# Legends of Mistyka: Chapter 1 Pilgrimage



## airwalkrr (Jul 28, 2008)

_What follows is an adaptation of the very first D&D campaign I ever ran. It began as an AD&D 2nd edition campaign that eventually converted to 3rd and later 3.5. I've been keeping notes on this campaign and occassionally running adventures for it for nearly 15 years. This is a retelling of that story using many of the same characters, plus some that I wish had been around for the first run. I hope you enjoy it as much as my players and I have._

It was the end of their first tenday, and already the travelers were weary. There were four, two of them men, one of them part elf, the fourth part orc. None of them had known each other long, nor did they know much about the world in general, but this was not to define their existence for long. They had just set out upon a simple journey which they expected to last four or five tendays, but scarcely more, or so they believed.

Their mission was a simple one, as the Elder Telpen had explained to them before leaving the city of Manacea. A friend of the Elder's had expressed a desire to return to his monastery to visit with his old master, the one who had led him to enlightenment. This friend was a monk named Omar, and he suffered from amnesia. You see one year previous, Omar had been discovered in the city of Manacea lying face-first on the ground in a dark alley. He was dressed as a member of the city militia and so was supposed to be a militia man, though no militia captain claimed to have seen him before. When he was found he remembered only his name and a brief moment before he had been brought to the alley, a moment where he glanced the face of a dark-haired man with a finely chiseled chin and a green cloak. It was many tendays before it was determined by the city council that this man was not, in fact, a member of the militia but actually an orphaned monk from the Citadel of Gea to the northeast. How this man had come to the city was anyone's guess, for the monastery had not seen him for several years. It was only by chance that a passing traveler who had recently been to Gea noticed his features resembled those of a man whose description was given him while he visited with Master Galren of the Citadel.

When this information was brought to the attention of the city council, they believed the mystery of Omar's origins had finally been solved. Elder Telpen had been the one who suggested Omar's original pilgrimage to his home at Gea. As luck would have it, a monk named Tyrus who was living in the city and had trained under Master Galren was known to Telpen. He made a request of the monk that he would escort Omar back to his home at Gea where he could be among his own kind once again. Tyrus readily agreed, and, with his two comrades Mathren and Celen, began the trek to Gea.

Omar's and Tyrus' homecoming was not to be an easy one however. When they arrived at the Citadel, they found it overrun by assassins who had slain many of the monks, including Master Galren. Led by an evil priest named Andarius, the assassins had invaded the monastery to procure the Mystal of Death, a powerful artifact that was guarded by the monks. Fortunately, their mission failed, as the Mystal of Death was well hidden and the monks refused to speak. Tyrus, Mathren, Celen and Omar arrived just as Andarius was attempting to divine the location of the mystal from Master Galren's lifeless body. They disrupted the ritual and Andarius fled, cursing them for their meddling and vowing revenge.

In the months that followed, Tyrus, Mathren, and Celen hunted down the wicked Andarius, chasing him all the way to the Titan Mountains far to the north. They finally caught him in the dwarven ruins of Duomir after securing the aid of a deep gnome who called himself Bannocker, or simply "Banny" for short. With Banny's help, they learned of Andarius' plan for the mystal. A vast dwarven cemetery was located deep beneath Duomir, housing the bones and weapons of both legendary dwarves and their enemies. Andarius wished to use the Mystal of Death to create an undead army from these remains. When they finally approached the entrance to Andarius' mausoleum, the vile cleric assaulted them with black magic, leaving them all but destroyed. However, Andarius fared no better, and he barely escaped with his life. After they had recovered, the heroes laid waste to Andarius' lair, destroying all of his studies on the mystal and its necromantic applications. His terrible plot had been thwarted.

*****​


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## airwalkrr (Jul 28, 2008)

Andarius has not been heard from since his defeat at Duomir. Celen believed he was mortally wounded from the battle and could not have possibly survived. Mathren believed otherwise, that Andarius would one day return. Tyrus equivocated on the matter. He was uncertain either way, but wisdom led him to prepare for the worst.

Tyrus returned to the Gea Citadel where he took over Galren's duties as master of the place. He took the hapless and confused Omar under his wing and taught him many things, though he could never quite recover his past. The monks who knew anything about Omar had been slain in Andarius' attack, leaving many questions about Omar's life unanswered. However, in time, Tyrus taught Omar to find peace in his life, though Omar never found the discipline to return to the life of a monk. Eventually Omar decided to return to the city where he had been found and resume his life as a militiaman.

Mathren return to his home town of Dillarak with spoils from Andarius' lair and retired into the lap of luxury. However, he soon squandered his wealth on various schemes and returned to a life of thievery and vice to maintain his style of living. He soon became an influential member of the local thieves' guild and managed to buy his way into a town council seat.

Celen had wandered off into the horizon without giving any indications of his heading. He had always been more of a loner, and his wanderlust consumed him before long. He took his portion of the booty from Andarius' lair and used it to commission a fine lute from one of the greatest artisans in Manacea before embarking on his journey. It was said that his lute played such beautiful music as to inspire an entire army. And it is said Celen used it to do just that on at least one occassion. He has been spotted as far away as Allistia and no one seems to know where he will turn up next, but his appearances are often accompanied by flamboyant displays of eccentricity.


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## airwalkrr (Jul 29, 2008)

It had been nearly a year since Omar had last seen Tyrus and the Citadel of Gea where he learned to find peace with his new life. He enjoyed his work with the city militia; he was good at it. He felt at home with the other men and women who protected the city from bandits and other external dangers. Still he retained within his heart a sense that his purpose was not being fulfilled. So it was after many months in Manacea, he began making plans to visit his master.

It was Elder Telpen's idea really. The gentle old man had taken to looking after Omar and helping him establish himself in the city. After all, Omar knew no one else and Telpen had always been charitable towards the orphaned; it was what led him to adopt his precious daughter Violecia. Telpen had arranged a charter house for Omar and invited the man to his home for a meal and a chat once every tenday. Omar had been grateful to the old man for this kindness, and so it happened that he confided in him one night his yearning to learn more about his past. He was no longer troubled by it, for he had attained peace and held no anger in his heart. However, he felt strongly as if there were a neglected duty in his life. More and more, he began to feel that perhaps he had left Gea too soon. One night Telpen helped affirm what he had been feeling.

"When will you be leaving?" the old man asked.

"Oh, well, I wasn't really..." Omar trailed off.

"Now don't be foolish, young man," his elder scolded, "You know as well as I do that there is something more to you. And so I insist. I will even help you. I have made acquaintance with a small band of young folk, the adventurous sort. They seem eager to explore the world and Gea is farther than they have ever traveled, yet close enough to be reasonably safe for such inexperienced ones such as them. I will recommend they accompany you on your journey."

There was little else for Omar to say. He knew the old man was right. In his heart he knew how Telpen would react and suspected that he subconsciously desired it himself.

"It is a sign of wisdom to confide in those wiser than yourself," Telpen assured him, "Take heart that you are doing the right thing."

The next day Omar was introduced to a towering brute who called himself Bostow and his two relatively unassuming companions Alexa and Hectar. Bostow had a heavy lower jaw, and his canine teeth were almost tusk-like, an almost certain sign of orcish blood. The young woman Alexa was beautiful, with silky black hair cut shoulder-length, a lute strapped to her back, and garbed in a vest and leather chaps. Her eyes were deep green as the sea, and he noticed her ears were a bit more elongated than he was accustomed to. Not an elf, but perhaps one of her parents? The other fellow was quiet, but exuded an air of confidence. His dusty blond hair was his only defining feature, aside from his youth, and he carried with him a shield emblazoned with the Starburst of Radiar. Omar could only suppose that this one was a fighting priest, a holy warrior of the Radiant Church.

"Ah, your new traveling companions," Telpen beamed as he presented the group to Omar. The blond man nodded solemnly. The woman cracked a smile. The hulking ox of a man merely grunted... and glared.

"I realize they are a motley crew, but I believe you will find they serve you as bravely as Tyrus and the others did those many months ago," Telpen explained.

The bulky half-orc strode forward and held up his nose, "I serve no one, old man."

"Of course not!" the elder replied tactfully, "you shall all be equal members of the group, sharing in each other's burdens and bounties alike. At any rate, it should be profitable both in treasure and in experience, both of which would suit you well."

This response was met with something akin to a growl as the one known as Bostow stepped back and began to pick his teeth with a large hunting knife.

"Now I hope you don't find it too presumptuous of me," the old man began again, gesturing to a pile of goods and packs upon the table, "but I've taken the liberty of gathering a few provisions and tools for your journey ahead. Gea isn't far, but it never hurts to be prepared. Omar is almost like a son to me, you see, and I do wish to see him returned safely."

"Oh it's not presumptuous at all," the young woman replied cheerfully, "it seems that the stories we've heard of the generous Elder Telpen have not been exaggerated. Tales are told far and wide of your welcome patronage of adventurers, and we are quite grateful. We will put the supplies to good use."

The young man with blond hair merely nodded again towards the elder. He did not seem prone to using words.

"Well it seems that everything is in order," Telpen said, "Take care, my son. I shall miss you. I wish you well in your travels. I hope this journey answers more questions for you than the last."

At this the old man grasped Omar around the shoulders in an embrace which was heartily returned.

"Thank you, wise one," Omar replied, "I shall return with answers this time, even if I must venture to the mountains of Eindore themselves."

*****​


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## airwalkrr (Jul 29, 2008)

And that was how the journey had begun. The four companions were now nearing the midway point to their journey. There had not been much excitement along the road to Gea. The occassional farmer or woodsmen had crossed their path. They even met with a local ranger who was on the hunt. But that was the extent of it.

"I'm bored of this trip already," Alexa exclaimed as their first tenday drew to a close. "We haven't seen so much as a rabid animal on this whole trip!"

"I do hunger for battle," was the curt half-orc's reply.

Omar balked at his companions' bloodlust, "I have found there is usually far more in combat to regret than to revel in. We should be thankful to the gods for our peaceful journey so far."

"But I want to see some excitement," Alexa complained. "I didn't offer to go on this trip just to get some exercise. I figured there would be monsters, or highway bandits at least!"

Hectar was solemn and quiet as always. He did not even bat an eye towards the others' conversation. What he did notice was that the glade they were passing through was growing thicker and with the sun nearing the horizon, it was growing dark quickly. "We should make camp," he blurted out.

His companions all turned to face him. On the rare occasions that he spoke they listened. They all wandered a short ways off the path until they found a suitable clearing then they began to divest their packs. Bostow began assembling the tents while Alexa went to work on a fire. Omar headed out to look for a stream from which to gather water. Hectar, for his part, did nothing that seemed to contribute to the camp. Instead he sat on the open ground and began to meditate for a short while. He soon broke into a deep chant after which he stood.

"The camp is warded," he said plainly, then entered into one of the tents Bostow had completed.

*****​


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## airwalkrr (Jul 31, 2008)

By the time Omar returned with skins full of water, the fire was roaring, the tents were pitched, and Hectar was already sleeping fast. Bostow stood warming some kind of stew by the flame while Alexa strummed a lovely tune from her lute. When she saw Omar approaching she smiled and began to sing of times past.

_Sit now, friends, and hear my tale,
a story told beyond this vale,
a mighty king, his majesty,
was laid for all the world to see.

Laotitus was his name,
from noble birth and place he came,
was borne a fire in his heart,
for poetry and wondrous art.

The Bard-King some have called him oft,
a ruler fancied with his craft,
a patron of the finer things,
'tis said even in death he sings.

His subjects loved him dearly so,
he lavished them with grace and prose,
he stood from balc'nies great and high,
to tell his stories through the night.

Cherished long his reign was held,
a renaissance, they loved it well,
the playwrights, poets, songsters all,
came running quick to heed his call.

A masterpiece he would erect,
King Laotitus to perfect,
the grandest hall in all the land,
he pledged to craft by his own hand.

He summoned artisans from 'round,
the world to hear his trumpet sound,
as he embarked upon the task,
t'would make him glory in to bask.

The years went by, the king grew old,
but still his masterpiece he told,
would dazzle all the greatest men,
and ne'er such would be seen again.

So as he neared his hundredth year,
an ending of the job was clear,
and once again he called the great,
for his unveiling grandeur date.

But as he'd toiled hard and long,
to 'dorn the hall with finest song,
a weakness orcs had spotted then,
they could exploit the city to win.

So as he set to celebrate,
the city walls came down not late,
and 'fore the king could show his work,
the orcs laid waste to his effort.

As Laotitus mortal lay,
his great work ne're saw light of day,
for pride had come and made him blind,
to dangers real within his time.

A cautionary tale, 'tis true,
a warning told to me and you,
spend not all days in craft and art,
lest orcs should come to tear you 'part._

Omar had been sitting quietly listening to this tale ever since he had returned. Alexa had a marvelous singing voice and her melodies were soothing to his ears. He was also struck by her beauty and charm. This was the first night she had sung, and he was glad. She must have known how dreary the journey was becoming for all of them.

"Bunch of hogwash," Bostow grunted, "propaganda against orc-kind if you ask me. The very idea," he said hotly, flicking out a thick piece of meat that had become stuck in his teeth during the song, "as if orcs can't appreciate art."

*****​


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## airwalkrr (Aug 6, 2008)

Hectar sat up suddenly in his tent. His alarm had been tripped and woken him with a mental ringing. Something was approaching the camp. He grabbed his armor and mace and darted outside to his startled companions' surprise.

"Someone is approaching," he said softly, beginning to strap on his scale armor.

Bostow reached for his heavy axe while Alexa grabbed her short bow. Omar stood at the ready. He had been well-versed in the ways of hand-to-hand combat and did not require a weapon to be a deadly threat. No sooner had they leapt to their feet than a loud "twang" rang out from the trees as an arrow went whizzing past them and straight into the center of their dying fire. It was clearly a warning shot. Whoever had fired the arrow was making it very plain that any one of them could be next.

"Your money or your life," a voice from the darkness called, "and I won't ask you twice."

Hectar moved to retrieve a torch and lit it on the embers in the fire. As it blazed up, the forest revealed a cadre of elven archers, longbows at the ready, all trained upon the camp. There must have been at least a score or more of them. The odds against them succeeding in combat were slim to none. Even Bostow, his heart longing for glorious battle, could see that this was not the time to pick a fight, and he lowered his axe, as did the others with their weapons.

"I see you are wiser than the last travelers," the lead elf explained, moving up and signaling for his fellow elves to divest the group of their weapons, "their blood was needlessly spilt. I assure you once your purses are ours we will pester you no longer."

"Elves!" Alexa exclaimed in surprised disgust, "I've never known elves to stoop to petty robbery. Have you gone mad?"

"These are no common elves," Bostow replied with a snarl, bearing his tusks angrily at the aggressors, "see the war paint about their faces. These are wild elves, unbeholden to man or elf, they do as they please, recklessly gavanting about the forest with no purpose."

"Strong words for a half-man," the lead elf replied, "your other half isn't even worth mentioning."

Bostow growled at the insinuation and made a violent posture towards the lead elf, "You return my axe and I'll show you exactly what my 'other half' can do."

"Whoa now!" Omar cautioned, "there is no need for this. It is only money after all, Bostow; money we can earn back. Let these petty brigands go with what they want that we may be safely on our way."

"You should listen to your human friend," the lead elf smirked, "rather than your bestial nature."

The half-orc snarled again, but Omar held his companion back. "Please gentlemen, no more of these senseless threats and posturing. Here," he said, gathering the purses of his allies and moving towards the lead elf, "this is all we have. Take it and go."

*****​


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## arcanaman (Aug 6, 2008)

Love and I took the song


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## airwalkrr (Aug 8, 2008)

_Laotitus is a titular figure in my world. Expect to hear more about him both here and in the pbp._


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## airwalkrr (Aug 13, 2008)

_I do apologize. Forum woes have been keeping me from posting. Expect an update by Thursday evening._


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## airwalkrr (Aug 15, 2008)

The next moment was over in an instant. Omar tossed the purse in the air and bowled into the elf, disarming him of his bow, snatching his nocked arrow, and holding the elf up to the now restrained elf's neck. "Go ahead and fire," he said to the other antagonists, "your arrows will pierce your friend before they pierce me."

The elves hesitated for a moment, then lowered their bows. With a deep-chested growl, Bostow yanked his axe from the hands of a nearby elf who seemed only too happy to let it go. The half-orc made a sudden posturing to scare the elf off as he returned to the center of the camp. Omar held the elf fast, "Gather the camp," Omar instructed, "let's be gone from this place now."

Then, under his breath to the elf he added, "And I don't wish for us to be followed. If I see you again this arrowhead will do more than give you a close shave."

The others quickly put their things back into knapsacks. Bostow went from elf to elf, grabbing their bows and snapping them in half. "Now then," Omar said with a bow once preparations to leave had been made, "we will take our leave of your lovely forest."

With that, their party scampered out of the woods as fast as their legs could carry them. They marched and trudged and tromped all through the night without stopping for fear that the elves would return with a counter-attack. When at last day was beginning to break they slowed their pace, exhausted from the overnight haul. They didn't even manage to pitch their tents before they were all fast asleep. They slept well into the day, past noon, without even so much as a watch. But the elves did not follow. Whatever the reason for the attempted robbery, it seemed the danger had passed.


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