# Nebulous's Keep on the Shadowfell (FR)



## Nebulous

*Nebulous’s Keep on the Shadowfell (FR)*

  This is our Forgotten Realms “Keep on the Shadowfell” campaign over the past few months.  It is set in the 4e Realms but does not follow canon very closely; I still used Orcus as the deific source of evil rather than a Realmsian god from the web enhancement. If you’ve read my other story hours you’ll know that I like to add pictures from our games, many of which are doctored post-session specifically for the recaps. I’ve broken the adventure summaries into smaller chunks for easier digestion depending on their length.

  These were written primarily for the players, often referred to as “You”, although I kept in mind that other readers would see it eventually and sometimes I refer to them (you guys) as well.  The style I use is a blend of prose, game mechanics and summarization that I find quick and easy to write.  It’s no eloquent novel, that’s for sure.  I also use lots of “GM Note” asides.  A few of the background story elements and NPCs developed over the course of the adventure, so I’ve gone back and tried to enhance them for a more cohesive narrative.

  Unfortunately, I think my players care less about cohesive narrative and more about killing monsters and taking their stuff. Ah. _C'est la vie._

  These are the chapters:

Prologue
Adventure #1: Winterhaven
Adventure #2: Court of the Frog Queen
Adventure #3: Ambush on the Old Road
_Side Trek (I): The Grave of Blacksoul_
Adventure #4: A Dismal Den of Dragon Droppings
Adventure #5: Shadowfell Keep
Adventure #6: Splug!
Adventure #7: Lord of the Maw & Boss of the Fat
_Side Trek (II): The Streets of Silverymoon_
Adventure #8: Caves of Peril
Adventure #9: Slime Central
Adventure #10: The Hobber Barracks
Adventure #11: Chief Krusk, Sir Keegan & Traps Galore
_Side Trek (III): The Fate of Blacksoul_
Adventure #12: Cathedral of Shadow
Adventure #13: The Claws of Orcus
Epilogue

  We’ve really enjoyed 4e so far, and I thought this was a great introductory adventure.  I can’t say that it is my favorite version of D&D (magic is rather lame now), but combat is a helluva lot of fun. I tried to address some of the shortcomings in the module, such as one-note NPCs and lack of detail for the main villain, Kalarel.  We’re moving on to Thunderspire next, but I may very well skip Pyramid of Shadows and segue into King of the Trollhaunt Warrens, planting it smack in middle of the Evermoors. 

    Many thanks to other DMs who gave me ideas I unabashedly stole.  Take what you want from here!










  Prologue 

  The dirty half-elf girl looked up from the parchment in her hand.  This was the correct address, yes: 20 Spinagon Alley, Silverymoon.  She crumpled the paper.  It was a squalid, ugly building, with peeling lichenous green paint, and blackened, boarded windows.  She could hardly imagine anyone living here, but Ninaran had lived in worse places.  She sucked in a breath and let it out slowly.  






  This is where her mother had told her to come.  Despite that her elven mother was long, long dead and buried. 

  She raised a fist and rapped lightly on the door.  Silence.  She looked up and down the street but saw only trash spinning in the chill wind.  It was cold out here, no one up and about yet. She raised her hand to knock again, wondering if her mother’s angry spirit had made a mistake, but the door suddenly cracked open. 

  An eye glared at her. 

  Ninaran found that she could not speak.  Perhaps she should not have come at all.  What was she doing here?  Did she really think that this stranger would help? 

  “Are…are you…Kalarel?” Her question was a mere whisper, nearly lost in the rustling wind. 

  The eye blinked, and the door opened wider. 

  “Enter.” A man’s voice, deep and full of command.  She did not dare disobey. Gathering the hem of her muddy traveling cloak, she stepped up and entered the door.  It closed behind her with a snap and was quickly bolted shut.  She stood in a small, dirty apartment.  The room stank of something sickly sweet and rotten, and the only light flickered from a large candle on a table, but the candleholder was half a human skull.  The man, whose features were shrouded by a black hood, stepped slowly away from the door, watching Ninaran.   She stood quietly, looking down at the paneled floor between her feet.  She did not want to see his face. 

  “You must be…Ninaran. Yes. Your mother told me you would be here soon.”  

  His eyes were just two glittering dark jewels under the hood.  He was tall too, broad shouldered and emanating an authoritative presence that genuinely frightened Ninaran on some primal level.  She did not say anything, just nodded. 

  “Sit,” the man instructed. 

  Ninaran found a chair.  He walked behind her, his boots clicking on the cold wooden floor, and she heard him stop.  Her fingers were shaking, but whether from cold or fear she did not know. 

  “We have much in common, you and I, Ninaran the half-elf.”

  Ninaran wondered what that meant exactly. She had never met this man before, and would not known of him at all unless her mother’s banshee had repeatedly come to her, instructing Ninaran to seek this person out, a man who would help Ninaran find what she and her mother sought…

  …revenge. 

  “Did…did you…know my mother in life?” she asked, her voice hollow even to her own ears. 

  “No child,” he answered, “but the dead speak to me more eloquently than the living ever could.  Her very soul screamed for revenge against the human who burdened her with a child all those years ago, and then promptly abandoned them.  Your mother died from grief, did she not?  So in love with a young man named Ernest Padraig that his rejection of her and her young daughter was more than she could bear.  Heartbroken.

  This…Padraig killed your mother Ninaran, just as surely as if he had slid a blade between her ribs himself.” 

  Ninaran felt the tears and the old rage building, bubbling up in her gut like a hot fountain.  It was true what Kalarel said; a young nobleman named Ernest Padraig was her natural father, according to the banshee’s tale of woe that haunted her so many nights. Ninaran hated this man she had never met, a man that long ago thoughtlessly killed her mother without even knowing.

  “I know of loss too,” the man said, placing a hand on her shoulder.  Ninaran stiffened at the touch. 

  “The lust of the Padraig family has passed through many generations.  My own blood is tainted by their seed, by the father of the father who left you with a life of inequity and poverty. And my own mother…” and he paused briefly, as if struggling with a memory, “…died too young. Too young.”

  Kalarel stepped around the chair and pulled his hood back.  His head was clean shaven, his features strong and angled, his skin deeply tanned, almost handsome in a way if not for the maniacal gleam in his eyes. 

  “So you see Ninaran…we do have something in common.  And we share a desire for revenge.”

  “Revenge…” she whispered so quietly it was barely audible. 

  “I can help you Ninaran, if you help me.  I have a powerful master, more powerful than you can imagine, with control over life and death in the palm of his hand. I have business in the small town of Winterhaven to the south, and if you help me, I promise that you will have the revenge you seek.  Ernest Padraig lives there even now with his family, uncaring of the woes he has spread.  

  Help me Ninaran the Half-Elf, and you will see justice served.”

  And Ninaran knew in the deepest part of her soul that this evil man was right. 

  And she agreed to help.


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## Medriev

Great start. Love the way you have tied Ninaran and Kalarel together. Moving the story to the North rather than going with the Dungeon idea of the Thunder Peaks is also interesting.

I'm intrigued and awaiting the next post.


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## Nebulous

*Adventure #1: Winterhaven (Part 1)*

*
Adventure #1:  Winterhaven*

PART ONE


*WIND by the FIRESIDE*
 (Traditional trail ballad; author unknown (but really Ed Greenwood!)​
_*“So as you shiver in the cold and the dark, look into the fire and see in its spark—
My eye…watching over you.

As you walk in the wind’s whistling claws, listen past the howling wolf’s jaws—
My song…comes to you.

And when you’re lost in the trackless snow, look up high where the eagles go.
My star…shines for you.

You are not forsaken.  You are not forgotten. The North cannot swallow you. The snows cannot bury you.  I will come for you.

Faerun will grow warmer and the Gods will smile. But oh my love, guard yourself well—

This may not happen for a long, long while.”
*_




But it is the season of Greengrass now, the 1st of Mirtul, far from the cold clutches of winter, and five heroes are escorting a single horse-driven wagon from the majestic city of Silverymoon.  Their destination: the small walled hamlet of Winterhaven.  The wagon driver, an ugly but amicable half-orc named Gobbo Goodnest, is taking his wares to Winterhaven to sell during the weekly Market day.  






The party is going along as protection, as well as fulfilling a job for Merple the Moneylender, a Halfling businessman in Silverymoon. 






The group has been hired to go to Winterhaven and map out an old crumbled keep in the vicinity, a derelict of a long lost age.  Brandis Padraig, as a long time resident of Winterhaven, knows legend and rumor of this place, but has never been there.  Merple only has an incomplete map of the region and would like to have updated information added to his archives.  He has given the group a copy of what he has, although it is not particularly detailed or useful. 

In addition, Merple has tasked them with a secondary mission; he has another employee in the region, Douvan Stahl, who was looking for the remains of a dragon’s tomb. If they can find Stahl, let Merple know if he’s alive or dead, or if he ever found the dragon tomb he was searching for. 




The Heroes:​
*Helga Hammerhelm*, female dwarf Fighter (out to prove her worth to her clan).

*Eravin*, male eladrin Wizard (a miraculous survivor of the Spellplague that stripped him of his former levels; he has recovered enough lore to gain 1 level of expertise)

*Irann-mari*, female half-elf Warlock
_*
Ashravan “Ash,”* _male elf Rogue

_*Brandis Padraig*,_ male human Warlord, eldest son of Lord Ernest Padraig of Winerhaven. He has not set foot in Winterhaven for several years while seeking his fortune and fame in the wider world. 


The group has only known each other for a few weeks, and they know little about each other’s abilities or backgrounds, other than the obvious.  Brandis Padraig has not been home for two years, and is sure that his family will be overjoyed to see him.  Gobbo Goodnest chortles and talks incessantly, but abruptly stops and pulls up the reins when he spots a flicker of movement in the distance behind a clump of rocks. 

“Ya see that?” grunts Gobbo.

They do indeed, and Ash the rogue tries to flank around the side.  The rest of the group sees several lizard-like dog men peering out from behind boulders, not particularly trying to hide, but Ash spots a few more concealed beyond the boulders.  Brandis Padraig advances, perhaps a little too brazenly, and is instantly swarmed by enraged kobolds, including a heavily armed soldier bearing a dragonscale shield!  Shrieking, they duck and jab and stab at Brandis, shifting out of the way, and then a hidden slinger hurls a glob of sticky glue at his feet, anchoring Brandis to the road.  He’s immediately in serious trouble. 






The wizard and warlock employ their magical resources, tossing magic missiles and cursing foes with eldritch fire.  Helga the fighter dwarf leaps into the fray with her battleaxe, hewing foes down in vicious chops.   The dragonshield kobold blocks her attacks with advanced tactics and proves to be a worthy foe.  Their blows ring off each other’s armor and steel. 

Ash moves behind a kobold and tries to slit its throat, only to be rushed by a second dragonshield warrior.  It is an enemy he does not wish to fight alone.  Meanwhile, the kobolds have continued to dance around the mired Brandis Padraig, who is unable to escape the gluey mess entangling his feet.  He is quickly bloodied, and then dips perilously close to death before the closest attackers are either killed or retreat.  To his immense fortune, the kobold slinger throws several globs of burning pitch that all miss him.  Had they hit, he might have died. 

Brandis finally manages to escape, but has been giving tactical orders the whole time.

The first dragonshield soldier is dropped, eldritch fire exploding from his eyes after the warlock’s curse infuses his soul with dark portent.  She teleports to another spot across the battlefield, powered with the death of her enemy, and targets another foe.  Helga charges the remaining three enemies, ignoring their opportunity attacks, and wails on the dragonshield with a devastating Brute Strike.  The soldier falls to one knee, but staggers up, still in the fight -- until Ash backstabs him.  Steel hacks into the kobolds from both sides, and the slinger’s head is brutally removed from his shoulders, spewing dark blood in a wet arc. 






Soon the battle is over, the dust settles, and blood begins to cool in the road.  Gobbo Goodnest is ecstatic, praising the heroes and their martial prowess.  Apparently, kobold brigands have been a problem on the King’s Road recently, but Gobbo had been hoping to avoid a confrontation.  Still, he promises the group that Salvana Wrafton of Wrafton’s Inn will offer them room and board for free, his treat for the first night or so.  They’ve earned it, no doubt. 

Several hours later as dusk is crawling over the horizon, the group sees the walled palisade of Winterhaven behind the trees in the distance.  






To the east though, outside the gates, they see a mournful procession of crying women in the graveyard, and a small casket being lowered into the ground.  Brandis does not recognize anyone immediately, other than the priestess of Sune present for the funeral rites:  Sister Linora.






“What happened here?” Brandis quietly asks once the rites are finished.  

Sister Linora is pleased to see Brandis Padraig and hugs him, telling him that it has been a long while.  As for the funeral, a child was killed by marauders in the outlying farms.    The problem has been getting worse and worse as of recent.  Sister Linora asks with some difficulty if Brandis has spoken with his family, and if he knows about…Kel.

His youngest brother, only twelve years old.  

Brandis has heard nothing, and Sister Linora says that he really should find his father and speak with him.  Greatly disturbed now, Brandis ushers the others toward the front gates.  There are two sentries, one of whom Brandis immediately recognizes as Rond Kelfern, head of the Winterhaven Regulars, the town’s militia.  They greet each other, and Rond says that Lord Padraig is either at his walled estate, or at the Inn.  

Drinking. Yet again, as has been the case ever since Kel...


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## Nebulous

Adventure #1:  Winterhaven

*PART TWO*






The group heads to Wrafton’s Inn first, and by now dusk has settled cool and purple over the town.  Even before the doors open they hear a female minstrel inside, and soon her voice soon washes over them, backed by the pungent smell of ale and cooked sausages. 






The singer is a female elf who melodically croons and nods to the newcomers (GM Note:  she was singing a song from the Beowulf movie].  A disheveled Halfling sits at her feet strumming a lyre, with a hat extended for coins.   Eravin the Eladrin Wizard is immediately attracted to this young minstrel (despite his advanced age), and taking a position at her side, he uses cantrips to call forth fluttering fireflies to augment her performance. (YAY!  Non-combat use of magic!!)  






Gobbo Goodnest, Helga, Brandis, Ash and Irann all enter the bar area and are greeted by a tall, attractive human woman named Salvanna Wrafton, owner and bartender. 






There are a few patrons eating and drinking here, and Salvana immediately recognizes Brandis.  She tells him that his father is at the back booth, thoroughly immersed in his cups.  Brandis immediately goes to speak with him.  

“These are great warriors!” praises Gobbo, clamping a hand to the dwarf’s shoulder.  “They slew many dirty ‘bolds along the road this eve.  Left not a one standing!”

Mugs are raised in appreciation from the farmers and patrons at the bar, including one from a heavy-set human with a ruddy face.











“Well met then, strangers,” the large man drawls. “It is always good to hear of less trouble on the road.  Every little bit helps!  My name is Valthrun the Prescient, local “purveyor of knowledge,” or some such audacious title.  Who might you be?”






The group asks about the kobold problem first, and find that it has indeed become a serious problem over the last few months.  The little bastards are getting braver and braver, going from attacking individual travelers on the trade road to actually infiltrating houses and stealing babies!  The Winterhaven Regulars don’t have enough members to patrol the farms outside the walls.  Worse, says Salvana Wrafton quietly, Lord Padraig’s own young son Kel has been killed by raiders while out hunting.  He is wallowing in grief, and his wife Cynthia Padraig has gone almost mad.   She arms herself at all times now, and will not let their youngest daughter out of her sight. 

While Helga, Ash and the others are relayed this gossip, Brandis is hearing pretty much the same thing from his father.  Lord Ernest Padraig is an emotional mess, but extremely glad to see his oldest son, who has blossomed into a fine warrior just as his father did. 






Valthrun the Prescient is a wealth of information, and continues drinking and engaging the newcomers while Salvana keeps their mugs and plates full.   Talk eventually turns toward questions about an old keep outside of town.

“Aye, the old keep,” murmurs Valthrun, rubbing his chin.  “I know of it.”

“Some say it’s haunted,” whispers Salvanna. “Ghosts.  Vampires.  Why in Sune’s good name would you want to go there?”

Well, money talks, and the group is being offered good coin to map it out by Merple the Moneylender in Silverymoon.  Valthrun says he doesn’t know too much about it, other than it might have been a watchpost for the old kingdom, but that was probably hundreds of years ago.  Now, it’s likely just a goblin den or some such foul place. Still, Valthrun is intrigued by their questions; it panders to his love of lost lore, so he immediately volunteers to retreat to his tower and search his library for clues about the old keep.  When they see him again, he says, he’ll know much more. [Journal Updated!] 

Brandis and his father soon leave, his mother needs to be seen, and the rest of the group steps outside into the cool night air.  They hear ringing blows from a hammer and anvil, and soon see a dwarf hunched in the ruddy glow.






The dwarf has an obvious gimp leg, and walks with a limp to dunk the shaft of hot metal in a barrel of water.  Helga addresses him, asking if he has anything for sale.  Exceptional weapons perhaps?  The smithy, Thair Coalstriker is bitter and barely acknowledges her questions, spitting curses as he hammers a sword, pretending he is bashing a goblin’s head into greasy pulp.  Helga pushes the issue, and Thair roars in anger, unpleased to have someone reminding him why he can’t be the skilled warrior he always wanted to be.  They ask a few more questions about the kobold problem, and a mysterious keep outside of town.  Thair knows that the kobolds need to be smashed into pieces, but he can’t say much about the keep.  Maybe Valthrun or Lord Padraig knows more.  Thair HAS heard the name “IRONTOOTH” mentioned in relation to the kobolds, so that might be a leader.  He doesn’t know where the kobolds are lairing though, but he thinks that the Militia Leader Rond Kelfern might have an idea.

They haggle some with Thair, and he buys some kobold swords to smelt down, although he wants nothing to do with the dragonscale shield. It's not born of the earth, like rock or iron. 

The night ends with the party deciding that the immediate kobold problem in Winterhaven is their chief concern.  Perhaps Lord Padraig needs some “help” with this problem, and Brandis Padraig has nothing but revenge on his mind. 

As for Ash the elven rogue, he stands silently in the shadows, biding his time and keeping his dark thoughts to himself.  For the others, they might be…disturbing. 







[GM Note:  As the first official 4e adventure, I thought combat was fast and furious with little to no interpretation problems.  Roleplaying was actually easier to do with a group of people already comfortable with it.  There were no rules dictating how you should or should not act, and alignment was not an issue.  I still don’t quite get the Skill Challenges though]


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## Nebulous

*Nebulous's Keep on the Shadowfell (FR) Updated 10/28/08*

Adventure #2:  Court of the Frog Queen

*
PART ONE*

An hour has passed since the last session when the group spoke with the bitter dwarven smithy, Thair Coalbiter.  Their main mission is still to find and map an old keep somewhere in the vicinity, but of more immediate concern is the kobold problem. Two of the heroes (The Warlock and Wizard) retire to bed at Salvana’s Inn, but Ash the Elf Rogue and Helga the Dwarf Fighter stay on the lower level, sipping drinks at their own tables.  Ash prefers to be alone, but Helga openly chats with Salvana Wrafton as she cleans up and prepares to close for the night.  Meanwhile, Brandis Padraig, son of Lord Padraig, is still at the walled estate attending to his beleaguered mother and father.

*As for Ash…  *

…the rogue has not been resting very long on his stool when someone sits down close beside him.  It is a young half-elf woman, not uncomely, somewhat tomboyish, with short cropped hair and a smattering of freckles. 


















“Who are you?” she asks bluntly, but quietly, so that no other patron might hear. There is a pig farmer and a drunkard nearby. Ash is blunt in return, immediately distrustful of her forward approach. A quick glance offers many clues about her; her skin is dirty yet tan, as if she is outdoors often; her scent ripe as if she has not washed for days; both her forearms are bandaged.  The half-elf introduces herself as Ninaran, and asks again what has brought Ash to Winterhaven.  “A task for gold,” is all he offers.  Seemingly satisfied, Ninaran goes further, asking Ash what it is like to be a pure blood elf, untainted by a human lineage?  What an odd, odd question.  Ash is quiet and somber by nature, and suspects that this strange half-elf girl is perhaps attracted to his dark nature.  His cowl is pulled up, covering his features in shadow, but she presses in close enough to see his eyes. 

“Do you like to walk?” Ninaran asks. Ash nods, and the half-elf urges him up.  “We walk in the dark then.  It suits us, doesn’t it?  Hides us, warts and faults and all.”

“What do you dislike so much about your heritage?”

Ninaran sneers, looking away. “Weak-willed humans.  It disgusts me.  None of the grace and beauty of…your kind.”

Her eyes flash at Ash, and the elf is intrigued. “And why should I trust a stranger in the dark? You might try to kill me.”

Ninaran laughs.  “You to fear me?  Indeed, elf, it should be ME afraid of you in the dark!”  Ash smiles ruefully, obliged to agree with her.  So, he tells Helga he is stepping outside, and the two depart.


*Meanwhile, Helga…*

…is enjoying her fifth mug of frothy cold ale while Salvana Wrafton sweeps meticulously around her legs and wipes the table down with a wet cloth. 






“So you know Brandis Padraig, eh?” the tavern-owner asks.  “Oh, that boy has grown up handsome, an image of his father he is. That Lord Padraig is a striking man.  I’ve had an eye for him some years now, truth be told! Truth be told, aye.  Too good for that wife of his.  She’s a crazy one I say, even before Kel passed on.  Had only I met Ernest when we were younger, there might be a different Lady Padraig!”

Helga has heard about the problems with the Padraig family though, and the death of their young son Kel has created emotional turmoil, sinking the Lord into his cups and the wife into a pit of wailing despair.  Salvana is extremely talkative and keeps spilling her feelings about Lord Padraig, until Helga starts to wonder if the woman has an ulterior motive for talking to her so much.  Is she hitting on me? the dwarfs wonders, and gulps her beer in silence. Strange. The dwarf isn’t sure what to do about that so she just drinks more.

*And behind the walled royal estate, Brandis Padraig…*

…holds his sobbing mother in his arms.  She is hysterical, and has not stopped crying since he arrived. She laments the loss of her son Kel, and has not let Brandis’s young sister out of her sight since the incident two weeks ago. Lord Padraig stands nearby, his brow furrowed in worry.  Cynthia Padraig drags Brandis to the trophy room and shows him a shield on the wall that surprises him:

A fresh goblin head is mounted there, its eyes wide in shock!










“Filthy beasts. They took my Kel’s head!” she sobs.  “They took his head, Brandis, and we’ll do the same to them!  Find their vicious, ugly heads!  As many as you can!  Kill them and hurt them and bring me their rotting little heads!  We’ll mount them around the keep, a warning to all! Stay away from our children! Stay away!”  

Her eyes are wide, her lips trembling, and then Cynthia begins twisting her hands, mumbling that the blood won’t come off, it just won’t come off no matter how many times she washes them… Lord Padraig finally guides her to bed, and then returns to Brandis.






“Son, your mother is very ill.  I…I fear for her health.  Do you know Delphina Moongem?  Perhaps not.  She has lived here for not long.  She is an elf maiden with some magical talent.  She has been picking herbs to brew tonics and elixirs for your mother, to calm her.  I feel that Cynthia might harm herself otherwise.  But the ingredient for the tonic is rare and nearly gone.  Delphina can only pick it by moonlight on Jade Hill, nearly a mile from here.  There are…rumors that creatures of the night will not harm Delphina, and so far such rumor seems true, although I know not why.  She seems to walk untroubled in wild places blessed by the gods perhaps.  But…there are things in the woods worse than goblins and kobolds.  Please, accompany her to Jade Hill.  Protect her while she finds the herbs.  Your mother needs it more than anything right now.”

Brandis nods gravely, and swears to help find the herbs…AND the heads.


*And outside Wrafton’s Inn…*

…Ash and Ninaran have stepped into the brisk night air.  It is newly spring, the month of Mirtul, the moon full and bright, and they walk side by side toward the walls.  Ash finds this girl to be very strange, but can’t quite put his finger on why.  “What are the bandages for?” he asks.  She is defensive and changes the subject, pointing to a ladder leading to the parapets.  They climb up near the guard towers and stand overlooking the night scenery.  To the north looms the immense High Forest, and Ash mentions that he was born there, deep in the shadows with his people.  Ninaran is fascinated by his tale, and presses him for more detail.  Ash works his way around to the nature of the bandaged arms again, and Ninaran finally admits that when one hates themselves enough, they’ll try to kill themselves.  The bandages hide scars, but that is long ago and not of concern now. 

She changes the subject, pointing to the woods and says that she has small hut near town.  She lives there, away from the encroaching walls and hubbub of people. She wants Ash to follow her there.  It will be…private. Right….Ash isn’t too keen on following this woman into the woods alone, even though he does figure himself superior in a fight. She seems genuinely interested in him on a physical level, but she’s dirty and uncouth, almost as she lives off the land and only forays into civilization occasionally. 

Ninaran repeats the offer, but just about then Brandis Padraig has exited his father’s estate and sees Ash up on the wall with another figure he can’t identify.  He climbs the ladder and finds Ash with a female half-elf.  Brandis briefly explains that they need to round up Helga because they have some “business” to take care of outside the walls. 

Ninaran’s features flash with anger that they have been disturbed.  “My offer then, Ash?  What of it?”

“It will have to wait,” he says.  “Tomorrow though, I will see your abode.” 

“Then I’ll join your task tonight,” the half-elf says.  “I know these woods well.”

Brandis shakes his head.  “No…but thank you.   This is a family matter.  We can take care of it.”

Ninaran is clearly offended, and after exchanging a few heated words with Brandis, she spits at his feet and says, “You worthless Padraigs are all alike.” She clambers down the ladder which Brandis probably would have kicked over were it not bolted to the timber.

“By the love of Sune, Ash, what kind of company do you keep?”

Ash just shrugs.

***


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## Nebulous

Adventure #2: Court of the Frog Queen

PART TWO

Helga is soon roused from her table, still carrying her final beer and feeling quite intoxicated. The three of them let their other companions sleep, confident that this entourage is sufficient to protect Delphina Moongem while she collects the herbs and roots necessary to brew a tonic for Cynthia Padraig. Following his father’s directions, they soon find the simple flat and knock on the door.  It is answered by a red-haired elf maiden, her hair intertwined with fragrant flowers. 






“Oh. Yes! You’re son of the lord, of course.  Come to help me find snailwort? Of course you are. Come, come!  It grows on Jade Hill, but we must find it while it’s fresh.  I know where to look. Follow me!”

She pushes past the group, barefoot and clad in a skimpy dress, and the others look at each other thoughtfully.  Delphina Moongem seems to imbibe a few too many herbs that she collects.  She is a flighty, absent-minded girl who dashes ahead, seemingly oblivious to whether they are following or not.  She is unarmed and only carries a satchel to gather ingredients.  At the front gates the guards recognize her, and she states her business as an errand for Lord Padraig.  They open the gates enough for everyone to slip out one at a time, and then the gates close behind them. 

They are beyond the walls, the moon a high, pale white orb looking down on them.

The forest creaks and chirps with night creatures, rustling softly as they pad down a well- worn path. It is not terribly dense wood, certainly nothing like the tangled undergrowth of the High Forest which Ash knows hides all manner of secret, dangerous things.  Delphina hums to herself, stopping occasionally to pluck a purple mushroom that she nibbles.  The party members begin to wonder just how much this young elf girl is in her right mind, and how much she’s floating in a semi-world of wonder and bliss.  How could she possibly survive alone out here? 

Soon though, they hear something large tromping through the woods. Ash halts Delphina and Brandis, but the elf wanderer giggles and pulls away, dancing ahead without heed.  Helga grabs the girl and forces her to wait while Ash sneaks ahead.  He hears the thing moving around, twigs cracking and branches breaking, and then a breathy SNORT! He freezes just as he crawls around the enormous bole of a duskwood tree, and he sees in the shadowed canopy a large porcine silhouette; cloven hooves, bulbous head and snout, curved tusks – it’s a huge boar, and it sees Ash at the same time!

“Big…PIIIIG!” the rogue bellows, tossing his sunrod at the thing, and the creature explodes toward him with a ferocious snarl!









Light blooms around the tree in a wide berth, and in the resulting glare Ash clearly sees that this boar is not wild; a saddle is strapped to its back, stirrups dangling down, but the saddle is slathered with a copious amount of fresh blood…

The ground is uneven from roots breaking the soil, and the beast’s charge is hampered, but it still manages to gouge the rogue. Ash staggers back, swinging his dagger in defense, using the trunk for cover. Helga puts her beer down and unslings her ax. Brandis the Human Warlord rushes up to help their ally, following the light from the sunrod, but they spectacularly fail both of their Perception checks, until Delphina points, crying out:  “Look!  Another piggie!  I like piggies.”

Sure enough, there is a second boar crouched in the foliage on the other side of the duskwood, and it clambers over the roots and charges Helga, slamming into her.  The dwarf stubbornly plants her feet and pushes back, falling prone at the thing’s cloven hooves.  Like its companion, this boar also boasts a saddle coated with blood that is not the pigs. 

Something in the woods killed the riders, but what exactly, they cannot tell. 









The resulting fight is ferocious.  The rogue and warlord manage to flank their boar, raining down sharp blows from longsword and dagger, hacking through tough hide and leather barding.  Helga the dwarf has a tougher time, Bloodied by consistent hits from her foe.  

“Delphina!  Help me!” the dwarf bellows, but Delphina has trotted nonchalant to the base of the tree and is digging around, ignorant of the battle raging around her. Something has caught her interest, despite the rampant squeals and screams and scuffling.

At last, one of the boars is dropped, but ferociously surges up for one last dying attack, narrowly missing Brandis Padraig.  Ash moves to flank the remaining boar, while Brandis gives the dwarf strategic advise, resulting in a flurry of axe blows, severing a tusk and half of the thing’s face. The boar staggers in agony while Ash sinks a dagger into its haunches, and finally Helga lands a killing blow into its skull, crumpling the beast into a quivering lump of coarse hair, brain pulp and blood. 

They search the boar corpses, wracking their memories for knowledge about what kind of creature would ride a boar?  Goblins have been known to ride wolves or worgs into combat, and the saddles are big enough...maybe even for a man. Or a large goblin.  The only other clues are strips of cured meat in the side pouches, which could just as easily be cured beef as it could be cured human or cured elf.  They don’t take the meat. 

The next unanswered question is what killed the riders and left the boars? 

“Ooh!  Ooh!  Look what I found!” cries Delphina Moongem.  She rushes up, cradling plants in her hands.  “Yellowfiddle!  This is SO hard to find, you just don’t know.”

Helga the dwarf growls at her.  “Why didn’t you help?  We could have been killed.”

Delphina glances around.  “Oh, I’m sorry.  I…I did not notice.  Are…are the pigs hurt bad? I hope not…” 

The dwarf has had enough of this elf imbecile and stalks off.  Brandis grunts, following, and Ash is about to follow too when he hears a distinct chittering laughter in the trees. They all stop, and for a brief moment catch a glimpse of something bright RED in the branches, and then it’s gone, tinkling laughter melting into the darkness. 

Unnerved now, and afraid that something else is stalking them, they follow Delphina to Jade Hill, which she insists is not far.  Soon, the woods reach an end and they see a large hill rising before them toward a clear, bright, uncluttered moon. 

“There!  Not far now!” the elf wanderer announces, and she hikes up her dress and begins climbing the hill. Brandis and Helga follow, but Ash hangs back, sinking into the shadows and extending his senses into the darkness behind them, wary of anything following, his dagger ready to lash out and kill it…


----------



## Nebulous

Adventure #2: Court of the Frog Queen

*PART THREE*

Delphina soon crosses a concentric circle of small rocks that rings the hilltop. Helga and Brandis stop outside these rocks, wracking their brains for the significance of such placement.  The rocks are deliberately arranged, but they’re not sure why.  They ask Delphina, who has dropped to her hands and knees and is digging into the dirt.

“A faery circle, silly!” she says, chortling.  “Don’t you know anything?  Wonderful magic happens here, things wondrous and beautiful! Now I must find the snailwort for Lady Cynthia.  Your mother needs help, Brandis, and help her I will!”

Meanwhile, inside the perimeter of trees, Ash peeks out and sees his companions standing near the top of the hill under a bright, bright moon.  He snaps his head around upon hearing laughter above him in the boughs.  Again, something reddish leaps limb to limb and vanishes.  He squeezes a hand around the pommel of his blade…

Helga and Brandis patiently wait for Delphina to find the ingredients she needs for the tonic.  A cool breeze has begun to blow, one that strangely comforts them (demanding FORT saves). Brandis notices fireflies around him and reaches out to grab one…

…but upon opening his palm sees that it is a tiny woman!






Smaller than a dandelion, she sputters and sparks, and he releases it, soon to find it joined by dozens of variously shaped faeries that flicker with eldritch light.  Helga hefts her axe to her other hand, unsure of what to make of this, and then a tiny creature alights on her head and begins braiding her blond hair. Brandis finds his sword belt unbuckled, and his blade clatters to the grass.  Dozens of these things surround them, a miasma of faery-kin, a nimbus of soft light under the silent moon. 






“Delphina—what are these things?  What do they want?”

“Oh, just the faeries.  They’re so sweet.  But I’m busy now.  Must dig!  Your mother needs help, Brandis. Ah, I found some snailwort!”

Brandis is unimpressed by her help.  “We mean no harm,” the warlord announces to the fey visitors.  “We’re just here to collect some herbs. We mean no intrusion upon your sanctuary.  We’ll soon be gone.”

At the bottom of the hill, still hidden, Ash sees an unusual amount of bright fireflies clouding the top of the mound. He hears giggling again, and spots another flash of red in the branches, this time attached to a small humanoid form.  Something is closing in on his location, skirting between the branches with unnatural accuracy, something hefting a heavy metal blade gripped in gnarled hands…






Mist has begun to coalesce inside the ring of faery stones.  The sparkling intensifies, the conglomeration of fey kin swarming and singing and chattering, the glow brightening, and then from the depths of the mist appears a short, squat green man with a red scarf cinched around his neck.






“Make way for the Frog Queen,” he croaks in a peculiar voice, a tongue that only Brandis identifies as an ancient goblin dialect. Helga can’t understand it at all.

Brandis stutters, staggering back from this small man who resembles a goblin, but unlike any he’s ever seen.  His features are smaller, his demeanor different, and the goblin brusquely waves them aside.  

“I Picklenose announce the arrival of the Frog Queen!  All hail the Frog Queen!  All hail… THE FROG QUEEN!”

Mist swirls and gusts about them, and to their shock and surprise, a HUGE amphibian foot plants itself in the soft green grass!  A glistening wet body pushes itself through the fabric between worlds, another foot crashing down, followed by pendulous breasts swinging from a hybrid woman-frog. Her awful voice croaks across the hill in a tongue that is both alien yet intelligible. 






“WHO’S UPON MY HILL THIS NIGHT? 
WHAT YOUR MOTIVE?  WHAT YOUR PLIGHT?”

Brandis and Helga are terrified, and the redhats and redscarves swarming out from the mist and surrounding them does not help the situation.  










Ash is likewise being flanked in the forest by six redcaps grinning evilly at him.  He dashes up the hill and joins his companions, taking his chances against the Frog Queen.  Delphina cheerfully keeps digging. 

Brandis stammers a response, reiterating that they are only here to gather herbs and then be on their way, and they meant no disrespect whatsoever.  The fey creatures begin laughing, and the Frog Queen tells them that mortals should know better than displease her.  

“TELL THEM WHAT HAPPENS, PICKLENOSE.”

The squat redscarf clears his throat and says that he used to be a human barber in Waterdeep, and now loyally serves in the court of the Frog Queen for all eternity. 

Now the PCs are really worried.

This encounter instigates a Skill Challenge where they try a variety of Knowledge, Diplomacy and Insight checks, trying to gain some advantage in the situation and avoid eternal service as some ugly little toad monster.  Helga wisely decides NOT to Intimidate the Frog Queen, which would have resulted in an auto-fail.   Brandis has heard old wives tales about the Frog Queen and how she steals people to serve her, but she is not wholly evil or wholly good, just unpredictable. And ugly as sin.

Their stilted conversation sways back and forth, and initially the Frog Queen seems adamant that she wants to take the mortals back with her to the Feywild.  There is clearly no way to escape, and impossible to fight them off, so the group carefully avoids any kind of melee.  Brandis Padraig is finally able to convince her that he and his friends can serve her better on this side of the mystic veil, and he heartily offers their services in whatever capacity she deems worthy. 

[GM Note:  While this encounter was fun, I’m still unsure of how Skill Challenges are supposed to work. I feel like we’re missing an important component]

Ultimately impressed by this offer of servitude, the Frog Queen (who ended up sounding like Yoda) says that she will allow them to go free on ONE condition:

There is a goblin who has offended her, a goblin who has overstepped his boundaries. A goblin named IRONTOOTH.

Brandis knows the name because Thair Coalbiter and his father Lord Padraig mentioned it himself this very evening (The last adventure, session #1).  Irontooth is whispered to be the leader of the raiders.

“BRING ME HIS HANDS ON THE NEXT FULL MOON, 
ONE MONTH FROM TONIGHT.  THAT IS OUR BARGAIN, MORTALS.”

So Cynthia wants his head, and now this Frog Queen wants his hands!  There won’t be much left of Irontooth to dish around. The group readily agrees to her terms, and then the Frog Queen gestures toward Picklenose.  He hands her a stone bowl.  She gestures toward Delphina Moongem who brings a handful of snailwort and drops it in the bowl.  The Frog Queen spits in the bowl, adds water from a decanter, and waves her wet fingers over the concoction. It bubbles and fizzles, acrid fumes rise up, and then she hands the bowl back to Delphina.






“THIS IS THE BREW YOU SEEK.  
NOW GO, AND REMEMBER OUR AGREEMENT.”

Oh, they’ll remember alright.  They won’t forget this night for a long, long time.  The fey creatures begin slipping back into the mist, vanishing a few at a time, and soon the companions are alone on top of the hill.

Delphina sighs and yawns.  “Oh…I am SO tired.  I want to go home.”

So they do.


And that’s where we stopped.


----------



## Nebulous

We were down two players this session so i scrambled something new together outside of the plotline. I'll eventually tie the Frog Queen back into something more Feywild oriented, maybe the Trollhaunt Warrens if i ever get a chance to run it.

And although the players don't learn until much later, the boars belonged to the Bloodreavers.


----------



## Nebulous

Adventure #3:  Ambush on the Old Road

*PART ONE*

The next morning, Ash the Rogue is woken by pounding on his door at Wrafton’s Inn.  Sunlight slants through the windows, and he hears the chirp of birds outside.  Hand to his knife, he warily asks: “Who’s there?”  It’s awfully early in the morning for him to kill someone.

“Gobbo Goodnest it is, hero!” grunts the half-orc wagon driver from Silverymoon.  “I got someone ‘ere who wants to speak with you.”

Ash unlocks the door, peeking out.  Gobbo’s ugly mug greets him, along with a clean-shaven young man garbed as a Winterhaven Regular.










“And there he is!” crows Gobbo.  “Barely out of bed, and this man could still gut a gob in the blink of an eye. What did I tell you, Corby?  They’re true heroes!”

Ash is clear that he also has no qualms about gutting ugly half-orcs, but Gobbo rolls with the jest, only slightly unsure of its authenticity.

Corby nods in agreement with Gobbo.  “Mr…Ash, sir…Lord Padraig sent me to rouse you and your friends, at…at your convenience of course.  He wishes to speak with you, at his estate. Mr. Ash. Sir. It concerns his good wife, Ms. Lady Padraig.”

Ash agrees to wake the others.  They smell bacon frying downstairs and that alone is enough to rouse them.  Well, the Eladrin Wizard Erevan doesn’t actually SLEEP; he just sinks into a reverie of rejuvenation.  He spent some time on the parapets the night before looking for invaders, unaware that his companions had actually left the walls to collect snailwort with Delphina Moongem. The half-elf warlock Irann was unaware as well.

Soon, Helga the dwarf, Ash, Irann and Erevan have all congregated downstairs. Brandis stayed at the estate with his family.  Behind the counter a busty Salvana Wrafton easily greets them:






“Mornin’ strangers.  Did ye sleep like the dead in my beds?”

There is another old man they recognize at the bar, the same pig farmer from the night before when they first arrived: Elian the Old.  He’s pigless right now, but enjoying his morning beer before Market Day begins.  “Hoo-eee! Morn to you, folks.”






Gobbo clamps a beefy hand on Helga’s shoulder.  “Heroes they are, seen em myself in the thick of battle.  Just what Winterhaven needs!”

Gobbo offers the heroes to peruse some of his wares from Silverymoon.  He makes the trip once a month or so to sell trinkets and pottery, and to collect items to resell in Silverymoon. The group isn’t particularly interested in his wares though (or Gobbo himself), and they soon find themselves in the streets.  Winterhaven is active this morning.  People mill about outside; chickens cluck; pigs squeal and the general hubbub of the market filters through the air.  Farmers from outlying fields come here to sell vegetables and furs; seamstresses set up kiosks to sell blankets and pillows; cobblers repair and sell shoes, and so on.  The commerce seems reasonably rotund, although Corby points it is less than it should be, given all the brigands on the roads.

Following Corby’s lead, they’re almost at the interior gates when an attractive young blond woman approaches them.  They recall briefly meeting her the day before, outside the city walls.  She is Sister Linora, a Priestess of Sune and religious presence in Winterhaven. 






“I heard what you did for Lady Cynthia.  She…and we…thank you.  I think that your actions will soon help us all through these dire times.  I…I can offer you this.  Not much, but it should aid you your troubles. Fare thee well, adventurers. You have Sune’s blessing.”

She hands them a small leather pouch that tinkles when Helga accepts it.  “Careful,” Linora says.  “It is fragile.” Helga sniffs the bag but doesn’t open it, but Erevan does.  There are five small vials with a rune of healing upon.  The party members take 1 each. 

Corby leads them through the inner gates. “That Ms. Sister Linora is a kindly soul.  I like her.  Follow me now.  Mr. Lord Padraig is waiting.”

Soon, Lord Padraig has heartily greeted them with a wide smile and handshakes. “The brew you and Delphina returned to us is the finest we’ve had yet.  Cynthia is now in a deep, dreamless slumber, an aura of peace about her that I have not seen in weeks.  I cannot thank you enough.”

“You can thank us with gold,” mutters Ash.

“Ah, yes, of course. Gold. Brandis and I have been discussing this.”

Brandis Padraig stands diligently at his father’s side, already geared for battle. “Father will pay you, but first we need to find this kobold lair, and this so-called goblin named ‘Irontooth.’ The threat to Winterhaven will not subside until we eliminate the threat at its core.”

“Yes, but the gold…?” insists Ash. 

“Seventy-five pieces of Winterhaven-minted gold upon your return,” says Lord Padraig.  That is acceptable to the heroes, but they still want 25 upfront for supplies.  They also want to know if Lord Padraig has any magic items to give or sell them. No. The only thing he has is an enchanted sword, but that is the Padraig heirloom and will be passed down to Brandis one day, gods willing.  Lord Padraig says that they should visit Bairwain Wildarson of Bairwain’s Grand Shoppe.  He’s known to carry rare items from all over the Realms and can sometimes supply exceptional merchandise.  He certainly likes to talk about it, Padraig adds.

Helga wants a better axe, and Brandis wants a polearm, so Lord Padraig tells them to speak with Rond Kelfern, Head of the Militia, and he’ll supply them with whatever weapons they need. The group visits the Siege Supply, and soon they’re off to find Bairwain Wildarson and his Grande Olde Shoppe of Excellente Stuffe. 






A large, pompous sign swings above the shop with gaudy bright lettering, and the man behind the desk matches his establishment.  He is impeccably dressed in a pressed purple tunic. Slick black custom-fitted shoes click on the tile as he approaches them. [He looks like an  Prince Valiant to me, and portrayed as such].

“Greetings,” he says with a curt drawl and southern accent.  “Help you this fine day? Welcome to Bairwain’s Shoppe of the Rare and Exquisite, as I’m sure you can see from my wares.”

Gilded birdcages hang from hooks. Glass cabinets house chiseled ornaments from Cormyr, Amn, and Aglarond and more exotic locales; ornamental swords dangle from the walls, encrusted with gems or sheathed in fine silver inlaid scabbards.  The shop almost has the air of a miniature museum rather than a practical store, although there are plenty of mundane items interspersed among the flashier goods.

The group simply asks if Bairwain has any magic items for sale, and his eyes light up. 

“Ah!  That I do. That I do, travelers and friends.  Not my normal bounty of goods, for I have not been to my…well, my “supplier” in some time, but I will soon enough. But I do have…”

And he offers them a quiver of 20 red-tipped steel arrows: Heartseekers. 

“What do they do?” grunts Ash.

“They seek a foe’s heart!” the shop owner snaps.  “What kind of adventurer are you? It’s obvious I would think.”

Bairwain offers them a newcomer “Friend Price” of 250 gp for the heartseekers (+1 arrows) but they can’t really afford it. Maybe later.

His second offer is more interesting, to Bairwain anyway.  He hands a small mundane wooden box to the Dwarf and bids her to open it with the key.  She does so.  It’s empty.  He asks her to close it again, open it, close it and then quickly open it, as fast as she can (Dex Check 10).  Helga does so, and this time sees a golden chained medallion curled inside.

“It’s called the Box of Innox, or the Box of Innocuous Conclusions.  Or even a Box of Illusion to some.  Noble wives have used it to hide their pretty trinkets.” 

The box is smaller than a shoebox, always weighs half a pound, and never seems to have contents.  The only way to access the hidden items is to open it quickly a second time. It is not a Bag of Holding and can only accommodate what will fit within the dimensions of the box.  Erevan the mage is particularly interested in this item, and convinces everyone to chip in to cover the 100gp price. 

There’s nothing else they want in Bairwain’s store, although he says that he will be re-supplying in the near future and they should return.  The group steps outside, enjoying the cool spring breeze washing over them, a vaulted deep azure blue sky over their heads, They begin walking briskly toward the north gate while Brandis fills in Erevan and Irann about their encounter with the Frog Queen last night.

They’re about to leave when they see Eilian the Old nearby with his morning beer and a pig.  “Hoo-eee! They’re off! Luck with ya, adventurers!  Kill me a gob!  Kill me a—”

Helga snatches his beer.  Ash takes his pig.  Eilian looks after them, flabbergasted, and then raises his arms to the sky, wailing: “Why do ye gods hate me so!!!?”


----------



## Nebulous

*Nebulous's Keep on the Shadowfell*

Adventure #3: Ambush on the Old Road

*PART TWO*


***

Soon after, on the open road, they discuss their clues and goals:  Thair Coalstriker, lame dwarf smithy, mentioned that the leader of the kobolds was named “Irontooth.”  The Frog Queen confirmed that this Irontooth was actually a goblin, and this is strange: a goblin leading kobolds? Why? Lord Padraig and Rond Kelfern have heard that the kobolds lair near the waterfall, and since there is only one in the vicinity, Dorsail Falls, Lord Padraig has scrawled a rough map for them to follow, including the location of the old keep that the party is here to map for Merple the Moneylender.  Padraig has never been to the waterfall himself and does not know if there are caves or not.

Although Padraig’s map is of inferior quality to this, it roughly offers the same information:






Last week, before they arrived, torrential rain had swollen the river so much that it was impassable. But the water level has subsided now.  They elect to travel north on broken cobblestone and weedy wheel ruts along the Old Road that once stretched to the Silver Marches, skirting the southern Evermoors before monsters grew too large and hungry in that region.  This road is no longer used and has fallen into disrepair. 

They estimate a two hour journey overland, but they’ve only been traveling for a short while when they hear abrupt screeching nearby. Three small reddish bodies leap at them from hiding, and within seconds the group finds sharp swords jabbing at their kneecaps!  It is much more dangerous than it looks.






These kobolds are well-armed and armored, militarily trained, and they launch their attack with precision, managing to strike Helga several times.  The dwarf counters a few blows, and her companions quickly leap into fray. Irann the Warlock curses a Dragonshield soldier, Ash skirts the fight to flank another foe, and Erevan tosses a magic missile at a skirmisher who appears about thirty feet away, heaving a spear at them that manages to hit Helga.  Bloodied within seconds, the dwarf flies into a rage.  Brandis maneuvers into position with his polearm, but these kobold soldiers are keen, and repositioning on the battlefield triggers their own counter-maneuver dance.

[GM Note: I really like the dragonshield shifting tactics, although it takes a little getting used to.  PCs hate it. What I don’t like so much is their Marking ability, which gets tricky to follow.  We used a combination of glass beads and foam pads, the latter of which we’ll probably stick with.  They’re color coded, stack easily, and visible from any direction].






Helga slams her battleaxe into a kobold’s neck, hewing its draconic noggin from its shoulders for later retrieval in a burlap sack. 

But the combat takes an unexpected turn when a cloaked kobold appears near the slinger, bearing a rat-skull staff.  It jabbers in an unknown tongue and tosses a hissing glob of green acid at Helga, narrowly missing her. 






Erevan tosses an Ice spell the direction of the wyrmpriest, slicking the ground where they stand and knocking him prone. The skirmisher advances with his final spear into the thick of melee. 

The female warlock absorbs the latent soul-energy of a fallen foe and magically teleports across the battlefield in a puff of purple-blue sulfurous smoke. BAMF!  She has managed to spread vile curses across the battlefield the whole time, and few can escape her influence. Two of the dragonshield soldiers are finally killed, the third surrounded, and when the skirmisher tries to escape entrapment, Brandis Padraig thoroughly skewers the little dragon-dropping on the pointy end of his halberd, raising its writhing body to the sky for all to see. 

Only the wyrmpriest is left.  Helga rushes it, burning an Action Point to slam her axe into the thing’s side. It staggers, but manages to send a blob of acid arcing over her foe to painfully burn the warlord Brandis Padraig.  The dwarf finally cleaves the beastie clavicle to ribcage, and a frothing vomit of acid harmlessly gushes from its mouth as it collapses backward. 

The group is relatively unhurt, save for Helga who took a pounding.  They sort through the bodies, finding a small shield, notched swords, red-scale dragon shields, and a curious draconic medallion around the wyrmpriest’s neck.  Erevan detects no magic, but he does feel an indention on the back.  On the flip side is the etched engraving of a goat skull…










The heads are quickly collected and thrust into a pouch to satiate Lady Padraig’s bloodlust.  Helga the Dwarf doesn’t have any problem with wearing two of them around her neck as a grisly necklace, so long as they don’t stink yet. 

Ash hunts the area for signs of where the kobolds came from and soon finds tracks leading northwest behind the ancient, weather-worn gravestones. They follow, and find themselves skirting the steep banks of Dorsail Creek.  The bubbling brook is crossable now after the storms, but they stay on the east side and follow the tracks. The footprints range from just a few to many, and at one point they find footprints that are decidedly larger than a kobold—easily man-sized. 

An hour later they hear the distant rumble of a waterfall and slow down.  From their elevated vantage point they see the falls plunging down into a ravine.  Ash elects to sneak ahead in the deep shadows of the canopy and return with a report.


----------



## Nebulous

*Nebulous's Keep on the Shadowfell*

Adventure #3: Ambush on the Old Road

*PART THREE*






Soon afterward, over the din of water, he hears scratchy voices united in riotous song. He sees movement through the branches and a then a number of kobolds foraging in the creek and along the banks.  A suspicious blue glow emanates from a circle of stones where a red-skinned kobold sits cross-legged, a shortsword across his lap [and NOT taking a dump, as many suspected].  Ash counts at least twelve foes, and he returns to tell the others.

This could be trouble. They realize that getting surrounded by these buggers might be deadly, so they discuss several different tactics that will give them maximum advantage of surprise and terrain. Plus, there could easily be more enemies out of sight elsewhere, but the shadows around the waterfall are too stark to discern much detail without getting closer. But getting closer means risks getting seen.

Eventually, they creep as a group along the east side of the deluge, keeping far out of sight, and maneuver toward the top of the falls. Numerous rocks allow passage to the opposite side, and they don’t see any sign of foes stationed here.  It is roughly 80 feet to the floor of the shallow valley, far enough for ranged attacks to reach. Ash the Rogue and Erevan the Wizard volunteer to stay up top and begin raining hell down them.  Brandis the Warlord, Helga the Fighter, and Irann the Warlock will return to where they first arrived and flank the enemy with a ground assault, attempting to sow confusion among the kobolds

The wizard and rogue realize that it won’t be hard for the enemies to chase them to the top, which will take about 5 rounds to complete. Ash anchors a rope to a tree at the top, ready to rappel down quickly if the battle turns sour.  He notches an arrow in his longbow and peers over the edge.  A few more kobolds have appeared, and then he sees one saunter out from behind the waterfall!  Sure enough, there must be a hidden lair within.






The ground force waits until the ranged attacks begin.  Ash spies a kobold carrying several spears that it could possibly hurl to their location, so that’s his prime target.  The rogue’s first arrow pierces the monster’s calf, pinning it to the ground.  It shrieks in agony.  A magic missile explodes to the ground beside it with a white flash.  Draconic heads spin all directions, and at least one of them spots Ash and Erevan above the falls.  They begin moving that direction.  Ash fires again, skewering the other calf, and then a magic missile connects solidly with the kobold’s eyeball, killing it. 






One batch of kobolds surges toward the left side of the falls, scrambling up the banks and soon they’re thoroughly obscured by vegetation.  Ash and Erevan don’t have line of sight to them at all.  To their dismay, one of the kobolds runs BACK inside the cave entrance behind the waterfall, probably to warn his friends.  Five others rush toward the dragonshield soldier inside the ring of glowing blue stones and set up a protective perimeter.  

Helga, Irann and Brandis clamber through the underbrush and try to dart across the creek to the cover of trees beyond, but Helga stumbles to one knee while halfway and is spotted.  Hissing, a kobold in the circle points at her and the whole group begins pouring out of the circle toward them!  Cursing, Helga picks herself up and joins her companions.  The dragonshield weaves through the trees, a red blur of snarling anger, with its chattering allies nipping at its heels. 

Ash and Erevan have very few visible targets now.  Ash melts into the woods like a living shadow and waits for the kobolds to reach him, confident that he can at least outrun them. Ereven jogs the opposite direction, readying an area attack at the top of the falls as soon as the enemy is within 10 squares. 

Back in the woods, Helga’s axe clangs against the soldier’s dragonscale shield.  They exchange blows, smaller minions swarming around the others.  Helga lands a jarring blow against the soldier’s shoulder. Brandis thrusts his blade between cracks in the armor, and then helps Helga follow up with a lethal blow, slaying the dragonshield quickly in a geyser of dark blood.  Helga cleaves two more foes, Irann devastates another with eldritch magic, and the remaining minion runs screaming for his life back to the waterfall den. 

They regroup and skirt along the treeline, finally ducking back once they’re closer to the cave entrance behind the waterfall.  Brandis tries unsuccessfully to hide several times, resulting in several funny moments where his ass is probably sticking out from behind a tree while they loudly discuss what they should do next.  Lucky for them, no kobolds were around to notice. 

Above the waterfall, the group of minions reaches Ash’s hidden location…and fails to perceive him.  He lets them all pass except for the last, and then lunges at its back with his dagger!  And misses horribly.  The dagger sinks into a tree, but the determined kobolds don’t even notice their attacker.  They keep trudging up the slope while Ash struggles to yank his blade out.  






The enemies reach the top and hop across the rocks…right into Erevan’s field of fire.  Another icy patina blooms between their feet, slicking the rocks, crawling up the legs of two foes, slaying them instantly and jetting their bodies off the side of the cliff.  Ash runs and LEAPS across the water, burning an Action Points as he lands at their backs and plants his dagger hilt-deep.  The kobold collapses, shrieking, and is swept off the falls.  Erevan follows up with a burst of fiery magic, and the last two kobolds fall screaming off the side, smoke wafting from their charred bodies, and joins the corpses bobbing below.

Breathing heavily, Ash and Erevan survey the battleground from their vantage point.  They see no enemies, just muddied red water following the current.  Their allies are hidden in the trees below, although Erevan spots the glint of Brandis’s halberd through the foliage.

Just about then, they hear a trumpet blaring behind the plume of water, followed by an angry war-cry if they ever heard one.

The group takes a minute (or five) to catch their breath and contemplate the next stage of their plan.

Somewhere in the cave below waits Irontooth and his rapacious friends, and surprise is no longer an option.

The fight is about to get ugly.


----------



## Nebulous

Side Trek (I):  The Grave of Blacksoul

[GM Note:  This session featured two 3rd level characters, Douvan Stahl the Human Ranger, and Merric Littlefoot the Halfling Rogue, approximately one week before the main storyline takes place.  Douvan is an NPC from the campaign book, fleshed out here to a full character].
*
Background Info (not roleplayed):
*
Douvan Stahl is a gruff, hairy blond man, more content living off nature’s bounty than the comforts of civilization.  Merric Littlefoot is the opposite; he prefers to skulk in urban shadows and lift unwanted (or unnoticed) goods from the rich and irritating.  Together, they work as a team; one gruff and blunt, the other cheerful and boisterous.










These guys need money, and the Gem of the North, mighty Silverymoon, has no shortage of opportunities. 






Two weeks ago they were hired by Merple the Moneylender.  The bespectacled squat businessman hired them to find an ancient dragon burial ground somewhere near the small town of Winterhaven.  According to their employer, a black dragon named Blacksoul (in Common, translated to Nar-Shagor in Draconic) was long ago slain in a duel with a golden wyrm, their blood raining from the sky.  The corpse was buried somewhere in the hills by either the Cult of the Dragon or some other sympathetic party, and now Merple wants to find this burial ground. 

He is a historian and procurer of lost knowledge.  Douvan and Merric’s mission is to find this place, determine if it is intact, if there are obstacles in the area, and gauge whether anything is worth salvaging.  Simple enough. If there’s enough reason to return, Merple will finance an excavation with a full team of workers.

So, loading their mule Jim with gear, Douvan and Merric travel south from Silverymoon to Winterhaven, braving brigands on the road, and arrive at the front gates near the end of the month, a few days shy of the first of Mirtul, the Melting.

[A week before Ash, Erevan, Irann, Helga, and Brandis Padraig arrive in Winterhaven].

But Douvan spends some time drinking and whoring first, most notably with Salvana Wrafton of Wrafton’s Inn [This is the DMs input, not the player’s].   The lusty innkeeper caught the ranger’s eye right from the start, but after bedding her for just a few short days, Douvan quickly found that Salvana could not stop talking about a certain Lord Padraig of Winterhaven, and what a wonderful man he is and how SHE should have been Lady Padraig instead!  Jealousy rears its ugly fanged head. 

By the good gods, Douvan doesn’t want to hear this, nor does he even care, so he and Merric inquire about where they can find this dragon grave.  Well, it’s not common knowledge anymore, it must have happened long ago, but they are finally able to glean the information from a local sage and scholar: Valthrun the Prescient. 






The portly man draws them a rough map of the area indicating where the grave might be found. 
*
The Adventure Starts (everything until now was just summarized):*











They leave at dawn with Jim the mule, marching northward along an abandoned road into a fine cold drizzle.  Black clouds hover overhead, and thunder rumbles gently in the distance.  They’re looking for a bridge near the road, and find it a mile outside of town. The creek would normally be passable, but heavy rains have swollen it.  Water churns through the gorge, and the bridge itself doesn’t look safe.  Still, Merric gives it a try, tying himself off with a rope just in case the bridge collapses.  






He’s about halfway across when the wood and railing suddenly splits, nearly hurling him into the water.  Merric leaps to safety, and an excellent Thievery roll indicates that the bridge collapsed in a predetermined manner.  Looking closer, he spies extra ropes and widgets on the underside of the fallen bridge, rigged in such a way to fall if a certain amount of weight is applied.  It is also constructed to be repairable. 

With Douvan’s help, they snag the opposite side of the bridge, and swing it back up an d repair it in a manner that should support their weight.  In theory anyway.  Still, the middle of the bridge is in bad shape, but they cross one at a time, even the mule Jim who is oblivious to the danger. 

Rain falls harder now and they’re quite chilled. They trudge on, passing a land marker on the map, a tall rocky knoll.  Not long afterward both men hear something in the distance: the distinct ring of metal striking rock.  They’re both stealthy, so they leave Jim roped up behind them and creep through the underbrush, peeking out to see an unusual sight:

A large number of scaly kobolds are congregating at the bottom of a dig site.  The ground has been heavily excavated, and they’re still at work near the center with pickaxes.  Large black bones rest in the center of a ring of small white skulls.  Merric and Douvan look at each other, passing the unspoken agreement that they do NOT want to get in a fight with these guys.  There’s just too many of them.  

The dig site is filling with water and mud from the rain, and it is clearly hampering their   progress.  The kobolds are complaining, “It’s cold!”  “I’m tired of this!”  “I wanna go!” Both Douvan and Merric know a few words of Draconic.  They keep watching for a while and soon newcomers arrive:  a burly red-haired human man wearing no shirt, and a robed kobold bearing a rat-skull staff.  

“Did you find it?” bellows the human in Common.

“Yes! Yes! Finds it!” several of the kobolds answer.  Thunder crashes again, closer than before, and more words are exchanged between them.  

“Finish it later,” the human says.  “Too much rain. Mud.  We’ll come back.”






The kobolds like this idea, and the group starts leaving up the hill, soon lost from sight in the encroaching rain and gloom.  Now, Douvan and Merric really want to see what’s down in that hole, so they wait a while to make sure no kobolds wander back.  Douvan goes first, Merric hanging back to keep watch.  He slogs through shallow water and mud until he reaches the ring of skulls.  They’re clearly dog-like kobold skulls, some older than others.  Charred blackened bones fill the center of this ring, but something even stranger juts up from the middle:  the top of an ornate silver mirror is buried among the skeletal remains. 

Exquisite silver crenellations frame the glass, about six inches of which rises from the mud.  Against all possible odds, the glass is not cracked or tarnished. Judging from the small part that he can see, most of the mirror is still submerged. 

Douvan slogs back to Merric.  “We need the mule,” he says.  “Go get him.  I’ll start digging.  It won’t be easy but I think we can drag it out.”

“Why?”

“Why not?  Now get goin’.  I don’t want those ugly buggers to return.”

Merric retrieves Joe, giving Douvan about fifteen minutes to dig as hard and fast as he can with an abandoned shovel.  But water and mud fills the hole faster than he can extract it, and by the time Merric returns the ranger is angry and slathered in mud.  They put their heads together and try a different tactic. The excavation site has lumber from the original hill, and the group has plenty of rope with them.  What heroes wouldn’t?  They decide to rig a device over the mirror and use Jim the Mule to haul the mirror up and out.  They’re not sure if it will work, or even how long it will take, but they get started anyway.  

Half an hour into their project, with an “X” of wood erected over the mirror, bolstered by rocks for support, Douvan and Merric hear singing from multiple voices, one very deep, the others higher-pitched. It’s a butchered version of the Common tongue. They freeze.

It’s hard to discern the origin, definitely outside the dig site, and they wonder if they should run or hide.  

_*“SO…der was an elfsy and his name was GRUE….
…but we cut him up and shut him up and cooked him in our STEW!

…and SO…der was a dwarvsie with a big beard too thick…
…but we cut him up and shut him up and ate him on STICK! Ho!”*_

Three figures appear at the east side of the hole: a huge bugbear, his fur matted from the rain.  A goblin rides on his shoulder; another goblin struts at his side.  All three goblinoids freeze as soon as they spot the Halfling and human crouched in the mud and water at the bottom of the dragon grave.


----------



## Nebulous

*Nebulous's Keep on the Shadowfell*

Side Trek (I): The Grave of Blacksoul

*PART TWO*








It’s a standoff of awkward silence, punctuated only by the rumble of thunder. 

“What are you doing here?” Douvan finally asks, reaching slowly for his longbow.

[GM Note:  Douvan’s carries a magical Bow of Phlegos and wears +1 Delver’s Hide armor; Merric wears Bloodcut armor and has a few other magic items I can’t recall right now.  They both have several healing potions].

“What YOU doin’ here?” the bugbear answers in Common, likewise reaching to unsling a massive maul.  He pushes a goblin off his shoulder. 

“Yeah!  What they doing here Winkle?” says the goblin.

“We’re just excavating this old burial ground,” says Douvan, reaching for an arrow.  “Nothing to worry about.”

“Me gonna worry about ex-ca-vate-in your HEAD!” bellows the bugbear.  “Sham!  Tram!  Get em!”

The goblinoids roll high Initiative and launch toward the PCs, but they have to maneuver down into the pit, and rain and mud hamper their movement. [GM Note: This entire fight takes place in Difficult terrain, which made for some interesting strategy].






The goblins can barely reach the PCs, unable to attack, and Douvan squarely pegs one with an arrow, bloodying him. Douvan and Merric slosh away from their foes, trying to put some distance between them.  Winkle’s maul is a heavy beast of a weapon, a steel-shod thing bearing an engraved human skull. 

Merric weaves his dagger back and forth in a deadly dance, and a goblin blackblade is nearly killed.  “AGH!  Winkle! It hurts!”

The goblins try to surround the ranger and rogue, and have just as much trouble moving in the muck as they do.  In fact, normal 1-square shifting is impossible. But Merric is masterful at dodging Opportunity Attacks, and he ducks under multiple swings, air whistling over his head from the maul.

“Stand still!” roars the bugbear.

“Nope! Maybe later.”

The PCs have the advantage at first, sparring back and forth, landing hits left and right, until the bugbear roars, “SKULLTHUMPER!”






And here the battle turns for the worse.  He lands a solid blow against Douvan, critically smashing him Prone and Dazed.  The ranger squirms helplessly in the mud while the smaller goblins converge on him, thrusting rusty swords through his hide armor.  Douvan screams in agony, burning a Second Wind.  






And then the bugbear roars “SKULLTHUMPER!” again, the skull’s eyes in the maul glowing blue, and Merric the Halfling gets a taste of pain.  He’s likewise bashed prone and dazed, rolling in the mud beside Douvan while the goblins cackle with glee.  Douvan keeps failing saving throws while the goblins poke mercilessly at him, whittling down his hit points.  Winkle’s maul splashes a geyser of mud and water beside Merric’s head as he rolls away, springing to his feet. Merric switches places with the bugbear, severely wounding him at the same time and Winkle is finally Bloodied.  One goblin is horribly hurt, but the second is completely healthy.

Douvan is very injured by now.  Merric is hurt too, but not as bad.  His effective AC against Opportunity Attacks is a 26, allowing him to move away from the enemy with relative impunity; except that the little goblins keep rolling 19’s, and they deal sneak attack damage on top of that. 

Douvan manages to pop up, but he can barely take a step away before he’s downed again by the crushing maul, and this time he doesn’t get back up.  He’s unconscious and dying.  Merric is alone against three foes.   The Halfling dives out of the way, pushing through water toward the edge of the dig site, but that damnable maul catches him!  Merric is slammed hard, staggers up, and keeps going, fumbling for a healing potion.

He has 1 hit point left. 

[GM Note:  Okay, at this point we figured the fight was over, dead PCs. It was looking grim, but it spawned the funniest jokes about Jim the Mule saving the day.  He’s tethered outside the pit the whole time, just watching the fight. Jim to the rescue, hooves a-flailing!]

One goblin starts rifling through Douvan’s clothing and gear.  The bloodied goblin and the bugbear chase Merric.  They corner him, but he dodges their opportunity attacks and barely manages to reach firm terrain, clambering out of the muddy pit to high ground.  He doesn’t know what to do.  Douvan will die one way or another if he doesn’t get help (rolling a 20 for a healing surge is unlikely, but possible), but the Halfling has to eliminate the bugbear.  The threat is too great.

Winkle follows Merric out of the pit while the other goblin returns to pull off Douvan’s shoes. Their fight continues at the edge of the pit, Merric ducking and dodging attacks from the bugbear who is now Bloodied himself.  Merric manages to nearly push the thing off the side but it falls prone at the edge. Still, it gives Merric time to back off, chucking another healing potion.  Winkle leaps up and stomps after him, but Merric can tell it is hurt badly.   Their melee reaches the treeline, and another wild swing devastates a small pine behind the Halfling.

Merric counterattacks, surging toward the bugbear’s exposed belly and gutting him.  Entrails spill out in ropy hot coils.  The bugbear gurgles, trying to stuff his insides back, and then keels over dead. 

Thunder rumbles menacingly over them.

“You smash that Halfling yet, Winkle?” shrieks one of the goblins.  They couldn’t see the fight from down in the pit. 

Merric deftly leaps from the high ground to low (Acrobatic Stunt DC 15), splashing back into the muck.

“Not yet.”

Flabbergasted, both of the goblins abandon Douvan, who has been bleeding out in the mud for 6 rounds now.  He’s managed to stay stabilized every round, but rolls his first failure as soon as Merric returns. Two more failures and he’s dead.  The goblins have stripped off his boots, his weapons, his gear and pouches, leaving him half-naked and unarmed. 

Merric meets the goblins head on, quickly killing the bloodied one, and exchanging vicious cut with the other. Merric gets close enough to Douvan’s pouch to snag a healing draught, kicks the goblin away, and pours the liquid down the ranger’s throat. 

Coughing, sputtering, Douvan sits up, grabs both blades that have both been thrust point-down in the mud, and roars with indignation at the final goblin.

The creature squeals in terror and runs.

Douvan and Merric sink down, exhausted.  They let the goblin go; they can catch up to him later if they need to.  Right now, they want to get this damned mirror out of the ground.  They burn through healing surges, leaving them with very few, and continue attaching ropes to the rig.  Douvan finally touches the mirror itself to anchor the rope, and a mild electrical buzz passes through his fingers.  Not unpleasant, but not fun either. 

The ropes are attached to Jim the mule, and all three begin pulling with all their strength.  They’ll succeed on an 8 or higher on d20.

They roll a 4. 

Cursing their ill luck, they’ll need to rig the device again if they want another roll, but it will take time.  They decide not to do it yet.  They’re low on resources, it’s getting dark, and the kobolds or something worse might return, and they’re in no shape to handle anything more than a dire mouse. 

They grab Jim by the reins, strap the enchanted Skullthumper to his back [which most likely will be melted down for residuum], and lead him into the gloom. Douvan really hates goblins now. They would make a great favored enemy.

They camp out in the woods, eating a cold breakfast the next morning, and return to the dig site once the rain has stopped.  It is a sodden mess, but with the mule's help, they are are able to finally bring the entire bizarre mirror out of the mud.  They stand there blinking at in the chilly, cloudy dawn, wondering what exactly they have found...






They don't know what it is, but Valthrun the Prescient of Winterhaven very well might.

And there we stopped. 

[GM Note:  This was a Level 5 encounter calculated for two 3rd level PCs.  It was meant to be a tough fight, and if not for the maul hitting them at the exact opportune times, the battle would have been much easier.  As it was, they barely escaped with their lives.

Also, I didn’t coup de grace Douvan when he was down, and I had the goblins back off from the fight, letting Winkle handle Merric alone].


----------



## Nebulous

Adventure #4: A Dismal Den of Dragon-Droppings

*PART ONE*

The PCs catch their breath after obliterating the kobolds outside the waterfall.  They regroup at the bottom and consider their options: there are two entrances, so Ash and Helga tentatively peek into the southern hole while the others inspect the north.  Erevan the wizard takes a closer look at the glowing circle of stones and suspects that this is an ancient remnant from a long lost kingdom, maybe as old as the days of Netheril.  The circle might enhance his magical prowess if he stays within it.






Ash finds the tunnel behind the waterfall musty and dirty, filled with three-toed footprints and a foul stink.  He sticks to the shadows, hearing nothing over the roar of the water nearby.  He edges along a wall, dagger out, and finally hears movement around a corner.  Dim light flickers inside the den from mounted lanterns. Taking a breath, Ash whips around the corner and rams his dagger to the hilt beneath a kobold’s chin!  Hot blood spurts on this fingers and the kobold crumples.  He completely surprised them, but a second kobold is not so easily dispatched and chucks a javelin at the rogue.  Ash backs away, even as more kobolds converge on his position, likewise throwing projectiles. Helga hears the commotion and storms into the cave, her deadly battleaxe cleaving the nearest kobold in twain. 

At the other entrance, Brandis Padraig licks his lips and slowly steps inside.  He doesn’t see anyone.  Stark shadows encompass him.  He moves in carefully, halberd extended and ready to skewer anything that moves.  Irann the warlock steps in as well, but she can just barely make out the shape of a kobold in the distance.  With a flick of her wrist, eldritch purple flames explode from the creature’s eyes, nostrils and mouth, and it collapses into a quivering heap.  She takes up a position near Brandis.






Meanwhile, Ash and Helga are cutting a swath through the kobolds.  They can’t withstand axe and dagger and fall beneath their foes, inflicting minimal damage to elf and dwarf.  On the other side, Brandis and Irann spot more kobolds hiding behind a wall. The little dragon-droppings hurl javelins at the warlock, painfully hitting her.  Erevan the Eladrin Wizard enters the fray, tossing a sparkling missile across the chamber.  

Many, many foes begin to crowd the room, and the fight is split between the north and south quadrants. There are more hidden rooms, tunnels and chambers out of their sight, and then Helga spots what looks like a black curtain obscuring a particular passage, hiding gods-knows what.

“There!  A curtain!” she cries, pointing with the bloody haft of her axe.  Erevan tosses a light spell and illuminates the entire area, but it reveals nothing other than a black cloth draped across a narrow corridor. 

Both groups move toward the center, but a surviving kobold disengages from the fray, screaming, “IRONTOOTH!  IRONTOOTH! SAVE US!” Three kobolds retreat from the battle, hiding in another room, but their retreat instigates a new wave of enemies, and from around a corner surges a HUGE goblin, a single enormous tooth jutting from his jaw.  He wields a brutal battleaxe in both hands that looks every bit as dangerous as Helga’s.






The goblin, most certainly Irontooth, roars his anger at the interlopers, and then screams, “You will all DIE!”

It is not a threat to be taken lightly.

The goblin surges at Helga, crushing his axe against hers in a shower of steely sparks. Following hot on his heels, two Dragonshield Soldiers enter the battle, snarling in anger, and attempt to flank the dwarf, jabbing and stabbing at her with their vicious shortswords.  From experience, the group knows that these guys are dangerous and will not easily fall like the other riffraff. 






To make matters worse, the black curtain whips aside and a robed goblin steps out, a hideous skull staff in hand bubbling liquid fire from the mouth. The wyrmpriest tosses a glob of burning magic at the dwarf, and then quickly slinks back into hiding.  Wash, rinse, repeat.  






From the time Irontooth arrives on the scene, he is marked by the Dwarf fighter, flanked between her and Ash the rogue, and their positions do not significantly change. Moving away from the fighter will cause pain, which the goblin boss quickly learns. 

The fight grows more perilous.  Irontooth is a heavy hitter, and his axe slams into Helga numerous times, enraging the dwarf.  The dragonshields worm their way into more advantageous positions, shifting into and out of combat, forcing the enemy to move closer. Irann wastes no time cursing the kobolds, sucking up their life energy as they expire and teleporting short distances.  Erevan conjures a flaming sphere and rolls the ball of fire into combat, annihilating the weaker enemies and severely burning the stronger ones. 

Every round, the kobold wyrmpriest pops out from hiding and hurls a glob of fire, almost always targeting the dwarf fighter who is engaged toe-to-toe with Irontooth.  Ash the elf rogue attempts to backstab Irontooth at every opportunity, but a crafty dragonshield distracts him, moving into a flanking position. Still, the dwarf’s battlefield control discourages shifting, and the fight in the middle remains fairly static while foes further away race for hiding and cover. The three kobolds that retreated earlier enter combat again, trying to bolster their allies.

“Think you can kill me?” Irontooth roars, clanging his axe off Helga’s breastplate.  The dwarf is slammed to one knee, and a painful ball of sorcerous flame explodes across her forehead, even as a hissing dragonshield sinks a blade into her ribs. 

She’s having her doubts now.

But Irontooth is horribly injured himself.  He’s been beaten, stabbed and kicked and burned by a hovering sphere of magical flame.  Skin charred and smoking, the goblin leader hunkers down, and then EXPLODES UP in a swinging maelstrom of fury, burning an Action Point and hacking left and right and left and right! 

The first swipe rips through Ash’s chest, exposing bone. The elf staggers, his world growing dark. The next slash jars a chunk of Helga’s armor from her body, but the third blow against Ash, even as he swoons from the first strike, nearly severs his head.

The elf collapses backwards. 

Slain.  

Helga screams Ash’s name, but Irontooth grins evilly through bloodstained teeth and renews his attacks on her, hammering again and again and again.   Another javelin flies at the dwarf, puncturing her thigh, and a hissing glob of flame spits from the concealed wyrmpriest [who luckily for the PCs missed most of his ranged attacks].

Regardless, Helga is down to 1 hit point. If the dwarf falls, then the battle will quickly become a massacre.

Her companions surge to the rescue. Brandis is able to boost her morale, and Helga chugs a healing potion, bringing her back from the brink of doom.  The damnable dragonshield soldiers are still alive though, as are several other foes, and the battle could easily swing any direction. 

The wizard’s flaming sphere rolls around, igniting a minion into a pillar of flame. 

Choking on his own blood, Irontooth is FINALLY skewered by a charging attack from Brandis Padraig.  The son of the Lord of Winterhaven levels his halberd and mercilessly [burning a daily power], thrusts the steel deep into the goblin’s gut.  Metal explodes near his spine, showering the wall behind him with gore.  Irontooth grabs the polearm with both hands, barely managing to pull himself off.  Blood fills his mouth.  He staggers over Ash’s cooling corpse beneath his feet.  The goblin raises his arms and face to the ceiling.

“KALAREL!  PREPARE MY WAY!”

And then falls to his knees, gurgling his last breaths, and dies. 

[GM Note:  Adam believes they misheard what Irontooth said because of the loud waterfall; his actual words were, “CALGON, TAKE ME AWAY!”]

But the fight is hardly over.  There are two injured dragonshields soldiers, a skirmisher, a wyrmpriest, and at least one minion still alive.  The demise of their leader only infuriates them to new levels.


----------



## Nebulous

Adventure #4: A Dismal Den of Dragon Droppings

*PART TWO*

The wyrmpriest abandons his refuge behind the curtain and steps to the forefront, attempting to belch flames across Brandis and Helga!  A frothy mix of hot flame and stinking breath washes over them. 

But with the death of Irontooth, the conclusion to this battle grows likely. A dragonshield is beheaded, the skirmisher erupts into a ball of eldritch purple flames, screaming his dying words at the warlock, and the final dragonshield is immolated by the sphere of magical flame as it tries to extinguish itself in the waterfall.  The battle finally focuses on the lone and uninjured…

…wyrmpriest.

But Helga is not feeling particularly merciful after seeing her friend Ash murdered, and a cascade of steel hacks through the kobold’s staff, even as if futilely raises the shaft to block the blow.  Her blade sunders the staff and subsequently sunders its face in a splash of blood, joining the grisly viscera across her body. 

Lungs heaving, the group stands in silence for a few moments, listening to the cacophonous falls and the drumming of their hearts.  Nothing else is moving. 

Not even the curtain.

Fearing more enemies and surprises, they ready their weapons and creep forward.  Only silence waits behind the curtain. Grasping the coarse cloth in one hand, Brandis Padraig pulls it aside and looks in…

…and if this were a Cthulhu adventure, he would have suffered MASSIVE Sanity loss.

Two things lurk behind the curtain. The first is a golden-plated goat-skull, inlaid with a few precious gems; the second and exceptionally more hideous item is the rotting skull of Brandis’s younger brother KEL PADRAIG.






The twelve-year old boy’s head has been tattooed with draconic symbols, resting and rotting amidst a ring of fat black burning candles. 

Brandis staggers from the small, stinking chamber, a hand to his mouth, stifling vomit.  Erevan and the others peek in, likewise disgusted by the scene. But they attempt Arcana and Religion checks regardless, trying to glean clues from this horrible revelation. 

It seems to Erevan the Wizard that the kobold shaman has been trying to place a curse on the Padraig family, using the head of Kel Padgraig as a focus.  Furthermore, the golden goat skull is a recognized symbol of a particular Lord of Undeath, a demonic entity that Erevan has heard called by the name of “Orcus.”   This does not bode well.  

They take the items, and then carefully search the rest of the lair.  There are no more foes to dispatch, so they check for secret doors or passages in most of the rooms.  They find the treasure chamber which contains a locked chest.  Irontooth has the key, but they don’t open it quite yet.  This would have been an excellent job for their resident rogue, had he not just been killed.  But Irontooth has something else on his person that is more interesting than the key: 

A letter.

Addressed directly to the goblin leader from someone (or something) named KALAREL, the letter clearly says that there is a spy in Winterhaven, and that a rift is soon to open, and that the forces of Lord Orcus will soon be released upon the citizens of Winterhaven.  This news is tucked away for later as the PCs realize that the kobold threat was only the beginning of Winterhaven’s problems. 

Still mourning the loss of their companion, the group gathers as much loot as they can find, including the heads of the kobolds and Irontooth’s hands for the Frog Queen, and load much of it Tenser’s Floating Disk for the trip back to Winterhaven.  It is a long, sad walk. 

On the way they discuss their reentry to town.  Should they mention the spy and this person Kalarel?  They think that might not be prudent, not yet, as anyone could be a spy and easily observe their comings and goings.  They debate whether to return under cover of night, but ultimately decide there is not much to gain from it.  They’ll have to pass the locked front gates regardless; there’s no way to fully “sneak” into town, not all of them.

Corby and Rond Kelfern are manning the gates when they arrive at Winterhaven that evening, and the cheerful young Regular hails them from a distance.

“Mr. Brandis!  Padraig, Sir, I mean.  You’re back!  How fares your venture?”

Their answers are a mix of gloom and success.  The kobolds are dead, yes, but so is there friend, and there is something worse than kobolds looming in the near future of Winterhaven, but they don’t come out and say that.


----------



## Nebulous

*Nebulous's Keep on the Shadowfell*

Adventure #4: A Dismal Den of Dragon Droppings

*PART THREE*

The group goes immediately to the estate of Lord Padraig, who is pleased to see them alive and well, although he too is dismayed to hear that one of their own perished in the battle.  He pays them the 75 gold coins promised, but the group insists that they need to speak with Lord Padraig in private.  They retire to his personal chambers, and the PCs waste no time searching the room for spies, peepholes or magical sensors.  Padraig naturally questions their paranoia, and they show him the letter.

His brow furrows.  Nodding silently, he lets them continue. When sure that no one is watching, they quietly discuss their options.  Padraig is dismayed by this turn of events and thinks that they should speak with Valthrun the Prescient before doing anything else.  Brandis tries to detect any change in emotion or personality from his father, if indeed the kobolds placed a blood curse on their family.  He senses nothing untoward, and is left with the uncomfortable feeling that his mother Cynthia may well be the recipient of a magical madness.   Or worse. Perhaps it is best that the enchanted snailwort has been keeping her in a dreamless slumber. 

They’ll still receive a gold piece per kobold head from Lady Padraig, but they want Sister Linora to preserve them first with Gentle Repose, as well as Irontooth’s hands.  They go to see her next at the temple just as she is finishing her evening prayers. The group also asks Sister Linora at the small Temple of Sune what she knows about a being called ORCUS, but she is shocked.






“Do not mention that name in this holy place!” she hisses. “It is an abomination of hate and cruelty that I cannot even fathom.”

Sister Linora is otherwise pleased to help them, but very distraught about Kel and the cruelty he suffered.  She thinks that the head should be reunited with the body in his grave and then properly blessed.  If there IS a curse on the Padraig bloodline, Sister Linora does not know if she is strong enough to remove it.  Regardless, Brandis stays with her awhile as she mutters prayers over him, trying to detect any unnatural taint. 

Helga, Erevan and Irann head toward Wrafton’s Inn, and by now news is slowly spreading that they have been successful eliminating the kobold threat.  By the time they reach the inn they hear a familiar voice singing inside, that of Kelrella Sweetleaft, the elf minstrel performing the first night they arrived.  At her feet sits the same plump Halfling strumming a harp.






The inn is full this evening with patrons, leftovers from Market Day.  Elian the Old is here sipping a beer; ugly Gobbo Goodnest is at his side likewise getting inebriated; a few Winterhaven Regulars raise their mugs to salute the PCs, and Salvana Wrafton loudly declares a free round of drinks for everyone.  Helga the Dwarf isn’t going to argue with that, and she chugs her beer.  Their victory is celebrated for a while, until Brandis returns from Sister Linora, but their joy is only a façade.  The PCs are not content with Irontooth’s demise; something worse is brewing, and for Brandis Padraig it could very well mean the demise of his family, home, and friends. 

Helga requests a dirge from the Halfling harpist for their fallen companion Ash (whose body is at the Temple of Sune, in preparation for burial the next day), but the fat Halfling grunts, “I don’t DO dirges, lady.”  

Kelrella Sweetleaf slaps his head.  “Idiot!  Shut up.  Of course we’ll do a dirge for your friend. I sing excellent dirges.”

As the heroes are enjoying drinks with the locals, a male [undetermined race] approaches them.  

“My name is [undetermined name] from [undetermined place].  I’ve heard what you did for Winterhaven and the good people here, and I want to help.  May I join you?”

[GM Note:  This is Adam’s new character to replace Ash, currently with no name, class or race].

Well, of course the group trusts this stranger!  He’s surely not a spy, and they can’t think of a better person they’d like guarding them while they sleep.  Maybe some of the others can vouch for him later, just to be on the safe side. 

Not long afterward, they bid goodbye to the bar patrons as the sun is slipping into a vermillion horizon, and make their way to Valthrun’s tower.  They have some business to discuss with the portly sage. 






The door is locked, but Valthrun sticks his wide face out a top window and greets them.  He comes down, unlocks the door, and leads them up winding steps to the only occupied room in the tower. Hundreds of books like the walls, and the place smells of chemicals, ink and rare spices. 

The group doesn’t mention anything about a SPY to Valthrun, not fully trusting the sage himself, although they have no reason not to.  As he promised the day before, when they first asked him about an old keep in the area, one that Merple the Moneylender wanted them to map, he has consulted his books and unearthed new arcana. 






But Valthrun looks troubled.  His words are heavy with angst, and the tale that slowly unfolds from his lips is one of woe…and dire portent.

Valthrun admits to knowing the history of the old keep, known as Shadowfell Keep in days of old, but it is not commonly called that now.  In fact, locals consider the place haunted and the name itself an ill omen.  It is rarely spoken aloud. 

Long ago, he says, perhaps hundreds of years, a mysterious rift opened beneath the surface of the earth for reasons he does not know. This rift led directly to a strange parallel realm known as the Shadowfell, not a wholly evil place, but not a wholly pleasant one either.  It was a realm of half-thoughts and insubstantial dreams, and a place where the souls of the dead freely roamed. 

This rift caused horrible problems in the lands above it, and eventually a group of priests and wizards, followers of Chauntea, Lathander, Meilikki and others, united their powers to seal this fissure.  They used a magical mirror to focus their energy, but even that was not strong enough to destroy the opening.  The best they could do was lock the Shadowfell rift underground, and then they commissioned a garrison of warriors and priests to guard the site, to ensure it never opened again and leak its evil back into the mortal world.

The soldiers and paladins built a small keep above the rift, a Keep on the Shadowfell, and this is how it remained for many, many years, manned by warriors brave enough to station themselves in an empty, foreboding land to prevent the darkness from returning. 

In time, a new leader of these men came to rule the keep, a brave paladin of Bahamut named Sir Keegan.






He lived at the Keep with his wife and daughters, and all went well for many years…until the one night everything went horribly wrong.


----------



## Nebulous

Adventure #4: A Dismal Den of Dragon-Droppings

*PART FOUR*

For reasons Valthrun cannot explain (because he doesn’t know), Sir Keegan went mad one evening at the stroke of the midnight.  He slew his wife.  He butchered his daughters.  He attacked his friends and comrades-in-arms, cutting them down in cold blood.  A murderous bloodlust was upon him, and none could stop Sir Keegan.  He was more skilled with shield and blade than any other warrior at the keep, and he killed many men before they finally overthrew him by sheer numbers.  Mortally wounded, Sir Keegan was finally forced to the lower levels, and the remaining soldiers slew their former comrade.

But out of respect for their friend and leader, and maybe a certain amount of love for a man they had trusted so much, they buried him in a holy tomb beneath the keep, maybe in hopes that it would abolish whatever hateful energy had infused his soul.

Keegan’s wife and children were buried elsewhere, but there is no record of where. 

Valthrun believes that dark energies from the Shadowfell seeped out and slowly inundated Sir Keegan, attacking piece by piece this stalwart, chivalrous man, etching away at his soul like a black disease.  He grew corrupted from within, and finally lashed out in an orgy of death.   It is whispered to children that his ghost still haunts the grounds of the old keep, wailing in eternal agony for the atrocities he committed.

As for the mirror originally used to seal the rift, Valthrun says that two adventures have very recently recovered the mirror from a dragon’s tomb outside of town.  Their names were Douvan Stahl and Merric Littlefoot.  It is Valthrun’s belief that agents of Orcus are trying to reopen this rift permanently, and they wanted to use the mirror to reverse the magical seal.  Douvan and Merric have taken the Mirror as far away as possible, back to Silverymoon actually.

The old scholar does not know if the mirror is essential for the dark ritual, but it certainly won’t be around to aid them.  He does not know the name Kalarel at all, but Valthrun is aware of ORCUS:  a demonic god of Undeath that is not worshipped among the normal Realmsian pantheon. 

It is the sage’s suggestion, and this coincides with Lord Padraig’s wishes, that this rift must not be allowed to open again.  Malevolent energy would flow unbridled across the region, and Winterhaven’s remote location would make help from outside very difficult, not until it was too late. 

His story weighs heavily on their hearts as they head back to the Inn. 

***

[GM Note:  The group was close to leveling up, so I added a final impromptu encounter to boost everyone to 2nd before next time.]

The next morning they all wake up refreshed.  There are preparations needed before they go to Shadowfell Keep, but they decide to make one final perimeter search around Winterhaven and its environs, to ensure that no lingering kobolds are in the area. 

The dawn is cool, the grass damp with dew.  Pink sunlight filters through rising mists and green trees as they hike outside of town and detour through the fields and farms.  All is quiet for a while until they suddenly hear a man shouting.  It’s Old Elian!  He staggers toward them, utter terror etched on his face.

“It’s ‘orrible!” he sputters.  “Somethun huge in me cornfield! Help!”

Sure enough, the stalks are waving ferociously as something tromps around inside.  






Erevan, Helga, Irann and Brandis are alone, but they feel confident that they can handle the threat.  Erevan scorches the corn with a blast of fire while Helga begins shouting insults and stomping her feet.  A geyser of corn and dirt suddenly shoots into the air, and they realize that whatever was there has just burrowed down, and is heading straight for them! 






They Ready Actions, and seconds later a large insectoid beast sprays up from the dirt road, its mandibles clacking. Multiple blows rain down on the creature, cracking through its hard carapace. It squeals in pain, but is a relentless foe.  Arching its back, it sends a poisonous barb flying at Helga, piercing her neck.  It annoys her more than anything, the weak poison.

The creature is soon killed, but their battle has drawn the attention of two more ankhegs that burst forth from the ground beside Erevan the wizard. 

There must be a nest of these things somewhere, and the fight that started out simple suddenly grows substantially more difficult. 

Poisoned barbs fly from the ankhegs as they assault their breakfast, but the PCs aren’t going down without a fight.  Until, actually, Brandis DOES go down, bitten mercilessly by the insect’s massive jaws and whittled down by poison coursing through his veins.  The ankheg isn’t smart enough to finish the warlord off, and it leaps to the next target: Helga. 






Erevan has been backing off as far as possible though and nailing the beasts with magic missiles. Helga growls, butchering the animals with broad, crushing strikes, and finally bashes the brainpan of one into messy pulp.   The fight is much harder than anticipated, but they finally vanquish the third beast, even as Elian the Old is cheering them on from the sidelines.  “Kill dem bugs!”

They help Brandis to his feet, shaken but alive, and the group slowly limps back toward Winterhaven, glad that these ill-tempered critters didn’t get the best of them.

And there we stopped.

[GM Note:  I used adult kruthik stats for the ankhegs]


----------



## Nebulous

Adventure #5: Shadowfell Keep
*
PART ONE*

It is the day after the battle with the bugs in the field.  The group has rested and recuperated, as they suspect dangerous times in the days to come and they’ll need their strength.  According to what they gleaned from Irontooth at the waterfall lair, there is a spy working for someone named KALAREL.  Furthermore, the kobolds and Kalarel were in allegiance with a demonic god of undeath, the malevolent Orcus, who does not even rank among the normal Faerunian pantheon.  






Lord Padraig is informed of the Orcus threat and a spy in Winterhaven.  The warlord is displeased by this news, and insists that this particular detail should be kept from the general populace.  It seems that darker days may be in store for the denizens of Winterhaven.  Now, mapping some old keep has taken on new importance, for it may very well be the lair of someone (or something) named Kalarel and a dire scheme to reopen the Shadowfell of old, spilling evil and undeath across the region once again. 

In light of this new development, Lord Padraig thinks he should prepare the family heirloom for Brandis: an enchanted longsword named WOLFTOOTH.  Lord Padraig will polish and sharpen the blade and have it ready for Brandis upon his return. 

[It’s a +2 magic weapon]

The group gears up: Irann the half-elf warlock; Erevan the Eladrin Wizard; Helga the Dwarf Fighter; Brandis Padraig the Warlord, and…a new companion. They met him the night before, and this tall, stalwart, armor-clad PALADIN of KELEMVOR is ready to join the group in the battle against undeath, evil and corruption. He has been sent by the church in Neverwinter to investigate possible cult activity in this region.

[EDIT: Seems like the new 4e campaign book as demolished Neverwinter; so the paladin might be from elsewhere].

The paladin Kerric is quiet and prone to wearing dark armor that reflects his deity’s somber mood, but he seems amicable enough himself. The group does not really think that he is the spy, and the fact that he is a devout follower of Kelemvor, a God of Righteous Death diametrically opposed to a demonic lord of undeath, they couldn’t imagine a better ally.

They see peculiar scars on his forearms as Kerric attaches his greaves and gloves; a notch for each foe sent to the afterlife, the paladin tells them.  One day, his body may very well be covered by these tiny scars, a woeful tapestry recounting his crusade against the demonic and the undead. 

News has somehow already spread of their expedition to the Old Keep (which the citizens of Winterhaven do not even refer to as Shadowfell Keep; the name seems to invoke bad luck].  Still, as the group gathers outside of Wrafton’s Inn, they are seen off by a small contingent of familiar faces:

Lord Ernest Padraig and his wife Cynthia, who hugs and kisses Brandis (“Mom…stop, you’re embarrassing me!”); 

Salvana Wrafton the busty and lusty innkeeper who offers them a cold ale upon their return; Elian the Old the Pig Farmer, who has his pig taken from him once again; the snooty Bairwain Wildarson, who furtively takes the PC’s aside and tells them that if they find any magic items in the ruins, they should tell him. He might be able to trade them with…friends of his at a place called Thunderspire, far to the north.  No one has ever heard of a place called Thunderspire, and Bairwain does not elaborate. 

[Although Erevam suspects it’s bound to a labyrinth]

Kelrella Sweetleaf the elf minstrel and her Halfling harpist see them off too, nodding quietly but saying nothing. The halfling Shuck plucks a few mournful strings. 

Thair Coalstriker, gimp-leg dwarf smithy, pounds a hand into a meaty fist and asks them to bash some goblin noggins for him, all the ones he’ll never have the chance to bash himself. Yes, they can oblige him that. 

Delphina Moongem is there, the flighty elf wanderer, and she cheerfully sticks flowers in their hair and behind their ears, wishing them luck on their picnic. 

Valthrun the Prescient, portly resident Sage and Scholar, folds his hands and nods gravely to the group, conveying that the information they have shared is secret; the rest of Winterhaven must not know about the Shadowfell threat, not yet. It could cause panic and widespread paranoia. 

Rond Kelfern, Corby, and other members of the Winterhaven Regulars nod their respects as the group departs the south gate (and the only gate) heading out into crisp morning dawn on the 4th of Mirtul, Year of the (?). Dunno know yet. 

But one last person runs up to them as they’re leaving:  the half-elf Ninaran.

“Where’s Ash?” she asks.  “Where is he?  WHERE?”

Maybe she knows already, but when the group tells her that he died at the hands of Irontooth, her face crumbles, replaced instantly by black anger.  She storms off without another word.  

[GM Note: And although I forgot to mention it, Ash’s burial in the woods probably happened at dawn, in a quiet glade by a brook, as the elves would prefer it].

Black clouds roll across the horizon as the group heads north along the old road.  Thunder rumbles in the distance. Broken cobblestones crack beneath their boots.  Weeds and roots burrow through the stone, and thick vegetation encroaches on all sides.  It is obvious that this route has not been used in a long, long time, and they’re traveling even further north than when they went to Dorsail Falls. 






After awhile they pass a dilapidated shack.  Pausing, they peek in through the shattered door. The interior is mostly empty, covered by dirt and twigs and vines, but the paladin does notice a faint outline in the floor, possibly the door to a cellar.  They check for traps, and finding none, finally pry the door open.  A dank musty smell wafts forth, and they see the remains of an old wine cellar.  The barrels have fermented to vinegar, but some of the wine bottles are intact.  They take a dozen, and can probably sell or exchange them in Winterhaven. 

Onward to the keep.  An hour later after struggling across this cracked, broken road, they see the keep looming atop a distant knoll.


----------



## Nebulous

Adventure #5: Shadowfell Keep

*PART TWO*






It is a lonely looking place, with hardly a tower still standing.  Crushed boulders and debris litter the trail that they clamber up, and soon they’re standing at the summit. Nothing moves up here except weeds waving in a faint wind.  A peal of thunder gently rumbles around them. It’s ominous.  

They soon find a cleared area in the middle of the ruins where bushes and small trees have been hacked apart and pushed aside.  A stairwell is revealed leading down.  Natural sunlight illuminates the stairs, but artificial light emanates from the bottom.  Footprints are near the entrance, from as small as a child to as large as a man, although they’re not quite as recent as today.

Everyone glances at each other.  Someone or something is down there.  The paladin descends first, bastard sword out.  The others try to quietly skitter down too, but this group is not the stealthiest.  Buckles jingle and metal scrapes on stone.  Someone hears the faint chatter of rats, but the sound soon disappears. At the bottom of the steep steps is a thirty-foot by thirty-foot stone room supported by four pillars. There is an exit to the east and west and north, the latter of which is another set of shallow steps rising up.  Oil lanterns on the walls look about half full and definitely non-magical, so something is down here refilling them. 

Kerric skirts around the pillars and glimpses a shadow passing across the stairwell. He moves closer. The wizard follows, and the warlock goes the other direction.  It is the dwarf Helga who steps between the pillars, and she encounters the first (and far from the last) trap of Shadowfell Keep.






The section of floor between the pillars is just canvas disguised as stone, and Helga plunges feet first through it!  The fall would have hurt more than it did if not for the cushion of ravenous RATS.  The filthy beasts immediately begin crawling over her, their shrill voices splitting the air.  If anyone else is down here, they definitely know that they have company. Helga starts screaming for someone to throw her a rope as she swats the rodents away.  Irann the warlock tosses one end of her rope and braces her leg on a pillar.

“Grab it!”

And then Kerric sees a yellow-skinned goblin.  It’s sticking its head out from the top of the stairwell, a tiny bow clutched in its hands.  Erevan sees it too and tosses a glimmering magic missile that pierces the creature’s arm. Hissing in anger, it retaliates with an arrow at the paladin, who is mounting the shallow steps two at a time. A second goblin appears, likewise armed with a shortbow. 

“INTRUDERS!” it screams in goblin, even as it notches an arrow to fire at the human paladin.

Helga clambers up the rope, miraculously unhurt by the rats, but the little beasts can’t get out of the pit and pose no more threat to anyone. Irann is the only person who speaks goblin, and she hears more voices:

“Open it!” a goblin is screaming.  “HURRY!”

“I’m trying!” another answers. “It’s stuck!”






The paladin quickly engages the goblin archers and decapitates one. Within seconds the warlock has cursed the other, and then seconds after that the dwarf is at the top, broadax sweeping through them, but the warlock’s curse devours the goblin in a plume of purple flames.  There’s an open door to her left, and a closed door the right, but through the open door Helga sees two gaunt goblins manically trying to open a large chest.

A chest suspiciously labeled “GOBLIN TRAP.”










A goblin glances back and sees the gleam of doom in the dwarf’s eye as she charges them.  “SHITS!  Open it NOW!”  He’s fumbling with a large iron key, but can’t open the lock before the dwarf is on top of them.  She swings, missing, and they scatter two different directions…

…just as the chest thumps and quivers and hops an inch or two off the ground.  

Something is inside. 

The goblins pull out wicked shortswords, but they aren’t a match for an angry dwarf, a warlord with a polearm, and a holy paladin. The wizard Erevan runs into the other chamber, scoping it out, but only sees a single door exiting. The goblins are quickly annihilated, and the warlock bouncing across the room per usual in a puff of purple sulfurous smoke. 






But the box.  That damn box.  Something inside is SLAMMING against the lid.  Something wants out.


----------



## Nebulous

Adventure #5: Shadowfell Keep

*PART THREE*

This causes a few moments of consternation among the players.  Do they really want to let out whatever is inside?  Magical and mundane probing doesn’t reveal much…

…and then they hear the voice.

A little girl.  “I’M COLD,” she says.  “IT’S DARK.  PLEASE LET ME OUT…”

That is definitely creepy, and Helga rolls a 22 Insight check to confirm that it’s creepy.  The little girl doesn’t answer questions and seems to repeat herself a lot. The group wavers back and forth, open or leave it, open or leave it, and at one point they even have it stacked in the corner under a barrel of lamp oil. But curiosity gets the best of them and they vote to open it. 

Weapons and magic readied, they begin to carefully unlock it.  Tension is high as Brandis Padraig turns the key with sweaty hands…

…and the lid flies open!  

Cold gray mist froths out, spilling around them, and they all swipe blades or discharge flashes of magic. The mist is fast though and it harmlessly ripples around them like water in a stream and streaks for the door, vanishing under the gap.  It’s probably hurt, and Erevan and Kerric the paladin of Kelemvor suspect that it is some kind of vampire or wraith, and silver lining inside the trunk reinforces their suspicions.  

It must be trying to reach its coffin! 

Religious knowledge indicates that a true vampire could regenerate if it finds the dirt of its grave, so they unanimously elect to hunt this thing down before it escapes.  In fact, Kerric insists that this must be done!  He LIVES for stamping out the foul progeny of Orcus.

Helga slams a shoulder into the heavy wooden door under which the mist fled.  The door is stuck, and she rams into it again.  It bursts open on swollen hinges, revealing a steep stairwell descending into inky darkness.  The smell of must and dust and a more unpleasant stink rises to their nostrils.

But no sign of the fleeing vamp-mist-girl-thing. 

A junction at the bottom bears east, west and north, and Erevan’s light spell adequately illuminates their options…

…and the west option just barely reveals a dark figure standing motionless in the corner of another room. 






Kerric tosses a sunrod into the room, shedding a nova of light on the thing.  It is a hideously rotten abomination that whirls around and begins shuffling toward him, followed at once by several more that shamble from the corners.   In the room beyond these zombies, the sunrod just barely allows them a glimpse of two upright black iron sarcophagi. 






Helga the fighter and Brandis the warlord plug the hole and confront the zombies head on.  The minions drop fast, but a few of the dead things are horrible brutes, and their claws rip through flesh and armor with ease.  Regardless, the PCs have an excellent position and the zombies cannot break their defensive wall.  They’re hacked down one at a time, rotting flesh and syrupy guts spewing across the floor in a wide berth.  The paladin steps in to help, but is painfully mauled by one of the things, and he’s forced to reconsider.

[GM Note: This was hilarious; the paladin jumped in to do what he does best, and the zombie bloodies him in one hit. The paladin started screaming, “Undead are horrible!  I didn’t know!”]






Eventually they prevail, and wiping the gore and rot from their blades, the group presses on toward the sarcophagi room, assuming that this is where the vampiric mist fled to heal itself. The ceiling is high and arched, and there are actually TEN black iron tombs standing upright all the way down to the end, where large doors are set into the wall, with a dim light shining down from the ceiling. 

They approach the first coffin, gathering around it and readying their weapons to impale whatever is inside.  Brandis grabs the cold handle and flings it open…and a bleached white skeleton reaches out a fleshless hand!  Swords and halberds thrust into the thing’s ribcage, and within seconds it has been torn down to a brittle pile of dry bones. 

That was easy enough, but it was no vampire.  They move to the next coffin, using the same tactic, and there is another skeleton warrior inside, but this one is wearing a suit of tattered chainmail…and their hail of blows doesn’t immediately kill it.  In fact, he pulls forth a notched longsword and deftly blocks an attack, its lipless jaws clacking. 






Here is where things get scary.

Down the long hallway, from every closed sarcophagi, the group hears bony fingers scratching on metal, and then with a resounding series of loud BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! BOOMS!  The lids simultaneously fly open, disgorging more foes into the hall, all of them armed with bows and swords.  But Helga loves a good fight, and Kerric the Paladin wants more notches on his arm, so this is not an unwelcome surprise (That comes next round). 

The warlock finds herself quickly surrounded, but manages to teleport away and run down the hall toward the entrance.  Helga engages her foes with a furious charge, bellowing a war cry, and cleaves two of them in half, a cloud of bones splintering around her.  She crushes a skull under the boot of her heel and spits on it. 






Brandis’s polearm makes short work of another skeletal foe as well and they’re feeling pretty good about the situation…

…until they hear bony claws scratching the inside of the upright iron coffins AGAIN, whose lids have mysteriously closed, and the ten sarcophagi clang open the next round and vomit ten MORE skeletons into the brawl.  Within seconds they’re outnumbered and in danger of being surrounded. 






“Fall back!” the warlord bellows, and everyone tries making their way to the junction corridor…

…and that’s when they see ten zombies shambling toward them from the darkness.  They’re being attacked from both sides now, and the enemies in the sarcophagi room have no end in sight.  The implications of this are horrifying; they’ll be torn to shreds down here and no one in Winterhaven will ever see them again.


----------



## Nebulous

Adventure #5: Shadowfell Keep

*PART FOUR*

“Fall back!” the warlord bellows, and everyone tries making their way to the junction corridor…

…and that’s when they see ten zombies shambling toward them from the darkness.  They’re being attacked from both sides now, and the enemies in the sarcophagi room have no end in sight.  The implications of this are horrifying; they’ll be torn to shreds down here and no one in Winterhaven will ever see them again.







They don’t know what they did to trigger the skeleton trap, but fortification in the hallway is a decent tactic to avoid waves of arrows hurling toward them.  Skeleton archers without good line sight put their bows away and advance with rusted longswords, and for every few undead they cut down, ten more leap forth from iron coffins the next round!






Fortunately, most are minions so they drop easily, and their attacks don’t inflict terrible damage.  Helga and Kerric take the brunt of the assault, using their high AC to deflect blows, or their hefty hit points to absorb damage while the weaker character defend the zombie flank. 

Irann curses anything she can see (both magically and literally) and lobs gouts of eldritch fire.  Erevan conjures a globe of flame and rolls it into the midst of the zombies, incinerating any that get too close. 

[GM Note: I think it was around now that someone said that we were really playing Diablo and not D&D].

The group is wavering between fighting and fleeing, and the hesitation weakens their tactics.  If the skeletons keep spawning endlessly there will be no point to keep fighting…unless there is a way to stop them on the other side.  If they can chop a path through the zombies they’ll have a clear run back to the surface, at least to catch their breath and decide on another strategy. 

Arrows continue raining down on them, mostly pinging off armor or shields but occasionally sinking into flesh. The zombies are picked off relatively quickly, but for five rounds in a row the ranks of skeleton warriors grows thicker and thicker, crowding almost every available square. Row upon row of clacking dead warriors fall beneath the PCs blades and flame.






The zombies are finally all destroyed, giving Brandis and Irann a chance to run back upstairs to where they first found the Goblin Trap…to retrieve the barrel of lantern oil.

They’re going to burn the bastards to a second death down there. 

It will take five rounds to retrieve it, and in the meantime Helga, Erevan and Kerric do what they can to hold back the enemy.  Erevan continues scorching the warriors, and then rolls his flaming sphere into their midst, igniting a few others.  But the skeletons have no fear and march relentlessly into obliteration, trying to overwhelm them with sheer numbers. 

When the barrel of oil is finally rolled down to the group (and fortunately Brandis and Irann met no resistance alone) Kerric shoves it to the middle of the hallway.  They’re very curious to know what triggers the trap; is it their presence, some magical signal, or something else?  The barrel stops in the middle of the floor and does not seem to begin another wave.  They don’t hear scratching yet either. Helga braves the arrows that will fly at her once she enters the room and charges in, screaming at the top of her lungs. 






A few barbs sink into her, but most bounce off.  Kerric is hot on her heels, his shield raised and his bastard sword swinging arcs through their enemies.  Rusted blades shatter against their armor, and then Erevan’s flaming sphere is bobbing through, igniting their ancient dry bones into crackling conflagrations. 






Irann runs in too, teleporting short distances as cursed skeletons are obliterated by the warriors ahead of her. Soon, the group of five adventurers has pressed the enemy to the rear of the chamber where the ceiling rises.

[GM Note:  There is actually quite a bit of descriptive detail about this end of the room I glossed over; I’ll get to that next time].

After a long, brutal, exhausting battle against a seemingly endless horde of magically animated undead, the flow has ceased, and the last two skeletal warriors hack and chop at Helga as she advances on them with murder in her eyes.  The end comes soon after that, and the group heaves in great sucking breaths, listening to the stillness around them and the pounding of their hearts.






They’re alive, not too badly hurt, and standing in the middle of what looks like a holy shrine.  Or unholy, depending on who you ask.  There is a wooden altar to the north and south, a vaulted ceiling shimmering with dull starlight, and a large set of double doors to the west. 

Kerric suspects something in this room has to do with the plague of skeletons, and he’s also worried that they could continue pouring out again. Behind them, the long hallways is littered with dozens of shattered bones, weapons and tattered chainmail, the remnants of a long battle that could have gone very poorly for the heroes.

They begin to search…

And that’s where we stopped.






[GM Note: A whole lot of this session ventured into unexpected territory, but that’s fine. The battle in the skele-crypt was not as deadly as it seemed at first, but man, I was surprised when I read over that section.  I hadn’t planned on them going there and had not prepped it at all, nor did I recall what the trap entailed. Fortunately I had a co-DM helping this session! It went much smoother than it would have otherwise; i didn't have any miniatures prepared].


----------



## Nebulous

Adventure #6:  Splug
*
PART ONE*

The heroes are entrenched in a strange chapel of gentle, starry light.  Behind them the hallway is littered with dozens and dozens of bones and blades, remnants of the last bizarre encounter in the Skeleton Monster Closet. Above them the high ceiling is concave and painted with an exquisite rendering of Bahamut, the Platinum Dragon of Justice, a benevolent god sometimes worshipped by Man. Its eye burns with a soft white luminescence. 






To the left and right are two altars, both identical, both emblazoned with draconic imagery and runes.  Small clusters of candles magically burn atop the altars.  To the north is a large set of iron double doors that holds an ominous promise of what might lie beyond.










Kerric the Paladin of Kelemvor suspects that the altars offer a way to shut down the Skeleton Monster Closet…but he can’t read the words.  But the warlock Irann can, so she squats down, trying to decipher the cryptic prayer.  The others stand guard, but are dismayed to see the bones in the hallway slowly begin disintegrate, turning to a fine gray powder, the blades rusting and cracking and crumbling too.

And within a few short seconds they hear claws scratching inside the sarcophagi again!

This bodes ill, and Irann redoubles her efforts to read the Draconic script.  Soon she has translated a prayer and recites it to Kerric, who humbly kneels at the altar, even though it is not his god, and beseeches the aid of Bahamut.  A feeling of tranquility flows through his body, and moments later the scratching stops.  The dead have been silenced.  For now.

But Kerric is not sure how long this fix will last. If they leave and return some days later the magic trap might reset itself.  Regardless, they know how to stop the flow of undead.  With some breathing room, they investigate the altars closer.   

Underneath one they find a smooth marble tombstone, with the epitaph: 
GONE TOO SOON – ISABEL KEEGAN.”  This must be the wife of Sir Keegan who brutally slew his family and friends so long ago.  The other altar has a similar flat tombstone, engraved with: “LOST TOO SOON – KEERA & KELLA KEEGAN.”

The dead twins. 

Almost as soon as they have read the inscription, the temperature noticeably drops and lights seem to dim.  Their breath visibly puffs in the chilly air. From out of nowhere, two little girls have abruptly appeared in the hall, staring at the heroes with white eyes. 






“FATHER’S ANGRY…” they say in unison, their ghostly voices echoing throughout the corridor. 
 “FATHER’S ANGRY…”

Their feet end in swirling mist, the same mist that the heroes released earlier from the Goblin Trap box. 

Kerric takes a deep breath and swears to the ghostly twins that he will avenge their deaths.  It is part of his holy duty to Kelemvor. They say nothing else and dissipate into mist.  Helga regrets they didn’t try to question the ghosts, but there is no guarantee they would be capable of answering anyway.

Kerric and Erevan the wizard put their combined knowledge of Religion and Arcana together and try to figure out what these dead twins are, and why they might have been inside a silver-lined chest in the possession of goblins.  They no longer think that they are vampires, and while the spirits can perhaps be temporarily destroyed, the only way to send their souls to a higher plane is to ritualistically consecrate this room.  [A Minor Quest]. That is something they’ll deal with later.


----------



## Nebulous

Adventure #6: Splug!

*PART TWO*


They discuss their options and look over the hastily drawn map for Merp the Moneylender in Silverymoon.  There are four places they have not searched, and they decide to backtrack to the top level and explore there first, rather than entering the large double doors.  Leaving enemies behind them just doesn’t seem like a good idea and could compound their problems later.

So, back at the top level, they look under beds in the guard room and find some gold, and then it’s off to the north where they saw a light.  Erevan runs upstairs to the surface first to check the status.  It’s been raining and is cloudy now, but there is no indication of foes lurking outside.  Good. 






The hall to the north widens to reveal a wood door on the west, a wood door to the north, and black iron double doors on the east. All are closed. A lantern hangs on the wall, shedding wobbly light.  Kerric and Brandis creep forward, weapons extended, their ears perked for the slightest sign of trouble.  Kerric hears gruff voices behind the north door but can’t understand the language.  Erevan presses an ear to the cold iron double doors and hears nothing.  Likewise, the wood door to the west is silent.   Brandis gets closer to the north doors and hears a strange conversation beyond, spoken in goblin between three individuals, and it concerns eating someone’s fingers and toes!

Kerric clearly hears a fourth voice wailing, “NO! No nononononononono!”

They discuss their options, and Irann picks the lock on the west door.  There’s a storage room beyond filled with dry rations.  Nothing of particular interest.  However, they tie the handles on the iron doors together with rope so that if anyone tries to exit it will be very difficult, if not impossible.

The group clusters around the door where they heard voices. Helga touches the handle.  It’s unlocked.  Licking her lips, she gently pushes it open a sliver, revealing a few closed jail cells.  She opens it a little wider, revealing more and more of the chamber, and then swings it all the way!






There’s a man-sized person in here, his face obscured by a black torturer’s mask, and wearing a black apron and leather armor.  He’s bending over a flame pit with two burning hot pokers.  There are also two small armed goblins immediately visible.

“Who are YOU?” the torturer grunts, but doesn’t wait for an answer.  He launches toward the dwarf with a raucous battle cry even as the two goblins whip out bows and begin peppering the heroes with tiny – yet horribly accurate - arrows.  Helga plants her feet and meets the torturer head on, but his poker thrusts into her shoulder and the cloth beneath immediately smolders and ignites.  Brandis jabs through the doorway with his halberd, gouging the torturer in the ribcage. He howls in pain, but doesn’t stop twisting the poker in Helga’s shoulder. 






Kerric and Brandis both try to help pat out the flames, but they’re unable to accomplish much in the chaos of the fight. [GM Note:  Thinking back on it, using a minor to get out a canteen, and then a Standard to dump it on the small flames could A) Put them out, or B) Give an additional saving throw, or C) Give a bonus to the saving throw]. Vicious blows are exchanged in the doorway, and all the while two goblin sharpshooters are launching arrows with cruel accuracy. Helga is Bloodied and forced to back off.  The torturer is hampered by numerous conditions himself, but as soon as he retreats from the door it slams shut in the hero’s faces. Someone was behind it the whole time waiting for him to move out of the way.










Not wanting that to happen again, Kerric retrieves a broom handle from the storage room and crams it into the door jamb so that it can’t be closed.  Helga bursts in, a permanent scowl on her face, and nearly gets stabbed in the spleen by a waiting goblin beside the door.  She deflects the blow and hammers the butt of her axe onto his head.  Arrows whistle at her, and then Kerric and Brandis surge into the room, taking the fight to the archers.  

Meanwhile, needless to say, the wizard has been throwing magic missiles through the open door while the warlock curses and eldritch blasts anyone she can see. They’re safely nestled out of melee combat reach.

The masked torturer leaps back into the fray, and Helga is dismayed when multiple attacks from she and her comrades seem to harmlessly bounce off his leather jerkin!  Chuckling evilly, the torturer stabs down again and again, but fails to make a connection with Helga, who finally plants her axe deep into the crown of his head.  Blood spurts out in a crimson shower and the man keels over backwards, dead. 










Kerric and Brandis find a third goblin archer inside a cage in the corner of the room, and as soon as they’re in sight he starts shooting.   Kerric soon skewers an archer into the wall, and Helga charges the one in the cage. They try to intimidate the goblin into submission and surrender (and only fail by a single point) but the goblin is incensed and willing to fight to the death, so Helga obliges him. Snickety-snick.

Once the fight is over they search around the room.  It’s obviously a torture chamber, replete with cruel instruments of pain, and even an iron maiden.  Erevan detects magic on the armor the torturer wore and finds that it bears a minor Bloodcut enchantment.  Despite the stink and the blood, he puts the armor on. They investigate the prisoner cells, and that’s where they find the creature who previously shrieked “NO nononono!”

There is a pathetic-looking goblin hunched in the back of the cell, a pot over his head and covering his eyes.  There are curious burn marks adorning his face and arms. 










“Who are you?” asks Kerric, “and why are you in here?”

“Me Splug, mm-hmmm,” the goblin answers, peeking out with one eye from under the kettle. “Don’t you eat me, mmhmmm!”

[GM Note:  Splug’s voice and mannerisms were liberally borrowed from Billy Bob Thornton in Slingblade]


----------



## Nebulous

Adventure #6: Splug!

*PART TWO*

Well, the group doesn’t have any intention of eating the dirty goblin, although Splug goes on to insist how bad he surely tastes.  The group isn’t keen on letting him out either, and they take their time questioning him and trying to glean any motives the creature might have.  Splug reveals numerous things that may or may not be true, but they don’t detect any overt dishonesty from him.

1)  Splug has been here with the goblins for many months, and he is a simple guard. 

2)  He works for Boss Fatty, a fat -eating goblin.  Splug hates him. And no, Splug doesn’t know any inherent weaknesses or statblock vulnerabilities that they might exploit (nice try though!) Fatty likes to fight with a big crossbow and target practices on rats and other goblins.

3)  Boss Fatty in turn works for Kalarel, a human magic maker of some kind.  Splug never sees him, and just knows that he’s a mean, bad bad man.  And he don’t like pretty things. Not one bit. In fact, he likes ugly dead things.

4)  Boss Fatty is behind the iron doors outside the torture chamber, and has around a dozen goblin guards. 

5)  Splug was terribly injured by a burning thing in the dark, but it burned him without heat (acid?)  His scars would indicate this.  The thing killed the squad he was with while they were investigating a cave. Splug barely escaped.

6)  Splug is now nearly useless and half-blind, so the mean goblins threw him in here and decided to torture him and eat him, mostly out of boredom and natural malevolence.

7)  Splug isn’t feeling any particular loyalty toward goblins right now, or hobgoblins for that matter, and the group of heroes collectively Intimidate Splug into servitude, under the threat that if he EVER betrays them, they’ll hunt him to the far corners of the world.  And then they WILL eat him.

8]  He knows that Irontooth was a goblin and a loyal follower of Kalarel, but Splug never met him personally.

9)  Splug says that he found a secret door downstairs in the stinky level, but couldn’t open it.  He offers to show the group this door as an offering of trust.

10)  There are hobgoblins in the lower level, a whole bunch of ‘em, but Splug don’t ever go down there.

11)  There’s an excavation site nearby on the top floor, buncha goblins been digging there for weeks looking for treasure.  They got some meanie guard drakes with them. Splug doesn’t much like the drakes; they have bitey bitey sharp teeth.

12)  The ghostly little girls.  Oh, yeah, Splug knows about dem!  They scare him.  And they really annoyed Kalarel, but that big man wasn’t scared of them.  He made magic and trapped them in a box, and gave that box to the goblins to scare off intruders. 

13)  Lastly, they question him about Boss Fatty’s room behind the iron door.  Is there another way out?  Splug has been in there before and doesn’t recall seeing an exit, but he says that Bossy Fatty is clever.  They suspect that there might be another way in or out.

After this interrogation, they finally let Splug out of the cage.  He can wield a small shield, javelins and a sword, although he’s an even less capable fighter since his injury.  They don’t really want him for combat though, but as a source of subterfuge and information.  

[GM Note:  The Monster Manual says that all monsters have a healing surge but most cannot activate them on their own, they need help.  So, I think that the warlord or paladin might be able to activate Splug’s second wind once per encounter. I’d still keep him out of a fight if you can help it, he’ll drop fast regardless]. 

The group decides they want to take care of this Boss Fatty problem first.  It’s just not wise to leave a large number of goblins lurking around behind them.  They still don’t hear any sounds behind the iron door, but the group did make a lot of noise outside very recently. Someone might have heard. They send Splug inside with explicit instructions:  Intruders are at the entrance!  COME QUICK! HELP!

Kerric and Erevan hide inside the torture chamber while everyone else skitters around the corner to the main entrance chamber where the rat pit is. The plan is to separate the enemy and pick them off in small groups, rather than confronting the whole bunch at once. Kerric watches through a crack in the door, but not long after Splug has entered, they hear him yelp and come streaking out, bearing left and running toward the others. He tells Brandis that the goblins were on high alert and armed, with a table turned over, and were asking him how he got out of the cage.  They must have heard the fight outside and dug themselves in, waiting for intruders to enter. 

Not good. 

About a minute later a lone goblin scout exits the black iron doors, fails to see Kerric hiding, and then closes the doors. 

Well, so much for the plan to ambush the gobbers.  They’re on high alert right now and a head-on confrontation might be difficult.  But the PCs have another plan; they find a chain in the torture chamber and wrap it around the handles on the iron door, hoping to trap the goblins inside.  They’ll come back later after some time has passed and try to catch them off guard again.

Next stop:  the excavation site.


----------



## Nebulous

Adventure #6: Splug!

*PART THREE*

They’re not sure what to expect as they open the door to this new passage.  Bright light emanates from multiple lanterns as they creep down the stairs. They pass an open passage on the right that Splug shies away from, whimpering.  He says that down THERE the thing attacked them, the thing that burned him with no heat.  Helga takes a couple of steps inside and sees that the flagstones and architecture from elsewhere gives way to a natural cavern.  Water drips from the ceiling into chilly puddles. Ignoring the passage for now, they send Splug ahead to report what he sees at the dig, and he returns saying that there are three diggers and two drakes. 

Drakes.  Only Brandis knows what drakes are, basically vicious lizards that can be trained as loyal pets, not unlike guard dogs.

The group is lined up in the hall outside the room with only a partial view within.  The flagstone floor has been ripped apart, creating small pillars connected by planks.  Kerric can just barely see a small dragon-like creature curled up on one of the platforms.  They hear goblins complaining, but only Brandis speaks goblin and he can’t quite make out the words. 






They have momentary surprise, and decide to act on it. Helga initially wants to remove the plank connecting the nearest island, until someone gently points out that the drake has wings and would just flap over to their side anyway.  So, Helga CHARGES into the room, attempting to leap over the wobbly plank and bring the fight straight to the drake, but her feet tangle up at the last instant and she drops like a lead balloon to the earthen floor ten feet below.

Splat.

On the other side of the room a goblin digger blinks and rubs his eyes.  Was that a flying dwarf he just saw?  The drake turns its head, reptilian nostrils flaring.











Helga moans and spits dirt from her mouth.  Kerric runs down the ramp, leaps over her body, and darts toward the second drake down on the ground, followed by Brandis the warlord.  Again, Erevan and Irann stay far from the midst of battle and attack from range, although the wizard has been missing terribly tonight.

The three diggers are also armed with bows (goblins don’t leave their beds without some kind of weapon), and they are the same annoyingly dangerous sharpshooters that the heroes encountered in the Torture Chamber. 

And to their further dismay, Kerric finds that Splug was quite correct about the drakes – they are VERY mean and very bitey bitey bitey.  The reddish beast flies at the paladin, jaws clamping onto his arm and shredding through the armor. Helga has already picked herself up and charged the closest archer, pinning him down and hacking at him with mad sweeps of her axe.  A drake leaps off from the pillar island and slams into her, teeth latching onto her leg, its head thrashing back and forth like a shark. 

Between a few well-aimed arrows and the drake, Kerric finds himself suddenly bloodied and in danger.  He manages to daze the drake with a daily power, but fails to put enough distance between himself and his foe, and the next thing he knows the drake has lunged at him, and Kerric is knocked unconscious and dying. 






Helga crushes a goblin, and then spins on an injured drake, slamming her axe through its skull.  Arrows continue pinging down from the elevated goblin, but Erevan targets him with multiple magic missiles.  Irann teleports inside the room for line of sight to the last drake and curses it, although she is struck (for the first time perhaps!) by several arrows.  Brandis expends a daily, walloping a drake for massive damage.

Someone manages to stabilize Kerric so that he quits making Death Saves, but he is still unconscious. The last drake is slain, soon followed by a goblin, and then there is only one lone archer left.   An eldritch blast explodes unholy flames from his eyes and mouth, and the little beast crumples into a charred heap.

Kerric is helped to his feet, and the group spends as many surges as they can to recuperate.  They’ve depleted some Action Points and dailies and are planning on leaving the Keep to rest and recuperate, either in the woods or back at Winterhaven, the latter of which will offer Wolftooth to Brandis Padraig if they choose that route.  They just don’t think it is safe to stay in the keep. [Wise move, guys!]

They search the dig site first and find an old battered scrollcase that the goblins probably thought useless.  It contains two rituals:  Detect Secret Doors and Repel Vermin, two spells that the wizard doesn’t have.

And that’s where we stopped.


----------



## Nebulous

CUT SCENE #1​
[GM Note: This is something new I’m trying.  I would have done it after the last fight but I forgot, so I’m including it here in the recap. Keep in mind that any information learned is purely for player entertainment and cannot be used metagame by the characters.  Also keep in mind that WHEN this scene takes place is also unknown and left deliberately vague].


Kalarel turned his face upward, allowing droplets of warm blood to splash across his jaw and cheeks.  He opened his mouth to drink. Red rivulets stained his ram-horned helm, and his features glowed hellishly in the wan candle light.  Sluggish liquid pooled around his feet, a dark morass of mixed blood and viscera.  Nearby, a humanoid figure lurked in the shadows, its features obscured.






The deathpriest of Orcus allowed the last of the blood to fall, and then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and stepped out of the pool. It was very dark in this place, and the only sounds heard were the squishing of his boots and distant, muffled screams.  The screams soon stopped.  The figure standing in the shadows said nothing. 

“I’ve heard word from my spy in Winterhaven, Maw,” the priest finally said. He was staring off into the darkness. Although human, Kalarel’s features displayed a bestial anger, a hatred of life and living things that made him seem more monster than man. The shadow in the darkness did not answer, but skeletal fingers did gently tap each other, waiting for Kalarel to continue. 

“The Mirror of Scarvoss has been stolen from the graveyard. Those…stupid kobolds failed to dig it all the way out.”  His lip was peeled back in a sneer, his fist curled into a ball.  “Lord Orcus will be very…displeased.  That mirror held a piece of the Shadowfell within in it, and would have made opening the rift much easier, and greatly aided Orcus’s bid for rulership of the shadow world.  

But no matter.  No matter.  We continue the plan.”

He continued to glower into the darkness.

“Apparently,” he said with some difficulty, “a human fool named Douvan Stahl and a Halfling have taken the mirror north.  I dispatched agents, but even now it might be too late.  The mirror is likely beyond our reach.”

The figure in the shadows spoke.  “And you did not send me?” A rasping voice, as if its throat were full of dry dirt.

“No, Maw.  I need you here.  We can still open the rift, but we’ll need more blood than before.  Much more.  Buckets...of blood.  Do you understand?”

A skeletal head nodded.  “Yes…Master Kalarel.”

“Good.  Seek the surface then, inquisitor, and attend my bidding. And if you happen upon any Bloodreavers, all offers for their slaves are to be accepted.  We need sacrifices now more than ever.  Winterhaven shall suffer, oh yes.  Their children shall wallow in suffering.”

A rotting figure stepped fully into the candle light, illuminating a hideously scarred corpse dangling with sharp implements of torture.






“As you wish, Master,” Maw whispered and dissolved into the darkness, leaving Kalarel alone with his thoughts…


TO BE CONTINUED


----------



## Nebulous

*Nebulous's Keep on Shadowfell (FR)*

Adventure #7:  Lord of the Maw & Boss of the Fat

*PART ONE*

The session begins immediately after the last one.  The five heroes are standing in the excavation pit, goblin and drake corpses sprawled about them.  Splug is muttering and sputtering but hasn’t run off to hide yet. They discuss their options, but had previously settled on a plan:  return to Winterhaven to rest and recoup.  











Trudging back up, they do check the door to Boss Fatty’s chamber, but the iron chain is wrapped around it, and there’s no sign that anyone has been out.  It will have to do for now, and they’ll return after a night’s rest to determine if their idea actually trapped the goblins inside. 

Splug is glad to leave with the heroes, and the little half-blind, limping goblin seems amicable in their company, just glad not to be food and fodder for his own degenerate species. Roughly an hour later, just as the sun is beginning to dip behind the treeline, the band of adventurers reaches the town gates.  Rond Kelfern is atop the battlements and heartily greets them, but his greeting turns to surprise when he catches sight of Splug on his leash, cowering behind Irann the half-elf warlock.

“What in the nine hells is that?  A bloody goblin!”






The militiaman is upset, but the group quickly explains that the goblin is a prisoner and under their control.  Splug nods furiously.  “Prisoner, mmm-hmmm…I am I am mmm-hhmm…” They enter town and take care of some business first, which amounts to visiting Thair Coalbiter the smithy, selling off some weapons and wine and other loot they’ve acquired, and smelting down the abominable golden goat idol they found at Irontooth’s waterfall lair.  Between the raw metal and the small inlaid gems Thair is able to mint them a hefty little sack of coins (Stamped with their faces! Liberators of Winterhaven! No, not really). 






The idol reminds them of their mission for the Frog Queen; return to her on the next full moon at Jade Hill with Irontooth’s hands, which Sister Linora has kindly preserved with magic.  But that is still some time away; only about a week has passed since their first troublesome encounter on the road with kobold brigands. 

With some bookkeeping out of the way, it’s off to Wrafton’s Inn for much needed food, ale and relaxation.  Erevan, Irann, Kerric, Helga, Brandis and Splug enter the tavern room, clearly hearing the melodic croon of the elf minstrel Kelrella Sweetleaf inside, who nods as they enter.   Her Halfling isn’t there, so she’s strumming the harp herself.  The common room is bustling with bodies and beers, and they see that Lord Ernest Padraig is here as well, deep into his cups and sitting rather close to busty and lusty Salvana Wrafton.  Her arms are draped over his shoulders, and she’s whispering into his ear.  But as soon as Padraig sees his son and his comrades, he lurches to his feet.






“You’re back!” he slurs.  “How fares the mission at the old keep?  Have you ended the threat?”  

Well, the threat is not exactly GONE yet, but they’re working on it, and will be returning tomorrow after a good night’s rest.  They don’t really want to start talking too much with Padraig here in the middle of the tavern, especially since they know a spy is active in Winterhaven.  Lord Padraig is aware of this too, but in his drunken state his caution might be thrown to the wind.  Besides, Salvana Wrafton is being terribly distracting and pulls Ernest back to the table. 

But trouble almost starts anew when Thair Coalstriker hobbles into the room, still stinking of sweat and soot, and locks eyes with Splug for the first time. Splug smiles. Thair doesn’t. His nostrils just flare to disproportionate sizes.

“Gob…gob…GOBLIN!!!”






The dwarf smithy hauls a barstool over his head, intending to smash Splug into pulp.  Helga and Bradnis intervene, managing to talk Thair out of killing their new “assistant.”  The dwarf isn’t happy about it, and continues throwing evil glares at the goblin, who busies himself under Irann’s skirt and cloak as much as possible.

Eventually the group retires to their chambers, and Brandis drags his father away from the amorous clutches of Salvana Wrafton.






“She’s not worth it, Ernest!” Brandis hears Salvana whispering harshly to Lord Padraig. He pushes her away and leaves the inn with his son.  Brandis is horribly embarrassed by their behavior, but his father IS known to be somewhat of a lady’s man, and Salvana has a rep as a tart.  Stumbling back to the walled Padraig estate, Ernest Padraig has a gift ready and waiting for his eldest son:  the Padraig family blade, Wolftooth.






Sliding the enchanted blade from its sheath, Brandis is overwhelmed by its elegance, the way the weapon is perfectly balanced in his hands.  Indeed, this sword will help bring justice and revenge to the citizens of Winterhaven.   Brandis’s mother Cynthia is still asleep, well under the influence of snailwort, so Brandis spends a little time with his youngest sister before retiring to bed. 

The night passes mostly without incident…MOSTLY…at least, up until seven hours later when heavy knocking upon Erevan’s door rouses the wizard from meditation. It’s the dead of night.  A gruff voice shouts:  “Hey!  You in there!  We need help!  NOW!”

Erevan doesn’t recognize the voice (and the group is keen to the fact that this is the same trick they tried against the goblins, trying to lure them out of their lair!) but he peeks out the door anyway and sees a bedraggled Winterhaven Regular with deep scratches down the side of his face. 






“Please! You must help!  My name is Guy. There are…these…things coming out of the graveyard! The dead! Corby and I saw a blue light behind the gates and we went to investigate, and then they swarmed at us!  By Sune! They tore Corby to pieces!  Right in front of me eyes!  Just…ripped into him!  You’ve got to help!”

Well, this sounds like a job for a group of well-armed heroes, so Erevan quickly relates the details to his friends.  They suit up, buckling on armor and sheathing blades. They question the Regular, asking him how many creatures he saw, and what the blue light was.  He didn’t get far enough into the graveyard to see. All he knows is that poor Corby- poor young Corby! -  was killed right in front of him, and so the soldier ran out of the cemetery, pursued by a small group of slavering things. 

Kerric wonders if they were zombies…or ghouls.  Ghouls. The latter would be a much more dangerous foe, and everyone looks closely at Guy’s wounds, wondering if he has somehow been infected by disease.  Is he going to transform into a monster too?  They don’t know for sure, but he would probably have to die first in order to rise again.  

While the group finishes preparing, The Regular is sent to Padraig’s estate to warn Brandis and the others.  Helga orders Splug to stay in the room, lock the door, and don’t open it for anyone until they return.  Nodding, the half-blind little goblin squeezes under the bed. Soon, the companions have congregated outside and see that the night is oily black, with not even a shred of moon to see by.  In the distance beyond the gates, the faintest hint of blue light shimmers on the clouds.  There is a flurry of activity atop the battlements as soldiers muster, firing crossbows at unseen targets beyond the gates.






Erevan rushes to the parapets and looks down.  There are three corpses below riddled with bolts, none of which are moving.  He considers blasting them with fire magic just to be safe, but the bodies don’t appear to be getting back up. Rond Kelfern cracks the gates and lets the companions out.  Closer inspection of the corpses suggests that they are indeed just animated zombies, and not their more dangerous cousins, ghouls or ghasts.  In the distance a faint blue shaft of light is visible inside the graveyard, so without further delay, the group proceeds down the hill.


----------



## Nebulous

Adventure #7: Lord of the Maw & Boss of the Fat

*PART TWO*

Soon, they see the front gates of the cemetary.  






The fence is wrought iron, spiked on the top, but the front gate hangs ajar, torn from the hinges.  Stepping closer, they see movement on the path within and hear slavering, slurping and the crack of wet bones.  






Helga, Brandis and Kerric are at the forefront, the squishier spellcaster holding the rear.  Helga steps through the gate, axe brandished, and sees a undead creature rummaging through the guts of Corby the Regular.  











Erevan casts a light spell, and Kerric shouts, but the zombie does not pay attention until Helga approaches.  It shambles to its feet, blood and entrails drooling from its mouth, and moves toward the dwarf, who promptly separates its head from its shoulder.  Rotten fluids spurt from the neck hole and the zombie collapses.  But there’s another one in the trees, slowly shambling forward, and the group realizes that there are many, many gravestones in this cemetery.  Erevan slays it with a single magic missile.






Kerric pushes inside, tossing a sunrod toward the center of the graveyard.  It sends a welcome blaze of light spreading every direction.  Only areas shielded by granite mausoleums remain in total darkness.  Wolftooth in hand, Brandis Padraig approaches the mysterious blue circle of light, scanning for enemies.  At the corner of the mausoleum he hears soft crying, a woman’s lament, and definitely NOT the little girls from the keep, Sir Keegan’s ghostly dead twins.   Peeking around, he’s not entirely surprised to see a dirty-faced Ninaran the Half-Elf crumpled on the ground.






“I’m so sorry!” she wails, obviously distraught.  Her face is streaked with tears, her cheeks gaunt and hollow.  She trembles head to foot.  “I made a mistake!” she moans.  “I…a…a mistake…”  Her voice trails off into incoherence. Beside Ninaran is a crumpled piece of paper stained with unknown fluids. He picks it and scans over the letter quickly, disturbed by what it says.  Ninaran, it seems, is Winterhaven’s little spy, and here on orders from Kalarel. 

Brandis clearly sees a large circle on the ground inscribed with runes, but the magic is well beyond his comprehending.  More disturbing is the shallow grave in the middle…

…and the hand rising out of it. 

Soon followed by the stiff, lurching motions of a familiar elf who has just recently died.

Ash. 






Dirt falls away from Ash’s pale, emaciated face, already crawling with maggots.  Ninaran’s clumsy attempt to bring him back has only made the elf a mockery of who he once was, and Ninaran seems acutely aware of her mistake.  And perhaps many of her other mistakes.

Ash stumbles toward Brandis, hands outstretched to attack, but the warlord beheads the ex-rogue in one quick strike with Wolftooth, and his one-time companion is sent to eternal rest.   That leaves Ninaran blubbering in the corner though, and she could still be a threat.  After all, she allied herself with Kalarel, a power-mad priest of Orcus, and has already caused untold damage.  There’s more to learn from her, but for now Ninaran is bound and tied so that she cannot harm anyone. She does not resist and slumps to the ground, shell-shocked and incoherent in her grief.  There’s some discussion about what to do with her, fearing that something could easily kill Ninaran and prevent them from questioning her later. 

But all is not quiet in the graveyard.  More and more graves are becoming disturbed; dirt froths and spits forth; hands and heads begin to rise from multiple directions, and a low, moaning ululation sweeps across the cemetery, growing in severity.  Helga charges the north quadrant, positioning herself over newly rising corpses and decapitates them.  Irann the warlock teleports to the top of the nearest cairn, while Kerric and Erevan take a closer look at the mysterious blue runes.  It is obviously some sort of dark magic reanimating the bodies, but neither understands the dweomer enough to influence it.  It is, perhaps, too late already.  The damage has been done. 

Kerric the Paladin tentatively approaches the largest mausoleum in the cemetery, one with two green copper imps squatting on the lintel. The gate has been torn apart and he hears moans inside.  Erevan tosses a light spell directly into the entrance.  Kerric, Brandis and Helga position themselves at the front.  There is movement inside, and then Kerric hears a distinct chuckle!

Not good.

Something intelligent is in there, something obviously taking pleasure in what is about to happen.  Zombies start lurching out, but everyone’s readied actions hack them to pieces. Bodies litter the entrance, but then a new foe swings around the corner, its face a horribly mangled visage of terror:






Helga and Brandis are overcome by unnatural terror, compelled to flee from Lord Maw on their next turn, but Kerric steels his nerves against the unnatural effect.

“You shall not leave here, creature of undeath!” the paladin shouts.  This is Kerric’s passion in life, to eradicate the undead and thereby serve his god Kelemvor, and this creature before him, some sort of revenant, is an unholy blight upon the world, and Kerric risks life and limb to destroy it. 






The revenant (an inquisitor actually) answers with a gravelly laugh and lashes out with his whip, even as more zombies trundle out from the hidden chamber.  “Tear them to pieces!” the inquisitor shouts, and the zombies all get free attacks. Kerric charges him, his longsword glowing brilliantly with holy radiance, and slams into Maw’s shoulder.  






But seconds before impact, a globe of gloom surrounds the inquisitor, partially drinking the sword’s radiance and reducing damage.  Their eyes meet, and the inquisitor’s soulless gaze nearly paralyzes Kerric, but he resists again. Unperturbed, the paladin of Kelemvor continues his attack, determined to wipe the grin from the thing’s face, but from nowhere a huge, shadowy hand appears, wraps around Kerric’s torso, and bodily FLINGS him from the mausoleum! 






Helga and Brandis have already retreated, unwilling to even look at Lord Maw, but they discover a new wave of zombies rising from the western side of the cemetery.  A LOT of zombies. Half the graveyard has vomited forth its progeny, and these shambling things are all headed toward the fight.  Furthermore, more foes sweep around the corner from a hidden exit on the south side of the mausoleum. 






Erevan rains down eldritch fire, and Irann showers down purple curses and blasts, obliterating handfuls of the undead as they surge toward easier targets on the ground.  Within seconds a large group has clustered around Helga and Brandis, and from within the mausoleum Lord Maw shrieks:  “TEAR THEM TO PIECES! NOW!”  Claws rake across armor and flesh, but the warriors retaliate, butchering the zombies into messy gobs.


----------



## Nebulous

Adventure #7: Lord of the Maw & Boss of the Fat

PART THREE

But then Helga meets the gaze of the Inquisitor.  Its unholy stare bores into her mind, rooting her to the spot in paralytic terror.  And she’s STILL too scared to approach the thing even if she weren’t immobilized.  If the zombies manage to surround her…






But Kerric isn’t overcome by fear. Hatred of the undead burns within him like a flame. He charges past Maw’s minions, sprints back into the mausoleum, and brings the edge of his blade cracking down. Radiance sears necrotic flesh from Maw’s face, and he staggers away, shrieking, his shield of gloom expired.  Kerric finds he is alone in the crypt with the servant of Kalarel.  Maw staggers to his feet, uncoiling the whip and lashing out again and again, but it bounces off Kerric’s armor. And Maw fails to recharge his powers, Claw of Orcus or Speed of the Damned.






Raising his blade high, holy energy emanating forth, Kerric slams the sword down, skewering Lord Maw through the breastbone.  The blow sends Maw flying over a casket and he crumples into a lifeless heap, finally vanquished (and not even getting a chance to use all his powers!). Kerric yanks the magical amulet off Maw’s throat and gives it to the wizard.

With Maw dead, the fight is soon over. The blue glow fades from the enchanted circle, and the cemetery returns to utter silence.  Not a bad job.  They wiped up dozens of foes who would have terrorized the outlying farms, killing families and children, and the Winterhaven Regulars would have been forced to confront Lord Maw on their own…and probably perished. Only a small squadron of trained fighters exists to protect the whole town and the outlying fields.

Taking a breather, they decide to question Ninaran the half-elf who is still subdued.  Teary and mumbling, she begins telling a story in hushed tones, one that the group is not sure they entirely believe.  Brandis Padraig, most of all, does not want to believe it.

Because…

…as Ninaran tells it, Lord Ernest Padraig is her full-blooded father. 






Many years ago a younger (and equally randy) Ernest Padraig bedded an elven woman.  She bore a child from this union, but worse, she was deeply in love with Ernest Padraig.  But he would have nothing of the relationship, especially given the political circles in which he was involved.  It would be scandalous to even consider such a thing.  He washed his hands clean of both she and the child, a little half-elf girl named Ninaran, 

But in her grief, the mother died not long after childbirth, leaving Ninaran lost and alone in a largely uncaring world.  Alone that is, until her mother’s spirit returned one day, whispering of secrets and vengeance from beyond the grave, whispering of justice against the human who brought so much misery and pain to Ninaran’s life and who killed her mother.  

Revenge against Lord Ernest Padraig, his family, and all that he holds dear. 

The ghost, a banshee as some would call it, shared these corrupt thoughts with her daughter, and in due time introduced Ninaran to someone who would help exact the revenge she sought:

A man named Kalarel. 

And Ninaran has served Kalarel for many months now, feeding him information, exchanging notes, updating him on who is in town, and otherwise making sure that his plans, whatever they are, would not be disturbed.  But it was not until Ninaran saw the corpses rising that she realized the true fault of her ways and just how far she had stepped over the boundaries of mortal decency and wallowed in the realm of corrupt necromantic evil.  Even the elf Ash- beautiful Ash - became a hideous thing.  

Well, that’s nice, but the group isn’t exactly enamored by Ninaran’s sob story.  They brusquely pull her up and push her into Winterhaven, where they’ll let the authorities decide what to do with her.   But upon reaching the estate of Lord Padraig, Brandis has a few questions for his father:  namely, is what Ninaran told them true?

Sighing, the still-intoxicated Ernest Padraig closes the door to the study. 

“It is…possible,” he says quietly to the group.  “But not proven!  Not proven.  But…there was an elf woman once, yes.  Long ago. Long…long ago.” 

Brandis begins to wonder just how many children his father has sired across the lands. How many half brothers and sisters does he actually have?  Regardless, Padraig pleads for them to tell no one, and this information must not leave the walls.  And above all his wife Cynthia must not know.  Well, the group wouldn’t mind some gold sealing their lips, but Padraig is exhausted and drunk, and would like to sleep on it and speak with them more tomorrow. 

The rest of the night passes uneventfully, and since only Kerric the Paladin burned a daily power in the battle against the inquisitor, they decide to press on that very morning and return to Shadowfell Keep, without even talking to Padraig first. Time is of the essence, and if the confiscated note from Ninaran is any indication, Kalarel will soon complete his ritual and open the rift to the Shadowfell, an unhappy event that the heroes are sure will spell doom for everyone--and possibly themselves too.  If Lord Maw is a precursor to what sort of creature will roam the countryside under the Shadowfell, they definitely don’t want to see that happen.


----------



## Nebulous

Adventure #7: Lord of the Maw & Boss of the Fat

*PART FOUR*

The rest of the night passes uneventfully, and since only Kerric the Paladin burned a daily power in the battle against the inquisitor, they decide to press on that very morning and return to Shadowfell Keep, without even talking to Padraig first. Time is of the essence, and if the confiscated note from Ninaran is any indication, Kalarel will soon complete his ritual and open the rift to the Shadowfell, an unhappy event that the heroes are sure will spell doom for everyone--and possibly themselves too.  If Lord Maw is a precursor to what sort of creature will roam the countryside under the Shadowfell, they definitely don’t want to see that happen.


RETURN to SHADOWFELL KEEP






They arrive the following morning, the 7th of Mirtul.  The sky is clear and blue, a light breeze ruffling their clothes and hair.  Less than 24 hours have passed since they were here, and it remains to be seen if they successfully trapped the goblins and Boss Fatty in their chamber.  Splug is with them again, humming and mumbling, eager to please his new masters who have emphatically promised that NO…they won’t eat him…so long as he obeys their wishes.  Miraculously enough he did not try to escape while they were fighting in the graveyard.  Splug must be intimidated past any thought of self- preservation or betrayal. 

Atop the rocky knoll they see evidence of activity.  Multiple footprints, both small and large, have disturbed the grass and dirt.  Sunlight illuminates the stairs, so brandishing his longsword, Kerric descends as quietly as a clumsy warrior in plate armor can manage.  But the paladin nearly stumbles over a hidden tripwire!  He sees it in time and gingerly lifts his boot over the string.  It is nearly invisible, stretching down the stairwell and around the corner, hugging the junction of floor and wall. This was not here before.

Using her meager rogue skills, the half-elf warlock Irann inspects the string, searching for traps.  It doesn’t seem rigged to collapse the ceiling or anything so treacherous, so perhaps it is an early warning system. Everyone carefully steps over the string and they descend back into the pillared rat pit trap room.

The fake canvas floor has been replaced over the rodents.  Beyond where they fought the goblin guards, all bodies have been removed and blood mopped up. Down the eastern stairwell toward the excavation site is only seething darkness and no sound. Peeking around the corner toward the torture chamber, Brandis sees the two double doors cracked open, the iron chains removed.  Yes, somehow the goblins escaped, and not only that, they set traps in case the heroes returned to finish the fight. 

Well, as luck would have it, the heroes are back and the goblins are none the wiser. As far as they know…






They move up, shuffling down the hall as quietly as possible.  The torture room is shut and the storage room is shut.  They discuss their options, wavering between a full frontal assault or trying to lure the enemy out again.  They even discuss some Prestidigitation illusions, but ultimately, Erevan uses mage hand on the torture room door and quietly opens it; there is no one visible inside.  They don’t want to walk in front of the cracked double doors because someone watching would immediately spot them. 










Still, Erevan takes a risk and peeks around the corner.  He sees a wooden table at the end of a long corridor.  One goblin has his back to the door; a second goblin is facing Erevan, but was looking down at some dice on the table.  Hanging over their heads is a brass bell attached to the string. 

Well, this is it, the guard station.  The heroes still have the element of surprise, and Erevan opens the fight with a SCORCHING BURST!

Flames explode over the table, blackening the dice, burning the chairs, snapping the string…and missing both goblins.  They leap up, screeching, and immediately turn toward the doors. 










The little buggers are armed with spears and javelins, and they immediately hurl projectiles at the intruders. Kerric is brutally injured, and the goblin cackles in wicked glee.  But Brandis and Helga surge down the hall, forcing the goblins to retreat toward a black curtain.  One is already bloodied and limping, but the other makes it to the curtain and rips it down, screaming for help in his guttural goblin tongue. 

A door opens and more goblins pour out of a room.






The defenders are at the forefront of the battle, pressing the advantage.  The warlock continues cursing anyone in sight, and more often than not, eldritch purple flames explode from the eyes and mouths of unsuspecting minions. 

Kerric advances to a second door where he sees a goblin peeking through.  Not giving the monster another chance, Kerric kicks the door open and strikes!  His blade hews the goblin in half, but it had four more friends waiting just beyond, and all of their blades stab toward the paladin. He deflects two, weathers the sting of a third, and the fourth bounces off his armor.  And then the paladin quickly shuts the door! 






“There’s a lot of these guys!” shouts Helga the dwarf, who has opened a door to another room bristling with gobber warriors. She tears into the middle of them, hacking viciously left and right.  Brandis advances to a wide set of wooden double doors, wondering what might be behind them…but he goes to help Kerric instead on his side of the battle.

But seconds after he has stepped away, the double doors swing open and a new voice shouts out from within:

“KILL THEM!”  It’s shouted in goblin tongue though, so everyone except Brandis just hears, “MOR GRASKA!”










A fat, ugly goblin is wielding a crossbow, and he’s standing well back from the doors that an ally has opened.  This is Balgron the Fat, known as Boss Fatty to Splug, and he’s a fiend with a crossbow.  A projectile whistles out, embeds in Irann’s thigh and hampers her movement.






Meanwhile, the dwarf is dancing with gobs to the south, while Kerric is managing the north room.  Fighting in close, confined spaces is preventing anyone from getting surrounded, although the battle has now reached three fronts.  Kerric and Brandis cut down another foe, and for the second time Kerric quickly shuts the door, winking at a goblin, promising that they’ll be seeing each other again soon.

The goblin looks terrified. 

Confident that the paladin can handle the enemy, Brandis rushes to the big double doors, slams them shut, and pushes his halberd through the handles to lock them in. 






For Kerric the paladin, it’s still a standoff at the sleeping quarters.  Irann rushes up to assist him, just as Kerric flings the door open and stabs a goblin to death, and then shuts the door yet again, leaving a final quivering foe inside. Kerric soon hears a shriek of pain though through the closed door and finds that the goblin has impaled himself on his own spear rather than confront the enemy.






Erevan and Helga pick off the last stragglers in their room, which is awash with red blood by now, and reconvene with their comrades.  It has been 3 or 4 rounds since Brandis shut Boss Fatty away, and they’re getting worried that they might have left the bastard alone for too long.  What if he’s setting a trap for them?

Like a cabbage cannon?






No, that just won’t do at all, so Helga and Brandis charge into the bedchamber, determined to squash him once and for all…but there’s no sign of Fatty. 






Curtains have been ripped down that offered privacy around a simple sleeping cot, but a small hatchway hangs open.  Peering down the hole, Helga can’t see anything until Erevan casts a light spell into the depths.  They can barely see a section of flagstone tunnel at the end.

“Where does it go?” asks the dwarf, preparing to scramble down into the hole to follow the goblin boss.

“Wait,” says Brandis, a hand to her shoulder.  The warlord pulls out their scribbled map of the keep, noting where they are and where they have been.  “That tunnel probably leads down to the excavation site.”

“There’s no way out.”

“Not quite,” says Brandis.  He taps a small unmarked tunnel. “Natural caves here.  Where Splug was attacked. By…something.”

They all peer down the small tunnel, knowing that if they’re going to catch Boss Fatty, they’ll have to follow him into whatever dank hole he crawls…

And there we stopped.


[GM Note:  Lord Maw’s stats]


----------



## Elder-Basilisk

Awesome story hour--the pictures add a lot.


----------



## Nebulous

Elder-Basilisk said:


> Awesome story hour--the pictures add a lot.




Thanks Elder. I spend a lot of time on the sets and the subsequent pictures. What's not conveyed in the Story Hour is the sound effects and sound tracks, which i try to tie to the action and scenes.

The story is deliberately just a fast and quick recap, not a true STORY like so many of those here on EnWorld. I found that in the years since we play i (we) forget so many details of games, so i'm trying to preserve it in these recaps. A real story takes so much time to write!


----------



## Nebulous

Side Trek (II):  The Streets of Silverymoon

*
PART ONE*

[GM Note: These events take place either when the main Shadowfell party has first reached Winterhaven, or right before their arrival.  It is likely that Douvan and Merric passed the other heroes on the road without knowing]. 

[GM Note: This adventure also springboards a homebrew campaign that starts after Shadowfell is complete].






For three days Douvan Stahl and his companion Merric Littlefoot have trudged northward along the Evermoor Way from the small hamlet of Winterhaven, carrying with them a curious artifact: a large ornate mirror confiscated from the watery grave of a dead dragon named Blacksoul.  It was not easy to haul the item up from the mud, and even harder to salvage when an ornery bugbear and his friends appeared and tried to murder them. 






But the two adventurers prevailed, and upon reaching Winterhaven with the mirror (which surely must be valuable!) the local sage and scholar, portly Valthrun the Prescient, told them that certain parties might want the mirror back at all costs.  The mirror, in fact, could cause grave danger for everyone in Winterhaven.  Well, Douvan the Ranger and Merric the Rogue didn’t much like the sound of that, but Valthrun was insistent.  He had smiled gently, twiddling his wide thumbs. 






“Don’t worry,” he said, “just leave and take the mirror as far from Winterhaven as you can.  I believe it is called the Mirror of Skarvoss, and a small piece of the Shadowfell is trapped within.  The Shadowfell is a dark place of…well…nevermind.  Just go, my friends, and may the luck of Tymora be with you.” 

But Douvan is not one to rely on luck so much as sweat and blood.  Merric…well, yes, he lives day to day on luck and mischief.  But they have no problem taking the mirror to Silverymoon.  In fact, their sponsor Merple the Moneylender will probably be very interested in what they found and possibly give them a bonus.  Their only task originally was to inspect the dragon grave and determine if it was salvageable, but it had been well looted by the kobolds.

That was three days ago when Valthrun’s words first worried them, and since then the two heroes had to fend off an attack by kobolds who had already destroyed another wagon and its occupants.  






[GM Note:  We didn’t actually play through the fight; there are enough kobolds in this campaign already]

Perhaps the vicious little bastards were hoping to recapture the mirror of Skarvoss, but Douvan and Merric didn’t leave any alive to question afterwards.  They encountered no more problems, and on a brilliant vermillion dawn, their wagon being pulled by Jim the Mule, they clear a rocky rise that offers them a majestic view of mighty Silverymoon, Gem of the North. 






They enter through the southern gate, passing the School of Thaumaturgy and the Lady’s College.  Throngs of people have already begun to stir, and the morning air is split by cries from birds and children and voices in a multitude of racial tongues, soon joined by the creak and groan of daily commerce.  Jim plods sullenly onward and they reach the translucent, shimmering Moonbridge that spans the River Rauvin.  Merric cannot stand looking down through the semi-transparent bridge into the swirling current below, (it gives him terrible vertigo) so he stares into the sky, whistling. 






The Market is bustling with activity from various vendors and customers.  Douvan and Merric plan to head straight to Diagon Alley and Merple’s shop, but then a large shadow passes over their wagon from above.  Douvan looks up, shielding his eyes, and is surprised to see a large griffon wheeling down on their location.  Moments later he spots a second griffon, and then a massive owl joins their ranks, all three bearing armed riders!

“What is this?” mutters Merric, hand flitting to his dagger. 






The birds of prey alight on the cobblestone streets right in front of their wagon, and Jim the Mule is clearly displeased at their proximity.  A rider clad in purple plumes and purple leather armor, not unlike a bird himself, hops off his griffon.  A tiefling woman dismounts as well, but the woman on her owl remains seated.  Douvan sees an armband on each person designating them as Silver Knights, part of Silverymoon’s standing army.  Douvan raises his hands in submission.  He doesn’t want any trouble.



















“You there!” shouts the purple-plumed warrior.  “Halt in the name of the Griffon Guard! What do you carry in your wagon?”

Dozens of citizens are gawking at this exchange.  It is not everyday that the Griffon Guard swoops down from the sky on unsuspecting travelers. A griffon squawks its impatience, shifting from one taloned foot to another.  

Douvan clears his throat and answers as honestly as he can. “It is a mirror we found near Winterhaven.  We are bringing it to Merple the Moneylender, of Diagon Alley.”

The man steps closer, shouldering a wicked looking longbow. “The Mythal of Silverymoon detected an item of unacceptable power within our borders.  It is our sworn duty to inspect any and every violation of the law.  Open your wagon, sir. Slowly, please.”

Douvan obliges, sweeping back the fold and pulling off the black cloth to reveal the mirror safely nestled in the back of the wagon. 






The Griffon Knight says, “Is that all?  A mirror?”  He looks somewhat perplexed. 

“Yes,” answers Douvan.  “We…we aren’t exactly sure what it does.  We were just told…” and Douvan relates some of the details about the Mirror of Skarvoss, as told to him by Valthrun the Prescient.  He ends with mention of the Shadowfell, and possible danger associated with Winterhaven if it had remained. 

The Griffon Knight nods, and when Douvan is done, he snaps his fingers at the others.  “This mirror will have to be confiscated and tested.  My apology for the inconvenience, but it is our obligation.  Please do not argue.”

“But…I…” And yes, Douvan does want to argue, but he doesn’t want to anger them either.  “Will we get it back?” he asks imploringly.

“Perhaps,” the Griffon Knight says.  “That all depends on what our mages find. But don’t hold your breath in a jelly cube, as they say.”

Douvan wracks his brain about the Silver Knights.  They are resourceful and formidable, but known to be fair.  Douvan is not a citizen himself, but has spent so much time in this city that it almost feels like home. 

“Well…I would like some other compensation then,” Douvan says.  “We went through a lot of trouble to get this mirror.”

“A LOT of trouble,” Merric adds peevishly. 

The Griffon Knight rubs his chin as Douvan tries to convince him, looking to the owl-rider for advice.  “Well, Onyx?” She shrugs, and ultimately he shrugs too and pulls out a piece of parchment.  He begins scribbling with a quill.  “My name is Grax Steelfeather.  Consider this a receipt then.  Come to the Rookery at dawn tomorrow, we’ll know by then is this mirror of yours can be returned or not.  If not, the City will offer you some sort of reparation.  I can’t say what exactly, it’s not up to me.” 

Douvan shakes each of their hands, appreciative that he is at least being given a fair chance. Not long after Grax the Griffon Knight hands the parchment to Douvan, a new contingent of Silver Knights arrives with their own wagon.  They take the mirror and carefully load it, and begin trundling through the streets towards Alustriel’s Palace. 

“G’day gentlemen,” Grax says with a nod, and he mounts his griffon. Seconds later they’re all airborne and vanishing toward distant airy spires. 

Merric sighs.  “It could have been worse.”

Douvan agrees.  But in truth, he thinks this is probably for the best.  If the item is indeed a threat it is better for experienced wizards to deal with it. If nothing else, they’ll get some sort of recompense for their trouble, perhaps a sack of gold.  That would be good enough.


----------



## Nebulous

Side Trek (II): The Streets of Silverymoon

*PART TWO*

Merric has some business he must attend to elsewhere, so he bids goodbye to Douvan. The Ranger intends to find Merple the Moneylender and get paid. Merric says that perhaps he will meet him later at The Green Tankard. And if Merple will let Douvan bring Merric’s share of the finder’s fee, all the better. The grizzled ranger retrieves his possessions from the back of the wagon, including the magical maul taken from the bugbear a few days before. He intends to sell it when he gets the chance. 






Douvan finds himself winding through the convoluted streets of Silverymoon on his way to Diagon Alley. Silverymoon is a unique place where the various races all live in harmony, and he enjoys walking down tranquil neighborhoods decorated with bright flowers and soaring exotic trees.






He eventually leaves the residential area and reaches Diagon Alley, a place he would not normally visit. Spellcasters of all sorts make their living here, and he passes more than one shop housing bizarre items behind the glass; various stuffed imps with lolling red eyes and urns puffing smelly colored smoke; floating baubles spinning around mannequin heads and rows of twiggy broomsticks designated as: “ON SALE! TODAY ONLY!”

He finally reaches the unadorned door of Merple the Moneylender and raps the appropriate amount of times. A squeaky voice announces: “Enter!” The door swings open of its own accord and Douvan steps in. The place is the same as he remembers, small but cozy, a roaring iron furnace on the wall, a few shallow steps leading down to a den lined with bookshelves. Merple is sitting in a chair behind a desk cluttered with pens, quills and a fat ledger book. There’s a new item though. It looks like a large square cage draped by a blue cloth. 

“Douvan!” he cries. “Good to see you again! How did you fare in Winterhaven? Find anything interesting?”






Douvan starts at the beginning and tells him the whole story; the trapped bridge, the flooded excavation site, the dozens of kobolds, the human helping them, the bones and the mirror and the bugbears and Valthrun and the Shadowfell and the Griffon Guard taking the mirror. Merple’s face changes during the story from extreme joy at the beginning, to glum disappointment by the end.

“They took it, eh? Sad, sad, sad news that is. Very sad to hear. It sounded like a most exquisite artifact! Worth a coin or two, I’m sure, I’m sure. I hate to say this, but it is unlikely they will return it, Douvan.”

The ranger is aware of this too, but doesn’t dwell on the news. He steps closer to the cage and is jolted when a pink tongue whips out. 

“CROOOAK.” There is a huge toad inside. 

“Oh, don’t mind him. That’s Toady, a rare speckled specimen from the Evermoors. Should make short work of the nasty rodents around here. He’s quite nice, actually. I’m fond of him.” Douvan takes his word for it.

As promised, Merple pays his half of the fee for finding the Tomb of Blacksoul and determining that there is nothing there left to salvage. He insists though in paying Merric in person. Merple makes a few notes in his fat ledger book, emphatically dots the entry with his pen, and closes the book. 

“Well,” says Merple, “with that done, are you interested in a new job? I always have several pots brewing on the stove. For instance—”

But Merple is interrupted by heavy pounding on the door. The pattern of knocks is very specific. He presses his lips together into a thin line. “Oh my. Oh my oh my oh my. He’s early. Very early.”

Merple is flustered and stands up, wringing his hands. Douvan is confused. “Not good, no no no. Not good at all. Douvan, you must leave. Wait! No! He mustn’t see you leaving, no no no. Hide in the closet here. Wait! No! He’ll look there. Oh my oh my oh my, dear dear dear dear…” Merple pushes Douvan toward the cage. “Go in there with Toady. Don’t worry, he’s very gentle! Just be quiet and don’t say a word. Zip! Zip!” Merple makes a pinching motion across his lips. 

Douvan stares at the dark cage with the big toad inside. He doesn’t like the sound of this, but Merple is clearly upset. “Are you sure, Merp—”

“Yes! Yes! Just go!” he hisses. “And quietly!” To the door he shouts: “Coming! Just a wee moment!”

Douvan is bustled into the cage with the wet, spotted amphibian, and a tongue lashes out to lick his arm. Or taste him, he isn’t sure which. There is not much room and Douvan maneuvers to the back, hunching down for as much cover as possible and peeking out through the dark fabric draped over the cage. Merple has returned to his chair, pressing down the lapels of his coat, and then announces: “Ah…enter!”

The front door creaks open. A shaft of light spills down the steps, a shadow elongated upon the threshold. From his position, Douvan cannot see who it is. Footsteps slowly click into the room, and then the door closes.

“Balthazar!” says Merple with forced sincerity. “A pleasure to see you so soon, a pleasure indeed. How…ahem…how can I help you today?”

A man says, “Help me, Merple? I believe you have helped me enough already.” The voice drips with sarcasm. Douvan shifts for a better angle, peeking out into the room. A man clad in black robes with red trim and a pointed hat has stopped in front of Merple’s desk. Draped around his neck is a hissing maroon pseudodragon, its yellow eyes glaring all directions. 









Douvan’s stomach lurches. This man is obviously a wizard with his familiar, and he does not look happy.

“What seems to be the problem, Balthazar?” asks Merple. “Perhaps we can work out—”

“The problem, my squat Halfling, has to do with a bag of powdered unicorn hoof you sold me. The PROBLEM, my dear, conniving, treacherous little half-man, is that you sold me powdered mule’s hoof instead!”

The pseudodragon spits and hisses, flapping its wings. Merple pales. 

“It’s not true!” he wails, his voice squeakier than ever. “It’s not true, Balthazar! I didn’t know! I didn’t know!” 

“It’s your job to know,” growls the wizard, producing a long, thin maple wand from the depths of his robe. 

The pseudodragon leaps from his shoulder and flaps to the floor, sniffing. “Do you think that Balthazar of the Potion Emporium wouldn’t notice that kind of trick in my magical workings? Do you even comprehend the sort of unwanted side effects that arise from daring to ADD a mule’s foot? DO YOU? Or course not!” Merple falls to his knees, begging and pleading.






Douvan pushes the fat toad aside, wondering what in the Nine Hells he has gotten himself into. Toady pushes back some, feeling equally cramped in the cage. Douvan is knocked into a latch he had not seen previously. There seems to be a secondary door on the back of the cage that is flush to the stone wall. He peeks out the curtain again. The pseudodragon is closer, sniffing and snarling. 

“It was an honest mistake!” shrieks Merple. “Please believe me, Balthazar! It won’t happen again, I swear!” 

“Oh, I know it won’t,” the wizard says airily. “Not for the next day at least. After that, I expect you to be on your best behavior, Merple.”

The tip of the wand begins to glow blue. Merple’s face is bathed in its light. “What are you going to do?” he whispers in abject terror. 

The wizard’s smile is not pleasant. “Teach you a lesson.”

“You don’t have to do this.”

“Yes. I DO.”

A thin beam of light streaks out, enveloping Merple and followed by a puff of acrid smoke. He screams once, but when the smoke clears Merple is no longer there, replaced by a large squat frog, a pair of oversized glasses dangling awkwardly from its face.






Merple-Frog croaks and hops away, while Balthazar cannot help but to laugh. He puts the wand away, circles around to the ledger book and begins flipping through it, still chuckling. Douvan is appalled, and not more than a little terrified! He shrinks back into the cage, but the pseudodragon familiar is curious about Toady and the shadow lurking behind it. It has moved closer than ever, ruffling its wings and squawking a warning to its master. 

Balthazar looks up from the ledger. “What is it? Oh my, yes. Look, Merple! You have a friend here! One of the few you’ll probably ever make. Wretch.”

Balthazar walks closer to the draped cage. His eyes narrow. “Is someone…in there?” 

Icy cold fear fills Douvan’s gut. He nearly springs out of the cage, using the toad as a shield and bolting for the door, but doubts his chances. The wizard’s wand is out again. Douvan brushes the backdoor latch, and this time in the subsequent glow from the wand he sees the outline of a trapdoor in the wall outside the cage. The cage is pressed flush against it. Douvan does not waste another second. He pushes the toad out of the way, jerks the small cage door open, and presses on the stone outline. There is a quiet click as a secret panel opens.

“WHO IS THERE?” bellows the magician. “SHOOOOOOOW YOURSELF!” 

The front door of the cage magically jerks open and Toady wriggles out, just about the same time as Douvan has squeezed himself into a passage obviously made to accommodate a halfling and not a human. He tries to close the secret door just as the red pseudodragon darts into the cage. Douvan succeeds, and then shuffles on his elbows through a narrow dank tunnel, but soon bumps his head on a stone wall. Beneath his fingers he feels a wooden trapdoor with a metal ring. He pulls up, feels space yawning beneath him and an unpleasant stink. He doesn’t have time to ponder the destination. The secret passage is opening behind him. His fingers scramble for a dilapidated wooden ladder, and then Douvan is moving down, down, down into darkness, his boots scuffing on wood and stone, his heart hammering in his chest. Blue light fills the tunnel above him and he hears the throaty rasp of the pseudodragon. He hears running water and the strong smell of a sewer, and soon Douvan’s feet touch on a cold stone floor. Far above him the blue light winks out, and then he hears doors slamming.

He’s trapped down here. Wherever “here” is. He can’t see a thing in the pitch blackness.


----------



## Nebulous

*Wand of Polymorph*

I couldn't resist throwing a Wand of Polymorph into the adventure. It scared the player pretty bad (this was a solo obviously). Mechanically, in 4e, i imagine it would work on just a temporay basis, or work like Turned to Stone.  Merple (behind the scenes) failed all of his saving throws and was stuck in that shape.


----------



## Nebulous

Side Trek (II): The Streets of Silverymoon

*PART THREE*

He’s trapped down here.  Wherever “here” is.  He can’t see a thing in the pitch blackness. 






He’s not terribly worried yet.  He did not descend far; he’s surely in the upper level of Silverymoon’s sewer system, which is well maintained by sweepers and ratters.  His keen directional sense gives him an idea of which way to go, and he knows that the aqueducts empty to the east.  Plus, he has several sunrods that will light the way if all else fails, but he doesn’t want to use them quite yet. Too much light. Feeling along the wet, slick walls, Douvan eventually finds a torch sconce and half a torch.  He lights it with tindertwigs and looks around him in the wan illumination.  He’s on the cusp of a sluggish, stinking channel, bobbing with all sorts of glistening, unsavory things. 

Douvan starts walking toward what he hopes is an exit. 






The debacle upstairs worries him though.  Merple has never wronged Douvan, not that he’s aware, and his punishment at the hands of the mage seems unduly cruel.  Transmogrification or Polymorph, whatever they call it, also seems illegal. Douvan starts to wonder if there is a way to blackmail the wizard, and then he has second thoughts about that as well.  He’ll need to speak with Merric first. One must never be careless with a wizard.

Half an hour later Douvan stops cold when he hears a new sound over the swish of dirty water – a rhythmic flapping like a wet leather sheet, and it is moving closer.  He pulls his sword and waits, unable to see anything down the dingy tunnel more than twenty feet or so, listening to something draw nearer, and nearer, and nearer, and THEN—










Something bulbous, pink and veined explodes around a corner at high speed!  It careens off a wall and whips past him, darkness swallowing it within seconds, coming and going so fast that Douvan barely caught a glimpse.  His heart rate finally starts to slow, and he thinks back on what he knows about creatures in the sewer system.  It must have been a sludge bat, a relatively harmless if disgusting denizen of the region. 

He continues, eventually reaching a junction blocked by slick green slime dripping from the ceiling.  He can possibly leap to the far side but would rather not risk it.  Untold diseases lurk in the water.  Douvan hunches down and waits, anticipating some flotsam and jetsam to float by eventually, maybe something that will support his weight so he can vault across. 

He hasn’t been waiting long when he hears voices in the distance. 

Douvan slowly grinds out his torch and retreats a short ways, watching torchlight approach from a tunnel across the watery channel. 

“I’m hungry,” a voice rasps.  “Where’d that sludge bat go?”

“I dunno,” says another. “Shut up.”

Douvan also hears rats squeaking, and a few moments later several unsavory characters enter his sight.  They’re ratmen, almost surely the lycanthrope kind, with elongated noses and twitching whiskers.  They’re armed with shortswords, and the foremost wererat carries a torch. A few filthy rats scurry around their feet. 






Douvan presses his back against the wall, cold sweat breaking out on his forehead.  They’re heading his way, and their vision is much, much keener than his own.  This is also their element, and he’s not sure if he can take on two of them at once.  Separately perhaps, yes, but both?  They’re filthy, cruel little monsters, and he is sorry that he encountered them.  Worse, as lycanthropes, he lacks a silver weapon to make the wererats truly howl in pain.  This won’t be easy.

The wererats push open a moldy door and root around inside, then exit again and stand at the lip of the channel.  “We’ll jump,” one of them says.  “Stand back, need room.”

Douvan sees his chance.  He unslings his bow, peeking around the corner from cover. The ratman has backed up, testing his footing, and then sprints forward, gaining momentum to leap over the gap.  Douvan readies to fire just as the wererat is about to leave his platform.  The arrow catches him square in the chest.  It shrieks in midair, floundering, hits the corner of the far walkway and flops into the water.  It rises, sputtering and choking and squealing as the current carries it down the tunnel.

“Meazel!  HELP!”






The other wererat follows, extending a hand to pull him out.  Smiling, Douvan shoulders his bow and backtracks until he finds a hidden storage room.  Inside he finds some old mops, one of which is sturdy enough to use as a pole.  Praying for the luck of Tymora, he prods the bottom of the stinking channel, and then hurls himself across.  He thuds to the other side, safe and sound, and keeps walking.  He soon finds a new door, but it is swollen in the frame.  He rams a shoulder into it, bounces off, and then tries a better plan.

Skullthumper.

He takes the maul out and starts hitting the door.  Cracks appear, spreading wider and wider, and soon he has battered the door down. He steps inside a disgusting room filled with rotting bags of grain covered with tiny black insects. There is a cracked barrel that he rolls in front of the door, and then he takes some time to reapply the pitch to his torch.  There is only enough fuel left for a few minutes, but he still has the sunrods. Unfortunately, the sunrods will draw the attention of anything nearby long before Douvan sees it approaching. 

He finds a second door, but there is only wrecked equipment beyond it. Then he sees the ladder.

The same sort of ladder that led him down here to begin with. He has just started climbing up rungs when he hears footsteps approaching!  Outside the ravaged door he sees the wobble of torchlight. Fearing that is the wererats again, he climbs the ladder double haste, pushes through a lid at the top and finds himself in a narrow drainage tunnel flooded by a beautiful thing—

SUNLIGHT!

There is an iron grill above his head, but once he laces his fingers through it Douvan finds that the grill is firmly secured.  He hears wagons outside rolling across flagstone streets and the neigh of horses.  He sees legs walking by, so he’s probably standing in a drainage tunnel on a main thoroughfare. 

“Hey!  Someone help me!” he calls out. He’s ignored for the most part, and then he hears sounds from below.  At least one person has entered the room beneath him. 

“Is anybody there?  I need out of here! Help!”

Finally, a pair of immaculate shoes stops beside the grate.  The face is unseen because of the dazzling corona of the sun behind the man’s head. 

“What are you doing in the drain?” asks the man.  Douvan is VERY disappointed to find that the man’s voice is familiar. 

“Ah…please…ah…please help me out,” he says lamely.

The other man is quiet for a moment, and then with an exasperated huff, mutters, “Very well. Stand back.”  He pulls forth a maple wand, taps the iron grid, it shudders violently, and then peels back like the skin of a soft fruit.  Thanking the gods for his fortune (and wondering at the incredible irony of his benefactor being someone he does not want to see again), makes sure his assumption is correct.

It is.  His savior is none other than Balthazar of the Potion Emporium, with a rather mean-looking pseudodragon curled about his shoulders like a scaly cat. Up close Douvan sees his bushy black eyebrows, and the glint of intelligent green eyes. 






“Can you help me up?” asks Douvan. 

Rolling his eyes, the mage in the pointed hat starts to oblige, but pulls back.  “By the gods, man, you reek! No! I won’t help.” 

Douvan pulls himself out and stands up, turns around calmly, and fires an arrow down the shaft. He hears a shriek. 

“Do…I know you,” asks the wizard slowly.

Douvan shakes his head.  “No. No, I don’t believe you do.”

The cage with Toady had been very dark, and Douvan scampered from sight before they had a good look.  But the pseudodragon looks suspicious…and so does his master.  

Nevertheless, Douvan thanks them again and then jogs into the crowded streets, putting as much distance as he can between them, and tries to remember how to get to the Green Tankard to tell Merric the story. He needs a beer after all of that.

And a bath.


And there we stopped.


----------



## Nebulous

Adventure #8: Caves of Peril

PART ONE






Kerric, Helga, Erevan, Irann, Brandis Padraig and Splug the Goblin are in Boss Fatty’s bedchamber, looking down the narrow, twisting tunnel. The fat goblin boss and his accomplice have escaped, and judging from the scuff marks and a dust-free rectangular block of tile, they’re dragging a small chest with them. Do they follow? Do they wait and see if Fatty turns up elsewhere? After their last tangle with the goblins they decide to rest for a few minutes and recuperate, but this gives Fatty even more of a head start. It doesn’t matter; the group needs time to discuss their options. 

According to their sketched map, the tunnel should exit roughly near the excavation site. But from there Fatty could have roamed anywhere, even back to the surface if he wished. But they think that the treasure chest will be relatively easy to follow. The scuff marks are distinct. 

Helga the Dwarf Fighter is chomping at the bit to track him down and crack her axe on Fatty’s skull. She’s very impatient with all the chitchat and planning, but the others are more cautious, throwing magical and mundane light down the tunnel first. Splug is asked to search it, but mumbling his refusal, he’s obviously scared of coming face to face with Fatty, and they don’t want to sacrifice Splug (also called SPUD by the group) in such a worthless fashion. They’ve actually come to like the little groveling guy. His chunky yellow face beams up at them with approval when they say he doesn’t have to investigate.






The group is not badly hurt, so they return to the main entryway, even checking the surface for clues. Daylight filters down the steps, but there is no sign of anyone else. Moving down the stairs toward the dig site, they find a secret door in the wall gaping open, forming an S-shape that snakes back to Fatty’s chamber. The chest has been dragged across the corridor and down a set of steps into a natural cavern…
…the same cavern where an unknown monster burned Splug with acid.

The goblin is terrified to return, but feels safer in the company of his new, formidable friends. They check the excavation site and see that no one has been here either. Helga and Kerric naturally take the lead, brandishing their blades, and navigate down the stairs toward the cavern. The room beyond is riddled with dripping stalactites. The air is noticeably cooler. Somewhere in the distance Kerric thinks he hears the squeak of rats, but he is hardly worried about that. Rats are sword fodder.














“Gonna bash me some goblins,” mutters Helga darkly, not for the first time. Her bloodlust has been raised ever since the last fight. Usually, multiple cold beers are required to calm her down. 
The fighter and paladin advance silently, senses alert, when Kerric suddenly shouts:

“…the floor…BY KELEMVOR!”

It crumbles under their feet, plunging them into a deep pit. Helga shrieks, a baritone dwarvish cry of pain, and the others hear the crunch of bone, metal, and stone. The dwarf and paladin are crumpled twenty feet below, moaning. 






“Ah don’t like this,” mutters Helga, spitting dirt from her mouth.
“Me neither,” says Kerric, standing up and dusting himself off. He looks up at the others. “We’re fine. We need a rope, or—wait…what NOW?”






The paladin tenses, his hands darting out to brace himself, but it is too late. Helga’s fingers scramble on stone. She’s screaming for help as the floor beneath them fractures, splinters, and crumbles away, dropping both heroes into utter darkness! 

Irann, Brandis, Erevan and Splug hear the splash of water and gurgling cries that quickly fade away.






The dwarf and paladin are gone.


----------



## Nebulous

Adventure #8: Caves of Peril

*PART TWO*


“After them!” yells Erevan. He rips coiled rope off his back and throws it around a stalagmite.  Glancing up, however, he sees multiple tiny red eyes on the ceiling.  He tosses a light spell, scattering several large rats hiding up there among the jagged rocks.  Returning to the pit, Erevan ties two lengths of rope together, cracks a sunrod, attaches it to the end and tosses it down into the hole.  Brilliant light fills a natural cavern before plunging into frigid water, becoming blurry and diffracted. Splug is wringing his hands and moaning.  

“Why didn’t you tell us there was a trap here?” demands Brandis. 

Splug shakes his head.  “Me not know!  Hmm-mmm.  Goblin not weigh much.  Big man heavy.”

They call their friends’ names, but there is no answer.  Altogether, they’ve fallen over 60 feet into icy water.  Drowning or battered to death on rocks is a very real possibility.  They have to find them as soon as possible or it will be too late.  Brandis volunteers to go down first, so securing his weapons, he clambers hand over hand down the rope.  He’s swaying back and forth in midair, gazing at eerie rock formations that have developed over hundreds if not thousands of years. 










With some difficulty, Brandis finally reaches the river bank.  It is steep, slick rock, and his footing is precarious, but there is no other sign of immediate danger.  The tunnel continues south for fifty yards before rounding a bend, and it is obvious that Helga and Kerric have been swept down this way.  Brandis ties the other end of the rope to a stalagmite.






“Did you know there was an underground river?” Iraan asks Splug.  The goblin shakes his head, no.  He had no idea this was below the keep.  Not liking this development one bit, Irann rubs her hands briskly and prepares for some physical exertion.  This is not her area of expertise.  And this is exemplified seconds later when her grip slips from the rope--and with a shriek--she’s in freefall.  Brandis watches helplessly as the warlock lashes out for the rope, catching herself before she hits the water or sharp rocks.  She lands on the far side of the river, trembling in fear. 

Splug is next and shimmies down like a champ.  Lastly, Erevan makes it partway and then Fey Steps the rest of the distance. But Brandis is on a different side than the others, so after some testing (the water is fairly deep here) they are able to throw a rope across so that Brandis joins them. 






But then Erevan hears laughter, and looking at the shattered hole in the ceiling he sees two leering goblin faces:  Boss Fatty and his buddy. The goblin boss laughs once more and then tosses the other end of the rope into the hole. 






Now they’re trapped down here.  

“Thank you!” Erevan yells.

“I hate that goblin,” mutters Brandis.  Splug (Spud) nods furiously in agreement. 

The bank of the river can be followed if they’re careful, but it is slow going. They have to pick their way through tight rock formations.  A while later they see a cave entrance on the far side of the river.  There are runes and words carved into the archway, but they’re not close enough to decipher them, and don’t want to waste time instead of finding Helga and Kerric.  They keep going, but soon reach another bend in the river and find a similar archway on their side.   Brandis sees goblin runes engraved above the tunnel.






The first inscription is the oldest and barely legible.  An arrow points northeast and reads: 

TALLOW’S DEEP – SEVEN DAYS.  

Another arrow points north and the words translate: 

TO THUNDERSPIRE LABYRINTH – THREE DAYS. 

And the final inscription is multiple arrows pointing all directions, and says: 

MAGLUBIYET’S EMBRACE- ANY DAY!

Brandis knows that this is the cruel god of the goblins, Maglubiyet, and this message is simply stating that goblins can die anytime, anywhere, and will join their dark god in the afterlife.  A pleasant thought as Splug is reading the words alongside him. The goblin sighs. 

But their friends were not deposited here.  There is a small waterfall nearby, so they were probably shucked right off the edge.  The heroes continue their search, growing more and more worried with each passing step.


----------



## Nebulous

Adventure #8: Caves of Peril

*PART THREE*

A while later the current slows and becomes a calm pond-like area.  Part of the water is diverted into a side stream, with much of it probably leaking through cracks in the limestone basin into lower levels.  But there’s something else of immediate concern:  Helga’s boot.  It’s lying on the shore.  Irann picks it up, but there is no sign of the dwarf or paladin other than blood and drag marks on the stone.  It looks like something hauled them away into a narrow tunnel where the creek flows.  
















Brandis follows, splashing into the icy water, his magical longsword Wolftooth in hand.  Erevan, Irann and Splug tentatively follow.  The creek plunges over the lip of a ravine, spattering on unseen rocks far, far below, but on the other side is small chamber with a man-made fort of some kind.  The walls are cobbled together from stone and mud.  It looks very, very old.  He doesn’t hear a sound other than the murmur of water nearby.  A human skeleton lies on the floor, the bones as yellow and cracked as old parchment.






Brandis finds a battered wooden door scored by deep grooves and scratches.  Something has bashed its way inside.  Behind the door are barrels and sacks shoved against it as a last-ditch barricade, but something broke through anyway.  Brandis gives the room a cursory glance; there is a lot of junk here to sort through, and he sees a smashed dwarf skull with spiders in the eye sockets, but no Helga or Kerric. 

Outside, however, the others are about to have company.  Erevan spots movement a split second before a tiny, insect-like creature scuttles from a dark alcove.  About the size of a small dog, it hisses and clicks at him, and then lunges!  Serrated limbs slash at his robes, and then two more scurry out from hiding as well. 










“Brandis!” shouts the wizard.  Erevan unleashes a shimmering silver missile, but his aim is off and it soars down a tunnel.  Splug squeals and tries to hide behind Irann as the warlock throws a curse at an agile beast.  Brandis leaps into the fray, skewering a monster on the tip of Wolftooth, even as Erevan immolates the others with a burst of flame.  Within seconds the battle is over, their enemy’s legs quivering in their final death throes. 

There are drag marks and blood stains on the floor leading down the same tunnel from which the insects emerged.  Their friends must be down there, dead or alive, and the group hurries to find them.  The tunnel descends sharply, but the last few feet are very slick and Brandis tumbles.  He catches himself and is glad he did – he could have fallen off a small ledge that juts over an open room.  A rickety bridge stretches across to a tunnel on the far side.  The others clamber down as well, but Erevan slips and rolls to a bumpy halt against their legs.  Embarrassed, he dusts off his robes and peers over the side…

…and somewhere down below they hear a curious 

“CLICK-CLACK-CLICKCLICKCLICK-CLICK CLACK CLICKITTY CLICK CLACK…”










“The bridge doesn’t look safe,” mutters Irann.  She’s already sick of this place, but all three heroes roll miraculously poor Dungeoneering checks; they’re not even sure they’re in a cave!  Brandis volunteers (again) to go first. They tie a rope around his waist just to be sure, and he steps onto the bridge.  It holds his weight, and he continues…

…and is soon immensely grateful for the rope. 

A weak plank shatters beneath his boot and the warlord plunges through!  

Irann, Erevan and Splug grab the rope and Brandis stops short, swaying back and forth in midair below the bridge.  But then he sees something moving.  A huge black shape detaches from the darkness and surges toward him, something with a hideous vulture’s head and two massive arms that end in deadly scythes. 






“PULL ME UP!” screams Brandis.  “Pull me FASTERRRRRR!”

His companions heave with all of their might, and Brandis starts to rise, but they’re not quite strong enough.  He falls again, even lower than before and dangerously close to the hook beast, which is now slashing at him.  It can’t quite reach, so it moves to the sloped wall and digs its hooks in, climbing up so that it can snag the squishy dangling morsel of meat. 

“GET ME OUT OF HERE!” screams Brandis.  The others keep pulling, bracing themselves and hauling with all of their pitiable strength.  The hook monster is now level with Brandis, and with one arm anchored to the wall, it lashes out with the other…and rips a horrible wound across the warlord’s chest.  Brandis is knocked away, blood pouring from his splintered armor where the hook ravaged him.  One more swipe will probably finish him off.  He swings back in, feet propped and ready to kick at the thing…






Erevan casts an ice spell on the sloped wall, and the hook monster loses its grip.  It tumbles to the bottom, rolling back and forth on its hardened carapace, and just as they’re hoping the beast might be incapacitated, it hops back up, madder than ever. 

The wizard, warlock and goblin keep pulling, and Brandis finally ascends to the ledge. The infuriated hook monster keeps flailing below them, unsure if it can reach their position. They sure as hell hope not.






The bridge has proved an obstacle, yes, but they eventually cross it with mundane and magical methods. They rest in the center span while Brandis catches his breath.  There’s another bridge on the far side of the tunnel, in better shape too.  Furthermore, water and blood streaks are on the planks; their companions Helga and Kerric were dragged this way, although they’re not sure how they circumvented the weak bridge.  One of Kerric’s gauntlets lies on the tunnel floor which Irann retrieves for him.   Hopefully, the horrible hook beast behind them won’t be able to pursue.


----------



## Elder-Basilisk

Hoping that the beast won't be able to pursue, eh? And how often does that work out 

I predict a show-down with the beast sooner or later.


----------



## Nebulous

Elder-Basilisk said:


> Hoping that the beast won't be able to pursue, eh? And how often does that work out
> 
> I predict a show-down with the beast sooner or later.




Heh, well, i never intended for them to fight the hook horror, it was just a set piece to look at and be afraid of.  But then Brandis went and fell off the bridge, so i took a closer look at the horror's stats...and oh boy, it would be a TPK.  So i was nice and didn't have the HH follow them up.  But they'll meet it again one day, definitely.


----------



## Nebulous

Adventure #8: Caves of Peril

*PART FOUR*

They continue into a new tunnel, this one sloping upward at a thirty degree angle.  They soon enter a new area.  Brandis holds up a hand to indicate silence.  He hears something chittering behind the rock walls. There are several small holes at ground level, and a larger tunnel leading out of this room.  The blood streaks continue around the corner.  Erevan looks closely at the holes, wondering if they were chewed away by acid, but it appears they were manually dug. 







They haven’t progressed very far when one of those small insects from earlier scuttles out of a hole and launches at Brandis.  The warlord chops the thing in half in midair, its greenish blood splashing across him.  But the attack is just a precursor for what is to come, for suddenly half a dozen clamber out of their holes!  Even worse, they have larger friends with them now who also wield deadly sharp claws. Within moments the heroes have been flanked by a chittering horde of voracious monsters intent on eating them alive.  










Vicious teeth and claws sink into Brandis and he finds three of the things dangling off his body, gnawing through steel and flesh.  He flings one away, stomps on another, and impales the third.  But the beasts are a whirlwind of fury, and even staying close to one is dangerous.  They are constantly lashing out, spinning, biting and stabbing, creating an inescapable aura of pain.  Brandis bravely tries to protect his friends and suffers the brunt of the attacks.  He’s soon bloodied, and falls to his knees, the insects swarming over him.  A larger one digs a serrated claw into his gut and Brandis staggers down to 3 hit points…














…but Erevan and Irann are hardly complacent.  Plumes of magical flame explode across the battlefield, burning smaller critters to a crisp.  Irann curses and Eyebites the big insects (they’re called kruthiks) and teleports out of trouble in a purple puff before she’s swarmed. 






But poor, poor Splug (widdle Spud) gets stuck in a bad situation, whimpering and crying and hacking his weapon back and forth in wild desperation.  He manages to kill several of the small kruthiks, but the bigger ones are tough, slashing mercilessly at the goblin, and you can’t stop near them without suffering damage.










“Help me!” he squeals. Brandis activates Splug’s healing surge to keep the little fella on his feet, but it’s still a hairy situation.  The bigger kruthiks have him cornered, and it’s not until Brandis crushes one dead that the goblin can safely maneuver away, just barely alive.  

For a while the situation looks grim, but twenty minions later, the horde of gibbering insects has ceased to crawl forth from the walls.  The last big kruthik is slain, and the group takes a well earned rest.  Brandis is pretty beat up, as is Splug, and he lacks the ability to heal himself.  But there are still rooms to explore, and the group has not yet found their friends.  In fact, after seeing how dangerous the kruthiks are, they can’t imagine that Helga and Kerric are still alive.

Yet, miraculously…they are.






Entombed in a hard cocoon of green excreta (like the stuff from Aliens), the dwarf and paladin are unconscious in a chamber around the corner. They’re being tenderized for a later meal, and although scratched, bruised, torn and half-drowned, it’s nothing that a little rest won’t fix (thank you Fourth Edition!). They’re broken free of their bonds, gently roused, and are quite relieved to see that their companions found them against all odds.  

Even better, the kruthiks seem to have accumulated a stash of pretty shiny things from past victims:  the corner of their nesting chamber is FILLED with gold, silver and other valuable items.

They find a magical suit of armor, an enchanted red elven bow named “Firefang,” a potion of healing and an unidentifiable potion with a bizarre picture drawn on it, a scrollcase with a map of some place called “The Minotaur Maze,” a Rod of Atrocity for the warlock that Irann gratefully accepts…and a curious non-magical journal written in elvish.

The cover is hand painted and depicts many of the major gods of the Realms, some of whom are no longer even alive.  The journal must be old indeed.  Erevan keeps it.






Lastly, they notice that one wall looks deliberately collapsed.  There are holes in it, so perhaps the heroes can dig their way free.  Regardless, they are completely lost somewhere underground with no idea how to reach the surface.  This area seems like a reasonably defensive position, so they vote to rest here for six hours and start fresh later.  It’s not a bad plan.

And somewhere out there is a fat, conniving goblin named Boss Fatty, and the group has a score to settle with him.  Permanently. 






And there we stopped.

[GM Note:  If it wasn’t obvious, we were down two players this session, so I cobbled together a new scenario for the rest of the group. The whole kruthik fight was actually an encounter I was going to leave out of the campaign completely, but I found a way to use it after all].


----------



## Nebulous

Adventure #9:  Slime Central

[GM Note:  After some bookkeeping, magic item updates [using the Adventurer’s Vault] and Realms-related discussion, the session opens with the 2nd cut scene. The 1st cut scene depicted Kalarel with his servant Lord Maw at the end of adventure # 6, right before Kerric kicked his undead ass.  This continues Kalarel’s backstory, with a subtle clue that the players did not notice.  It has to do with FAMILY…more will follow later (wink wink Brandis). 


*CUT SCENE #2*​
Kalarel opened the letter the bat had brought him.  It was only a few lines of text, his eyes flitting over them with growing discomfort:
*
Kalarel-

Ninaran is captured.  Your other servant, the dead one, is…deader. Five heroes are alive. Probably returning very soon to the Keep. Three warriors, two spellcasters.  What should we do? Awaiting your answer.

-Shuck*

Kalarel’s features darkened.  He crumpled the letter in a fist.  “BY THE HORNS OF ORCUS!” he screamed at the room.  A violent rage possessed him.  He swept an arm across a table of torture implements, scattering razors, hooks and knives to the sticky floor.  He kicked a chess table over, smashing the grotesquely modeled pieces under the heel of his boot.  Lord Maw would not be playing with him again, win or lose.






His rage carried him into an open cell where a whimpering, skinny farmer was strung to the wall by his wrists.  Kalarel struck him across the face with a gauntlet, cracking his jaw, and then gripped the man’s broken chin, leaning in close to harshly growl: “They’ll not make it this far, not in your lifetime my friend!”  He tossed the man away and surged from the cell with a swish of his robes.  Outside, dark humanoid things scuttled out of his way like frightened rats, as they might be the next target of his fury.

“FOOLS!” shouted Kalarel to no one in particular.  “Idiotic, unreliable fools!”  He swirled into a wooden chair that threatened to break under his weight, and brooded upon the ill news. Ninaran was captured, and probably divulging all she knew about Kalarel, which was blessedly little.  She had been no more than a marionette, her strings easily pulled, as all these mortal fleshbags could be manipulated. 

Kalarel stroked his stubbly jaw, staring into the recesses of the huge chamber. The pool of blood was close to full, but not full enough, and the time of the Opening drew ever closer.  The timeline must be abided by, or he would have to answer to Orcus’s liaison personally.  And the implications of failure would be…unpleasant. The priest glanced toward the arching portal situated on the north wall…

He rapped his fingers on the armrest, tapped his chin and rolled thoughts around his head. Failure was not an option, oh no, not an option at all.  He would not fail, it was inconceivable, and his years of loyal service to Orcus would not be wasted.

“I’ll have my gift, Lord,” Kalarel muttered darkly.  “I’ll have my gift.  I shall open the Rift as promised, and your promise shall be mine…immortal.  Deathless. Superior to these weaklings around me. Especially…family.”

FAMILY. 

The memory of his whore mother, dead a whole week, flooded his mind’s eye.  Kalarel was with her the entire time—and just nine years old.






He sprang up from the chair, shouting again:  “I WILL NOT FAIL!” 

The darkness did not answer him, and seemed to absorb his words like a sponge. In fact, all he heard was the quiet PLOP of cold blood into the pool. He watched concentric ripples spread out, and soon his anger began to abate.  He returned to the chair and rummaged through a pocket for a small paper sack.  He reached in and removed a lavender jelly baby, popped it in his mouth and solemnly chewed, reached in for a speckled cream, and then a maroon-orange swirl.  Flavors burst within his mouth, and new ideas feverishly sparkled in his mind.

“Brave warriors and wizards,” he murmured.  “Come to my home to stop me.  Thinking they can halt the inevitable.”  Kalarel stopped chewing the jelly babies. “Brave souls that they are, they will be a worthy sacrifice to our lord.  In fact…” and he stood up again, his eyes flashing, “…their blood will be more potent than those pathetic farmers and children in Winterhaven.”

He began pacing, boots clicking on black stone. He stopped before the statue of Orcus, its bestial visage bearing down on him with palpable malevolence. 

“They’ll be perfect, my lord!  Especially the chosen of Kelemvor! We know what to expect, we know their strengths and weaknesses, and their bravado will only be a precursor to their screaming demise.  Their hot blood shall stain these walls, and the Rift will open faster than ever!”

The horrible statue stared at him, and Kalarel could nearly feel the intelligence behind those cold stony eyes.  An intelligence, he prayed, that had faith in him.

From the recesses of the huge chamber a few dark things shambled toward him, perhaps drawn to his fervor.  One creature, with a gaunt emaciated face and pinprick eyes of cold light, bowed once it was closer.  Kalarel sneered at it.

“I don’t suppose you play chess, do you wight?” The thing did not answer.  “I didn’t think so.”

But Kalarel knew one fact above all else…

The suffering of these so-called “heroes” would soon be legendary—even in the Hells…

[/cut scene]

(Many thanks to Socorro for reading this out loud with appropriate hamminess)


----------



## Nebulous

Adventure #9: Slime Central
*
PART ONE*






The heroes have holed up in the kruthik lair after exterminating the horde of insects.  They feel relatively safe here (aside from the fact that death can come at any time from any direction), and after six hours of rest Splug has recuperated enough to continue.  The spunky little goblin nearly died last time from the ravenous bugs.  They like Splug, probably as much as they could enjoy a bumbling little yellow, scarred, half-blind goblin warrior. 

After resting, but not really sleeping, they discuss their options.  There were several unexplored caves behind them, but it will mean crossing the bridge again guarded by the hook horror. Brandis shivers, remembering his last encounter.  It did not go well.  The horrible monster nearly gutted him.






Erevan recalls what the goblin sign over the cave entrance read:  

TALLOW’S DEEP – SEVEN DAYS; 
THUNDERSPIRE LABYRINTH – THREE DAYS; 
MAGLUBIYET’S EMBRACE – ANY DAY!

There was another cave they did not explore, but they decide to investigate the rock wall in the kruthik chamber first.  It looks deliberately collapsed, and may offer egress.  They have no idea where they are though, other than trapped somewhere below ground in a very hostile environment. 

The group has found some fascinating magical relics in the kruthik nest: armor and a longbow, and a non-magical elvish journal that Erevan plans on reading later.  The cover is hand painted and depicts the major Realmsian gods from at least 100 years ago. It appeals to his sense of academia.  Plus, it is written in elvish.  He’ll read it more closely later.






Piece by piece they start tearing down the rubble wall. Half an hour later a space large enough to accommodate Splug has been cleared.

“I don’ wanna go!” the goblin squeals. “Don’ make me, mmm-hmmm…”

Fine then, they don’t make the little guy forage ahead, and Kerric the Paladin of Kelemvor squeezes into the dark tunnel instead.

Gray stone walls surround him.






The wizard illuminates the paladin’s sword, unveiling a tunnel crowded by sharp stalagmites and stalactites.  The group forms a line, and against all odds, Brandis Padraig at the very back is the only one to hear the chatter of rats in the distance.

“Um…rats ahead,” he says. “Um…right in front of you.”

Kerric hardly minds rats, they fall easily beneath his blade.  He’s more concerned about undead abominations in this cursed place, opponents of his god of the afterlife, Kelemvor (Kerric’s Paragon Path is undoubtedly a Doomguide at 11th level). 

But the two rats he sees on the ceiling scurry away from them.  The group is nervous in these dark corridors.  They feel more lost than ever and have no idea which way to go.  The tunnel branches and they take the left turn, picking their way through tightly packed sharp rocks.  And then they see a door. 






It is an old, old wooden door banded by metal, but scrawled on the wood in Common are a few unsettling words:  

DO NOT ENTER – REALLY. 

Well, well, that sounds interesting, enticing, and frightening all at once.  Ears pressed to the door, they don’t hear anything, but decide not to enter; maybe they’ll come back here later. This spawns a lot of conversation about goblin minions, and how they really, really need to get more fodder besides Splug to send into dangerous rooms.  That is, if there are any goblin minions left alive. But their first priority right now is to get out of these caves.  

They continue, hearing the squeak of more rats in distance dark corners, and then Kerric spots a square pit in the floor.  It looks familiar, and sure enough, there is a ragged hole in the center of the pit, the same hole that he and Helga plunged through.  The group has come full circle.






Feeling somewhat relieved that they’re not completely lost, Kerric steps cautiously around the pit as the others navigate through the stalagmites.  Then he sees the arm. It’s small and rat-gnawed, a goblin arm torn off at the shoulder.  He walks toward it, Erevan following on his heels, but that’s when the chattering rats suddenly become much, much louder. Red eyes flash in the dark, and suddenly several lunge out from cover!  Another drops from the ceiling, sinking diseased fangs into his shoulder.  Kerric throws the beast down and skewers it. 

Meanwhile, Erevan has retreated back toward his companions, but he’s not safe yet.  Two rats leap out from nearby stalagmites, rending his robes with vicious little teeth.  He blasts one apart with a silvery magic missile.  Brandis Padraig leaps to the assistance of the paladin, hacking at the rats with his enchanted longsword Wolftooth.  The wizard and warlock retreat up the stairs, checking up and down the tunnel to make sure no enemies are waiting.  






Within seconds nearly a dozen more rats have clambered across the ceiling and dropped around the paladin and warlord, a dirty chattering horde of hungry creatures. The warriors keep hacking at them, backing off toward the stairs the whole time.  It’s not that the rats are terribly dangerous, but there are so many of them…and both Kerric and Brandis can’t shake the feeling that something else is wrong.


----------



## Nebulous

Adventure #9: Slime Central

*PART TWO

*





The fighter and paladin take up guard positions on the stairwell, protecting the spellcasters behind them, and Splug who is hesitant to get anywhere near the rats.  Brandis raises his weapon, prepared to slaughter more vermin, when he hears the death squeal of a rat.  Something is moving out there, something amorphous and orange, flowing around the stalagmites like thick sludge.  It quickly reforms into a large undulating mass and rolls toward the warlord.






“Amorphous slime thing!” Brandis screams to his friends, who haven’t seen it yet. 

[GM Note:  The mini is a mixture of candle wax, tacky glue and colored ink mounted on a Dreamblade base]

The slime thing, an ochre jelly, rolls through the nearest clump of stalagmites and devours the rats hiding there, and then makes a beeline for Brandis.  The warlord isn’t even sure if he can hurt this ooze. He’s never seen one before, although he’s heard of such things living in the dark hollows of the world.  Does it even feel pain?  Wolftooth takes a bite out the ochre jelly anyway, and a chunk of the thing is ripped off.  But then a mushy pseudopod forms and slams into the warlord, and he suffers extremely painful acid burns. 






Splug is squealing, “That it!  That what attack me! THAT IT!”

Kerric leaps into the fray, hacking mercilessly.  Acidic pseudopods lash out at both men, leaving steaming marks on flesh and armor.  Erevan and Irann throw magic from the top of the stairs, blasting chunks of the thing across the chamber.  Helga lands a few blows herself, but if her position were better, she might be able to Bull Rush the jelly into the pit, plunging it into the river. It is quivering and moving in such an unpredictable fashion that it much harder to strike than they would think.  But hit it they do, over and over and over…

…until the monster shudders violently and splits in TWO. 






Two equally aggressive halves are now alive, and the second jelly skirts around the pit, flanking Helga the Dwarf and rising up to nearly engulf her. 











Her axe slashes across the thing, splattering sticky goo on nearby rocks.  She’s burned as well by the thing’s touch, but the original monster is soon cut down by the others.  It seems to deflate, and then does on its own what the adventurers failed to do:  it topples into the pit, destroyed. 

The death of the second ochre jelly is not far behind.  Helga’s axe splits the thing into two quivering halves that bubble, spurt, and then lie still. 

Taking a breather, the group patches themselves up and poke around the cavern some more.  There is still the goblin arm lying on the ground.  Is this the last of Boss Fatty?  They don’t know.  They see a bloody handprint on the stone wall, and find that there is actually a secret door here.  Inside is a bedroll, a skin of water and wine (the latter of which Helga guzzles), some rations and two sunrods.  Taking a few items, they decide to head back to the door marked DO NOT ENTER – REALLY.  Why?  Because, frankly, it is an irresistible lure for folks who call themselves heroes. 

But who is to open it?  Discussion turns again to Splug who is volunteered, but his cry of resistance deters them [“I thought you was friend!” he whines].  They still don’t hear anything behind the door. So fine, Kerric opens it, and they all peek over his shoulder, looking down wet, slimy stairs into a dark and chilly room.  All they hear is the plop of water. 

“Lumos,” whispers Erevan, and his light spell shows them the rest of the chamber. 






Stagnant water fills most of the room.  There is a small island in the middle, and no other exit.  On the island is a shiny metal shield, a few heavy rocks piled atop it.  Golden coins are scattered on the island too.  As well as some bones. 

It looks like a trap if there ever was one. 

Kerric sighs.  “I’ll go in,” he says.  

His footing is unsure on the slick steps, but he reaches the bottom safely.  He pauses, listening.  Water plops into the black pool.  He sees nothing moving.  Erevan the Eladrin wizard decides to follow, ready to blast away with magic in case something unwholesome appears.  They stand together at the edge of the water, watching curiously as bubbles begin popping on the surface…

…and they’re suddenly overwhelmed by a horrendous stench. 

No normal stench, but an ungodly stink the likes of which they’ve never experienced. It invades their nostrils, cramps their intestines, and Kerric vomits from the awfulness of it. Strength flees their muscles, and both men stagger at the edge of the black water…just as it begins to roil and froth.  

Something HUGE, blue and slimy erupts out, extending flailing pseudopods that lash at the heroes. 











But the luck of Tymora is with Erevan and Kerric.  The blue slime misses FIVE times in a row! Someone could have been killed.  Ducking and dodging, the paladin and wizard barely manage to scramble back up the slimy stairs, even as the behemoth slime heaves its bulk onto the stonework floor and pursues them. 

“Run for it!” screams Brandis Padraig, and just as the paladin and wizard surge through the door, still dazed and weakened from the Stench Pulse, Brandis slams the door shut.  The door shudders when the thing slams into it, and everyone takes a few tentative steps away, afraid that the monstrosity will either batter the door down or burn through with acid.  But the racket does not continue, and eventually they assume that the slime has returned to its pool of filth. 

Kerric wipes puke from his mouth.  “Uh…let’s not go in there yet.” 

Everyone agrees.  They’ll return to the blue slime room when they feel more confident about handling the thing.  Maybe, oh, 10th level or so. 

With that problem out of the way, they gladly leave the natural caves and ascend back to the keep proper.  But now where do they go?  Referring to their map being drawn for Merple the Moneylender of Silverymoon, they determine that there are only a few places unexplored:  1) The double doors at the end of the Skeleton Trap Room, where the Shrine to Bahamut lies, and 2) The corridors outside the Skeleton Trap Room.






The group mentions Boss Fatty again.  Is the fat bastard alive out here?  Did he hole up in the goblin lair?  Did he head up to the surface or down to the lower levels?  They don’t know, and they don’t waste any time looking for him right now.  If Fate wants to put Fatty back into their hands, it will happen. 

So, it’s down the steps to the chilly, silent lair where the group was ambushed by zombies several days earlier when they first arrived at Shadowfell Keep.


----------



## Nebulous

Adventure #9: Slime Central

*PART THREE*






They see a strange symbol on the floor in the distance, but even as they turn that way, Erevan spots a glowing light from the sarcophagus room.  He freezes, and hisses to the others:  “It’s them again.  The girls.”

Sure, enough, Keegan’s murdered twins are standing nearby.  Their ghostly voices speak in unison.






“There is a hungry presence in the darkness.  It will not let us leave!  It…hungers.  The doorway is open, and there is only darkness….BEYOND!”

Their message complete, the dead twins fade and vanish.  Yeah, now the group is REALLY not going down that hallway.  The little girls creeped them out.  So, it’s through the cold, silent, murky corridor, until they find themselves standing near a large symbol engraved on the floor. 






Erevan suspects that it is some kind of a Fear symbol.  He has seen similar dire shapes in the journals of evil wizards.  Perhaps before the Spellplague ravaged the Realms, Erevan himself might have employed powerful magicks such as this.  They’re not quite sure what to do when Splug says, “There a secret place down ‘ere, mmm-hmm.  Lookee lookee!”  And he blithely walks across the symbol and strolls down the hall.  Huh. 

So Brandis follows him…and several unpleasant things happen.

First, unnatural terror fills the warlord’s heart.  He turns and runs full speed, panic overpowering him.  Secondly, an incredibly loud shriek emanates from the rune, easily heard by anyone in the vicinity.  Clenching his fists, Kerric, Paladin of Kelemvor, boldly steps across the rune, resisting the fear effect, and follows Splug.  The goblin is pointing to a small discolored block on the ceiling.  Hefting Splug to his shoulders, Kerric has him push the block.  There are several clicks, and then a secret stone door opens in the wall.  

Beyond it is just a small, bare room no larger than a closet. 










Kerric steps cautiously inside, his blade out, and listens for a moment while the others wait (and Helga tries to drape a blanket over the terror rune; it doesn’t work; she runs until the others grab her). At first the paladin notices nothing, but then he hears a low moan.  About the same time, the far wall seems to shimmer ever so slightly.  Curious, he extends the tip of his sword and touches the wall…but the blade passes right through.

“Illusion wall,” he tells the others, and then sticks his head through for a peek. And nearly gets his face ripped off by four ZOMBIES.  They don’t actually make contact, the paladin jerks back just in time, his heart hammering in his chest.  But this is going to be fun.  Fish in a barrel. 






Kerric and Brandis line up side by side and start blindly stabbing through the illusory wall.  Steel hacks into dead meat, and soon noxious smells arise from disemboweled zombies.  The fight is quick but brutal, with Erevan stepping in to toss a few magical bolts.  Soon the zombies are destroyed, and the group steps into the room, which appears to be an armory. 














Dilapidated weapons hang from hooks and racks, most in a state of disrepair and uselessness. But it is the suit of ragged armor draped over a mannequin that attracts their attention.  A silver plaque is mounted above the armor, but when they approach, a clear voice suddenly rings out!
_
“A wondrous treasure, valued by all, sought by many.  
Found in both victory and defeat. 
Yet never at the bottom of a treasure chest. 
It marches before you like a herald, and lives long after you are gone.

Of what do I speak?”_​
The answer is “Reputation,” and someone spits that out pretty fast.  The disembodied voice in the silver plaque must be pleased because the armor magically transforms from useless rusted metal to a glorious suit of Screaming Scalemail +1.  Kerric takes the armor in his hands.  He thinks it will fit just fine. 

Now there’s the problem of the Terror Runes out in the corridor.  Altogether, the heroes triggered the Fear Alarms three times.  Three times the horrendous wailing echoed up and down the stone halls.  The group carefully questions Splug as to what is nearby, and the loyal goblin admits that the entrance to the 2nd level of the Keep is not far…where Kalarel employs a contingent of hobbers.

Hobgoblins. 

Splug doesn’t like the hobbers, they’re big and mean and pick on the smaller goblins, but who doesn’t pick on goblins?  The group decides to stay in the secret armory for a while.  Hopefully the hobbers don’t know about it, but the group will find out one way or another soon enough.

And there we stopped.


----------



## Nebulous

Adventure #10: The Hobber Barracks

*PART ONE*

Holed up in the armory, the heroes rest while discussing their options: 1) There is an unexplored door in the Skeleton Trap Room, where the shrine to Bahamut lies, and 2) The entrance to the second level of the keep is somewhere in the Fear Symbol maze, according to Splug. They’re not sure what to do next (although I get the feeling that whatever waits at the end of the skeleton trap frightens them, probably due to the creepy dead twins now lurking in the vicinity).











Kerric and Brandis listen at the door, and soon hear heavy footsteps marching in formation, steel-shod boots on stone. Two individuals stop outside the secret door and converse in a deep, guttural goblin tongue which only Brandis understands. These aren’t small goblins either. 

_Hobber #1 - Remember what Chief Krusk said; keep prisoners alive to sell to _
_the Bloodreavers. _

_Hobber #2 – Damn Bloodreavers, I don’t like ‘em. Don’t trust ‘em._

_Hobber #1 – Yeah, I know. Say, how’s Achilles doing?_

_Hobber #2 –Vicious as ever. At least he hasn’t killed anyone in a few days. He’s _
_getting used to us._

_Hobber #1 – I hope those Bloodreavers didn’t sell us a broken one!_

_Hobber #2 – Whatever happened to that fat goblin Balgron anyway? I hope someone _
_slit his flabby throat… (They laugh, marching off)_

Brandis relates this conversation to his companions. They question Splug about the Bloodreavers, and the goblin tells them that they are a band of violent slavers, mostly hobgoblins, but some other species as well, like bugbears (and a certain dead bugbear with a magic maul named Skullthumper in SideTrek I).

Kerric eventually peeks out the secret door but sees no one, although he does hear retreating footsteps from the squad of hobbers. It is very dark and cold in the hall, so Erevan lights the way with magic. The group slips out one at a time and proceeds down the passage. They want to map this area first before proceeding to the Skeleton Trap Room and Shrine of Bahamut. And they don’t want to get squashed between a roaming patrol and whoever might be around the corner. 






Kerric leaps over a Fear Symbol, afraid that triggering it now could bring the patrol down on their heads, and they aren’t sure how many enemies that entails. At least half a dozen. Everyone leaps over the fear symbols with ease…except for Brandis. The final person to try, the warlord slips at the last moment, teetering at the edge before his companions haul him to safety (he burned a Fortune Point acquired in Adventure #2, adding 1d6 to a die roll).






The group finds themselves in a small alcove. Debris litters the corners, intermingled with dry bones and skulls. There is a stairway leading down to a closed wooden door. They see faint light emanating from underneath. 






Regretting that they don’t have a stealthy rogue in the party (who would be useful right now), Kerric attempts to slip down the stairs as carefully as possible. He’s…not very good. Listening at the door, he thinks he hears a goblin voice. A deep goblin voice. Everyone positions themselves at the top of the stairs, with Splug safely nestled in the rear. Actions are readied to launch attacks at the first targets available, and then Kerric flings the door open!






Two hobgoblin soldiers are loitering at the edge of a well, and very shocked to see the paladin of Kelemvor.

“INTRUDERS!” one of them bellows in goblin. 

Kerric rushes him, Erevan launches a silvery magic missile from the steps, Erevan curses a foe, and the dwarf Helga trundles down into a better position. And clear across the chamber about a hundred feet away, Kerric sees something locked in a cage that worries him, something that (now dead) Ash, Helga, Brandis and Delphina Moongem first met in the woods near Jade Hill—

A vicious boar.


----------



## Nebulous

Adventure #10: The Hobber Barracks

*PART TWO*

Kerric sweeps into the soldiers, hacking through his scale mail. The soldier staggers under the attack, but retaliates with several of his own swipes from a flail, shouting: “STAY IN FORMATION!” to his ally.  The soldiers miss Kerric who deftly blocks their blows, although they do manage to flank him. 

“RELEASE ACHILLES!” the second soldier yells over his shoulder. 

A third hobgoblin appears from around the corner and runs full tilt toward the boar pen, trying to release Achilles, and would have been successful if not for Erevan.  The wizard descends the steps, and at the very limit of his 20 square range, unleashes a shimmering bolt of silvery magic.  It streaks unerringly toward the back of the hobber’s head and explodes.  The hob is slammed into the bars and crumples dead.  The boar seems even more enraged by this and thrashes madly, but cannot escape.  Meanwhile, the fight is continuing. The soldiers are missing nearly every attack, and taking a brutal beating in return, marked and cursed by respective PCs. 

[GM Note:  One reason these potentially very difficult encounters went so well is that the hobgoblins really, really missed most of their attacks; the second reason they went well has to do with doors, coming up soon]. 

But the soldiers are soon joined by reinforcements from an adjacent room. Five hobgoblins surge out, four quickly surrounding the warlock Irann, while the fifth races toward the locked boar cage and attempts to finish the job.  But the warlock is not without her surprises.  Eldritch magic touches nearly everyone around her, purple flames bursting from their eyes and mouth.  One warrior even topples into the well as Irann teleports to safety. 










A soldier is finally slain, blood spurting over Helga in a warm bath, and this frees Kerric to charge the hobber trying to open the cage.  Kerric reaches him and thrusts his blade through his foe’s ribs…but the hobber staggers, alive, and unlocks the cage anyway!  The door bursts open and the boar lunges at the paladin. 






He brutally stabs the thing, and the boar rushes past Kerric and streaks down the hall, trying to gather speed to skewer someone.   Erevan casts a spell that shrouds the boar in tendrils of darkness, hampering its movement.  

Angry and in great pain, the boar backtracks toward its pen, where Kerric and the soldier are locked in combat.  Helga is moving in fast, and within moments she hacks through the leg of the injured boar, killing it. The soldier is alone and cornered now and tries to escape the paladin, but he will have to fight his way past a furious dwarf.  He doesn’t make it. 

In the main chamber, all foes are dead except for a single soldier trying to escape. “We’re under ATTACK!” he’s shouting, and he would have made it out if not for a spell that abruptly immobilizes him (who cast that anyway?).  The soldier spins on Brandis Padraig, lashing his flail back and forth, but the hobgoblin is in a bad position, weak and bleeding and unable to escape.  Alive anyway. He’s ushered to the eternal afterlife.






Soon the battle is over, and the heroes have suffered minimal damage.  The hobgoblins didn’t fare so well, and the PCs are left with the somewhat misleading impression that hobs are pushovers!  (I really just rolled pathetically the whole encounter).   They search the rest of the room, including the bedchamber and take a few small items of treasure and gold. After a short rest, they bar the door they initially entered into the barracks. Somewhere up above on the main level is another wandering patrol. Moving on, they find a second well, and a second bedchamber, this one containing a valuable jade hookah and a bag of accompanying herbs (I like to keep 101 Mundane Treasures handy at the game table for weird stuff).






They also find a small statue of a demonic god that Kerric identifies as Baphomet, an extraplanar being that is not part of the normal Realmsian pantheon. 

Leaving that chamber, the heroes soon reach a junction:  a long dark tunnel stretches to the south, and a lit passage to the west.  They head west; this is the same direction the hobgoblin ran when trying to warn his allies. 






There is a door and a passageway.  They peek down the passage, noting portcullis spikes jutting from the ceiling.  There is no sound at all behind the door. They determine that the door is unlocked, so Kerric slowly peeks in…

…and is dismayed to see a hobgoblin peeking around the corner.

“We’re under attack!” it shouts, and ducks out of sight. 

Kerric closes the door. 

“I think they know we’re here,” he says. 

Just to make sure they don’t pinched from the south, Brandis heads down the corridor toward the cluttered table, but fails to see the discolored pressure plate on the floor.  There is a loud CLICK and the portcullis drops.  Fortunately, Brandis is on the safe side of it.  Well, as safe as one can be in a dungeon full of bloodthirsty goblinoids.


----------



## Elder-Basilisk

Out of curiousity, what do you use for those tiles? They don't look like dungeon tiles. If I were guessing, I'd say you scanned or color photocopied the maps in the mod at high resolution and blew them up to 1x1 grid size.

Or is it something else?


----------



## Nebulous

Elder-Basilisk said:


> Out of curiousity, what do you use for those tiles? They don't look like dungeon tiles. If I were guessing, I'd say you scanned or color photocopied the maps in the mod at high resolution and blew them up to 1x1 grid size.
> 
> Or is it something else?




Yeah, that's what i did. I scanned them at high res out of the book and printed them on card stock. Time consuming, but they're pretty durable and one day i'll reuse them for a different adventure. Don't think i would do it again though, it took quite a long time. Well, i can't say that for sure, i had fun doing it, and the end result was great.


----------



## Nebulous

Adventure #10: The Hobber Barracks

*PART THREE*

The group decides to take the fight to the hobgoblins. Leaving Splug standing the pressure plate for now, hopefully so that no one can open the portcullis (in theory) they advance to the next room.  There are no enemies waiting for them, just two closed doors.  Helga inspects to the north door, and gets the idea of jamming something underneath the handle to keep the door wedged shut.  She takes Brandis’s polearm and does just that, making it difficult for anyone to turn the handle from the other side. 

Splug runs in, terrified to be out there by himself, and jams a dagger in the door frame to slow intruders.  That leaves one door to the east…

…and Kerric opens it, expecting the worst. 

A hobgoblin archer unleashes a readied arrow, and a hobgoblin warcaster follows with a blast of golden darts from his staff.  They zip toward the paladin with unnatural accuracy and shred his armor. A soldier is nearby, hunkered for protection behind an overturned table. 






Kerric charges in, but triggers another readied attack from a soldier hiding around the corner. Two more grunts leap into battle, slashing at him with longswords.  






Helga pounds turf straight toward the warcaster, which terribly impedes his effectiveness at such close quarters. His staff powers are mostly nerfed.  The dwarf is a maelstrom of fury, slashing her axe in numerous opportunity and superiority attacks.  The hobber spellcaster is unable to escape her, much less encourage his allies to target the warlock and wizard in the back ranks who are riddling them with curses and magic missiles. 






The fight is brutal, but the end comes swiftly for the warcaster and archer when Helga unleashes a devastating (NEW) spin attack, beheading them both!  She spins to a halt, glaring at the surviving soldier and wiping the gore from her bloodstained smile. 

But all is not quiet in the antechamber.  The door to the north wedged shut with the polearm is being hammered from the other side.  And then the door to the SOUTH begins to shake!  






Reinforcements have arrived. 






The grunts soon bash down the southern door, but the delay offers the heroes time to dispatch their current enemies before they’re swarmed by everyone else.  Erevan immolates three minions and the last soldier, leaving a single minion running for his life and screaming: “MAGIC!  They use MAGIC!”  Splug is squealing and wringing his hands in terror, the door next to him shuddering from repeated kicks, but miraculously holding.






Everyone crowds into the room with overturned tables, kicking corpses aside, and waiting with baited breath for the next wave of the assault…

…which doesn’t come. 

They wait longer, unsure of what the enemy is planning, or how many there really are.  In the downtime, Erevan takes the enchanted staff from the cold, dead hands of the warcaster and tries to identify it, but fails.  He will look at it closer (I went ahead and told him what it was: A +1 Staff of Dweomered Darts; 30 charges, expend 1, 2 or 3 charges; 1d4+1 auto-hit damage, and it adds +1 to hit and damage]

Finally, they advance to the doors and look out.  The hobgoblins have all retreated.  Relieved, they rest and regain their encounter powers, but aren’t otherwise terribly hurt, nothing that a few surges won’t remedy.  But they can’t stay here forever. The hobbers must have realized that the PCs were entrenched in a strong position, and even now they might be planning a counterattack to root them out.






They head down the south passage, noting that the portcullis is closed again.  They can’t find a mechanism anywhere to open it, but flexing their muscles and spitting into their palms, Brandis and Helga pull the bars apart, so far in fact no one even needs to squeeze. 






Kerric the paladin of Kelemvor steps through the ruined portcullis first, listening for the slightest hint of sound.  The table before him is littered with plates and mugs and strips of unidentifiable meat. There is a door to his south and east.  No sound.  No sound at all.  He takes another tentative step forward…

…and two swarms of hobgoblins BURST from the doors!

He’s surrounded in a heartbeat, hemmed in by leering hobgoblins wielding cruel swords and spinning flails. 






But they’re not alone.  A massive hobgoblin storms from the southern chamber, and his orders are explicit:






And there we stopped.  

Should be a fun kickoff next session guys! 

Just so you know, we’re winding down to the end of this campaign arc.  There’s not a whole lot left.


----------



## Nebulous

Adventure #11: Chief Krusk, Sir Keegan & Traps Galore

*PART ONE*






The party is in a bad spot, and the hobgoblins win initiative, making it even worse.  Kerric the paladin is bashed left and right by longswords and flails, severely wounded in the first round of combat. It takes some tactical maneuvering to keep him alive, and he ultimately retreats to Krusk’s ready room, desperately gambling against the opportunity attacks that might usher him to Kelemvor’s early embrace.  Chief Krusk nearly impales him, but Kerric manages to evade the attack.






Helga the Fighter valiantly defends herself and her ally, smacking hobber blades left and right, but taking some vicious strikes herself.  A chained flail wraps around her thigh, hampering her movement.  Brandis jabs through the bars, exchanging blows with the hobgoblin soldier on the other side.  

Meanwhile, Erevan, Irann and Splug have heard the sounds of the ambush and run up to help.  Erevan unleashes dweomered darts from his new staff and instantly slays two grunts. The warlock curses and eyebites the closest soldier, and Splug does what Splug does best…he cowers behind the spellcasters. 






Erevan follows up with Grasping Shadows, and tendrils of mist enwrap the legs of the hobbers, slowing them down and giving Kerric a few extra seconds to collect himself and use Lay on Hands.






Warchief Krusk screams orders at his men and they tactically retreat, trying to avoid further ranged attacks from the mages.  Krusk limps into the antechamber and begins to raise the broken portcullis, but the damaged mechanism gets stuck halfway.  Hobbers attack Helga and Brandis under the gate, trying to sweep their legs out from under them. 






After healing himself, Kerric charges back into battle, his longsword hacking left and right, crushing through hobgoblin armor.  The hobgoblins have rolled extremely well this fight and initially had the advantage, but a few concentrated attacks by the heroes shifts the advantage.  Two soldiers are cut down and the last retreats to the antechamber with Krusk.  

It’s not exactly the best place for a last stand.  

Erevan anchors their feet to the floor with ice, and all the bewildered soldier can do is shut the door. (With as many ice spells as Erevan is casting we need to get light blue condition pads).






But the door does not stay shut for long.  Kerric flings it open and thrust his blade into the soldier’s gut, killing him.  Magic missiles fly into the room, followed by purple eldritch blasts, and then Kerric and Brandis are jabbing through the doorway at the wounded warchief who is now completely alone and decorated by a rainbow of conditions.






Outnumbered and outclassed, Warchief Krusk screams his final defiance and thrusts his spear into Kerric, inflicting significant damage, but it is too little too late.  A magic missile explodes between the hobgoblin’s eyes and he is rocked backward into the wall. The group rushes in to finish him off and sees his lips moving.  Krusk is mumbling something, but only Brandis Padraig can understand:

“Kalarel…prepare…pre…pare…my…way…*gurgle*

The warchief dies, and the group collectively sighs with relief.  That fight could have gone very poorly, and it looked grim for the paladin. Kerric could have easily died if he didn’t retreat. They search the rooms, finding gold and an enchanted shortsword that they temporarily give to Splug. The little goblin turns it over in his hands, admiring the craftsmanship. 

Besides the obvious loot, the hobber heads are also worth good coin to Cynthia Padraig, so the group lops off the heads and puts them in burlap sacks to return to Winterhaven, a gory job that Helga fortunately relishes.


----------



## Nebulous

Adventure #11: Chief Krusk, Sir Keegan, and Traps Galore

*PART TWO

*The group discusses their options: rest or continue? They’re not terribly hurt now that they’ve rested, and the spellcasters are uninjured (as usual).  They opt to continue, and head south down the only unexplored passage.   They find a large iron door at the end and two unlit torch sconces.  Listening at the door they hear nothing, but something about this area fills them with unease.  They ask Splug what lies behind it, but the goblin doesn’t know.  He’s never been down here, but he does know that Kalarel lives somewhere in the lowest level.

_Kalarel._

That name gives them pause.  Of course, the priest of Orcus would put his best troops in-between himself and intruders.  They decide not to go in the door yet and finish inspecting the top level of the keep first.  There’s still a room they haven’t entered yet, the one located at the Shrine of Bahamut just after the Skeleton Trap corridor. So they start heading back that way, and have just reached the room where they killed the boar Achilles when they hear weapons bashing against the door!

Sure enough, the hobgoblin patrol they evaded earlier has returned to find the entrance to the barracks blockaded.  They’re smashing through, but the PCs surround the door and prepare an ambush.  Hobgoblin deaths come swiftly (the hobbers were just six minions) and the group ascends to the next level, maneuvering through the fear maze and finally reaching the skeleton trap room.  Erevan has already memorized the prayer necessary to deactivate the auto-trap, and sure enough, they can hear claws scrabbling inside the upright sarcophagi.  The wizard rushes through while the others prepare to bash the skeletons that leap out.  Undead warriors clatter into the hall, the lids banging open, and they’re met with a storm of metal from the heroes.  But Erevan has piously bowed at the altar, recited the prayer, and the skeletons lower their swords and then crumple to the stone floor, disintegrating to dust until the next time they’re summoned.  

The room is the same as they remember it, with the vaulted ceiling above displaying the mosaic of the platinum dragon of Justice, and the altars dedicated to Sir Keegan’s wife Isabel and his two daughters: 











Now they have to deal with the door. 






They listen at the cold metal, noting prayers to Bahamut scribbled around the perimeter.  They don’t hear any sounds, and Irann doesn’t find any traps.  Waiting won’t do them any good, so Helga tests the handle, finds it unlocked, and slowly pushes it open on squealing hinges. 

A single, small cold chamber lies beyond.

Dust lies thick and undisturbed on the floor.  At the back of the room sits a shallow dais upon which rests a stone sarcophagus. The warriors boldly enter, while Irann, Erevan and Splug wait outside.  Brandis cautiously approaches the sarcophagus, wondering if this is the final resting place of Sir Keegan, the commander of the keep who went mad and slew nearly everyo—

And then the lid abruptly explodes off the casket. 






A skeletal man emerges, a massive battleaxe clutched in his bony fingers.  

“THE RIFT MUST NEVER BE RE-OPENED!  STATE YOUR BUSINESS OR PREPARE TO DIE!”

From his left and right two apparitions appear through the walls and they repeat the same warning.






Helga, Kerric and Brandis don’t back down from undead hostility, although Kerric is quick to point that he is a follower of Kelemvor, and that their sole purpose in the keep is to prevent the Rift from opening again.  Brandis echoes the statement, and Sir Keegan slowly steps down off the sarcophagus, practically oozing menace. But the group holds their ground, ready to strike if necessary. 






“I AM SIR KEEGAN…” the undead thing goes on to say, starting straight into Helga’s eyes. “I WAS COMMANDER OF THIS KEEP.  IT WAS MY SWORN DUTY TO ENSURE THAT THE SHADOWFELL RIFT NEVER OPENED AGAIN.  
I…HAVE FAILED.”

Keegan seems impressed that the heroes are here to make sure that the rift remains closed (although they’re fairly sure the rift is at least partway open; Kalarel’s been a busy necromancer).  The dead knight asks them a few questions and insists that the spellcasters loitering in the hall enter the chamber as well.  The PCs learn that long, long ago Sir Keegan was possessed by a demonic presence from the rift. It slowly asserted itself over him, and by the time anyone noticed, it was too late.  Keegan became a murderous fiend, slaying his wife, his daughters, his lieutenants and friends.  He will suffer here forever and cannot leave this chamber, nor can the two lieutenants who have agreed to stand with him in eternal vigilance. 

But Keegan thinks the heroes have a chance of accomplishing what he could not do in life.  He believes they are honorable, and to aid them, he gives the dwarf his magic battleax, Aceris, and says that it should serve her well. 

Keegan slowly climbs back into the crypt, nods to the heroes, and the lid slams shut with a puff of dust. 

[GM Note:  This was supposed to be a big Skill Challenge where Keegan asks each player questions that are keyed off certain skills.  Failure would entice Keegan to attack. Eh…either I just don’t understand skill challenges enough to make them compelling or I didn’t want to bother with it.  I portrayed Keegan the way I wanted him to act, and the players asked the questions they want to ask and stayed in character, and that was it.  Encounter over].

Well, the group now has only one choice—through the door on the hobber level, but they don’t want to do it just yet.  They want to fight Kalarel at full strength, so they decide to return to Winterhaven to rest up, sell some items, maybe find some rituals, and return to the Keep the next day.  

There is also some discussion regarding the FROG QUEEN and her mysterious request for Irontooth’s hands, but the next full moon is still several weeks away when the portal to the Feywild on Jade Hill will open under the moonlight. 






Back in Winterhaven, the heroes are instantly surrounded at Wrafton’s Inn by curious villagers.  Word of their deeds and bravery has spread far and wide, and a few folks are surprised to see them return alive. Questions about the haunted castle abound, and the group is peppered by inquiries.  Lord Ernest Padraig shows up and embraces his son Brandis.  Thair Coalstriker is here, and he just wants to know how many goblin heads the PCs brought back. He is VERY pleased with the final count. Elian the Old is here with his pet pig, and already well toasted by the time the party arrives.

Erevan retreats to his chamber to study a Detect Secret Doors ritual and commit it to memory from a scroll, while Helga and Kerric decide to visit Ninaran the Half-Elf in the prison.  They have a few questions that were not asked last time they encountered her in the graveyard with Lord Maw. 

Helga plans intimidate answers out of Ninaran, while Kerric is there to play Good Cop / Bad Cop.  It turns out that although Ninaran is sultry, depressed and despondent, she is not averse to answering questions.






In a nutshell, this questioning turns up a few interesting tidbits:

1)    Kalarel is a necromancer (they suspected this) who does not like to be around living people.  He wants to be immortal and live forever, a gift promised to him by his master Lord Orcus. 
2)    Ninaran is the bastard daughter of Lord Ernest Padraig (the party also knew this), but it turns out that Kalarel is the bastard son of ERNEST’S father, Brandis’s grandfather!   This makes Brandis and Kalarel loosely related, although the lineage cannot be proven.  Regardless, Ninaran has no love for the Padraig family and suspects that Brandis’s morals and libido are just as despicable and she despises him just on principle.
3)    Ninaran knows that there was a password to safely enter the Hobgoblin Barracks, but the party blasted through there without any such help. 

And that sums up what she knows, or is at least willing to tell.  The group leaves Ninaran under the careful watch of Rond Kelfern and whatever fate the townsfolk of Winterhaven will pass down on her. 

The next day, refreshed and rearmed, they head back to the old keep.


----------



## Nebulous

Adventure #11: Chief Krusk, Sir Keegan, and Traps Galore

*PART THREE*

There is no sign that anyone else has been here.  They descend into the murk for the third time, winding down, down, down through the hobber barracks, and finally reach the door that might very well lead to Kalarel’s inner sanctum.  They listen again and search for traps again, and finding nothing, Helga pushes the handle of the iron doors and opens them. 
The room beyond is completely dark.

They have the sense of a large, open space, and something HUGE lurks in the room just at the limit of their vision.  This seems like a good place to drop a sunrod, so Kerric cracks one open and tosses it out.  Virtual sunlight illuminates a large chamber dominated by the statue of a warrior twenty or thirty feet tall.  To the east are two dragon statues, and to the south they can just barely see what looks like a few statues of smiling cherubs. 






The group does not like this room at all. 
It reeks of a great big stinking trap, but their Perceptions don’t notice anything out of the ordinary.  They talk amongst themselves and then step forward…


…and that’s when the huge statue swings.

Stone grinds, gritty joints crack, and the sword arcs down at Kerric, slamming him in the chest and driving him to the floor.  Helga grabs his arm and pulls him back. At the same time, the big metal doors behind them slam shut and they hear bolts locking into place.

They’re trapped. 

The statue returns to its starting position, and they can tell that it easily has three squares of reach in all directions.  Erevan suspects that it is a combined mechanical and magical trap, and maybe there is some way they can deactivate it from the statue itself, but it will require getting closer.  They opt not to do that quite yet and start skirting the wall toward the northeast dragon statue.








But Helga the Dwarf notices something suspicious about the stone dragon.  They decide not to approach any closer, and instead reverse direction back to the entrance and start searching meticulously for some way out of this room, maybe a lever or button or anything.  All they can find is a discolored area of stone to the left of the entrance. There are no seams, no handle, no keyhole, nothing to indicate what it is or what might be behind it.  Keeping as far from the giant’s reach as they can (which is just one square), they all start skirting the wall, searching for clues. 
Irann the Warlock finally decides to put her rogue skills to the test.  It is not safe to venture within range of the giant…but it looks safe enough to teleport right on the thing’s head.  And that’s just what she does. 






“I see something!” the warlock yells down to them.  There’s a panel on the back of its helmet, and prying it open, she finds a complex mechanism that controls the trap. She begins trying to disable it, reaching down as far as she can and grabbing the innards.  She actually starting to make progress, feeling confident in herself for fixing this problem all on her own—

--until they hear stone grinding. 

The discolored stone blocks are beginning to rise, unveiling a hidden door.  Splug the goblin is right in front of it and Kerric immediately yanks him away.  They see stony feet under the door, and then stony legs, and finally a burly stone chest of something that is flexing granite fists. And this thing is about to enter the room. 






To make matters worse, the wall opposite the golem is also rising, but the thing in there is fashioned from solid iron. 






This is not good at all. 






“BEWARE!  GOLEMS!” shouts Erevan as he quickly skirts around the stone creature before it can move. He raises his staff, angling it north and south, and discharges a thin beam of ice from both ends!  It strikes the stone and iron golem, temporarily rooting them in their alcoves. 




“Hurry up with that panel!” shouts Helga to Irann, who is still trying to disable the giant statue.  If these golems manage to throw them within range of that thing…

Kerric doesn’t wait for the golems to come out; he runs at the iron one while Helga slams her magical axe into the stone foe.  Kerric swings his sword but the iron golem catches it, and promptly swats him across the jaw with a critical hit, sending him into the Bloodied state for the umpteenth time this adventure.  Kerric reels from the strike, but Brandis Padraign intercepts before the golem can do further damage or push Kerric into range of the giant.  He hacks into the thing with Wolftooth, carving a chunk of metal from its body. 






Helga is handling her golem very well, slamming it backward into its niche every time it tries to exit.  Irann finally manages to disable the giant warrior and its arms lower the stone sword.  She spends the rest of her time cursing the golems from the safety of her perch on the giant’s head. 
The golems can soak up an incredible amount of damage, but they are slow and not particularly hard to hit (and nowhere near as dangerous as a true golem).  Helga finally cleaves her foe, shattering its domed skull into fragments, and it collapses into rubble.  Irann the warlock deals the final death blow to the iron golem, infecting it with such severe necrotic damage that it begins to rust from the inside out, its skin flaking away into crunchy residue. 

All in all, the fight went well and the golems failed to toss their enemies into danger.

The group binds their wounds, and then inspects the niches from which the golems emerged, but find nothing of interest.  And no way out.  They continue along the perimeter of the room until they reach the opposite alcove and see four little stone cherubs holding urns above their heads.  There is water on the floor at the base of a door. 

Again, this just doesn’t look safe. 






Without passing the threshold of the cherubs, Erevan uses mage hand and scoops up some water and places it in an urn.  There is water in the urn already, but no other result.  They’re not sure what to do, and this is about when Helga’s patience runs out and she just walks into the alcove. 
A shimmering wall of red light instantly springs up behind her, an impenetrable magical forcefield that seamlessly stretches from floor to ceiling and wall to wall. A scant second after that, all four cherubs tip their urns over and a disproportionate amount of water begins gushing forth.  

Helga looks back at her friends, who are gazing in shock at what just happened.  

“Attack the cherub!” Erevan shouts, who has surmised with his Arcane Knowledge that destroying the cherubs might deactivate the trap.  So Helga pulls out Aceris, aims for the smiling chubby little angel, and swings. The rock cracks, yes, but outside where the others are, something else happens simultaneously:






The southeastern dragon statue disgorges several force orbs, narrowly missing the wizard.  Everyone thinks they should probably go hide behind the big statue, except for Irann, who bravely attempts to help Helga before she drowns inside the trap. So the half-elf warlock teleports inside with her. 






Helga grabs her wrists and asks if Irann can “jump” them both out, but no, her magic does not work like that.  Dismayed, Helga raises her axe, Irann focuses a ball of eldritch energy in her hand, and they both lay into the smiling cherub with all they’ve got.  An arm is hacked off.  The belly cracks and splinters, and then it is finally bashed into a hundred little pieces.  Outside, the dragon statues keep trying to target anyone they can see, but the other heroes have completely hidden.  

But the destruction of a single cherub is not enough to break the trap, and the other three begin spewing out even more water to compensate.  Greenish cold liquid is now up to their waists, and the dwarf and warlock turn upon the next cherub, slamming blade and spells into it. 
And then the whirlpool engages.










The dwarf and warlock are knocked off their feet, dunked under the surface and systematically spun around the small chamber, bashing off walls and statues in a rapidly increasing spin cycle. If they can’t get out they’ll be battered to death, and there is nothing their friends can do to help.  Irann, at the very least, can probably use magic to escape, but the dwarf cannot. 

Helga whacks the damaged cherub as she flounders by, and Irann grabs it with both hands, pumping an intense charge of arcane energy into the stone.  The smiling cherub shatters, its urn broken, and that finally disrupts the magic of the trap.  The red forcefield flickers and fades, and the dwarf and warlock are unceremoniously disgorged onto the floor, sodden wet, shaking and cold, but otherwise fine. 






And that’s where we stopped. 

[GM Note:  Not much left guys.  Kalarel awaits in the Cathedral of Shadow…]


----------



## Nebulous

Side Trek (III): The Fate of Blacksoul

Side Trek (III):  The Fate of Blacksoul

[GM Note: This final Side Trek developed slowly alongside the main plotline. The other players (save Douvan’s player) don’t know much about the mirror other than what they have read in the recaps].

After his last unpleasant encounter with Balthazar of the Potion Emporium, Douvan Stahl is not particularly keen about meeting more wizards.  Alas, it is necessary if he wishes to retrieve the Mirror of Scarvoss that Grax Steelfeather confiscated the day before, and Douvan doesn’t know if Merple the Moneylender can help Douvan pawn the item off because Merple is currently a large bespectacled, useless green toad. Maybe it’s just temporary.






The ranger and his halfing companion Merric Littlefoot have stayed at the Green Dragon Inn, a comfortable abode that they frequent when in town. 






Douvan has told Merric all about the incident—the toad curse and the pseudo-dragon, the sewers and the wererats, etc.  But Merric is distracted with his own problems.  Apparently, his aunt cannot find her son Shuck Hairfoot, who is a Merric’s cousin, and she wants Merric to look for him.  Merric doesn’t particularly like Shuck. He’s a fat, conniving halfling with a bad temper, but Merric has agreed to help his aunt anyway out of respect for her. 

Shuck Hairfoot was last seen heading south in the company of a blond female minstrel…










[GM Note: There was actually another Side Trek never played out; Merric and Douvan were supposed to meet Shuck at Salvana Wrafton’s Inn and get into a fistfight, foreshadowing Shuck’s alliance with Kalarel. This session would have involved more interaction with Valthrun the Prescient, which I just summarized instead later on. The only clue that the players have concerning Shuck is a signed note to Kalarel, but I doubt they remembered].

Finishing breakfast, Douvan bids Merric good luck and goodbye, and heads toward the Rookery, which is practically next door to the College of Thaumaturgy across the River Rauvin.  The morning air is split by shrill cries from griffons perched on the parapets.






Douvan is asked about his business at the front gate, and he responds that he is here to meet Grax Steelfeather of the Griffon Guard.  Before long the purple-plumed warrior appears, sans his mount, and greets Douvan with a curt nod. 

“Excellent.  You remembered to come. Unfortunately I don’t have an answer for you yet.  Our diviner Valsuvius the Blind has only given your mirror a cursory glance…but he DID want to know who brought it here.  He would like to speak with you personally.”

“Great.”

Douvan doesn’t know what more he can tell this wizard.  Valthrun of Winterhaven didn’t tell Douvan much besides that the mirror was a great threat to the town and had something to do with an evil realm called the Shadowfell.  Still, he agrees to help.  They step inside the vaulted corridors of the Rookery, which Grax explains is the main training and housing quarters for the Griffon Guard of Silverymoon (including the occasional owl, pegasus and hippogriff). 

The lowers levels are still reserved for a few magical endeavors instead of being solely focused in the College of Thaumaturgy. They descend multiple flights of stairs, deeper and deeper into the bowels of the structure, passing numerous glow globes that shed eternal light of varying colors.  Eventually they reach some large double doors and Grax knocks.

A moment later they swing open, revealing an older, blind Eladrin mage bearing a staff.






“Ah...” he says, “you must be Douvan Stahl, bringer of our mysterious mirror. I cannot see with my eyes, true, but there are ways to see beyond that, young man. Come, walk with me.”

Valsuvius takes Douvan’s arm, tapping with his staff while Grax follows.  Valsuvius talks along the way.

“I was able to cast a few simple enchantments upon the mirror, but it is highly resistant to any sort of divination. Almost as if the mirror actively resists anyone learning its past. If you don’t mind, can you tell me more about where you found it, and the circumstances.”

Sighing, and thinking that this is a waste of time, Douvan recounts the story again, including the kobold clan and the bugbear attack, and Valthrun’s ominous warning that the mirror must be removed as far from Winterhaven as possible. 







Nodding, the old diviner doesn’t say much while they walk, other than asking for the occasional clarification.  They soon reach a set of iron doors that are guarded by two soldiers.  They stand aside as Valsuvius, Douvan and Grax enter a room that doesn’t exactly fill Douvan with confidence. 






It is a wizard’s chamber, designed from top to bottom with magical rituals in mind.  Bizarre statues line the back wall, and the center of room is dominated by a dais and altar.  Fumes rise from two burning braziers and the acrid smoke burns Douvan’s nostrils. 

And the Mirror of Scarvoss is waiting here too. 











Valsuvius genially taps the mirror with his staff.  “What exactly are you, my friend?  Will you tell me your secrets now? Eh?  I think we should try a new approach.” 

Valsuvius asks Grax and Douvan to stand with him on the dais. Douvan can’t imagine why. The old diviner sprinkles silver dust into the air while holding a hefty tome in his hand.  Valsuvius begins chanting in a strange tongue, reciting undecipherable words that he must have memorized.  The braziers sparkle and burn brighter, filling the room with haze.  Douvan begins to feel lightheaded and woozy…

…and then Valsuvius stops speaking. 

His blind eyes are squeezed shut.  The three of them stand in utter silence and stillness, colored smoke wafting around them in slow, eddying currents. In fact, the mage is SO still and quiet for so long that Douvan thinks he has fallen asleep. But then--

“I see…” Valsuvius says in his cracked, leathery voice, “…a time from long ago. A place shrouded by darkness.  Below ground. There are…people here.  Many people.  Warriors and priests.  Wizards and disciples.  I see…banners…and emblems…regalia of Bahamut, Meilikki, Kelemvor, Chauntea and more.  They are gathered in defense.  They are frightened. Frightened of…the shadows.”

The old seer shifts his weight, eyes still closed, as if trying to peel back the veil of years. 

“I see a mirror near a large altar.  A…cracked mirror. Yes.  A…damaged mirror. There are chains on the altar, bands of silvery adamantium.  A…a man in robes is approaching the altar.  His name…his name…his name…is SCARVOSS.  Yes.  He is a great mage. Powerful. He has a plan to defeat the shadows.  These wizards and priests and holy warriors are all gathered here to help him, on the threshold of the gate, for he needs time…time to complete a dire ritual.” 

Valsuvius sways, clearly in an altered state of mind, and Douvan supports the old man’s weight.  Grax Steelfeather is looking extremely upset that he was asked to attend this little séance. 

“This…wizard…Scarvoss…knows that a rift is open.  It is a gateway to a dark realm of undeath and pain, and it has flooded the countryside with unspeakable horrors.  They have come here to close the gate through sheer faith and force…but they need…a sacrifice.” 

The diviner stumbles, as if what he sees is troublesome. 

“They have brought a beast through the rift. A dragon.  A black dragon.  No!  A…shadow dragon.  The creature is subdued.  It is chained to the altar. Scarvoss must complete this working, but it will take time, and the Rift will not wait! Agh!”






Valsuvius falls to his knees, the book clattering to the floor. 

“The Rift,” whispers the diviner. “The Rift is open, disgorging foulness into the world.  The dead are restless.  Furious.  They attack all they can see!  A horde of undeath is pouring from the Shadowfell Rift!” 






Valsuvius sees a wave of ghosts, ghouls and worse storm the room, clashing with the priests and holy warriors who are defending Scarvoss. The valiant men and women that die are animated as horrible zombies and ghouls, attacking their former friends and comrades. The ritual is a lengthy one, and it culminates with Scarvoss PLUNGING a sacrificial dagger into the dragon’s bosom and cutting its heart out.   The creature’s heart and soul is ripped forth and thrust into the waiting receptacle of the mirror, which magically mends itself. 

The undead abominations scream as their link to the Shadowfell is disrupted.  The shadowy portal wobbles and then closes, and cheers erupt from the survivors.

The Shadowfell Rift has been closed.

Valsuvius’s white eyes flutter open as his otherworldly vision dissipates. 

“So this is what happened.  They could not seal the gateway permanently, but they could lock it…and they locked it with the mirror we have before us, burying it with the bones of the shadow dragon they sacrificed, praying that it would never be found.”

Grax Steelfeather grunts.  “But why?  Why not just destroy the key so that no one can open the gateway?”

“No,” the mage answers slowly, thinking.  “No.  The key is linked to the gate.  Destroy the key, and you destroy the bond on the gate.  The key must be kept hidden and safe at all co—”

The diviner is interrupted by a horrendous CRACK!

Douvan nearly jumps out of his boots. Grax gasps, hands reaching for his bow.

The Mirror of Scarvoss has ruptured. 






Black smoke begins to jet from the crack like steam escaping a kettle, forming into a draconic shadow that circles the mirror, and a rasping voice says:

“WHO…HAS…DISTURBED…MY SLUMBER?”

Douvan pulls his sword, Grax slings a bow off his shoulder, and Valsuvius raises both hands in an imploring gesture.

“Wait! Wait, o’ spirit!  I can explain.  You are not asleep!  You…you have passed beyond, great dragon.  You…you are a spirit now, trapped in a mirror. A powerful mirror that acts as a key to the Shadowfell from whence you came.” 

The draconic shadow condenses more and coalesces into a something that is not quite solid. Shifting vapors constitute its black eyes, fangs and talons.  The temperature in the room has dropped considerably. 

“DEAD? WHAT? DEAD? I…I AM…DEAD? IMPOSSIBLE!”

The shadow dragon bellows, but lacking adequate lungs, the sound is more of a hissing screech. 

“LIES! LIES! I AM NAR-SHAGGA! I AM BLACKSOUL!  
AND I AM NO MAN’S PAWN!” 






The creature lunges, its sinewy head striking like a viper at Valsuvius.  The diviner falls, screaming, and both Douvan and Grax leap to his aid.  The ranger swings his blade, tearing wisps of shadowstuff from the thing’s body, while Grax pulls an arrow and looses it.  

The door to the chamber bangs open and the guards enter, but Blacksoul turns on them, unleashing a torrent of putrescence. The necrotic breath weapon dissolves their flesh and the guards liquefy to blackened slush inside their armor, squelching messily through the cracks into black puddles. 






Disheartened by that show of power, Douvan grits his teeth and falls upon the shadow dragon with renewed force. 

“Hold it off!” Valsuvius shouts, and clambers to the back of the room, rummaging through a chest.  His request is easier said than done, Douvan thinks, as Blacksoul’s chilly maw clamps on the ranger’s arm.  He is frozen to the bone, pain coursing up and down his arm.   Shadowy wings enclose him, sucking the very life from his body, and just as everything begins to grow dark, a hand reaches in and pulls him free!  Douvan staggers to his knees beside Grax, who fires three burning arrows in succession, each bursting into a brilliant shower of sparks as they impact the incorporeal shadow dragon. 






The dragon’s eyes meet Grax and the archer is suddenly blinded by agonizing pain. Across the room, Douvan pulls out his Bow of Phlegos and launches two missiles into the dragon’s shadowy body.  It writhes in pain, twisting and turning, and even as it prepares to attack Douvan, Valsuvius intervenes, holding a glowing bauble in his hands not unlike a large luminescent pearl.

“Return to the mirror, foul spirit!” the diviner shouts.  “Return from whence you came and trouble us no more!  NOW GO!”

The orb flares, and with another shriek, Blacksoul retreats into the crack, disappearing as quickly as it appeared, and with another CRACK! the mirror reseals.

There is no evidence that anything happened at all other than the liquefied guards. 

Valsuvius sighs and lowers the orb.  “I…don’t think I’ll be casting any more spells upon that mirror,” he says wearily.

Douvan wholeheartedly agrees.

***

They also agree that the mirror is dangerous. It is a key to unlock a terrible place, and so long as the key remains intact and hidden, the more likely the gate to the Shadowfell will remain shut.  The diviner does not know about Kalarel or the heroes currently battling through the bowels of the Keep, but he suspects that the mischief caused by the Rift has yet to see a conclusion. 

He is right. 

For his troubles, Douvan is given a fat bag of gold, and as far as he’s concerned, Winterhaven, The Mirror of Scarvoss and the Shadowrift Rift are somebody else’s problem.


----------



## Antilles1000

*I can't wait to read the last chapter!*

The suspense is killing me!  This has been really fun to follow.  I put a lot of work into prepping and running KotS, but I only made it about half way through before I had to move.  It has been fun to live vicariously through you and your group!  -Ben


----------



## Nebulous

Antilles1000 said:


> The suspense is killing me!  This has been really fun to follow.  I put a lot of work into prepping and running KotS, but I only made it about half way through before I had to move.  It has been fun to live vicariously through you and your group!  -Ben




Thanks Ben.  I've been out sick this week and not posted.  I'll try to get to it Friday. We're nearly done!

nebulous


----------



## Nebulous

Adventure #12:  The Ghoul Warren

After defeating the room of trapped statues, the party rests before continuing.  The murky water from the whirlpool has flooded into the chamber, and the door beyond is rusted from the waist-level down. Double metal doors allow egress from here. They consider trying to destroy the stone dragon statues, but decide not to, it’s not worth the effort and they’re not harming anyone now.  






They listen and search for traps, and finding none, slowly open heavy doors that creak on rusty hinges, revealing a corridor curving to the west.  Kerric detects the unpleasant whiff of rotten meat. 

A hundred feet later the corridor reaches another set of metal double doors, this one with a crack underneath.  They all smell rotting meat now.  Helga bends down and rattles a dagger under the door, but nothing yanks it from her grasp.  With nowhere else to go but onward, the paladin grasps the handles and pushes inward.  

Cold, stinking air wafts across them, and instantly they see movement at the edge of their light.  Several shambling bodies begin to move toward them, followed by the raspy ululation of the undead. 






Halberd, sword and axe crush skulls and hew limbs from the undead monsters.  But the creatures are numerous, and no sooner is one wave obliterated that a new one fills its ranks. Filthy claws scratch Helga’s face, but she just screams louder and cleaves a zombie straight down the middle, spewing black, ropy intestines across everyone. 






Erevan discharges magic missiles from the back ranks, and Irann curses foes, obliterating the undead in plumes of purple hellfire. And then Erevan begins dropping scorching bursts, immolating pockets of the zombies where they stand.  All goes smoothly until a particularly tough zombie with an axe shows its rotten face, and then it and Kerric become engaged in a deadly duel through the door, hacking back and forth at each other. 

Furthermore, the group hears the fluttering of wings somewhere in the darkness, and then horrible AGONY bursts behind Kerric’s eyes!  He staggers to his knees, and the zombie lands a horrible blow to the side of his helm. 

The sunrod is still lying on the floor in the large trap room, so they send Splug scrambling back to retrieve it. 

Meanwhile, Erevan enters the room for a better angle on foes in the shadowy recesses of the chamber. His fire magic explodes around several of them, but then a new enemy surges around the corner, one that truly frightens the wizard.  Fresh blood slathers its entire body, and feral teeth jut from a barely human face.  It moves with predatory speed unlike any of the others, and a quick glimpse tells Kerric that this is a blasphemous ghoul…and extremely dangerous. 











The thing’s claws inflict paralysis, and Helga finds out the hard way as the muscles in her legs lock up.  The ghoul falls upon her, shredding with its talons, but she manages to keep its horrible fangs from her throat.  Brandis keeps stabbing left and right with his halberd, Kerric destroys the armed zombie, Irann zaps in and out of the battlefield with her warlock teleportation, and Helga does her best to defend herself despite her paralyzed legs. 

Splug returns with the sunrod, and with the extended range of its light, they see what was flying toward the back of the room: some sort of grayish imp.






And it has been targeting a PC nearly every round with dazing psychic damage. The creature hisses and flaps out of sight, popping around the corner to hit someone with ranged pain, at least until Erevan locks its wings with a spell and it crumples to the floor. 

The ghoul is finally destroyed and failed to actually bite anyone, and Kerric surges ahead to slay the little imp before it can escape.  To his surprise, it is not flesh and blood and at all, but a man-made homunculus.  It dies regardless.






The warren is thoroughly searched, but all they find is a small tunnel in the wall.  It would be comfortable for Splug to scramble through, but the goblin refuses.  Helga tosses the sunrod into the tunnel far enough to see it land inside a small room. Kerric volunteers to enter, and he squeezes twenty feet down and stands up. He searches the dirty rags and rotten clothes stuffed here and finds a Bag of Holding filled with gold coins. 

The group has only one direction to go now:  down a wide set of stairs to a large double doors emblazoned with a ram’s skull. 

Kalarel surely cannot be far now. 

The doors are opened, and the group sees a long, long hallway that opens up into a massive chamber.  Someone stands upon a dais at the far end, and his voices echoes out upon their arrival, almost as if expected them:

“WHO DARES TO DEFILE THE HOLY SANCTUM OF LORD ORCUS?”

















Kerric raises his hand. “That was me.”

And there we stopped (short session).  Next time could very well be the conclusion to Shadowfell Keep.


----------



## Nebulous

Adventure #13: The Claws of Orcus
*
PART ONE*

The group has entered the Cathedral of Shadow, and who do they see through the cracked door within a room lit by sickly green light?

None other than Kalarel, Scion of Orcus.






“WHO DARES INTRUDE UPON THIS HOLY SANCTUM OF ORCUS?” 

The PCs stand in a small alcove with a closed door to their left and a shattered door to their right. 






Irann the Warlock investigates the smashed doorway, peering into the darkness beyond with the sunrod.  She thinks she hears movement.  Brandis covers her flank as they ease into the side chamber. Splug is ordered to guard the other door while Erevan the wizard advances.  He has just barely passed the threshold when he hears a cry of anger, and a huge, burly man slams a maul into the mage’s chest!  Snarling, the human berserker raises the weapon for another strike.  He is half-naked and filthy, with a hideous goat’s skull tattooed across his chest.  This man, obviously, is a devotee of Orcus. 






Kerric moves in to help and stabs the berserker.  He staggers, but seems to relish the pain and renews his attacks, focusing now on the paladin instead of the spellcaster.  

In the meantime, Kalarel has leapt down from the dais but no one has line of sight to the priest.  That’s never good.  In the side alcove Irann spots movement along the high ceiling.  There are natural partitions up there and anything could be hiding out of sight.  She has the sunrod and its glow sheds considerable light, but she doesn’t feel safe exploring further.  She maneuvers toward the sound of battle with Brandis and sees the entirety of the Cathedral of Shadow.  This place is huge. 

A bloody altar at the back of the room deposits slick blood down to a gaping hole in the floor.  Four bloody chains descend into the pit, and the warlock is hesitant to see what lies down there.  Three crystal columns shed bright light across the room, while a fourth column has been shattered, its pieces littering the floor. 

Helga storms into the room and flanks the berserker, avoiding opportunity attacks because the man is dazed and floundering.  She hacks into his unprotected shoulder, but is suddenly struck in the back of the head by another maul!  There are two naked berserkers now, both frenzied, frothing and fanatical. 






Irann curses a foe, but then she hears ragged hissing behind her.  She turns, dismayed to see three bone-white women running straight at her!  Kerric catches a glimpse too and knows instantly what they are.






“Beware!” the paladin shouts.  “Vampires!”

[GM Note:  They had been spider climbing on the ceiling behind the partition, waiting to drop on the first person beneath, who was nearly the warlock].

Erevan greets them with a burst of flame, incinerating two of the monsters and they die with hellish shrieks.  The third leaps at Irann with unnatural speed and sinks her fangs into the warlock’s forearm.  She retaliates with a blast of purple eldritch fire that explodes from the vampire’s eyes, killing it. About that same time, Splug, who has been waiting in the antechamber and guarding the door, is suddenly struck by a crossbow bolt.  The little goblin screams and begins crying, and then sees the source of danger…

…it’s Boss Fatty, hiding in the doorway to the Cathedral.


----------



## Nebulous

Adventure #13: The Claws of Orcus

*PART TWO

*Die you traitor!” shouts the fat goblin boss, and then slinks out of sight, jamming a new bolt into his weapon.  But Splug’s problems are just beginning, for there is a very pale woman standing in the shadows, smiling at him with glistening teeth.  Splug doesn’t like that and flees to the wizard for protection.

In the main chamber, Helga cleaves into both the berserkers and removes the head from one, but suddenly lurches from a glob of necrotic energy slamming into her back.  Kalarel, it seems, has finally entered the fight.

“You shall pay with your lives for coming here!” he shrieks. 

“And YOU shall answer to Kelemvor for your vile deeds!” answers Kerric, sprinting up to engage the priest.






His longsword slides through the priest’s armor, eliciting a cry of agony.  Helga and Brandis are still exchanging blows with the beserker, who is now staggering from pain and close to death.

More vampires surge into the antechamber where Erevan zaps one in the head with a magic missile, slaying it, but the others converge on Splug and severely wound him.  Nearby, Irann is harassed by a new foe that appears out of nowhere, a short ugly humanoid with cloven hooves.  She has heard of such creatures, known as Dark Creepers, that dwell and thrive in the Shadow world, but she does not know anything else about them.  The vicious monster twirls a black dagger in its hands, and then it leaps at the warlock, sinking the blade deep. 






Kerric and Kalarel are engaged in battle, but the paladin is by far the superior warrior and has rained numerous blows upon the priest.  His lungs heaving, Kalarel attempts to flee, but the paladin skewers him from behind, splashing more blood on the walls. 






Kalarel spins on the paladin, peppering him with feeble blows, but Kerric easily deflects them with his shield. 

“You will answer for your sins, priest,” the paladin mutters.  “And these abominations you surround yourself with shall meet the same fate!”  Blood speckles Kalarel’s lips, and he doesn’t seem so sure of himself anymore. 






Nearby, a vampire spawn and the dark creeper are still alive, but between the dwarf, warlock and wizard, the creatures cannot survive for long.  But Boss Fatty has stopped his crossbow attacks, and by the time the others notice, the cowardly little goblin is long gone and hobbling through the dark corridors of the Keep, looking desperately for a new place to hide…and what better place than a deep, black, quiet cave…

[GM Note:  I can’t believe that guy survived.  He always ran when the running was good. This won’t be the last we see of him, no doubt about that…]

The dark creeper is dispatched before it can inflict more damage, and Brandis moves to Kerric’s side to help him bring down Kalarel, but the paladin is doing an outstanding job by himself.  He thrusts his blade through the priest’s armor again, and from the expression on Kalarel’s face, Kerric knows that the wound is fatal.  Blood gushes from the his side, and the priest slowly slides himself off the sword, falls to his knees, and then crumples backward. 

Brandis stands above him, Wolftooth poised to skewer him yet again if necessary, but the priest is mumbling something through bloody lips.

“Kalarel…(cough)…prepare…prepare…my…way…”






And then he dies. 

Brandis looks to Kerric in disbelief.  “You mean, that’s NOT Kalarel?” 

[GM Note:  Aha! It worked!  This twist caught a few players off guard, but some suspected that “Kalarel” went down too easy]. 

This news bodes ill for everyone. The high priest must still alive somewhere in the complex, maybe even aware of what just happened and planning a counterattack.  They thoroughly search the chamber, including the priest, but he is only carrying one magic item, a Headband of Intellect.  He also wears an iron key around his neck.  Brandis inspects the shattered crystal, wondering what purpose it holds, but Erevan is sure that this entire room is devoted to reopening the Shadowfell Rift and plunging Winterhaven and its environs into chaos. 






They don’t find anything else of interest in the room until they reach the chamber at the back.  There are two locked doors, but the wall is shattered so Irann steps inside, but doesn’t feel confident to plunge through alone.  Brandis pushes past her, ready for anything.   

It is pitch black. 






Manacles hang from the walls where prisoners were kept.  In the next cell block are two dead farmers from Winterhaven, their bodies rotting.  And in the final cell, as Brandis turns the corner…he sees a familiar Halfling from Salvana Wrafton’s Inn.

It is Shuck, who played harp for the elf minstrel Kelrella Sweetleaf. 






“Hey!  Lemme out of here!” the Halfling squeals, kicking his furry feet against the wall.  He’s dangling from his wrists and looking none too happy. 

“What are you doing here?” demands Kerric, and the Halfling immediately says that he was captured while taking a walk the other night.  He begs again to be let free, but Kerric and the others aren’t so trusting.  Something seems…wrong.  And then Kerric notices the sheaf of paper in his pocket and pulls it out. 

“You foolish halfling!  Did you even try to help Lord Maw and Ninaran, or did you just sit on your hairy ass and watch?  Return to the Keep at once.  I have a new mission for you. – KALAREL”

Kerric points at the letter. “Know anything about this?”  But nothing the Halfling can say will remove him from the scene at the graveyard, even though he desperately tries. 

“No! LIES! It’s not true!  I know nothing!  I’ve…I’ve been captured by a lunatic!  Just GET ME OUT OF HERE!”

But Shuck fails to persuade anyone, and he finally, dejectedly admits that he is a spy for Kalarel, and he and Ninaran are the only two of whom Shuck is aware.  The group asks where the High Priest is, and Shuck says he is down below, in the Inner Sanctum, and he rarely if ever leaves there. Shuck says he can tell them more about Kalarel if they release him, but for now, they party leaves Shuck where he is.   

There’s only one way left to go.  Straight down.


----------



## Nebulous

Adventure #13: The Claws of Orcus

*PART THREE*







Four bloody chains descend into the pit.  There is light down there, albeit dim, so they lower the sunrod on a rope, illuminating a rich red pool of blood fifty feet below, much larger than the hole leading down into it.   But the light brings someone else to their attention. 

“AH!  There you are!  I was thinking you would never join me.  You’re scuttling around up there like rats.”

They can’t see the source of the voice, but from his smug tone, they assume it’s none other than the REAL Kalarel. 

“Please, do join us.  I’ve been waiting for some time now.  I knew you were coming, and I know about all you.  Helga, for example, the dour dwarf warrior.  And the paladin of Kelemvor, Kerric, who is so determined to wipe my work from the face of the world. And the good Brandis Padraig.  Brandis?  Can you hear me?   My boy, we share more in common than you probably realize.  Come down…let me tell you all about it…and the wretched sins of the Padraig family.”

Kalarel doesn’t mention Erevan or Irann, and the warlock is slightly miffed that she didn’t get named.  (“I’m dangerous too!” she thinks).

Ah, but the getting down part if the problem.  The pool of blood is fifty feet below them, and the way the shaft is designed they have no line of sight to the rest of the chamber. Anyone climbing down the rope will be a sitting duck. 

But Kerric volunteers.  His faith in Kelemvor will protect him, he’s sure of it. 

Taking a deep breath, he grabs the rope and begins to clamber down.  Partway down the shaft he finally has a full view of the large room he is entering, and the paladin is NOT pleased that he’s here alone. 






To the south looms a malevolent statue of Orcus that is possibly life-size.






To the west are clustered immense pillars surrounding a shrine.  To the east is another dais upon which sits a smaller demonic statue and some undead thing pointing up at the paladin. 






And last but not least, to the north is a glowing blue circle in front of a massive portal.  Shadows seem to push against the fabric, and Kerric sees yawning mouths and grasping tendrils, as if something is waiting just beyond to punch through into the reality of their world.

And inside the circle stands Kalarel with some friends. 






“Ah!  Our first guest!  You bear the countenance of a holy warrior.  Allow me to help you!”

And with that Kalarel points his rod.  A sickly shaft of gray light beams out and strikes the paladin.  Kerric is overcome with agony, his muscles weakening, and then the monster on the dais strikes him with a similar ray of necrotic energy, and the paladin finds his limbs seizing up. He can no longer hold onto the rope and he plunges the rest of the way into the pool of blood…

…finding that it is only about two feet deep. 

His armor crunches into the bottom and warm blood surges up his nostrils, but he manages to hold his breath, unable to force his head above the surface.  The others watch this scene unfold and immediately come to his rescue.  Helga slithers down the rope, managing to swing south toward the massive statue of Orcus and lands on the shore of the blood pool. 

But the dwarf is not beyond the range of the undead thing on the dais, and the glob of necrotic energy anchors the dwarf to the spot.  Her legs cramp up, impossible to move. 

Irann the warlock tries to scramble down the rope, but her grip fails her, and only partway down she slips and falls the rest of the way, landing painfully atop the paladin who is drowning in the blood!






Kalarel chuckles.   “And to think I was worried!  You bumbling fools will kill yourselves before I have the pleasure of doing it myself! Lord Orcus, I don’t even know if their blood is worthy for sacrifice!” 

Kerric’s muscles finally relax and he surges up, drawing in lungfuls of air.  Irann staggers out of the pool, slathered in slick hot blood that must be magically prevented from rotting, and takes a position near Helga, who is still unable to move.  Brandis swings down the rope and plants himself on the stone floor, leaving only Erevan the wizard clambering down.  The mage doesn’t make it far before a necrotic blast hits him and his limbs seize.  He is left clutching the rope, dangling far above the battle arena. 






“Attack them!” orders Kalarel, and his hulking equine soldiers lurch into motion, quickly crossing the distance to the nearest PCs while Kalarel and his wight continue blasting them with ranged necrotic attacks. 

Brandis, Irann and Kerric engage the Skeleton Warrior, hacking past its defenses and cutting chunks of bone and armor from its body.  Helga engages the second one that has flanked to the other side where the wight lurks next to the demon statue.  Erevan remains hanging onto the rope far above the battle, throwing down a few magic missiles that miss more than hit, although his position is one of relative safety now that the enemy is engaged. 











The hoofed undead soldiers look intimidating, but they are bulky and slow, their blades readily deflected by the dwarf and warlord.   Kerric wants to reach Kalarel above all other targets, and brushes past the undead thing, making a beeline for the priest who is waiting with open arms.  And a skull mace. 

“Let us see if your god can save you!” Kalarel says. “I doubt it.” Kerric does not respond to his goad, answering only with the steely clang of his blade on the necromancer’s armor. 

Erevan aids the paladin by summoning an orb of flame and that immediately ignites the priest’s robes.   Kalarel shrieks in pain but ignores the fiery orb and continues hammering his mace onto the paladin, inflicting terrible damage.  The glowing mace is infused with dire necrotic energy that rots Kerric’s armor where it touches him, but that is the least of Kerric’s worries.  He sees that where his blade damages the priest of Orcus, the wounds are closing within seconds.  

“The blue circle!  It’s healing him!” shouts Kerric to his allies. 

And then something even worse happens.






Black tendrils and claws launch from the open portal to the Shadowfell, tangling around the paladin’s feet as the priest laughs, and he drives yet another stunning blow into Kerric’s chest.  The paladin staggers, sweeping the tendrils away with his blade and then infuses himself with a blessing from his god, giving him the strength to fight on.  The tendrils retract, waiting to lash out again from the shadowy recesses of the portal.

[GM Note:  I made an error here not noticed until too late.  The Thing in the Portal has threatening reach 3, but I forgot to smack the paladin (or anyone) each time he moved within range, which was quite a few times.  By all odds the paladin should have died this fight (I also purposely ignored Kalarel’s ongoing necrotic 5 damage which would have chewed Kerric to pieces in no time; probably should have left that intact in retrospect)].

One of the skeleton warriors has been dropped, so the battle moves to the other flank where Helga is trading blows with the second equine monster and dodging energy blasts from the deathlock wight. 






Brandis rushes up to wight, stabbing it through the ribcage.  The thing snarls, and about then Helga drops the skeleton warrior and runs up the steps to help the warlord.  The wight’s face peels back in a horrific visage that could potentially cause debilitating fear in the dwarf and warlord, but they both resist the effect.  The deathlock wight points to the crumbled remains of the skeleton warrior.

“RISE!” it shrieks.  

The dead soldier’s bones rattle back together.  Splintered ribs mend and it surges to its hoofed feet, although slightly worse for the wear.  Its fight with Helga has left the creature with precious few bones that can be repaired. 

Nearby, Kerric is still having a terrible time with Kalarel and The Thing in the Portal. The paladin refuses to disengage, but is able to miraculously dodge the shadowy claws that launch out at him again and again, although the same can’t be said for the priest’s mace.  The horrid skull has bashed Kerric’s armor and flesh into mincemeat.   He tries to heal himself again, staggering perilously close to death’s door. 

“Do you hear that, paladin?” Kalarel hisses through bloodied teeth.  “That is Orcus calling you!” 






This time the claws of Orcus lash around the paladin’s waist and drag him closer to the fluctuating portal, which Kerric assumes will be instant annihilation if he is pulled within.  Gritting his teeth, he is prepared to die to see an end to Kalarel once and for all. 

[GM Note: I tried to make Kalarel more 3-dimensional to the players through cut scenes and flashbacks, but yeah, the way the adventure is written, he’s a really boring villain with no motivation or interaction with the PCs until this fight.  I probably should have had them meet Kalarel sooner somehow and talk long before this battle takes place]. 






The wight and skeleton warrior are finally destroyed, and the rest of the party rushes to aid Kerric who has nearly died multiple times.  Brandis bends to a knee and pulls out his Flaming Blow, sending an arrow into Kalarel’s back.  Erevan’s flaming sphere has burnt the priest round after round, and with the added damage from the arrow, they see that the necromancer is finally worried about the outcome of this fight. 

Helga hits the priest hard, slamming him out of the circle and negating its regenerative properties.  Kalarel is right at the edge of the inky darkness, his face smeared with blood and…worry.  






Flames crackle around him, incinerating his cloak, blackening his skin and cooking him alive inside his plate armor.  Kerric hacks into his breastbone, and then Helga delivers a mighty roundhouse axe blow straight into the priest’s head. His helmet cracks and the blow knocks him backward into the darkness.  Inky tendrils envelope Kalarel, roping him into the portal as rich red blood gushes down his face.  

“You…promised me!” he gurgles.  “Lord Orcus…you promised me…that I would live FOREVER!”






And then he is gone, absorbed into the netherworld, his face taking on the ghastly pallor of death as his flesh crumbles to dust.  

Everyone staggers away from the portal, afraid of the thing reaching out and sucking them in too.  The glowing runes are still glowing, and after some inspection in the area, they decide that destroying the statue of Orcus and defacing every rune, symbol and relic they can find will be sufficient to seal the portal once and for all. 

Eventually they have done as much damage to the ceremonial chamber as they can possibly do.  The pool of blood is tainted, the statues are broken, and the blue runes are utterly scratched.  The glow finally dissipates, and the shadowy portal to the netherworld fades and becomes nothing more than a solid wall.   The room is searched, netting a huge bag of gold under the western altar, several scrolls with spells that Erevan has never heard of (_Presper’s Moonbow_, _Pilfer Dweomer_, and _Otto’s Tin Soldiers_), multiple rituals, and several odds and ends of magic items that are split among the group.

The fact that they all survived is miraculous, and Kerric feels that the fortune of Kelemvor and perhaps Bahamut was indeed with them all.

The group briefly discusses what more they can do in the keep before they leave.  Boss Fatty is running around somewhere, the lucky bastard, but they don’t feel like tracking him down.  There is a room with a huge Blue Slime guarding some treasure, but after their last encounter with that thing they don’t really feel like tangling with it again, especially now that they’re so depleted on resources.  

And then there is the matter of Shuck the traitorous halfling.  He’s still chained upstairs in the Cathedral of Shadow, so they agree to unbind the fat little man, but keep him tethered close.  He will be taken back to Winterhaven and handed over so that justice can be served just like it was to Ninaran. 

So, they leave the keep behind, trudging wearily up into the sunlight, leaving Sir Keegan and his ghostly twin daughters to their fates in the catacombs below, hoping that perhaps now they can finally find peace. 

But will the portal to the Shadowfell remain closed forever?  That they do not know. 

                                 *******************************

They are soon welcomed back to Winterhaven amid a crowd of cheers, waving banners and happy smiles.  News travels quickly and word of their success quickly brings out dozens and dozens of people, although most of the citizens don’t know how close their community came to utter destruction at the hands of an undead horde. 

Salvana Wrafton wraps Brandis Padraig in a hug, huskily whispering into his ear that she’ll have a “special” gift for him later.  She winks, and the warlord blinks rapidly.  His father has heard that same offer before. 






Kelrella Sweetleaf, elf minstrel, promises to write an ode to the heroes so that they will be remembered and honored for years to come.  She is genuinely DISGUSTED to learn that her harpist Shuck the Halfling was actually in cahoots with a vile necromancer.  Shuck teamed up with her in Silverymoon some months back, and must have planned to betray everyone the whole time.   She hopes he gets hanged.






Rond Kelfern, head of the militia, takes Shuck off their hands and hauls him to the jail where the Halfling will lament until they decide what to do with him.  Public execution is a likely outcome, but it’s ultimately Lord Padraig’s decision. 






Thair Coalstriker roars with laughter and wants to know exactly how many goblins they butchered.  He says this while starting right at Splug, who shies away beneath Irann’s robes.   Helga agrees to indulge Thair in their story over a brew or six.  Thair also says that he’s been working on a statue for the heroes, and although it’s not done yet, soon enough there will be a bronze effigy of them standing in the middle of town. 






Delphina Moongem wanders up, all smiles and humming merrily, and places bright flowers behind everyone’s ears, in their hair and in the cracks of armor.  Strange, strange woman, that one, but her presence reminds them of the looming date with the Frog Queen on Jade Hill when they must turn over Irontooth’s hands.  It is still a few weeks away.






Valthrun the Prescient, portly sage and scholar of Winterhaven, nods deeply at their success and hugs each of them.  “The gate has been sealed.  Winterhaven is safe again, thanks to you.” 






Bairwain Wildarson, owner and proprietor of Bairwain’s Shoppe of Rare Goods, intervenes before the party is shuffled off to the tavern for an evening of drinks, food, and merriment.  “You have my thanks as well,” he says.  “Listen, I just had a shipment arrive from a traveling merchant from the Hall of Seven Pillars.   He brought some choice goods, and I’ll sell them discount.  Come see me later.”  The party won’t argue with that offer. 






Lastly, Brandis’s father Lord Ernest Padraig pushes through the crowd, and the group is shocked to see none other than Ninaran at his side.  Furthermore, she is dressed in the holy robes as a priestess of Sune. 






“My son.  Heroes, all of you, you have my eternal gratitude.  You have saved us from a terrible fate, and you are welcome here in Winterhaven anytime you wish, free room and board.  What we have is yours.”

“But what is SHE doing out jail?” demands Brandis, scowling at the half-elf. 






Ninaran answers, although she stares at the ground as if embarrassed. “Your father has seen it fit to forgive me, and to recognize me as a…as a true daughter.”  Lord Padraig nods.  “It was not an easy decision for him, but I have sworn to redeem myself for the hardships I brought upon the people of Winterhaven.  I have devoted myself as a nun to the Temple of Sune with Sister Linora.  Together, we will work to heal the community as best we can.  It is the least I can do.”

Brandis and the others aren’t wholly convinced of the truth of her words, but Lord Padraig defends her.  

“I must learn to forgive,” Padraig says.  “I shunned this woman in the past, and others like her too I fear.  Your…mother is not pleased, I assure you that, Brandis. But we’ll discuss that later.  For now, let us retire to the fest hall and celebrate your victory!” 

Erevan, Irann, Helga, Kerric, Brandis and little Splug are ushered through the warm front doors of Wrafton’s Inn, leaving the cold purple dusk outside, and knowing for the time being, the people of Winterhaven are finally safe.  

And the heroes have earned themselves a small spot in history. 


THE END

[GM Note:  And that’s a wrap.  This was a fun adventure, I enjoyed it.  I think the players liked it too. There’s enough plot hooks to segue into the next published module, Thunderspire Labyrinth, although I've taken a detour and am running a conversion of an old adventure from Dungeon Magazine called Tallow's Deep, which so far has taken 8 sessions, much, much longer than I thought it would].

Thanks for reading!


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## The_Spider

That was a really great read, the pictures really enhanced the whole story. I hope you do this again if you do the second part.


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## Nebulous

The_Spider said:


> That was a really great read, the pictures really enhanced the whole story. I hope you do this again if you do the second part.




Well, that's the plan, Spider. Right now i'm running a small homebrew that's about 10 sessions long, and then i plan to go back to the heroes of Winterhaven and kick off Thunderspire Labyrinth at 5th level.


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## spacemonkey

Enjoyable read Nebulous.  My players just arrived at the Cathedral last night.  Next session aught to finish up the Keep.  They also recruited Splug, but they set him up as a puppet commander of the goblins they did not slaughter and traipsed around the dungeon with their own small gob firing squad


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## Elder-Basilisk

Thanks. I loved reading the story hour and was glad to be able to finish it after a long absence from the boards.


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## Falstyr

I agree with the others. Was a good read. If you don't mind I'll be using your minstrel and extra spy musician in my adventure 

Also. Where did you get those pictures from depicting the NPC's?


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## Nebulous

Thanks everyone, glad you liked it.  

@Falstyr: I downloaded those NPCs from WotC long, long ago, and printed them out in a huge binder i called "The Big Book of NPCs."  They're probably still on the site somewhere. Occasionally i'll dip into the folder, find a face i want and slap a name on him/her/it.  The side benefit is that the art style is all the same, so there's a common look for everyone.


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## Aran Thule

A very enjoyable read Nebulous, the use of pictures helped to visualize it and if was interesting to see how your group reacted to different situations.
My group just finished it ourselves (Matthew Freeman's story hour) and it seems that the main hero is... Splug, seriously i think WotC did good putting him in there as i think most parties got a lot of fun from the Splug roleplay.
A couple of questions if you dont mind, Were there any obvious bits of the adventure that you didnt like or thought were badly designed and were there any parts that suprised you?
My group found the hobgobs a lot harder then was expected but i am suspecting this is due to soldiers = grindspace, whats your opinion.


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## Nebulous

Aran Thule said:


> A very enjoyable read Nebulous, the use of pictures helped to visualize it and if was interesting to see how your group reacted to different situations.
> My group just finished it ourselves (Matthew Freeman's story hour) and it seems that the main hero is... Splug, seriously i think WotC did good putting him in there as i think most parties got a lot of fun from the Splug roleplay.
> A couple of questions if you dont mind, Were there any obvious bits of the adventure that you didnt like or thought were badly designed and were there any parts that suprised you?
> My group found the hobgobs a lot harder then was expected but i am suspecting this is due to soldiers = grindspace, whats your opinion.




Yeah, I really liked having Splug in there too.  He's also going to tag along into Thunderspire Labyrinth, so we'll see how that goes. The group actually had a lot of affection for him and worried about keeping him alive. 

As for poorly designed, i'm hesitant to say "poor" because i thought it was a good adventure for first time DMs and for showcasing a brand new system. I had to tweak it a lot by fleshing out all the NPCs, and i tried to add some encounters that weren't necessarily just fight, fight, fight. 

Making Kalarel an interesting villain, i think, is probably the biggest shortcoming of the whole adventure, and something that i didn't fully pull off to my satisfaction.  The cutscenes helped, but i should have started sooner.  If i did it again i would have Kalarel interact with the PCs near the start of the campaign via magic, taunting or goading them, etc. 

As for surprising me, the only encounter that caught me off guard was the Skeleton Trap room.  I didn't expect the PCs to go down there chasing the "ghost" and i had not read that scene in any detail prior to running it.  But i had all the maps printed weeks ahead of time, so it worked out ok. 

We didn't find the hobgoblins too bad, although things got hairy there with the Chief. But the hobbers missed a bunch of attacks, and my players are pretty good strategicians. We haven't really encountered grindspace like i read about here, but i'm especially aware of that as a possibility now so i keep an eye out for it.  (i've had some goblins commit suicide to avoid the PCs having to fight them, for example)


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## TobiasBroad

When you say printed the maps, could you tell me more about that? I had want to do that but could not work out away of geting the right size etc.


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