their withering touch; Vohoi and C combined forces to drive the shadows from this place. We chose to rest, passing the evening without incident.


Whether it was morning or midnight mattered not, this far from fresh air.  I had reservations about pressing on; the illusory pile of coins still bothered me. 


“Well, let’s see about your hunch,” Noria said. We returned to the spot, and I closely examined the wall with Shaiira’s help. 

  “Aha!” I shouted as my fingers traced the outlines of two horizontal slots hidden in the stonework.
  “Okay, but now what?” Shaiira asked, puzzled. I stood staring at the slots, my mind turning over before an idea flashed through the fog. Vohoi had identified the runes on the portcullis-statue as those of Greed. The illusory pile of gold, of course! I quickly pulled two sovereigns from my purse, and inserted them both into the adjacent slots.
  “Desna guide you,” I whispered, punching the coins into the wall; the wall slide away to reveal a secret alcove with three doors; we chose the left one first.


Opening the door revealed a barren room, austere but for the raised dais supporting a marbled throne. In it a man sat slumped, flanked by two familiar statues. The man on the throne was an obvious illusion, as he repeated the same scattered and static phrases in the ancient Thassilonian tongue- “…is upon us, but I command you remain. Witness my power, how Alaznist’s petty wrath is but a flash compared to my strength. Take my final work to your graves, and let its memory be the last thing you…”


Though puzzled, we decided it must be some sort of remotely controlled device, quickly becoming a theme in these Runelord dungeons. We noted the uttering of Alaznist, the Runelord of Wrath discovered beneath Sandpoint. The fact that it malfunctioned was welcome news.


  The second room was an archaic torture chamber. Macabre devices lined the walls, and several gruesome tables occupied the center of the room. C wandered towards a table of ancient surgical implements; among them he found a silver- inlaid gold sihedron instrument that looked like it was either a key or some other focus. C swept up the tools and I pocketed the rune-key-thing, neither of us with a question to the other.

“Locked,” Shaiira said, examining the final door in the secret room. I produced the fancy key, as it seemed more likely than not the logical solution.


Lo, the lock tumbled. We entered a room lit primarily by a long pit of flickering fire that filled the room with a strange, humid heat and the smell of burning hair. In the northern corners of the room, wooden risers held several dozen golden candles that burned without melting; the southern wall bore an immense carving of the seven-pointed star.


Occupying the room was a quadruped beast, its forelegs more like hands than paws. Its fur was matted as it rose like a dog from the fire, a foul green tongue licking its thin pink lips in anticipation.  Lupine in stature, it was still bigger than a typical wolf. Its head was less canine than goblinoid. Most terrifying was the intelligent glean in its eyes; this was no simple predator- in fact, it was a killing machine.

“Desna save us,” Shaiira muttered.

I heard the dwarves rustle in their armor to my right. Ominous. 

Malfeshnekor struck with deadly precision, knocking Shaiira prone as we fell to battle. Noria channeled her faith to strike the beast true as Mundin followed suit with his axes. The confined space gave us little room to move, but Shaiira managed a precision hit as C kept the fighters alive. I sang The Thistletop Dirge, another new piece to keep my friends’ momentum forward. 

The beast tore through our defenses, yet we fought on. Vohoi cast _flaming sphere_ and was able to finally quell the beast. No doubt it was a great barghest, a foul beast fed the souls of many an innocent and decent person, until its power erupted into a killing machine; the perfect complement in Nualia’s plan for revenge.
Plans all for naught. Despite the quasit’s escape, we had wrecked the evil hierarchy surrounding Sandpoint; all that was left was a dividing of the spoils and a farewell meal. Traveling had taught me one truism- birds go with the seasons. As do sellswords, healers, and dwarves, and Farateldis. I was glad to meet these folk, and gain what I did from our adventures. Perhaps I will meet them again.  
We rode through the lowlands, Thistletop a smoking eye on the Varisian landscape. I wished for nothing but the Rusty Dragon and a drink, a bath, a hot meal, and a farewell. A brief stay to settle my claim on the treasure we found, perhaps find a better suit of armor for the road. Tomorrow night I will leave Sandpoint for the open road, Shaiira or not.

We decided it best to tie up loose ends before parting ways. After a simple lunch of trussed sage hens, cornflower biscuits and honey mead we made our way around town, selling off the spoils of war, eventually meeting with Belor Hemlock. We owed at least a parting handshake and a debriefing to the good sheriff of Sandpoint. 
Hemlock was excited to hear our account, noting the details in his blotter.  

“So, if there’s nothing else,” I said, bowing low and retreating to the door.
“Ah, well, there is, well, no, never mind,” Belor floated. My eyes lowered as I felt fish swarm to the sheriff’s bait. “So you say,” Mundin cautiously provided. “A patrol found a few known con-men killed in a barn south of here,” Balor said. “Murdered, actually. The bodies were pretty ripped up, missing jaws and were defaced with some sorta weird star carving. Was a note pinned to one of the victims-” Belor opened a drawer and retrieved a calfskin folder, and gently unwound the twine holding it closed. He presented a parchment speckled with dried blood.

Belor leveled his eyes at me. “It mentions you,” he said, handing me the gory note.

‘Sivoulette - You will learn to love me, desire me in time as she did. Give yourself to the Pack and it shall all end. – Your Lordship’

Shock. My mother flashed before my eyes and gooseflesh rose on my arms. I felt nauseous and wavy. Shaiira gripped a shoulder, Vohoi the other. Deputy Guber then burst into the office, disregarding our presence. “Sheriff, another pair of victims at the mill-“ his faucet was shut off by Belor’s stony gaze. 
“Let’s see the mill first,” I said.

“Agreed,” C consented. As I followed Belor to the mill, I felt the ground swell with feet behind me. I smiled, terrified.


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## soanso (Oct 26, 2013)

Thanks for hanging on! A quick real-life intrusion on Soanso's Fireside Chat.

Soanso here, playing Sivoulette (Siv) the bard, our narrator.

Siv is completely competent in her abilities, but completely unsure about her life choices. She has seen her family killed at the hands of giants. She has seen her mother's grave in Sandpoint, and then met her half-elf half-sister shortly thereafter. As a spectator, she was drawn in with a rag-tag group of like-minded suicidally-prone individuals when goblins fire-bombed Sandpoint. facing many pivotal moments, she has once and again treated her companions as family, fighting alongside them for what is right; the freedom of Sandpoint from evil. The party has jelled, especially adding Noria as a second big hitter. With the addition of the pally, the bard and rogue could dial down their melee chances to focus better on their class niches. 

The Party is about 4-5th level:

Mundin, Dwarf two-axe fighter
Noria, Dwarf Paladin of Sarenrae
Shaiira, half-elf rogue
Caramour, 'C' to his mates, cleric of The Free Hand (Good)
Vohoi, electric sorcerer
Sivoulette (Siv) bard

Sunday/Monday expect another post to get us current!

- Soanso


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## soanso (Oct 27, 2013)

Whoa, I missed a small detail that jars the narrative. At the beginning of this last installment, a few sentences are missing. for clarity:

[We crept through the room.]

"We decided there was no new threat in the seaside cave nor anything significant to gain from the macabre scene aside from a suit of magic hide armor on the goblin corpse, and headed back to the room where we met the scholar. After a thorough search, Shaiira and I outlined a secret door."

["Got it!"...]


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## soanso (Oct 29, 2013)

*Tangled Threads*

“What was that?” I asked as we made our way to the sawmill. I was just behind Gomer and Belor, who were talking in hushed tones. At my back C, Shaiira, Mundin, Vohoi and Noria kept pace. The open road will wait, she always does.

“Again please, Sheriff? If we are to help I’ll need to know why you two whisper so.” I had heard them plainly, but hearing and knowing are two sides of one coin. Best hold both sides, PopPop would say. “What of this ‘late unpleasantness’?”

I watched the men exchange muted glances as their tongues slowed.

“I can turn round and simply ask my fans at the Dragon,” I offered. A few days past my arrival at the Rusty Dragon, I had taken to entertaining late night patrons by the fireside with the tales of my youth, of Varisian folktales, and of myths older than Varisia itself. In turn, I’d gleaned some favors and information from them.

“There hasn’t been such a disturbance in Sandpoint since then,” Belor replied. “An eccentric woodcarver by name of Jervis Stoot turned out to be a serial killer.”

“Time was,” Gomer said, “Folks wanted one of his bird-carvings on their house. But you didn’t ask, he chose ya.” We passed several blocks in silence; I noticed a few such intricate birds in gables and atop flagpoles. I had wondered their history.
  “It was a dark time, one we wish to never relive,” he finished. I believed the young lieutenant.
  “How far is the barn where the men were murdered?” asked Noria.
  “Not even a half day,” the sheriff replied. “A man named Grayst Sevilla was found wandering the roads north of the barn,” he said. “My men found him incoherent, and turned him in to Erin Habe, the fellow that keeps a sanitarium south of here. Was rambling about an end of times and…” Belor’s voice drifted off.
  “And what?” I asked.
  “He’s a witness to the barn murders.” Something did not sit well with me.

As we approached the sawmill, a man was standing outside with a few militia. We assumed the authority granted us by the town.
  “It’s, oh, it’s… Bannie’s dead, destroyed, really. His girl, Vinder’s girl, she’s… she’s there too,” the thin man said.
  “I’m sorry,” Shaiira said, “But who in the stars are you?” My sister is not much for pleasantries.
  “Um, Ibor Thorn, I have a stake in this mill, here. Bannie was my partner, the low bastard. Mr. Scarnetti’s gonna flip.”
  “Why?” asked Vohoi.
  “Bannie’s lady, she was a shiny diamond, cost him a lot to keep her temper, but I din’t do it!” Ibor seemed genuine enough, though a bit tipsy for midmorn.
  “Do what?” I asked.
  “That, I… you’ll see, you’ll see if ya go in. I din’t do that. I coun’nt… it’s… He was stealin’ though, I’ll tell ya that. Ah poor sot… Shounna been like this, no sir. Not, no, no… go in an’ see, it’s… horrible.” His remorse seemed genuine. We left Ibor with the militia and headed into the mill. “Sheriff,” I said as low as I could, “Send some men to Ibor’s house, just to keep an eye on it. If there’s fraud, this might be a frame.” I said. The sheriff agreed and dispatched a pair of guards to Thorn’s property.

We passed through the small reception office into the mill proper.
  “Do ya smell that? Reminds me of a troll fart,” Mundin said, wrinkling his nose.
  “Aye, worse than a bound hobgoblin stuffed with head cheese and left to rot atop a tor,” Noria countered. 

Sometimes the Common tongue is a plague on the senses. But it was true; we all noted the stench of rotten meat wafting through the air.

“Can’t be the bodies,” C noted as we slowly made our way to the back end of the building.
  “Agreed, too fresh,” said Vohoi. 

The mill was impressive in its size. I’d never been inside one; the machinery of conveyor belts and jagged saws, the sluices where timber flowed to them and the wicked hooks to pick up massive logs and drop them at the top of the operation, all were impressive. A large set of doors opened to the pier. Our attention was drawn to a grisly scene near a set of large gears that turned the saw blades.

There, in a pool of blood on the floor, lay the body of what must have been Bannie Harker. His face was gone, revealing the gore and gristle of bone and cartilage beneath; his lower jaw was removed, and his shirt was torn away, a sihedron scarred into his chest. Kitrina Vinder, his lover, was worse off; her body was crushed and wound into the huge gears of the mill, nearly unrecognizable save her telltale polished patent leather red shoes.

Punctuating the scene was a bloodied axe, its handle slick with gore, slammed into the topside of a scrivener’s desk.
  We searched the works, finding a bloody set of footprints leading out the doors to the pier. We decided first to search the second floor offices. In one we found a desk drawer with a false bottom. In the hidden compartment was a set of thin ledgers identical to the set on the shelves above the desk; a quick glance through the last few entries seemed to confirm Thorn’s suspicions- Bannie Harker was cooking the books. C noticed the smell of carrion around the window of the office, perhaps the vile intruder entered through this window.

“Some type of corporeal undead,” Caramour pronounced, “but it would need to be very skilled to come through the water and scale the building.” 
  We tracked the bloody footprints to the end of the pier, and then found a similar set on the far bank, one going in and one coming out, but we lost the trail from there. We told Gomer to let Belor know we were headed to the barn and then the sanitarium.

There wasn’t much to see at the barn, though searching through the refuse therein produced a note addressed to Mortwell, Hask, and Tabe, inviting the men to meet at the barn at night to discuss a deal involving gold and property. As I read the note aloud, my heart dropped into my boots.

“What is it?” Shaiira asked, “You’ve gone pale.”
  “It is signed by ‘Your Lordship,’” I said, “Same as the other one.”

We made our way to the sanitarium as the afternoon wore on. A three story stone building sat on a low hill before us. There was a short porch. I knocked and an older man answered the door. 
  “Erin Habe, I assume?” I said.
  “Yes,” he said. “What can I do for you, oh, there are many of you,” he said, noting my companions.
  “We are looking for a man brought here by the sheriff’s men, his name is Grayst Sevilla, I believe. We need to take him into custody.” 
  “I’m sorry to say that he’s being… treated and cannot leave my care,” Habe said.
  “Could we just talk to him here?” I asked. 
  “You will not be leaving I take it?” Habe replied. 
  “Nope,” said Mundin as he casually inspected one of his axes with his index finger.

Habe sighed heavily. “All right, but please be quick about it, he needs treatment.” We followed Habe inside, and he led us to a room with a table and chairs. Closed wooden doors to the right and in front of us led deeper into the sanitarium.
  Two rough-looking tieflings brought a man into the room, unbound. 

“He is ill,” C said, and he focused a wave of healing energy through the room, but the man’s pale, gangrenous skin did not improve. His milky white eyes were very disturbing.

“Did he come to you in this condition?” Noria asked.
  “Uh, oh yes, yes he did,” Habe stammered.

The man was softly babbling. “Knives, too many teeth… Razors. Razors! The skinsaw man is coming… too many teeth…”

“Mr. Sevilla, we need to ask you about the barn,” I said. His head whipped towards my direction and a maniacal smile spread his cracked lips, revealing shattered, jagged teeth and a sickly purple tongue. He spoke, his gravelly voice jumping with excitement.

“He said. He said you would visit me. His Lordship. The one that unmade me said so. He has a place for you. A precious place. I’m so jealous. He has a message for you. He made me remember it. I hope I haven’t forgotten. The master wouldn’t approve if I forgot. Let me see… let… me… see…” 

His rotten brow furrowed for a moment before he shrieked excitedly- “He said that if you came to his Misgivings, that if you joined his Pack, he would end his harvest in your honor!”

“His Misgivings?” Mundin said. 
  “That’s the name the locals use when referring to Foxglove Manor,” Vohoi said. “Rumor is it’s haunted.”
  “Do you think Aldern is involved somehow?” Shaiira asked me.
  “I don’t know. He headed back to Magnimar a few days ago. I know he mentioned his family was nobility from near here, but he never mentioned anything like that.”
  “Can ya blame him?” Mundin said.
  “No, but now I wonder-”
  “Listen, I need to get the patient back to his room, he needs treatment,” Habe interrupted.
  “We need him,” Noria said. “He’s important to our investigation.” Shaiira and Mundin bound Sevilla, who did not resist, and was back to his low, insane ranting.

Habe became visibly nervous and shouted, “Listen, I need to get him back, now! Before-”
  The door across the room opened and an aged man holding a staff bellowed, “Habe what is taking so long?” A foul odor seeped from the stairs behind the man, and several humanoids followed him up the stairs. “What are you doing with the subject?” he asked.

As the zombies burst into the room, their master cast a spell that intensified the odor and filled the room. The tiefling next to Caramour attacked while Habe screamed and fled the room through the other door. The dwarves made quick work of the zombies and the necromancer; C dropped one orderly. As the cloud dissipated, the remaining orderly held up his hands, surrendering.

I found Habe in the next room, presumably his office, cowering beneath the desk. “I surrender! It’s not what you think!” he shrieked.
  I escorted Habe to the next room, where C was administering aid to the fallen orderly. Habe explained that the necromancer paid him to rent the basement for experiments. Since he needed the money, Habe turned a blind eye to the man and his business. He gave us permission to inspect the necromancer’s quarters. “Take it all, I don’t care,” Habe said.

We inspected the rest of the property, finding three other residents- a very, very old man who paid us no mind, a farmer named Sedge who was covered in scars and was eyeless, and a wererat named Pidgit Turgelsen, a Korvosan who was obsessed with knives.
  We concentrated our efforts on diagnosing Sevilla. We determined he was suffering from ghoul fever, and decided to end his suffering and save Varisia from another potent evil. We decided to make the journey back to Sandpoint rather than spend a night at Habe’s Sanitarium.


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## soanso (Nov 15, 2013)

*The Hambley Place*

We rode through the early evening, arriving at the Rusty Dragon after dinner. Ameiko was indisposed, so Bethanna greeted us, treating our tired bodies to a charcuterie board and day-old bread, sherry and a dry Korvosan red that paired well with the cured meats and oils that served as our repast. We supped and turned in, exhausted from the day.

Morning brought a lead-gray sky and a steady drizzle. And Belor. After breakfast, he greeted us in the Great Room of the inn, an old, wiry man in tow.  

“Greetings, Heroes!” the sheriff bellowed across the room. Pinned down by his greeting, we awkwardly stood to greet him. “I’ve got someone with a story you’ll find interesting,” he said as he approached. The thin man removed his wide-brimmed leather hat and bowed low. His thin hair was iron-gray and his brown eyes told stories of hardship, toil, and loss.

“Livin’ scarecrows!” he shouted. “Plain as the dawn! They jus’ get up offa them posts and start movin’ about! Quick an’ vicious- been attackin’ folks at th’ crossroads!”

“Shh! Shh! Calm down!” I shouted back before quieting my own voice. If the few patrons in the Great Room were listening, they didn’t appear to be phased by the man’s ranting. “Where are your fallow fields?” I asked. 

“South, of course,” he said. “Jep Clambett’s the name, too. Clambett’s Farm along the Soggy River, but these abom’nishins been seen spread all over the heartland. They stalk the night, takin’ folks that’re out for a stroll, even breakin’ down doors, devouring folks in they sleep. Especially odd is Hambley’s place. We get some survivors up our way, or those just gettin’ out for fearin’ the worst, but nobody’s come across Hambley or his kin. They say that even the crows avoid his crops.”

We sat briefly with Jep and Belor, mapping the homesteads of the lowlands. We decided to travel the quickest path to the Hambley homestead, but to stop at farms along the way for clues or to encourage the families to seek refuge at the Clambett’s Farm.

We traveled the roads through the fertile lowlands, finding a few recently abandoned farms; Desna guide them. As we approached another crossroads, a scarecrow was nailed to a post across the way. We paused, and it fought its way off the post and lunged forward to attack. Mundin and Noria quickly ended the threat. Removing the mask revealed the scarecrow was not a golem, as we first suspected- it was far worse. The dreaded visage of a ghoul lay beneath the mask. Knowing how quickly this fever could cripple a populace, we increased our vigilance.

Approaching another crossroads, we spied another scarecrow trussed to a pole several yards ahead. 

“It moves,” Noria said, peering into the distance.
  “It dies,” I said, fitting a bolt into my crossbow. I fired twice before it ceased. Upon removing the burlap mask, I was horrified to see the face of a young man, the scant beginnings of a beard on his jowls. 
  “His eyes,” C said, pointing to the milky white orbs. Perhaps a man, perhaps a monster. We moved on.

Another scarecrow stood across the road. Noria approached it and dismantled it; though it was just burlap, straw, and old flannel, we all felt better for it. Something wicked this way stalks.

We approached the Hambley place in the afternoon.  The two-story farmhouse was flanked by a large barn; its most noticeable feature was that the wooden walls of the barn were built around and incorporated a statue depicting a huge Thassilonian-like head.

“Is it a Runelord?” Shaiira asked.
  “Nay, this is the face of a Thassilonian warrior,” Vohoi said. The twelve-foot high visage was covered in moss, and was nondescript in its workmanship. I trusted Vohoi’s scholarship.

The dwarves opened the barn doors, and a half-dozen bodies fell upon us like starving ghouls- because they were. We hacked and slashed at them, eventually dropping them all; but worse for the wear.

“Are you feeling fine?” C asked Mundin.
  “Pfft, never better,” the dwarf answered. “Let’s go!” 

I stayed close enough to C and Noria. They whispered about Mundin’s glassy eyes; they fear the ghoul fever. I decided I’d keep an eye on him, too. We couldn’t afford to lose a key member of the team to the disease. Should things turn for the worse, I decided, a _saving finale_ was in order.

It was time to investigate the Hambley house. As we approached the front porch, a portly ghoul threw open the front door; he was missing his left ear.

He extended a gnarled figure in my direction, and through a hoarse chuckle he shouted, “He was right! You came, I am so surprised!”  

I drew my rapier as the ghoul moved- so fast it was if his feet didn’t touch the ground for traction. His claws extended and with his nasty ghoul-tongue protruding, my rapier found a soft spot and he paused, briefly, as black blood pooled at my feet. Then his claws, and his bite.

I was paralyzed. 

I watched Noria’s  axe glow with hot white light as she moved in and struck him down. Shaiira found an intricate amulet around his neck, a key, really. I recognized it as the Foxglove family symbol, a rose blossom surrounded by thorns.

Everything was a din then. I couldn’t concentrate, had trouble standing, and felt an unnatural rage build in my heart. I saw a stern look from Noria, and my heart dropped; yet I felt a foul hunger within me. I was infected, too. I took a moment to grapple air into my body, to regain control of myself. I was sick, but there was a cure. Zantus could help us. Maybe.

We moved into the house. The front room was slick with blood and gore, and the mutilated body of a man lay in the center. Face removed, jaw stolen, and a sihedron rune clawed into his chest; most likely Hambley himself. Why? The rest of the house was a museum of its residents. They likely perished as ghouls by our hand.

We traveled back to Sandpoint and met Father Zantus; his healing grace removed our afflictions. During our short rest I sequestered myself. In my room, I sat at the desk and penned a letter to Aldern. When I finished, I felt as if it could be all for naught. Something gnawed at my heart, pulling me back from the sudden swoon I found myself indulging. Was I falling for a troubled noble? Was I ready to let down my guard to save a man whose life might be in danger? I crumpled the letter into a ball and tossed it into the fireplace. I tried again. My hand trembled as I slid the note into an envelope and sealed it with red wax. I found a merchant headed out to Magnimar, and gave him a few sovereigns to deliver the note to Aldern’s townhouse . The note simply read, “Be safe, dear Aldern. I must visit the Misgivings soon. I hope to meet you in Magnimar when the storm has passed.” I felt relieved and stupid, both at once.

The next day, we traveled south again to revisit the Hambley place. Our route took us to the safe-house, where many families of the northern farms found refuge during the Ghoul Plague. As we approached Hambley’s farm, where we were met by several scarecrow-ghouls.  We made quick work of our foes behind Vohoi’s spells. We found several victims pinned down to become ghouls and gave them grace. Other scarecrows were simply dismantled. We then turned our attention to the Misgivings.


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## soanso (Nov 26, 2013)

*The Misgivings, pt 1*

“I heard tales that she burned down the servants quarters in a fit of rage,” Shaiira said as we rode towards the coast. We rode single file and maintained a good trotting pace; the full moon lit the road for us. There was a small breeze in the autumn air. It was neither chilly nor refreshing. I was the last in line, Vohoi before me. I promised him over wine he’d never be last.

“She being who exactly?” I asked. 

“I think the grandmother, but I’m not sure,” Shaiira said.

“The Misgivings are said to be a haunted place. Legends say ghostly music can be heard coming from the front room on moonlit nights,” Vohoi offered, his eyes trained on the horizon splashed with waning sunlight.

“So Foxglove Manor is indeed the Misgivings?” I said. The words left me before I could check them. A brief,  cloying coldness touched my lower back. I tried to remain calm, but there was something amiss. I already knew that- or at least I thought I did. I felt confused, so I listened.

“How did you come to meet Aldern Foxglove?” Noria asked. We trotted at a fair pace, and her question rose above the hoof-beats, as steady and forward as they. I knew the dwarf meant no offense; their kith is less prey to irrational speech as mine.

“He approached me,” I said. “Well, actually, his dog did. When we all first met, during the Swallowtail Festival, that was the goblin attack. I heard the sound of the wounded dog, and Aldern was his master. We saved his life by killing the goblins-” I faltered at killing, such a detested word. “And he held a feast in our honor; we struck up a conversation and visited each other over the next few days. He gave us these mounts, and to me he gifted this exquisite crossbow-”

“All for a night in silk, eh?” Mundin chimed. I could not fault the dwarf for his opinion; in fact, everyone’s opinion.

“Nay, Mundin, I did not succumb to his charms, for I am saving myself for you,” I said, barely containing the lilting laughter in my throat.

Shaiira burst out laughing. “You owe me coin!” she said in Mundin’s direction. I cocked my head, curious. “Is there a wager on my scruples?”
  Mundin laughed. “Yours and the cleric’s,” he said. “Just a friendly bet among thieves, worry not, dear songstress.”

I laughed too. “Sorry to have lost your wager, Mundin. Perhaps I’ll be luckier next turn. What’s the next wager?”

We bantered about several seedy situations, involving some or all of us found in precarious and morally questionable circumstances, passing the road quickly beneath our feet. As we rounded the last long bend, however, frivolity fell to stark silence. Perched like a dying bird upon a withered branch sat Foxglove Manor- The Misgivings. The three-story manse loomed over the path, balanced upon a precipice above the ocean. Nature itself was twisted here- gnarled trees, sickly brown grass, and a complete absence of life save a few crows circling the burnt-out perimeter of what must have once been a building. A circular stone well stood to one side of the low, charred stone half-wall that must have once supported a building. My skin crawled.

“Do you hear them?” Shaiira asked, focused on me.
  “Hear what?”

“The screaming maddening cacophony rising from the burning house?” Her face was odd, her gaze transfixed on the manor. “Terror, do you hear the terror? The piano, Mum wouldn’t ever let this happen.” Her eyes were dull, her hands limp. She never spoke of Mum in front of the others, only to me, in private. 

“Mum’s dead, she’s back at the Boneyard in Sandpoint,” I said.

“No. No. You never said so,” Shaiira’s head shook back and forth in denial, as if it were disjointed from her neck. I looked to the others, but no one seemed to notice her odd countenance. Noria slid her axe off her back. We approached the manor under cover of night, though the Traveler’s Moon kept us in light.

I peered into the front room. Mold encased nearly every surface. Once a fine parlor, even the grand piano suffered the curse of time. We moved to the front door. Shaiira was acting oddly, and refused to pick the lock.

“It’s locked,” I said, trying the handle of the door. My hand slid to my pocket, and drew the strange key from it. _Of course, the Foxglove symbol!_ The tumblers of the lock fell into place and the great door swung open- we walked unabashed into the Misgivings.

Shaiira stopped at the threshold.
  “We need you now, Sis,” I said.
  Shaiira stood like a statue. “The screaming. The birds. The music. Mum says ‘No’…” she trailed into listlessness. Something is very wrong here.


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## soanso (Nov 26, 2013)

*Hands out for a friend*

Hey all! Soanso keeping the updates as best I can. For those of you following this Journal, first of all thanks. I also want to take a moment to bring to light a real tragedy that has impacted our little gaming group here at home. One of our players lost his home and all his belongings to a fire three weeks ago. He and his 14 year-old son lost everything, from computers to socks to Magic cards, hand-painted minis and rulebooks, modules and food and so much more. The local response has been amazing, and I'd like to take a minute to share his plight.

It's cold in Maine come winter. If you have a spare 5, 10, 20 bucks to donate to the cause, it's going to help put food on the table, fuel in the furnace, and give a good person a chance to recover from a debilitating loss. Here is a link to a GoFundMe page for Pete and Jayden- if you can, please donate. And please feel free to use this thread to send words of support to Pete and Jayden as they work hard every day to rebuild their lives. Blessings to you all. 

http://www.gofundme.com/57jv3k


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## soanso (Dec 12, 2013)

*the Misgivings, pt 2*

Greetings, Stranger, from a Stranger. 

Aye, there is little joy tonight; this chilling tale is too unbelievable to be real, but we have seen, heard, felt and lived it through our own real eyes, ears, and hearts. Terror is palatable, and Evil is real. What I can retell is here; I stand by the tales as any Farateldi would. 

  Shaiira refused to enter the manor, quaking in the dooryard. The heavy scent of mold and decaying vegetation wafted through the open doorway. The rest of us made our way inside; rot and mold were pervasive throughout. Slick black smears, bright orange pillowy tufts, stagnant green mossy swatches, purple-and-pink-flecked growths, and sickly blue mushrooms held the house together. 

We passed through a trophy room dominated by a manticore standing at full attack on a center table; other less identifiable trophies moldered on the walls and in alcoves.  

We made our way into what was once a parlor- the room with the grand piano I had scouted from the outside. I followed the dwarves into the room and immediately the room lit up, and a lively party replaced the rotten fixtures of the room. Guests in dated finery mingled and laughed, and a halfling sprinkled the keys of the piano with mirth. I was grabbed from behind and twirled about as the halfling played a waltz I recognized but could not name. I felt awash in the high times, and relaxed as my partner twirled me across the parquet. I turned to see my partner, and her face drove an icy pick through my heart.

It was Mum.

My mother twirled me across the floor. But her eyes were wrong, they were dull grey orbs devoid of life. I noticed a purplish bruise across her neck, and she danced faster, and faster, and faster- 

I passed out.

My eyes opened to a panting Mundin standing over me. We were back in the hallway.

“What happened?” I asked, shaking confusion from my head and standing.
  “Dunno. Ye passed the threshold there and sorta went whirlin’ and flyin’ about the room,” Mundin said. I heard a nervous twitch in his voice. “I dove in to grab ye and pull ya out, seemed you were in a bad place.”
  “Thanks,” I said.  
  “What was it?” Noria asked.
  “My mother,” I said. “She is here.” I knew this meant less to my friends than to me or my sister. Until now, I had given only small hints towards my real purpose in Sandpoint- tracking down my mother. At first, she had died. That is how I came to meet my half-sister, Shaiira. I later found out she was alive, but hadn’t yet counseled my sister. But that is another tale.
  “How so?” asked Vohoi.
  “‘twas she that spun me round,” I said. “But never mind, we are here for another purpose.”

Exactly like a nightmare, the rest of the night was a maddened jumble of guttural emotion and raw terror that defied any logic.  

A room on the first floor with windows overlooking the sea. I entered first, determined to discover why my mother was trapped here, haunting this terrible place. I was drawn to the seascape, lovely as it was in the falling daylight. Whitecaps piled on each other as children do upon themselves when the leaves fall from trees in the squares of small towns and are piled up before a bonfire. There was a gentle cadence in the sea foam, a jaunty reverie that whispered to me of a time long lost to memory. A firm hand grasped my right shoulder; my left hand moved to my scabbard as I spun to face the interloper.

It was Mundin, a scattered look spread across his face. He was in the grip of something surreal. His hand tightened on my shoulder; he is a strong, young dwarf and I reflexively dropped to a knee to counter or escape whatever was next.
  Then his eyes returned, and he gazed at me, confused. He shook his head free of something I could not see. His hand eased from me.

“OK?” I asked.
  “Uh, right as stone,” he said. I noted a small quiver in his voice. Whatever he had seen, he had survived it and I was grateful. 

A trophy room. Several moldering carapaces adorned the space, which was dominated by a large manticore trophy. Truly impressive. Vohoi refused to approach it.

Stained glass windows were a main feature throughout the house. Their iconography was familiar but I could not place it. Even Vohoi had a hard time with it. C would have nothing to do with the windows at all, bristling whenever either of us approached him for advice. It was odd for him to act so.

We came to another room scattered with memories. What first drew my eye was Mother’s scarf. I recognized it instantly; the intricate embroidery and vibrant reds hid beneath the cloth wicked blades that, if wielded properly, proved deadly. I never did master the technique, but my sister did. 

She now skulked behind us, unhelpful and unobtrusive in our efforts. 

I entered the room. Beyond the moldy trappings of a sitting-room, an unscathed book sat leaves down on the floor, and a stone bookend shaped like an angel with butterfly wings was toppled to the floor. I noted the remains of blood, bone, and hair on its base. I left it to rest on the floor and went to retrieve the scarf.

The cloth whipped up into the air and wound itself around my neck. Suddenly, Aldern Foxglove appeared from thin air, his eyes bulging, his skin a sickly mottled gray, his hands firmly in charge of each end of Mum’s scarf, wound around my neck.

The dance. Mum. The markings on her neck. Aldern! My husband! My children! My children?

Like a sleeper saddled to a bad dream, I threw myself from the haunting. Aldern was not my husband, I had no children. Disoriented, C and Noria helped me to my feet. The room came back to view. Mundin picked up the scarf, giving me a quizzical look.

“I… it’s a long story, I think,” stammered back. The dwarf nodded solemnly. He carefully wrapped the scarf and slid it into his pack.
  A strange glyph on the floor. It was as if someone had painted an intricate spiral staircase descending from the bird’s-eye view of the mural. We passed by gingerly. 

“Do you hear that?” Caramour asked as we passed a set of stairs ascending into the haunted mansion. No one did. “It’s a child’s voice, it is scared-” C said as he prepared to bound up the flight. Noria’s firm grasp on his forearm stayed the cleric. “First floor is first,” she said. Noria exhibited a confidence that shook my own initial fears away.

We passed through the macabre trophy room again; Vohoi shrieked and threw his arms up. We saw nothing. “The flames, the face! It’s alive!” he shouted. He reached to his spell component pouch to prepare an eldritch blast, until he realized none of us took up arms, but gazed at him, confused.

The sorcerer chuckled. “Ah, ‘tis the tricks of the mind. Very well, friends. I trust it is you and not the beast I should follow.” He described a woman’s face appearing on the manticore’s, and it coming to life and breathing fire on him.

Second floor. Whispers, moving shadows, and a too-bright moon spilling through the stained-glass windows. The waves crashed in a violent cacophony below the manor. Near the burnt-out ruin, a murder of crows began to gather.

A room of portraits. Whispers. Mold caked the picture frames, walls, floor and ceiling.
  “I hear the child,” C said again. “She needs us.”
  One wall displayed three portraits, singly of a man, a woman, and a young girl all wearing an older style of noble blue couture. C was drawn to the young girl’s portrait, studying it intensely.

The other wall displayed five portraits. A tall, thin man, a portly woman, and three children- two girls and a boy, younger than his siblings. I recognized the boy at once; a child’s eyes do not lie. He was Aldern Foxglove. 

“She is the manticore!” Vohoi said, pointing to the mother of three. The whispered voices grew louder, and we all took notice. 
  I was compelled to wipe the grime from the nameplates beneath each portrait. The older set was Vorel, the father; Kasanda, the mother; and Lorey, their daughter. 

The younger Foxgloves were Traver, the father; Cyralie, his wife, and their children Aldern, Sendeli, and Zeeva. I recalled Aldern speaking of Foxglove Manor as his father’s “labor of love lost,” and that a tragic accident had burned the servants’ quarters to the ground and that his father was nearly ruined by the effort. Shortly after that incident, Aldern was sent to live with relatives in Magnimar. My heart beat blood for him. I hoped to see him again to embrace his rise above such treacherous ground. I prayed to Desna to keep him strong in such times.

The audible popping sounds emanating from some of the portraits turned me to the source, and I watched Vohoi’s face as it was plastered by thick green mold. He wiped it away, but was immediately struck by some sort of fungal virus. 

“I’m OK,” he said, smiling with confidence. “Not that I intend to, but if I bloom into a mushroom, carry on, I’ve had my fun.” With a wink, Vohoi always relished the last word.


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## soanso (Jan 28, 2014)

*The Misgivings, pt 3*

[Long time gone- Life is funny like that. Back to retell the adventures of the Heroes of Sandpoint!]

  “I hear her voice, too,” Shaiira said, as she wandered to a door on the second floor. It led to what must have once been a child’s room, but the horror within was nearly too much. My sister refused to enter; I looked in to see scarred furniture, pillows and bedding torn apart as if by knives or claws, and the heavy stench of deathly rot. A child’s bed was overturned, and a small dresser stood broken in one corner, drawers splintered and their contents strewn and rotting across the room. The whole place was  covered in a sick blue mold.

I stepped in to investigate. My head instantly throbbed and my feet gave way beneath me, as I saw my mother, brandishing a torch, defending me from some monster. Once a man, his cyst-riddled face was something from a nightmare. He wielded a wicked dagger, slashing up the wallpaper, furniture, and floor as he tried to kill me.


He tried to kill me.


“Comin’ up to help ya, lass,” Mundin said, and I felt his strong arm at my elbow. As I started to stand, he released his grip. Swimming in confusion, drowning like a pup in a rill, I again turned and reached for the dwarf, who was oblivious to my peril. His eyes were fixed on the child’s bed, and then a flash of sickly blue light tore through the room.

_
“What is that on your face, Mommy?” _ The child’s voice had crackled like thunder. Mundin’s skin erupted with horrible boils and cysts, the same type that plagued my haunted vision upon entering the room. 


“It burns, the words, HER words, they burn, scrape it OFF!” the dwarf shouted as he clawed at his face, tearing strips of skin from his visage. I watched, horrified, unable to help.


C and Noria pulled us from our nightmare; the cleric cast a spell to heal Mundin’s weeping sores. The dwarf refused to move for a few minutes, visibly shaking. I pressed my hand to his shoulder.


Another room, again destroyed by violence. Knife and teeth marks marred every surface. Noria and I entered. The haunts here have targeted me; no doubt a response to my mother and her, I loathe to say, involvement with Aldern. Too much is unknown; Shaiira lingers as just a shadow. She rarely speaks or acts. Her eyes are not her own. If she is bewitched, I cannot tell. 


The room was cold and some of the stained glass windows were shattered, overlooking the surf below. One wall held a portrait, but the subject was turned to the wall. Whispers swirled in the air, quiet at first but growing louder with each passing moment, becoming a jumbled cacophony of violent whispers cutting through the air-  _why. why, why, why?_ The question crashed in my head, the sounds of the waves below and the spectral chant drew me more than once to approach the intact windows, a strange progression of an old man seemingly getting older. 


I heard Noria’s axe-blade leave its sheath and whirled around to help face the danger; but it was she.


“Why?” Her voice was like gravel on chalkboard, not her usual tone. She held her blade to my jugular. Her eyes were milky white, her pupils filmed over by some terrible curse.


A voice not mine found me. I was compelled to open my mouth, and I felt the air exit my lungs as the voice spoke. 

_
What did you get into in the damp below?_


Noria held her axe as close to my life as I never wish it to be again.


Reflexively I pointed to the painting turned backwards on the wall. From the corner of my eye, I saw Shaiira dart into the room. Her eyes seemed less wild, she saw my motion. My sister turned the painting around.


It was Mum.


Noria’s hand faltered, and I dropped to the ground, rolled away and drew my rapier, and pointed it at the paladin. Her axe fell, and her eyes lost their milky coating as she slowly gained cognizance of her surroundings. Shaiira slinked off down the hall. 


I had to. I wiped the mold from the nameplate to discover the portrait’s identity.


Iesha Foxglove.


To me she was Iesha Farateldi, my mother, Mum. Until now. Now, she was something else.

  *
  “Evil rules this house,” Caramour said. “These windows, they are all necromantic symbols. They entail degrees of supreme undeath, the path to lichdom.”


“Tis Vorel,” Shaiira said. “He rules this house.” Her voice sounded canned, as if she were a marionette played by another. Finding a set of stairs leading to the uppermost level of the Misgivings, we ascended, Noria leading the way. I decided to hang back, and asked Vohoi and C what they thought about Shaiira’s odd behavior.


“She seems normal to me,” Vohoi said. “And I think she’s right about Vorel- the windows’ images are similar to the painting we saw earlier. Are you sore because she deciphered it before you did?”


My ears burned, and that surprised me. 


“Have you not noticed the slinking about, her vacant eyes, her inability to engage in conversation?” I countered.


“Shaiira is herself, from what I see,” said C. “Are you sure you are alright? There seems to be deep scars here that you cannot abide. I can see the sorrow in your soul. Forgive me if I pry, but it is a fair observation.”


Caramour was correct. Every minute trapped within these walls brought a screaming subconscious alive that I did not know existed. Something tried at every turn to push me out, suppress me, cause me pain so that I would leave. Something breathed a single word into my inner ear with each step I took; but I could not forgive myself if I acquiesced.

_
Escape._


I would, but not without my family. I steeled myself for the third floor.


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## soanso (Feb 7, 2014)

*The Misgivings, pt 4*

We came into what was once some sort of observatory, a battered telescope occupying much of the room. Two floor-to-ceiling paintings flanked one wall. One depicted a black-haired woman holding an iron staff, the other a handsome man wearing an ivory and jade crown. Though familiar, I could not place them.

Vohoi walked to the window and then back to my side several times, becoming increasingly agitated. I put my hand on his shoulder and he startled, turned and faced me. His eyes came back to him, as if he were somewhere else for a moment.
  “Are you ok, mage?” I asked. I clasped his shoulder firmly.

He hesitated a moment before his reckless smile reappeared. “Yes, I am. I had heard… I wanted to throw myself out the window to the rocks below. But…”

I nodded. “This cursed place must be undone,” I said.
  “She won’t like it, what you’ve done here,” Shaiira said in a voice not hers, that I refused to let echo in my heart. She stared out the window, fingering the loose frills of her scarf. Of Mum’s scarf. I felt my hand rise, but fought it back to my side.

We entered into the hall and, by Desna, I heard a sigh from behind a closed door. Noria opened it and we stood, fixated on the large, rose-wrought mirror in the corner. Before it stood an emaciated woman.

She wore the same garb of Iesha Foxglove in the portrait downstairs.
  Iesha Foxglove. Iesha Farateldi. Mum. Mother.

“She’s not happy,” Shaiira’s weird flute-voice piqued in my ear. “It’s your fault.”

“It’s not my fault,” I said; but Shaiira was not behind me, nor even in sight.

Mum was saying something. Her lips moved. Her lips were slim, broken and black. Her face was mottled blue and green, and large sores covered her exposed arms and legs. Her hands were gnarled and knotted, and the fingers that once in my life plucked the strings of a lyre and braided my hair now ended in wickedly sharp claws. Her eyes stared into the mirror as her lips twitched, the black orbs possessing nothing but great sadness.

“Mundin, Caramour, do you see her?” I asked.
  “Aye, the abomination is but an arm’s length from you. Come back to us,” Mundin whispered, axe drawn. From the corner of my eye I could see C preparing a spell.

I cleared my throat. “Mother,” I said. The creature did not turn to me. To be so close without provoking the undead horror meant but one thing- she was indeed what the Pharasmin priests call a revenant. Her soul belonged to only one thing- the death of her murderer. Suddenly I saw myself again, realized what a fool I was. 

“Mum-” I had entertained taking her murderer to my own bosom, to trust him as she had. If I were to die in a split second I’d have welcomed it. Revenants do not just lust for the life of their killer, any blossom of memory will do. I stepped between Mum and the mirror, hoping to either break or inspire her rage. Her head snapped up, and the black orbs of her eyes crackled with pale green malevolent motes.

“Aldern! I can smell your fear! You will be in my arms soon!” I cowered in fear as her suddenly animated body made swift and powerful progress past the dwarves guarding the door and down the stairs.

“Should we follow?” C asked.

“Revenants know the exact location of their killer. If everything tumbles into place, we’ll find Aldern at the end of this,” I said, recovering from my fright and doubling my efforts to follow Mum.

We followed Mum through the house until we reached the first floor. She had stopped at the weird spiral-staircase motif on the hallway floor, shrieked and began ripping it apart. Mundin slid by me with his axe, but I stayed his arm. She would lead us to Aldern. Piecing things together, it was he we were after for the ghoulish atrocities that brought us here. It was he blighting the Misgivings. Revenants can find their killer unerringly, all we had to do was wait.

Mum tore through the floorboards, exposing a basement below. But as she began to lower herself in, C blasted her with a burst of positive energy. Enraged, she clamored back to the floor to attack us, wicked claws slashing away.
  Mundin was first to move in, and she quickly grappled him as the rest of my mates fell in to combat. I stood, dumbfounded. How could they attack her? She was my mother, my mother! The one I’d traveled to Sandpoint to find, to liberate and to bring back to me. To me, I am the last of us. How could this be? This was not her, I knew I could find some way to bring her back. Who could have drained her of all her vigor, vivacity, her laughter?

Shaiira suddenly leapt into combat, wielding my mother’s scarf as a weapon. She struck my mother and she reviled, yet grabbed the scarf and then began choking my sister. Shaiira’s legs kicked at the creature’s legs, and her hands grabbed at the undead horror’s face, but the monster kept squeezing her. My sister’s face turned purple, her eyes bulging. My mother’s…

She was not my mother. My mother is dead. She was a beast, a monster, a cur, an epithet destroying what little I had left in my heart, mind, and soul. I drew my crossbow, clumsy as it was, and fired a shot at the revenant. It missed, but distracted it enough for the dwarves and casters to rain death upon it, setting my sister free.

Her body lay prone on the floor. Sadness overcame me. What was once a grand part of me was irrevocably corrupted. Grief flooded my heart. I could sleep easy knowing she was dead or alive, but not this. Noria stood above the revenant, her eyes waiting for me.
  I nodded, my head as heavy as a guillotine. 

I ran to Shaiira, tears flooding my cheeks. Her eyes were as sodden as mine, and we took a moment to realize our worst nightmare.
  Our friends were quiet. I turned to them, intent on delivering a soliloquy wrapped in bravery, timeliness, and history. Instead, I wept. I wept openly and unabashedly. I could not find the words that could make it right. Noria shouldered me as I calmed down.
  “Best to rest tonight,” she said. “The casters are low in power, as are you.”

“Aye,” I said, wiping the tears from my eyes. I stood and smiled. “Maybe an extra ration of wine tonight, Mundin?”
  The dwarf smiled. “I’m all ears, lass. Let’s get somewhere safe. There’s the ruin at the bottom of the road that might provide shelter.”
  “On a clear night, we should be fine,” Vohoi said.

We headed towards the burnt-out servant’s quarters, where Vohoi pointed to the sky. A large, circling murder of crows preceded us, hovering near the ruin. As we came closer, they swooped in to attack us. Their bodies were emaciated and rotting, smelling of foul undeath and they swarmed us quickly. C sent out waves of positive energy, immediately dropping the crows. We spent an uneasy night in the ruin, knowing full well what dangers lurked in the damp below.  

Halfway through my watch, I heard a companion rise and leave camp. Though quiet, the footsteps were obvious. The soft foot-pad and the tap of wood indicated Caramour was up and about. 

“Sorry about your mother,” he said, his words quick to my ear like his feet on the ground. C is always faster than he looks.

“My mother is at peace,” I replied.

“But I-”

“You did what was right in your heart, Caramour. She had to be stopped.”
  “You did not approve.”

I was silent. I did shriek when he blasted the area with positive energy. Mum would have led us to Aldern, I thought. But then again, what do we know about the next minute? Nothing but that which we assume.

I turned to C, our eyes hidden in the dark embers of the campfire. “I don’t know, C. I’ve always had stories, songs, jokes to get through. You all know that. I’ve always had my past on my terms. To see it laid bare, for what it is-”

Silence hung in the air for a moment. Crickets chirped, a sudden sign of life at the Misgivings.

“The past is real. It is no longer a vision you shape for your own definition. It becomes a hard concept within you. It touches your soul,” the cleric said, “but it does not mean that the past cannot be interpreted. Tomorrow is the journey we embark on today.” Caramour took a few long draws on his pipe, I poured myself another glass of wine, and we sat in silence for a while.

“C?”
  “Yes?”
  “What brings a Vudrani here to Varisia?”

Caramour smiled.


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## soanso (Feb 26, 2014)

*Interlude*

“It is not from Vudra I have traveled, Sivoulette, but from the Kingdom of the Impossible, Jalmeray; my heart was never meant to study in the fabled monasteries there. We have an obsession with perfection,” Caramour said as he leaned into the fire, crackling it with his breath, causing flames to again jump into the night.

  “My journey is one of wonder, ironically impossible if you may. From a young age I knew that my fate was to never stay too long in one place. I was destined to always be on the move. Why Varisia, you ask? Thassilon,” the cleric answered, puffing from his pipe. “Ancient civilizations intrigue me. There is so much to be learned from the past. I am sure you feel the same.”

  “Aye,” I said. “But I never intended for this. I didn’t choose this,” I said, refilling my wine. “I never dreamed to find my mother. Shades, I never meant to find a sister- my Shaiira. I meant to live the life of my people, my family. Out on the Storval Plateau…” I trailed off, watching the flames leap into the air.

  “That’s it, isn’t it? We don’t choose. Are we chosen? I cannot say,” C said softly.

  “To whom do you pray? I see your symbol but I do not recognize it,” I asked, bolstered by the wine.

  Caramour studied the fire for a moment. “You could say it is the ideas of goodness, of compassion, love, strength, and justice. Freedom, wind, waves, liberty. Growth, health, retribution. Consciousness. We Vudrans have a different path to enlightenment than you do here. There is not one force, but many that I pray to in meditation.”  

  I nodded. We sat silently by the fire for a while; the trumpeting flatulence from Mundin’s bedroll announced his turn at watch. C smiled and pressed his hand to my shoulder.

  “We are neither chosen nor called, we just are.” The cleric headed to his blanket under the stars.

  Mundin coughed and stretched his frame as he came to the fire. “Miss anything?"

  “No, friend. ‘Tis a quiet night, save the cicadas.”

  He tilted his head. “First thing we’ve heard besides the screaming sage now aye?” He let out a chortling laugh. I smiled. Poor Vohoi had been tormented by the haunts inside the manor- I myself had seen more than I wished to ever recollect.

  He took to sharpening his axe blades, then turned to me. “You best turn in, lass. You’ll need your strength tomorrow.”
  “I’m not tired,” I said.
   “Need ye be petulant still?” He paused his work, and laid eyes to me.

“She was a revenant,” I said after much pause.

  “So she was murdered,” he said. “Have ye not seen now what foul things face us? Aye, you’ve met tragedy. I’m not a cold stone, but still stone must face the wind, for the wind never abates. Siv, we need ye lass, at your best.”

  Tears rolled down my cheeks. I was never not in control, until now. Mundin was silent as I composed myself.

  “There is time for sorrow, Siv. There is also time to rest. This ain’t one of your grand tales to tell, where everyone walks away fine, a good lesson learned. These are the dark times,” he said. I felt the grave in his voice. “You need to sleep.”

  I wiped my eyes as the dwarf’s words sunk in. I looked at him, and saw the pain he had, that he carried every day. In sorrow I was not alone; the dwarf’s tale needed telling. We carry with us the stones of legacy. “We fight our ghosts,” Mundin said. “Not by choice, but because we must. Because our past defines us. It will, in time, embrace you, too, child.”

  “I see your burden, friend. And you see mine.” I rose from the log and bid him goodnight.

  He was right. There are tales to be told, true, but there is also a tale to be lived. Never has the Farateldi caravan been waylaid until now. Never has the clan suffered the injustice of silence. I am the clan, now. And I have a family, Shaiira being first. Mundin, Caramour, Vohoi, Noria are all here. Grandy Vin and PopPop are gone. Mother is gone. Now the yoke is mine, and I stepped to it, bolstered by the words of my brother, Mundin. 

“When I sing our tale in my gray hair, good sir,” I said. 

  “I shall be there to raise a mug in spirit,” he replied. Such is a Varisian exchange, always a promise on both ends.

I was glad to have company by firelight. I retired to my blankets just outside the campfire’s reach. With the weight of the wine I felt sleep swiftly approach, and soon fell to it.


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## Azkorra (Feb 26, 2014)

Nice interlude here, Soanso! Also likin' very much how the storyteller's own personal history is interweaved with the general plot unfolding in this adventure. Lookin' forward to further updates!


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## soanso (Feb 28, 2014)

Hey thanks Azkorra! 

It's my guilty pleasure to be playing the bard AND writing the Story  Hour for this campaign. I play with a great group; I don't quote them  verbatim, but try to capture their characters as the Players play them.

Thanks for following!

More to come!


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## soanso (Feb 28, 2014)

*Les Misgivings, denouement*

We awoke, and the plague-stricken ravens were nowhere to be seen. Fully recovered and prepared to follow the path Mother had laid out for us, we approached Misgivings with a new feeling- hope. 

Dropping into the exposed basement, we found something unnerving- someone had been excavating the basement in recent months. Perhaps the haunted house was less abandoned than we had thought.

The basement was itself a complex mix of rooms, the first being a shoddy kitchen. Waves of rat swarms plagued us, but were eventually overcome. 

We came to a ruined arcane laboratory. A mural spanning the walls depicted a gaunt, gray-fleshed man imbibing a vial of viscous green liquid; his other hand clasped a seven-sided wooden box. I recognized the man as Vorel Foxglove, patriarch of the Foxglove line; he also appeared in paintings in the house proper.

We left the room, all except Noria. I turned in the doorway, and watched as her arm eerily and slowly extended itself at the bookshelf, as if it were pulled towards the dusty tomes unwillingly, and she touched one of the books. Her eyes rolled in her head for just a moment, and she gasped, withdrawing her hand and cradling it as if it had touched open flame or solid ice.

“Are you alright, Noria?” I asked, my hand moving to the hilt of my rapier.
  “I, yes. It’s numb, that’s all. Yes, Caramour? Where is he?” Her stoic voice cracked as she asked for the cleric. Caramour came around the corner.
  “Are you wounded?” he asked.
  “No. But tell me, this mural here- it is familiar, yes?”

Caramour studied it, and walked to the seven-sided wooden box. “Phylactery,” he said.

“I thought so,” Noria said, shaking her hand free of numbness. “This is part of the process the depraved take to become a lich.”

My head swam with confusion. What was happening? Where did the Open Road lead? A fortnight or so ago I had discovered a half-sister I never knew existed; today, my mother’s spirit finally released, I found myself on the trail of a lich.
  Three iron bird cages cluttered one workbench, and I thought of the ghoulish ravens that had swarmed us. I shuddered to think of what pain my mother must have suffered under this evil roof. 

Another room featured two bunks and appeared to be servant’s quarters. The room appeared to be recently used, but we found no evidence of any particular individual. A set of stone stairs led to the murky depths of the earth.

“We must save the child,” Noria said. It was her first utterance since the necrotic laboratory.

“What child?” I asked.

“We must save the child,” Shaiira repeated, her eyes again glassy and adrift.

Noria shook herself from some sort of fog. “There is great evil here,” she said. “Follow the stairs below.” The paladin was burdened by something, but I could not perceive her qualm.

Her voice was too monotone to be Noria, but we acquiesced. We followed the staircase into a natural limestone cavern, leading straight into darkness. Shaiira scouted ahead.

“She’s gone,” Noria said.

“What the what-” I stammered, not ready to lose another one so soon.

“Aye, something swooped in an’ took her,” Mundin said.

We followed the dwarves into darkness, albeit cautiously. Mundin’s war-cry prompted C to put _light_ on his walking stick, illuminating the battlefield. Sha was huddled in a heap in the lair of a winged nightmare, bleached bones littering the floor. We finally brought it down, feeling weary from the fight. Caramour healed Shaiira; though dazed she seemed fine elsewise. There was life in her eyes again, and that made me smile.

“Some sort of ghoul-touched bat,” Noria said as she looked through the beast’s lair. Several fairly ripe bodies lay among the bones and guano.

“By the Goddess, it’s Bilger!” Shaiira cried.

“A friend of yours?” Mundin quipped.

“Nay, but he is a known criminal. He robbed a Magnimar merchant and there is a bounty on him,” Shaiira said as she stripped the dead dwarf of his belongings. “This should be enough evidence to collect the reward,” my sister said.

“Glad to have you back,” I said. She smiled oddly.
  “I never left,” she said. 

We decided to rest again at the burnt-out servant’s quarters, Caramour providing both protection from the cadaverous birds and the benefit of a _nap stack_. We were quickly back to the caverns beneath the Misgivings, thanks to his prayers.

A second tunnel was the lair of a small pack of ghouls, which were quickly dispatched.
  We entered another natural cavern, this one was met by the sea. Green sea foam splashed up against the high walls of the cave, and four sickly goblins quickly engaged us, joined by a few more.

“Ghouls!” Caramour shouted, using his grace-given energy to lay them low.
  We came to a locked stone door. As Shaiira investigated, I felt my stomach turn, my nose struck with the whiff of carrion. She opened the door onto a terrible scene.

A macabre sitting room greeted us. A rickety table stood to one side, what appeared to be a stack of paintings leaning on it. Lumps and heaps of rotten meat filled the air with the overwhelming stench of death. Lazed in a chair was Aldern Foxglove. My heart stopped.
  It was Aldern, but not Aldern all at once. His frame and finery were intact, but his visage was that of a terrible monster. His purplish face split in a too-wide and wicked grin, a distended tongue lashing out from behind viciously sharp teeth. He donned a mask of horror, a sickly stitched thing from the flesh of the living.

“My Darling, you have arrived!” the corpse said, lithely sliding from its chair to the floor. 

“I am not your Darling,” I said, drawing my rapier. What this undead abomination was, I was uncertain. I only knew it killed my mother, and that was all I needed to know.

“My Darling, I do love a woman with spirit,” the thing said.

“You killed my mother,” I said.

“No, my Darling, I gave her everlasting life. I freed her.” The horror’s fetid breath was that of a dung-heap left to wallow in the jungle’s heat. 

“And now it is you who has come to me for salvation.”

“Can we kill it?” Mundin asked.

“Aye,” I said, and I lunged into battle, crimson with rage. 

My rapier met the soft flesh of its belly, tearing it apart. The ghoul’s eyes widened with the blow.

Yet Aldern was powerful still, and soon I gasped on the floor of the cavern, unable to move. I faded in and out of consciousness, but I saw Noria strike the fatal blow, I smiled then spiraled into darkness. 

It was the voices of Caramour and Mundin that brought me to light. “Can you hear me, Siv? You have been graced by the gods,” C said, his warm hand on my forehead.

“Get up lass, we’ve more business, and your songs keep us dwarves movin’!” Though his voice was gruff, it brought a certain measure of concern.

I smiled. I struggled to sit up.
  “I won’t leave even if asked,” I said. 

  “A Varisian to the bones,” Vohoi said.

I forced myself to my feet, and took in the surroundings. Aldern, or what was once he, was dead. The cavern was littered with rotting meat yet was surprisingly put together in a horrific semblance of noble order. A fleet of canvassed paintings littered the walls and floor; a silver candelabra graced the table in the middle of the room; a rack of clothing stood in one corner. A wicked cleaver rested in the dead noble’s hand. But most curious was a man-sized silhouette of mold on the far wall, pulsing with energy. We searched the body of Aldern and the room, hoping for a clue.
  I found a silver locket on the beast’s body; my mother’s portrait was held therein. I immediately clasped it on my neck, and it felt like the hug from a mother to a daughter after a moment of strife. The grotesque mask and a pair of rings were also magical; but the true find was Shaiira’s.

She approached us, her hands cupped. She walked gingerly, protecting her treasure.

“I found this,” she said, carefully depositing the splintered wooden box before us.

Noria looked at C, and they both looked at me; I nodded. Shaiira had found the splintered remains of Vorel Foxglove’s phylactery.


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## soanso (Jun 6, 2014)

*Interlude 2: Notes From the Grave*

There are no words, no phrases nor linguistic tricks that can take away the terror of death. Death lurks behind every smile, every menace, every corner, under blue skies and black, with or without provenance in deeds or thoughts or circumstance. Death is a terror to the living, a sweeping, inevitable finality that we all dance around and spend most of our waking hours avoiding as a matter of fact. To those skilled enough or rich enough, death can be a mere inconvenience, waved away by powerful magic or an unheralded reservoir of determination and divine favor. For the rest of us, death will find us. Death has been a part of my life, always, and this fact does not set me apart from the rest. While I can accept that death is the inevitable terror of mortality; it is undeath that I cannot begin to comprehend. It is the terror of death manifest, it is the physical embodiment of the horror of loss, the foul corruption of life. Where life gives promise, undeath is a negligent and unrepentant hunger- and that hunger is unholy, unreal, and… 

I beg your forgiveness, fellow travelers and tale-weavers, for my absence. My time spent trapped twixt life and undeath required rumination, acceptance, and reconciliation.    

After battling Aldern Foxglove, his ghoulish visage corrupted by fate and hidden behind his terrible mask, I fell into a fitful, cold sleep. Wet cobwebs of nightmares cloyed at my soul, an unholy hunger rose like a fire in my belly; my soul was paralyzed, held in check as the dark, needling bits of memory and hatred flitted about the corners of my mind, trying to consummate the utter destruction of my soul. My psyche broke down, and a recurring nightmare from years ago, years I’d buried mile after mile on the road, resurfaced. Myself, holding my mother’s wedding scarf, bathed in blood. The caravan burned as I sobbed holding the tattered thing. Every nightmare ended the same- me, crawling from beneath the wagon, the smell of charred flesh so thick I wretched…

I woke to the songs of magpies drifting through the cobwebs that clouded my mind, songs lifted to my ear by the soft rays of morning’s first lights. I turned my head towards the sound and thanked Desna for renewing our journey. I opened my eyes, but found them crusted over and I reached my hand to wipe away the deterrent of my morning.

I was startled to find my hands and feet bound with crude rope, my hips lashed to the plush mattress. I tried to cry out for help, but my throat was filled with sand, my lips were a cracked, scorched surface no song or tale would survive. I struggled against my bonds, but found myself too weak, too clumsy to shake them. I shivered despite the warm sun languishing on my sightless eyes, and like a drunkard whose mind is suddenly flooded by the events of a night lost to the bottom of the glass, I remembered Aldern. I remembered the Misgivings, I remembered the crows, the stench of rotting meat, I remembered a hunger I could not sate, I remembered his mask, a foul thing stitched together from the hides of a half-dozen creatures, hideous and magical and then, again, the hunger, and the cold whisper of the grave.

A hand covered my mouth and warm water splashed over my eyes and cheeks, and it felt like a weight was lifted from me, a warm cloth wiped away the detritus that sealed my eyelids shut. I blinked as harsh sunlight filled my eyes and blinded me momentarily. Again I tried to speak, but words were lost in the sandstorm that was my mouth. I turned my head to the magpies, and saw the dwarf holy warrior, Noria, at my bedside. She held a cloth, and her eyes bore no malice. As our eyes met, she signaled to another across the bed, and I pivoted to see Caramour alongside, a pitcher and goblet in hand. He poured the water into the goblet, and held my head as my cracked lips touched the rim of the vessel and I drank deep. The cold water was an avalanche of relief into my body; I drank thrice before the sand and gravel left my throat and my soul rose from some unprepared grave to bring me again to the day.

I raised my voice to speak, but instead fell into a fit of coughing and wheezing. I pointed my left hand inwards towards the bonds that held the wrist in question.

Noria and C shared a glance; they knew I was safe, but they waited. I recognized the valances and the pitcher and goblet as those of the Rusty Dragon.

“You fought bravely at the Misgivings,” Caramour said as he loosed the bonds on my wrist. “Yet what was once Aldern infected you with a disease I could not cure.”

Noria also worked to loose the restraints around my hips. “It was ghoul fever, Sivoulette, and we needed to take precautions after you tried to attack your sister,” the dwarf said. “Do you remember anything since the attack?”
  “Hunger,” I said. “Nightmares. My mother, killed by Aldern. Massacre of people I didn’t know. Flames, cold, dark shadows. Is Shaiira…” my voice fell into a fit of coughing.
  “She is fine,” C said. “We were able to… subdue you and the good preacher Zantus was kind enough to aid in your recovery.”

By now the coarse rope was away from my body and I felt as if I were truly rising out of a nightmare and into a dream. 
  “I… words cannot… I regret,” I said. “Thank you, for not…”

Noria rose and helped me from my bed. We went to the common room, surprisingly devoid of customers. At the great table sat Vohoi, Shaiira and Mundin. They each rose as I entered on Noria’s arm, still feeling weak from days lost to ghoul fever.

I smiled.

For the first time in my life, I had nothing to say.

“Well, then, mystics,” Mundin said, hefting his axe, “Is she an abomination or not?”
  “Sorry to say she’s alive, Dwarf,” C said, chuckling. Mundin’s cheeks grew red as tomatoes.
  “Ha! You owe me! I told ‘im you’d rise from the grave! That’s ten crowns, my good man,” Shaiira said, holding out her hand to Mundin. To his chagrin, the dwarf clinked the gold coins into my sister’s hand, and after a pause approached me. “Glad you’re here, lass, we’ll be needin’ ya soon enough.” He gave naught but a look and a slight nod to me; a gesture as good as gold from his kith. I knew Mundin had a story, too.

After a spell, patrons began to float in and the Rusty Dragon assumed its typical mid-evening pace of food, drink, and tales. For the first time, I did not feel compelled to join the storytellers at the hearth, or mingle with the wenches and barkeeps, or even slip into the scullery to pare potatoes or chop onions or prepare chickens for roasting. I felt connected yet aloof, involved but alone. 

I never actually held my mother’s scarf after she left. After the massacre, it was she that brought me to Sandpoint and to Shaiira, what seems like a lifetime ago now. As far as I knew, when I arrived in Sandpoint, Mum was dead and buried in the boneyard, her stone bought by an artist of local repute. As I approached her simple stone in the cathedral’s sideyard, I passed the half-elf, and her scarf was unique: it was Mum’s. And so death brought life to me, and my people. This might be my last night in Sandpoint; I found my mother and can again join the Open Road. Yet something else keeps me from calling my horse and departing to Magnimar, or Riddleport, or beyond; there is something here, an energy that is like a vortex disallowing me to leave. So death again gambles on my fate; Desna keep me close.

I nursed a mug of mulled wine, simply happy to be free of the cold touch of the grave. I harbor no compunction regarding my recent plight; ghoul fever is serious and I counted myself blessed to have escaped its terrible fate. My companions lilted, laughed, and caroused with exuberant life. I had never forgotten the joy of existence, but now I appreciated the gift much more than ever before. I smiled to myself as I watched Mundin, half-tipped, instruct a few of the locals on the finer points of axemanship. C was withdrawn to his customary nook, engaged with Vohoi in an intense discussion, both puffing contentedly on their long-stemmed pipes. Noria, always uncomfortable in gatherings, had a mug of ale in one hand, listening to the troubadours strum a solemn song of Aroden’s glory. Shaiira skulked in the shadows, and I beckoned her. She lit across the floor and joined my side, sliding into the booth to sit next to me. We watched the crowd, silent. A new halfling server brought Sha a small glass of whiskey. She shot it back and nodded to the lad.

I took a sip of mulled wine. “Tell me about Mum,” I said.


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