# The Swordlands - updated 28th May; The Hanged Man



## Mathew_Freeman (Sep 11, 2008)

The campaign Wiki for this campaign, along with some great artwork can be found at The Swordlands but I wanted to share my campaign log with everyone here at ENWorld, too.

For the record, the party set-up is as follows:
Karl, Gnome Rogue & Death Dealer
Sigurd, Human Wizard & Divine Oracle
Aengus, Eladrin Fey-pact Warlock/Swordmage Hybrid
Oelorn, Human Paladin & Hospitaller
Iben, Human Ranger Barbarian (deceased)
Aldis, Dragonborn Paladin (absent from the campaign)
and my own character The Promise of Distant Thunder, a Warforged Cleric

The campaign is loosely Norse-themed, and we're playing in London, UK on a vaguely monthly basis. I hope you enjoy it.

So without further ado, I present:


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## Mathew_Freeman (Sep 11, 2008)

*Pre-Game Introduction*

The northman looked out of place amongst the wealth and trappings of civilisation, but his host, the trophy hunter, who had so enjoyed hearing his stories had insisted on lavishing food, wine, and fineries upon him. Iben's account of his encounter at sea had captivated him such that he had commissioned an artist to conjure a fanciful likeness of the beast, complete with razor sharp talons and monsytrous jaws, dismissing Iben's protest that he had not actually seen the monster's head, if indeed it even had one.

"Well my friend!" declared Lord Wyvernhoe standing hands on hips before the portrait, "The one piece missing from my collection. You have found me a dragon, and no mistake! I shall have it's head, and you shall lead me to it!"

Within a week a frigate was chartered. The Aurora , a ship of war bedecked with harpoons and bristling with armaments such that a pirate prince would shudder at the prospect of facing her on the open sea. Busy about the deck, a crew of veteran mariners full of rude talk, each one with a keen eye for trouble and profit. And, come the unexpected, a party of adventurers of varied talents who had each been met with offers of highly paid work, enough to take them out onto the high seas in search of monsters. The captain, Lord Wyvernhoe himself, had sailed the seas far and wide in his day, yet he had never seen nor heard of the distant land which the curious northman had arrived. This fact intrigued him nearly as much as the marvellous prize he imagined he would soon boast.

Several months passed at sea. With the clement harbours of Concordance far behind them the waters grew wild and the weather came upon them. With no sign of land nor quarry it happened that the crew took to muttering, cursing their captain and his inane folly, for they did not take to rationing with their sponsor so laden with gold. A ship wrecker of a night it was when Wyvernhoe, far in his cups, came stumbling into the midsts of just such a meeting.

"You worthless dogs!" He shouted, "With our prey near abouts, you find time to plot and connive! Look upon this fine party of fellows over there. They are all accustomed to hardship and deprivation, they understand that great rewards lie ahead and they do not idle themselves in cheap talk! Come the morning I'll have you flogged for your dissent!" Maybe it was small consolation that the sailors were spared a whipping, for that night the beast they hunted came upon them.

Deep beneath the rolling black waters, a dim glow appeared rising, growing larger and brighter until the barnacled hull of the Aurora shimmered with ghostly radiance from below. The ship's bell rang, and as the crew leapt from their hammocks there came an almighty crash. The ship lifted in its entirety into the air before shattering it's timbers like tinder. The crew were hurled in all directions into the icy water, where they were dragged down amidst wreckage and ruin to a watery grave.

A few among them made the surface, and as they emerged they glimpsed a colossal serpentine from, it's coils, long enough to encircle the remains of the Aurora many time around, were lit with scintillating patterns of phosphorescent light, glowing points on the tips of many long fronds that decorated it's body. The survivors struggled helplessly as the body of the beast rolled and turned with effortless grace around them before the waves consumed it, the phantom light spiralling down into the depths of the northern ocean.

Fortunately for the adventurers who had survived the attack, the Aurora's small craft remained intact and now drifted a short swim away. Without oars they soon learned that the vessel hosted a bound elemental within it's rear mounted figurehead which, when properly commanded, would heave a gust of wind into a single sail and thus propel boat and crew forwards. With the nearest land some way to the north the decision was quickly reached to continue on before the beast struck again.


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## Mathew_Freeman (Sep 11, 2008)

*After The Wreck*

The waters were still full of froth and foam, the aftermath of the Sea Dragon's attack leaving Sigurd floundering in the ocean. Spotting that the Aurora's keelship had survived, she managed to swim over and began to pull herself onboard. An arm, clad in unworked hide, was draped over the side, not moving. As she hauled herself up and onto the deck, she spotted Iben lying almost comatose, the motion of the boat rolling him too and fro.

Sigured flopped to safety, praying to Melora that the beast wouldn't return and destroy this, their only hope of survival. A few minutes later and the diminutive figure of Karl, the Gnome that had been travelling onboard, also made his way onto the boat. Finally, Aengus managed to gain purchase on the side, almost slipping as a particularly large swell caught them, and with the assistance of the others was able to gain the haven of the ship. Of the other passengers and sailors there was no sign in the dim light. The four of them collapsed, exhausted from their ordeal.

Later, as the son rose, they revived a little, exploring the vessel that had saved them. It was noticed that there were some supplies in crates, along with water and several hundred gold pieces of trade goods. There was also a chest stored there, bearing the insignia of Lord Wyvernhoe. Both Karl and Aengus tried to open it, bu the lock was too strong for them. [1] Some good-natured argument ensued as to the relevant methods of lock-picking, made slightly hysterical in the aftermath of a near-death experience.

The dawn brought a wondrous sight to their eyes. Ahead of them, to the North, lay a glittering wall of ice. It stretched as far as they could see East and West, blocking the route North. Dimly, beyond, Iben could see the distant mountains of his homeland, but for now the immediate problem was how to navigate through this imposing wall.

Sigurd had been working on the boat. During their time on the Aurora, she had learned that it needed no oars, instead being powered by an enslaved air elemental concealed within the figurehead at the stern. With some arcane words of encouragement [2], the elemental began to blow air into the sail and the ship moved slowly North, towards the Ice Wall. Iben joined Sigurd at the tiller, happy to steer the ship with Karl and Aengus' direction.

As the Ice Wall drew nearer, cave entrances became apparent. Some were very small, but other loomed high, and the ship passed easily inside the Wall itself. Once inside, the level of light dropped dramatically until Sigurd, gesturing over the magical Orb she carried, was able to conjure forth light of her own. It did not reach far, but it gave the four enough light to continue to navigate.

Staring down into the water, Iben could see Dragon Fish swimming beneath them. The fish, some as much as two or three feet long, had sharp teeth and a nasty temprement. Every year some unlucky fisherman lost a hand or arm to the deadly creatures. However Iben, showing either bravery or foolhardiness, resolved to catch one. In due course it was flopping around in the ship, pinned to the deck by a spear, before Iben darted in, slit it's throat and offered it up with a prayer to Skaadi, Goddess of the Hunt. Clutching one of the many amulets around his neck, he muttered a prayer and offered it up, hoping for a sign of favour from her.

In the distance, another light gleamed, revealing, on the edge of vision, another boat.

[1] Two characters, both with a good Dex score, both trained in Thievery - both end with a total of 19 on their skill checks!
[2] And a successful Arcana check, of course.


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## Mathew_Freeman (Sep 11, 2008)

*Inside The Icewall*

Distantly, the other boat's light disappeared behind another twist of the icy channel that they sailed down. As it narrowed, they began to pick up speed, the current becoming a little more fierce. Timbers and wreckage drifted in the sea – the final remnants of the Aurora. The darkness closed in on them as the ice thickened above, blocking the sunlight. Only Sigurd's light, kept low, and Aengus' fey-born ability to see in the dark kept them on course.

The boat swung around a tight bend, and looming out of the darkness the final fate of the Aurora could be seen. The figurehead of the sunken ship had broken free and crashed through a wall here, splintering the ice and causing a cave-in. Through the new gap in the wall, a strange light could be seen shining. Looking through, Aengus could see a large cavern, previously untouched, and illuminated by a shaft of sunlight spearing down through a crack in the ceiling. Stalactites and stalacmites, together with columns of ice several feet thick, filled the space, and the water lapped gently against the shore. Peering more attentively, Aengus spotted what looked like a statue, stood half-buried in ice, upon the floor of the cavern.

Curious as to what this all might mean, the group decided to enter. Their ship sailed gently inside, and Iben was able to moor it using a spear as a mooring-point. The statue was embedded up to it's knees in ice. [1]

It was of humanoid shape, tall and quite thickset, wearing ancient looking chainmail armour. A large morningstar was gripped in one hand, and Sigurd recognised the symbol of the God Kord on it's chest. The figure gave off an aura of calm meditation, although there was something about that made everyone a little nervous.

Karl went ashore first as the lightest member of the group, testing the ground. Finding it stable, he waved the others forward and they approached the statue. Aengus came to a sudden realisation – this was no statue, but a Warforged. He had never seen one before, but tales told in Concordance spoke of sentient constructs, built for war in times gone past. Now he was up close, he could see that behind the helmet two dim glows were visible – the Warforged was certainly active once, and might even be revived now. Looking over the armour and Holy Symbol again, Aengus suggested the Warforged must be several hundred years old.

Sigurd's natural curiosity got the better of her. Stepping forward, she reached out and touched the statue. A shimmering blue light spread from the eye sockets, running throughout the creature, and into the ice below. The ice shattering off it, the head began to turn.

[1] Joe, the DM, was kind enough to work with me to give me this very unique entry into the campaign. More details of exactly how I ended up frozen in ice will hopefully become apparent.


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## Mathew_Freeman (Sep 11, 2008)

*The Warforged Stirs*

The blue light spread throughout the Warforged's body, illuminating each joint and link. As it reached the floor, it began to spread out across the room, racing across the snow and ice to several other pillars and shapes. Slowly looking from one figure to another, the Warforged appeared to come to some sort of decision. It's mouth opened, and for the first time in more than two hundred years, it spoke.

"Designation: Ally" it stated, staring at Iben. Iben realised that it was looking at the religious icons that he wore around his neck. Quickly, he found an icon of Kord and raised it. "Ally!" he called out.

The Warforged looked down at it's own feet, seeing the ice melting away around it. Letting the morningstar fall to the ground, it stretched out it's arms and shook the accumulated weight of years free from it. Splintering and cracking, the encasing ice fell away slowly, raising a small cloud of ice-dust on the floor. The blue light went with it, spreading further out into the room and flooding the columns of ice that surrounded everyone. At the feet of the Warforged, a symbol of magical power glowed briefly in the floor.

With a loud crack, one column shattered in place! Breaking out from inside was a skeletal figure, clad in the remnant's of armour and clutching a battered axe. It's head turned towards Karl, the nearest living creature to it and it began to advance.

Within seconds, several more loud cracks and crunches heralded the arrival of several more skeletons from around the room, one wading through the water to approach. Dimly, Aengus could hear sounds of more movement from further within the cavern, echoing through the ice.

The Warforged turned it's attention to the skeletons, turning slowly to face the nearest. "Designation: Foe!" it cried out, snatching up the morningstar from it's side and taking a step to form a defensive line with Aengus. The others all drew weapons as well, instinctively closing up a little.

With a terrible rattle of bones and the click of feet on ice, the skeletons attacked!


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## Mathew_Freeman (Sep 11, 2008)

*The Skeletons Attack*

Reacting quickest of all, Karl ran towards one skeleton and buried his shortsword into it's ribcage, shattering it[1]. Although the skeleton faltered in it's approach for a moment, the necrotic energy driving it on still raged, and it raised it's weapon high. However Aengus, from his position next to the newly-awakened Warforged, called forth a spear of brilliant green and flung it from his hand, and the skeleton collapsed into the snoww. Aengus then moved off to one side, his form fading into the background and he invoked the power of his fey pact.

Two more skeletons attacked the Warforged, blades shining in the light. Smashing his morningstar into one of them, he invoked his Righteous Brand, gesturing for Iben to follow up his attack. Two arrows sped from Iben's bow in as many seconds, and another skeleton crumbled away. The second, however, proved a more elusive foe, it's confident movements and sharp attacks causing the Warforged to suffer a scrape along one arm.

Sigurd, standing near the boat on an icy ledge, turned to see two more skeletons climbing out of the water, their rictus grins promising nothing but pain should they reach her. With a yell, she cast a Thunderwave and a roar of sound struck them both, causing snow to explode out in all directions. One managed to get it's shield in the way, blocking the damage, but the other was pushed back and shaken, falling prone on the edge. It's bones almost cracked under the pressure, but it managed to climb back to it's feet, the light glittering off the icy patches on it's skull.

The skeletons moved in as a group, striking swiftly at those nearest to them. Karl, in particular, found a new foe engaging him and Sigurd, wounding him in the shoulder. With a simple turn and gesture, the Warforged called out a Healing Word, and Karl was astonished to find the wound closing up. He grinned back at the skeleton, hefting his blade and matching it stroke for stroke.

Staying on the edge of the battle. Aengus threw another magical spear, this time managing to curve it around his ally to strike home [2]. Karl, taking advantage of the distraction, slipped into a flanking position with a shouted "Thank you, my Lord!" and attacked his foe from behind as it attempted to slice Sigurd in two. Sigurd, in turn, had made a patch of ground even more icy, causing the skeleton standing upon it to pick it's way carefully toward her rather than running forwards.

All the time, the sound of marching feet was coming from further into the cavern. Were reinforcements arriving? And for who?

Still standing where he had been discovered, the Warforged smashed forwards into the swift skeleton he faced, and as he connected a thunderous roar sounded in the cavern, causing a fine mist of ice to fall from the ceiling [3]. This magical augmentation of his strike dazed his foe, and Iben was able to swiftly dart round behind it, drawing a pair of axes as he went, and do more damage. Finally, with a muttered blessing, the Warforged charged his weapon with fire and swept it through the skeleton's ribcage, crushing it utterly. The fire spread throughout the rest of it's bones, and they quickly burnt to ash. [4]

The tide of battle turned, and Sigurd, Karl and Aengus quickly dispatched the remaining two skeletons, with Iben scoring the final blow. His arrow penetrated the skull of the last skeleton, and the light in it's eyes faded as it slumped to the ground.

As each combatant took a second to catch their breath, the Warforged pointed towards the back of the cavern. Following his gaze, the group could see a further legion of skeletons emerging, and with further cracks and more splintering of ice, more foes started to push their way out of the ice and began to move towards them. The situation looked bleak.

[1] First combat roll of the campaign, and it comes up a critical! What's more, with sneak attack damage added in, Karl did nearly 25 points of damage with his first strike. We were all a little concerned when that wasn't enough to down it!
[2] Cue much joking about "Curving the bullet" a la the film _Wanted_.
[3] First critical for me! My lucky red dice comes through again.
[4] The attack actually missed, but with _Avenging Flame_ doing half damage on a miss it was enough to take it out.


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## Mathew_Freeman (Sep 11, 2008)

*An Orderly Withdrawl*

"Back to the boat!" hollered Aengus, as the new skeletal legion closed in. Further cracking noises in the darkness, combined with the continuing stamp of bony feet from behind the ranks, made everyone swift to comply.

Iben cut the rope holding the boat in place as each person climbed aboard. For a second he wondered at allowing the Warforged aboard – could he really be trusted? – but then thinking of his actions and the way he had healed Karl made his mind up.

Sigurd spoke again to the elemental powering the boat, bidding it take them with all speed back out of the cavern and on their way. With a mighty breath, the boat leapt away from the ice-ledge, skeletons pouring forwards after it. The cavern ceiling and walls began to crack and splinter under the strain, chunks of ice raining down from above. The boat scraped through the opening back into the fast-flowing current outside, riding over the remains of the Aurora for the final time and leaving that doomed boat behind forever.

Any hopes that the skeletons would be left behind as well was soon dashed, however. Caves in the Icewall all around them soon had more figures emerging from them, all clutching weapons. Several leapt down into the boat as it passed, and battle was joined once more. Iben smashed one back with an axe as Aengus fired another green spear. The skeleton he was aiming at ducked, and Sigurd cursed to see a neat hole burned in their sail. Within seconds, however, Karl had struck down the swift-moving foe and ditched it over the side.

At the front of the boat, the Warforged knelt, one hand holding his morningstar. "My Lord Kord!" he called out. "Grant us safe passage through this day, so that we may do your bidding furthermore!" As if to emphasise his point, a skeleton that had been quietly trying to board the boat on one side was smashed back into the water by a mailed fist, the Warforged glaring down at it.

Looking behind, Sigurd spotted another boat of similar size following them. Peering through the gloom, it appeared that black-clad figures were fighting on that boat, too, but they also seemed to have time to draw bows and fire across the water at them.

"Ware arrows!" cried Sigurd, ducking down. The shower of arrows rattled into the boat, but did no lasting harm. Finally, with further exhortations to speed and despite a few more skeletons attempting to hitch a ride, the boat suddenly burst free into clear water, leaving the ice behind. Looking around, it appeared that both the skeletons and the persuing boat had been left behind in the Icewall.

The armour, weapons and bones of their foes still littered the bottom of the boat. The Warforged, Karl and Aengus sifted through them, finally coming to the conclusion that there were at least three different factions amongst the skeletons from clues found in the insignia worn. The bones were dumped overboard, but the armour and weapons kept for possible resale. The sun shining down on them, they set sail for Himinborg.


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## crater (Sep 11, 2008)

Inside The Ice Wall


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## crater (Sep 11, 2008)

The Cavern of the Warforged


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## crater (Sep 11, 2008)

A Fanciful Likeness Of The Beast


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## MichaelKnife (Sep 11, 2008)

Nice stuff chaps. Looking forward to session 2. 

oh and look my first ever post. I lurk no longer.

Michael Knife playing Sigurd Smyrja


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## Blackrat (Sep 12, 2008)

Wow, that part about your warforged waking was awesome. Must've been fun to play through .


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## Mathew_Freeman (Sep 12, 2008)

MichaelKnife said:


> Nice stuff chaps. Looking forward to session 2.
> 
> oh and look my first ever post. I lurk no longer.
> 
> Michael Knife playing Sigurd Smyrja




Hi Michael - nice to see you here! Thanks for posting.


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## Mathew_Freeman (Sep 12, 2008)

Blackrat said:


> Wow, that part about your warforged waking was awesome. Must've been fun to play through .




Yup, I'm very grateful to crater for allowing me to set the adventure up like that. I think several other players have similar interesting backstories that will come to light, so stay tuned for more adventures.


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## Blackrat (Sep 12, 2008)

Oh definetly. I got a certain Conan/Beouwulf feeling of this so far . Don't know what it is, but it definetly gives a Viking/Germanic vibes .


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## FloatingDisc (Sep 12, 2008)

Hurrah! Very enjoyable so far, Tallarn! The combat scene lived up to my expectations, as did the description of Promise's awakening. Very cinematic! You and crater should both be proud of a unique moment in roleplaying history, or at least the in the minds and memories of those present. 

For those interested, I play Iben, the superstitious, multi-pantheonic(?) ranger. carter worked with me as well to create an interesting backstory that will come to light as the campaign progresses. For now I'll just say that he's not paranoid and superstitious for nothing.


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## Mathew_Freeman (Sep 22, 2008)

*Kindraed*

The ancient settlement of Kindraed has stood here on the black sandy shores of the Kindersee for hundreds of years in the shadow of a dark mountain known as Aelfborg. The presence of Aelfheim touches upon every aspect of the lives of the Kindraeder. They offer wine to the spirits of the woods so that in their revelry they will leave the hunters unharmed, they sing to the stars, whose reflections in the night sea are the spirits of the fallen, and they burn effigies to keep malignant spirits deep within the mountain, as it is said to have been cursed long ago.

The wind, the waves, rain and fire, night and day, Alfheim is as much a part of this world as all the gods in the heavens, for whether malevolent or benign, the spirits must be tempered with ancient practices that lie at the heart of this community.

The 13 houses of Kindraed are large and round, built from stones and mud about a central hearth. The villagers are skilled in their crafts, old crones shrouded in coarse black cloth gut dragonfish with a razor sharp knife in their wizened hands. Fishermen cast their nets far across the green waters of the Kindersee, and mother work their looms with spit and spindle while the children tend their fathers pigs in muddy pens on the slopes of the mountain.


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## FloatingDisc (Oct 10, 2008)

*Shadow over Kindraed*

The party sailed through the night toward the fishing village of Kindraed, though it quickly became apparent that the damage done to the main sail by Aengus's errant magic was severe indeed. They came to a decision to set ashore earlier than intended and travel overland to Kindraed rather than row all the way around the spit. The warforged valiantly volunteered to tow the boat behind himself along the shore, and to meet them at Kindraed. That was how they left him after putting ashore, walking grimly into the waves, tow-rope in hand. Slowly the boat lurched after him, seeming to the unaware observer as though it must be crewed by ghosts. 

After a short overland trek, the group – sans warforged –  crested the wooded rise above Iben's home town of Kindraed, and all stopped in shocked silence at the sight before them. Kindraed was burning! Iben let out a muffled cry of horror as he raced headlong down the snowy slope towards the town, the others following close behind. As he got closer, the hunter noticed that the boahouse was burning; the town's only wooden building. The townspeople had gathered around and were working quickly to contain the blaze that had already engulfed the building's high walls. Ignoring his fellow townsfolk's exclamations of surprise at his sudden return, Iben rushed towards the stricken boathouse. The Kindraeders were shouting something about raiders, but Iben dismissed them as fanciful: Raiders had never dared to strike so close to Himmenborg. From within the boathouse came cries of fear. The villagers were clearly busy with the fire itself, and so it fell to the adventurers to attempt a rescue. Thinking quickly, Sigurd conjured forth a magical ray of ice, temporarily making a safe entrance to the burning building via the window. The party barreled through and once inside quickly located the fisherman, Ingo, trapped inside. 

Meanwhile, Karl Il-Tannith, the gnome, was hanging back on the wooded hillside above the town. He kept his keen eyes peeled, scouting for any danger that might present itself, or any clue to the mystery of the burning boathouse. So preoccupied by his task was he that he scarcely noticed the approaching thump thump thump of approaching footsteps. A moment later Karl was almost bowled over as a massive blue-skinned humanoiid thundered past him towards the town! He made out a strange cluster of spikes across the creature's shoulders, and a crude club that looked as though it had been fashioned from an uprooted tree. Cursing himself for his lack of awareness, Karl gave chase to the creature, taking care not to attract it's attention. To Karl's horror, the blue beast crashed headlong through the side of the burning boathouse, the very building into which Karl's companions had disappeared just moments earlier!


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## FloatingDisc (Oct 10, 2008)

*A mystery in the mountain*

Aengus, the eladrin spell-slinger, whirled about at the massive crash and gasped at the sight of horrid beast that now presented itself, roaring strange words in a harsh alien dialect. Aengus had scant seconds to assess the situation: Iben and Sigurd were trying to free the trapped fisherman, tied by his ankles upside down from the ceiling, and Karl the gnome was nowhere to be seen. He decided to play for time. "Hail!" Aengus called out, revealing his position on the first story walkway above the beast's head, "Can you understand me?" The creature swung it's great shaggy head about, quickly locating the eladrin on his rapidly disintegrating perch. To Aengus' great surprise, the creature responded in some rough alien tongue, it's taloned fingers curling into a fist as it spoke. Aengus decided then to stop wasting time on pleasantries and summoned forth magical energy, using his innate ties to the feywild. Crackling green energy coiled around his slender arm, which he directed down towards blue beast. The beast was taken by surprise, and staggered to one side as the luminous missile tore into it's flank. Karl saw a chance and took it, coming up behind the blue beast and sinking his dagger into the creature's unprotected back. The beast howled with pain and frustration. Aengus showed his awareness was no less keen than the gnome's, and unleashed a second spear of energy directly into the blue beast's face. The torrent of eldritch power lanced directly through the eye and burst out the back of the creature's skull. It collapsed, utterly lifeless, into the flames, but not before Karl could pluck one of the rune-inscribed skulls from it's loincloth for later inspection. 

Sigurd and Iben quickly had the fisherman down and took outside where his fellow Kindraeders began to nurse him. The party questioned the party on the night's events. They discovered that a raiding party of reptilian humanoids, along with an orc and possibly other evil creatures had struck, looting the stores and asking, somewhat cryptically, "What's in the mountain?" They were of course referring to Alfheim, the peak overlooking Kindraed, sandwiching the tiny village against the dark shore. For all of Kindraed's long existence the Alfheim had been a source of great fear and mystery. Iben remembered his own explorations of the small mountain as a boy, before the cloying superstition of his people got the better of him. It was said that the mountain was linked to the Feywild, that mystical home of the elves, eladrin, gnomes and other fey creatures, but none could say exactly how. It came out that Ingo's daughter, Inga, had been taken by the raiders, and the Kindraeders said in hushed tones that they'd taken her to the Alfheim. Ingo implored them to go after his daughter, and the party decided to set off immediately, hoping the catch the villains unawares.


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## Mathew_Freeman (Oct 24, 2008)

*Mystery In The Mountain (cont)*

The party left Kindraed, with Iben and Karl scouting ahead, following the mass of tracks left by the raiders. Presently, Iben held up his hand, and pointed out to the others where the raiders had evidently split into two groups. One group led towards the shore, where they disappeared, presumably by boat, while the others (a dozen or so, including one unusually large biped) headed towards the small mountain nearby, the foreboding Alfheim. Iben fought to suppress a shudder of fear as he led the party uphill, past the wards and effigies hung by the roadside by his ancestors to keep the baleful spirits of the mountain at bay. The path had changed little since he'd last braved the journey as a headstrong and impetuous youth. He'd been dismissive of the terrors of the mountain then, accompanied as he was by a pair of similarly adventurous friends. He gritted his teeth as a tear ran down his dirty cheek at the memory – one friend hadn't survived the mountain. Brandr. The sword-thin boy with the beak-like nose, quick to rage and quicker to mirth. Iben swallowed and turned to wave his companions on. 

The path quickly became markedly steeper, and several times the tall eladrin, Aengus, had to stoop beneath low-hanging branches hung with jawbones, feathers, painted stones, teeth and other primitive wards. Despite the grim decorations, he felt something akin to a homecoming, and knew then that the Alfheim had ties to the Feywild. He held his tongue as the Kindraeder, Iben, muttered about curses and wicked spirits. That one is half mad, he thought to himself. At least. 

The roaring of a waterfall came from further ahead, and again Iben was beset by memories. Here is where Brandr slipped. Iben and Porvaldr had turned when they heard a distant crunch, far below them. Brandr was gone. Peering over the sheer ledge, the boys spied Brandr's broken form lying amongst the sharp stones below. Strange, Iben had thought then, he never even cried out as he fell. He'd never come to Alfheim, not until now. "Cursed, cursed… wicked place…" he muttered. 

Finally they came to the cave in the mountain. The gnomish rogue, Karl Il-Tanith, took the lead, inspecting the cave before waving the others on to join him. As they crossed the wet scree, Sigurd the wizard noticed a series of footprints leading towards the back of the cave. Following them, the adventurers came to a tunnel leading deeper into the mountain. They all marvelled in silence at the huge stone that lay beside the tunnel mouth. It was obvious from the marks on the floor and walls that the stone had previously served as a door, keeping the tunnel sealed, though to keep something in or out was impossible to tell. The ranger swayed on his feet at the memories. And here is where we turned back, Iben gulped. Last time. 

From within the cave, gruff, alien voices echoed outwards. Two creatures were engaged in a heated discussion, but none of the adventurers could understand them. The two argued a moment longer, until it seemed a decision was reached. An explosion rocked the cave, and the party members exchanged various looks of surprise and shock, but no further explosions seemed to be forthcoming. The brave gnome decided to chance some further investigation, and stepped forwards into the tunnel mouth. The short tunnel immediately opened onto another cave, but this one was a true wonder of nature. Crystalline walls and floor dazzled the eye with endless reflections and refractions, filling the air with every colour imaginable. Stalactites and staligmites shot from floor and ceiling everywhere, framing the waterfall that fell past the opening on the far side of the cave like fangs in a frost giant's maw. Karl motioned again for the others to join him. The room held almost a dozen odd-formed humanoids that could only be beastmen raiders. Another blue-skinned beast, kin to that which they'd fought in the burning boathouse, seemed to draw his fellows' attentions, where it was engaged in a discussion with another beastman in the centre of a dark pool. The other was a tall, armoured creature with dark, beastial features and a white mohican haircut. A wicked-looking double-edged axe was strapped across it's back. Between the two talking figures stood what would have appeared to be a statue, had they adventurers not previously discovered a near-identical oddity in the icy caves of Nine Mothers Gap. The group simultaneously wished that their staunch metallic ally was with them then. 

The group watched on in curious silence as the blue-skinned beast, cowed by the mohawked beastman's imposing presence, reached out towards the metallic, statue-like form with a shaking hand. 

Karl Il-Tanith, recognising a key moment to act, took advantage of everyone's distraction to strike at the nearest beastman. The lizard-like creature let out a hideous rattling cry as it fell to Karl's cruel dagger, and suddenly all eyes were on the gnome. Iben, Sigurd and Aengus let fly with spells and arrows as the beastial horde screamed their rage at the interruption. Despite the sudden mayhem, Karl saw something odd in the dark pool where the blue-skinned beast and the armoured beastman still argued. Where the blue-skinned beast should have been reflected in the pool's dark, still water, there appeared a slender, robed maiden. As the beast reached for the statue-like object, it's tentative, searching fingers turned into grasping claws as it siezed the statue, hefted it above it's head and threw it through the waterfall. The armoured beastman, enraged by what was evidently an affront to his authority, hastily drew his axe and charged the blue beast. Karl's attention was suddenly and shockingly returned to his present, dire predicament as a beastman's spear found it's way past his guard, hooking him in the side above his belt. With a grunt of effort, his foe heaved the stricken gnome into the air, dumping him on the icy floor. Karl felt the air go out of him, but nevertheless made ready to roll to his feet to continue the fray. Sigurd and Aengus did their best to keep the beastmen back, with waves of arcane energy and lances of crackling eldritch power. After a short time, charred beastial corpses abounded, and the spellslingers had found some breathing room. Meanwhile, Iben the hunter found himself beset by enemies where he fought to keep them from slaying fallen Karl. The man and the gnome fought back to back, Karl's blood-slick knife dropping another lizard-like humanoid as Iben discarded his bow of yew and drew forth two woodsman's axes. Aengus turned from where he'd just laid low one enemy with a green lance of energy to see a beastman charging him from the side, a lear of animal cunning drawn across it's scaled face. Against his better judgement, the eladrin drew forth his gleaming silver longsword, lashing out with a perfectly-timed downward diagonal stroke and giving the creature a second smile, this one vertical, and with scant mirth. As he wiped the fine spray of blood from his eyes, the eladrin glanced across the cavern at the raging battle in the dark pool. The armoured beastman swung his wicked axe in a reckless arc, beheading one of his fellows. Staggering forwards, unbalanced by his attack, the beastman chieftan was struck in the back of the head and killed instantly by a massive club wielded by the blue beast. Breathing hard, the beast then dropped it's own weapon, clutching at the grievous wound it bore in it's chest. The adventurers all cried out in surprise as the few remaining beastmen fled from the cave. With obvious effort, the blue-skinned creature bellowed to no one and everyone, this time in the common tongue: "You are not my friend, nor are you my enemy. There is grave danger! Speak to the instrumentality!" 

Aengus, noticing for the first time the odd disparity between the creature's appearance and it's reflection in the water, addressed the beast thusly: "How long can you maintain control?" to which the beast answered "He knows!", pointing cryptically at the bemused gnome, Karl, before keeling over in the shallow water, it's dark blood quickly mingling with that of it's former allies. In the eery silence that followed, all eyes turned to the gnome, and Aengus asked "What did the beast mean, Karl?"

The gnome could only shake his head as he answered wearily, "Signs and portents, milord. Sign and portents…"

*Epilogue*

The party tended to their wounds and searched the fallen, discovering two items of note upon the body of the apparent chieftan: A rune-engraved suit of metal armour, valuable despite heavy battle damage, and a runic greataxe, which Aengus and Sigurd quickly reveal to be enchanted. Iben claimed the axe as his own, while the armour was taken to be traded or sold in town. The party then found their way to the base of the waterfall to where the warforged had evidently fallen, but recovered only ruined parts, which they nonetheless kept (just in case).


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## Mathew_Freeman (Oct 27, 2008)

*"Arise, noble warrior!"*

The Promise of Distant Thunder had been walking underwater for some time, feeling the tug of the boat attached to his arm by rope as a distant sensation that didn't really connect. His mind was racing, echoes of memories tumbling through his head. So much was lost! So many gaps!

The sea-floor started to slope upwards, and marching on he pulled himself out of the water and onto the shorefront. The water cascaded off him as he emerged like some sort of water spirit, his metal skin glistening in the half-light of the early morning. Looking around, he could see many human women stood gaping at his appearance – from the items they held in their hands it was clear that they had been making offerings to the sea spirits.

_It appears their offerings have been answered,_ he through wryly to himself. _I need to find the others, however…_

Glancing around the harbourfront of Kindraed, he could see the collection of thirteen buildings that it comprised of. All were festooned with various animalistic fetishes and tokens – a clear indicator that the people of this land were superstitious and wary of the world.

_I would be, too, if I lived here. Those skeletons in the Ice Wall – if they start to come here this place isn't suited for defence._

Thunder could see a figure lying face up on the beach. He walked over to see that it was Iben, the human that had assisted him so well in the previous battle. He was not awake, but seemed to have no injury. Thunder knelt calmly beside him, lay one hand on his chest and spoke clearly: "Arise, noble warrior, and rejoin us." Iben's eyes opened, and where previously Thunder had seen a steadfastness and love of nature and the world, he now saw a burning, primal rage seeking to strike out against the abominations that might follow. The change was shocking, but Thunder also saw, deep within that rage, that it was well-founded and well-directed.

Now fully awake, Iben led Thunder to where the others were staying in one of the large wooden buildings, filling him in on the previous days events as they went. As they pushed open the door and entered, Karl, Sigurd and Aengus were all there, sat on wooden chairs and eating. Between them, arranged on a table, were the remains of another Warforged, now broken into pieces. A small sword and light metal shield had been placed to one side, also bearing the Legion's distinctive heraldric mark.

All conversation stopped as Thunder strode over to the table, seeking any information that could be gained from this body of a former colleague and Legionnaire. Examining the body, a memory surfaced in his mind.

_We are forged to defend humanity from what comes,_ he heard in his mind. _When the battle at the end of the world comes to us, the Legion that Waits shall be in the front line of the war – working with, and for, humanity and it's allies against the Foe._

Picking up the sword and shield, Thunder turned to his companions. "I thank you for honouring the body of this Warforged. I can give you no further information on him than what you can see for yourself, sadly, but I shall take this sword and shield to keep his memory alive. Once we were many, and now it seems we are few. But as one of those few, I shall make my mark on this world and solve the mystery of my past." Strapping the shield to his left arm felt as familiar as if he'd last done it minutes before. "Now, tell me more of The Instrumentality that Iben mentioned on the way here."

Karl recounted The Prophecy that he had heard from the Elder of his clan. The Instrumentality are the spies, or administration of the Eladrin – acting when a larger warforce would be unnecessary or unwieldy. The prophecy that has recently come to life is one of dire portents – King Siegfried of Himimborg is known as a good King and a staunch protector.

Leaving the prophecy aside for now, conversation turns to the rest of the Beastmen raiders. One of them had mentioned that their 'boss' was still to arrive, and so it is decided to stake out the mountain trail and wait to see if he does, in the hopes of ambushing him perhaps. Iben recants the full story of the mountain – that once it had been home to a spirit of the Elfheim, but this spirit was somehow drowned. Since that day, the mountain is marked as cursed and dangerous, and few, before us, had climbed it.

Iben and Karl lead the way back to the mountain trail, and find a safe spot to camp for a day. After Sigurd assisted with the creation of a smokeless fire, Thunder is able to begin to brew a potion that can heal the wounds of those that drink it. At the moment, he only has enough for a single draught, but he intends to take every opportunity to brew this potion whilst he can. In the coming days, the ability to fight on might be more useful than any other resource.

Whilst Thunder sits with his herbs, his liquids and the fire, Karl and Aengus crack out a variety of strange tools and decide to have another crack at the safe of Lord Wyvernhoe. Surprisingly, Karl cracks the combination almost immediately this time and starts to open it. A swirling mist emerges, forcing the door open before Karl can react, and forms into the shape of an insubstantial, bull-headed figure. Sigurd calls out that it is some sort of Guardian Spirit – and that is is not friendly!

Aengus leaps to his feet and addresses the spirit in the Fey tongue, shouting at it to dissuade it from attacking. With a roar, it vanishes. Unlocking the safe again, Karl & Aengus warily open it again. Peering inside, he recoils and exclaims "It's a minotaur head!" This one, however, doesn't seem to do anything.

The day passes peacefully and quietly, and with their superior vision Aengus and Karl watch the trail through the night as well. As a final check, the group treks back up the mountain and re-examines the cave. Everything is exactly as it was left. Returning to the village, Karl passes on the details of the Prophecy to the Elders of the village, warning them to do whatever they can to make ready for what's to come. Iben fervently appeals to them to continue to pray and make offerings, but sadly adds that the group is heading to Himimborg to try and speak to Siegfried himself.

Returning to the boat with it's captured wind-elemental, the five of them head back out to sea, onwards, to Himimborg.


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## La Bete (Oct 29, 2008)

*Signs and Portents*

The Prophecy of House Aellrinnath, as recounted by Karl il-Tanith ter-Aellrinnath.

_I dreamed. I dreamed of a land of Ice and Steel.

I saw the Old King, his heart twisted and poisoned by lies.

I saw his son seduced and destroyed by the promise of knowledge long kept hidden.

I saw his daughter try and draw the poison from her father, only to fail and Fall.

I saw him die at the hands of heroes, and his vengeance from beyond the grave destroy them and defile their memory.

.

I dreamed. I dreamed of the UnBorn King.

I saw his acolytes everywhere. In the shadows they dwell, and in the shadows of mens hearts.

I saw him gnawing at the roots of the World Tree, poisoning it with his foul touch.

I saw him whispering terrible secrets into the ears of rulers, tales of things that could not, must not be.

I saw him defiling the race of Men, weakening them ahead of the horrors to come.

.

I dreamed. I dreamed of the Last Warrior.

I saw his battles against the UnBorn King’s acolytes.

I saw his victories, his banner burning bright in the darkness.

I saw him gather the free peoples to fight the UnBorn King, to purge the darkness that had taken root in their realm.

I saw him die, betrayed, lost and alone.

.

I dreamed. I dreamed of the Last Days of Man.

I saw men accepting the Gift from the UnBorn King.

I saw Man, that strange, foolish, and noble race, become Other.

I saw the Other spread like the plague they once were, and will be again, destroying those that would not, or could not, become Other.

I saw the mortal world burn at their hands, the corpses piled high to please their King, the land polluted and destroyed beyond repair.

.

I dreamed. I dreamed of the Tearing of the Veil.

I saw the legions of the Other pour into the the Feywild.

I saw that blessed, glorious realm die, drowned in blood and filth.

I saw our people slain, or worse, subsumed and Damned.

I saw the last of our people flee through the Gate of Ages, never to return.

I dreamed. I dreamed, and I wish, how I wish, I had never woken. For upon waking I knew the dream was real.

._


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## Mathew_Freeman (Oct 29, 2008)

See, when you hear this sort of thing in a campaign, you get Worried.

In my case, you get worried about whether this stuff has already happened, or whether it's still to come. Neither is a very appealing idea.


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## Mathew_Freeman (Oct 29, 2008)

*"The Blessing Of Kord Be Upon You All!"*

As each member of the group climbed aboard the ship, Iben spoke quietly under his breath, asking for the blessing of the village spirits in their quest. The villagers had repaired the damage to the sail, and with two days sailing ahead all where keen to be off. The dark clouds in the sky promised that it was not to be an easy journey.

Indeed, within minutes of leaving Kindraed (For the last time? wondered Iben to himself), the skies opened and the rain began to hammer down. For two days, in dim light and through choppy water, the group fought the elements to make their way to Himimborg. The air elemental trapped within the boat did it's best, but still water had to bailed out more or less continuously. Eventually, Sigurd hit upon a conjuration that could help the spirit fight the elements more freely, and the little ship surged ahead. Naming the spirit Ariel in thank, Sigurd asked her what the group could do in return. "I would like a pattern to be woven into the sail," she replied. "It can be very dull looking at the same white sheet all day." Grinning, Sigurd agreed.

Eventually, and with the bodies of the heroes burning with fatigue and their clothes and posessions soaked through with rain and seawater, Himimborg came into view. Several hundred a-frame wooden buildings, some several stories high, looked down on a habour filled with fishing vessels and longships. Lights shone from some windows, but largely it was dark. As the group arrives, Iben leaps out and tied the boat to the quay, urging us onwards.

At the highest point in Himimborg stands the Great Hall – both a Temple to Kord and the seat of governance. The rest of the town seems deathly quiet, the muddy streets empty of people. As he moved up the wooden steps, Thunder detected no sounds of life in the houses all about him. Ahead, a young child suddenly crosses their view, chasing a dog – but again, no sound but that of the barking animal.

Lights blaze from the Great Hall – from many windows, and from torches set all about it's huge doors. These doors are slightly ajar, and as we approach they crash open from within. A man, large and bearded, crashes through them, on fire! He throws himself to the ground, rolling over and over to put the flames out. Thunder reaches down to give him a hand back up onto his feet, and with a grunt the man rights himself. He turns and shouts "Schweinhund!" and charges back inside. Exchanging looks, the party follows him more slowly.

Inside is a scene of chaos. In the centre of the Hall burns a huge fire, more than 10 feet across. The smoke has spread throughout the room, obscuring everything after a few feet of vision. Dimly visible are many human figures – drinking, dancing, eating, fighting, joking & laughing with each other; often all at once. Bones litter the floor all across the room. Some are small, but others look much larger, perhaps those of a great beast of ancient times.

Thunder took a deep breath of the smoker air, feeling the Holy Presence of Kord manifest in the atmosphere. The life he could feel around him surged through him, filling him with energy and purpose. Raising his arms, he bellowed into the room:

"The Blessing of Kord Be Upon You All, People of Himimborg!" With his words, he blessed the room, sending a shockwave of divine power throughout. The smoke rippled as it passed, and the bones surrounding him were pushed back.

Utter silence fell across the room.

Staring at Thunder, the men & women of Himimborg stood stock still at this interruption to their festivities. A frozen tableau displayed itself around the room – four men engaged in an arm-wrestling contest, two men in an axe-throwing contest, three serving women holding giant pitchers of ale – all had stopped and were staring at him.

Slowly, a single figure moved forwards through the smoke. He was short and slight, in contrast with the others with long grey hair and a wearing black robes. Looking Thunder and the others up and down, almost disdainfully, he asks with gentle emphasis "Auslanders?"

"We are," replies Thunder. "We have come through the Gap and via Kindraed to speak with King Siegfried. My name is the Promise of Distant Thunder, and I am a Warforged of the Legion that Waits. These are my companions – Aengus, Sigurd, Karl and Iben of Kindraed. We have news that the King must hear."

"Thunder, hmm?" replies the man. "I must blame you for the weather, yes?" He indicates the windows of the Great Hall as another blast of lightning splits the sky outside. Seeming to come to a decision, the man looks across at all the members of the group. "My name is Serkeljof. I am, how you say, the King's right hand. He is not here – he went to fight with raiders, taking the best of the Knights of Himimborg with him."

The man seems very tightly controlled, keeping himself under precise pressure. Almost no emotion crosses his face as he speaks, even as Aengus and the others begin to ask him questions. It appears that the King has been incomunicado for around three months now, since leaving Himimborg, and a plan has been hatched for the remaining Knights to go look for him. Serkeljof seems to be evaluating the group as they speak to him.

"Perhaps you would care to join us?" he asks. "Obviously such… mighty heroes would be an asset to our little expedition."

Hackles are raised at the implied insult, and the party decide to prove themselves to all present. This is a Hall of contests and competitions – the Knights of Himimborg shall be shown that this group of adventurers are not to be put down!


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## Mathew_Freeman (Oct 31, 2008)

*A Contest Of Heroes*

The party quickly decides amongst themselves how they intend to win the challenge in front of them – each playing to their strengths.

Taking advantage of his Warforged constitution, Thunder engages four men in a drinking contest. Bellowing toasts praising Kord between each tankard, he matches the others drink for drink for a full hour. Eventually, as he raises his cup again, his head swimming and stomach lurching slightly, he sees that the others are incapable of standing. Although it's a struggle, Thunder turns to a nearby serving woman and she acclaims him the winner.

Across the hall, Iben had spotted a fire-jumping contest. The conflaguration in the centre of the hall was a huge firepit, fully ten feet across. Several men were engaged in a competition to attempt to jump over it – or at least, as far as they could. Even as Iben watched, another man crashed to the ground just within it, screaming and rolling over to try and put the flames out. He was promptly covered in ale by one of the serving women, before drunkenly standing up and bellowing his intention to go again.

As Iben was about to declare his own attempt, the quiet figure of Sigurd laid a hand on his shoulder. "Allow me," said the Wizard, and Iben felt a small tingle throughout his legs. "It will assist you, worry not," added the arcanist with a small smile. Iben nodded, trusting his friend, if not the magic. He took a running start at the jump, and then pushed off with all his might. Astonishingly, his leap took him clean over the firepit and some eight or nine feet further on, easily beating the other men. With a roar of acclaim, they announced him the bravest and greatest athlete they had seen, and began to toast him anew. Iben looked around for Sigurd, but the Wizard had slipped back to the edges of the room.

Iben could, however, see Aengus, his Eladrin features standing out in a room full of humans. His eyes were wide as he recounted a tragic tale of love, battle and loss to a small crowd, gesturing emotionally and keeping their attention with expert precision. At the end of his tale, at least one man almost broke down in tears, the emotion too much for him. Although others attempted stories of their own, it was clear that Aengus was the true master stoyteller, and he was acclaimed as such.

The night wore on, and finally Karl spotted his chance to make his name. An axe-throwing contest had been taking place across the hall from him – a long-haired woman standing up against a table, bravely facing the drunken throws of men in front of her. Just behind those men, a large bone protruded up from the floor. Quickly, Karl rang along this bone and launched himself into space – aided by Iben lending his weight as a counterbalance. The gnome soared through the air and launched several small throwing stars, and as they thumped in a small pattern around the woman's head the gnome twisted in mid-air and landed smoothly on his feet. He turned, bowed, and announced "Top that, gentlemen!" To the woman's relief, the contest was decreed over – no man wanted to face up to attempting to surpass that feat!

As the group celebrates their upcoming quest to join Serkeljof and the other Knights to find the king, a silence drops upon the room. Through the main doors walks, no, trots a strange creature - half-man, half horse. He is dressed in a savage style, with furs and obvious weaponry. The surrounding men seemed stunned at his boldness – for this is clearly a Beastman and as such has no place here. The centaurs tatoo's shine in the fire. As he enters, the centaur pauses for a second, staring at Thunder intently, before shaking his head and moving around the fire.

Moving to the seats that Serkeljof occupies, the centaur speaks for the firs time.

"No invite for me?" he asks, calmly. "With my brother away I would have thought you would be keen to see me." Men around the hall are being restrained from attacking this boastful creature. Frulli, the storyteller, confirms to Aengus that this is indeed the King's brother. He is also the leader of the raiders that have caused so much trouble in recent months.

"Well, I shall extend an invitation to you all. Come to my hall, the hall of Sigmund. I will show you hospitality. If you want to find it – follow the fire!" Sigmund laughs, and as men draw weapons and go to attack him he throws some sort of bag into the cauldron hanging over the firepit. It immediately begins to bubble, before spewing forth a wave of rats that leap out and begin to fill the hall. Laughing even more, the centaur disperses into a cloud of bats and flys up and out of the hall via the top window. Around the hall, knives, swords & axes are drawn as everyone tries to stem the tide.

Aengus and Karl quickly cotton on to what needs to be done and target the chain holding up the cauldron. As the swarm of rats grows ever larger, pouring forth at an incredible rate, the two heroes break one chain and the cauldron swings madly over the fire pit. No longer able to get a good purchase, the rats coming from the cauldron instead fall into the firepit with a terrible smell of scorched flesh. With the rest of the room killing the ones already free, within a few seconds peace is restored to the room. The pile of dead rats is disposed of, burnt to a crisp in the incandescent flames, and the party look around them to see many worried faces.


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## MichaelKnife (Nov 4, 2008)

Good stuff! Looking forward to the next session

MK


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## Mathew_Freeman (Dec 4, 2008)

*Onwards From Himimborg*

Thunder came swimming slowly back to consciousness. His head throbbed with a mead-induced hangover, with not even his Warforged constitution able to compensate. Staring blearily around him, he could see he was still in the Great Hall of Himimborg. All around him, men groaned and clasped their heads in their hands, all feeling the after effects of the previous nights revelry. All apart from Sigurd, who didn’t drink.

Damn Wizards are always the same,, thought Thunder to himself. Always happy for the rank-and-file to drink, but always staying aloof themselves. Shaking his head slowly, he reminded himself he was no longer of the Legion, that those days had passed. Gingerly, he brought himself to his feet, levering himself out of the way of an errant sunbeam that seemed to be determined to shine directly into his eyes.

The various members of the group found each other in the chaos of the Hall, watching as some Himimborg knights were awakened with buckets of water. Asking around, they confirmed that Serkeljof and the other knights were intent on leaving that morning, questing to stop the raiders, find the King, or both.

Carefully, the group left the Hall. Outside, last night’s rain had frozen into solid ice, making the wooden steps down to the docks slippery. The city was busy now, people moving with practiced ease, going about their business. Recovering from it’s woes, with a renewed sense of purpose the docklands were a hive of activity. Two fine longships were moored in place, knights moving slowly aboard and taking up places at the oars.

Ariel, the group’s ship, sat small but proud next to them. Aengus had finally completed the new sail and it was carefully put into place. Ariel, the bound air elemental that powered the ship, quietly expressed her approval of the message written on the sail and pledged to continue her efforts to assist them.

Aengus, Iben, Karl, Sigurd and Thunder went in search of Serkeljof. He was brightly ordering the knights and dockhands, giving quiet commands and staying at the centre of the maelstrom of people working around him. As the group approached, his cool voice rang out.

“Ah, my friends, you have decided to join us, hmm? I was fearing that you had, hah, decided to sleep in. We go in chase of the King, and I believe that you were thinking of accompanying us. If so, you need to get ready soon. We leave as soon as we can.”

Aengus replied to him calmly. “Of course we seek to aid you – Iben has a personal score to settle with the raiders and as for the rest of us, we were victims of that attack last night too. We would all gladly gain our revenge.”

As Karl nodded in agreement, Sigurd added his voice to the discussion. “We have two options, of course. Either to move against the attack you mentioned last night, or to ‘follow the fire’ as Sigmund put it last night. Is there any chance the two can be combined?”

“Yes,” stated the Nordlander. “We are to set sail to the North, heading towards the Kings last known position. In the meantime, should we receive any further reports of fire – “

“My lord!” called a young warrior from the docks. “A report has just come in! The Ship Graveyard is aflame, and another town too!”

Serkeljof called for a map and laid it out in front of him. “You came from here,” he said jabbing his finger down into it. “The other fires are here, here, and here…“

“They form a line.” Thunder completed the thought in everyone’s minds. “What is the next place on that line?”

“Glorium,” replied Serkeljof. “The Tomb Isle.”

Next time: Setting sail to the Tomb Isle!


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## Mathew_Freeman (Dec 11, 2008)

*Voyage to the Tomb Isle*

Serkeljof explained the nature of Glorium. Up until two-hundred years ago, the Kings of the Swordlands had been buried on this small and remote island, locked away in stone tombs.

Perceptively, Aengus asked “And what happened two-hundred years ago that made them stop?”

“The Curse,” replied Serkeljof. “Across the land, the Dead walked. There were pitched battles everywhere, villages disappeared. It was said that some sailors passed by Glorium and heard the sounds of wailing from within the tombs – they claimed the Kings had awoken and were trying to get out. Once the Curse had passed, we never visited Glorium again. Our dead are cremated, or sent out to see on longships. Never buried. Never again shall the Dead rise from their graves.”

“And this island is on the way to us finding the King?” queried Iben. “Then we shall have to stop there and investigate it.”

“Agreed,” said Serkeljof. “We will take the longships. You can take your own…vessel…and meet us there.”

Ignoring the insult towards Ariel, the group left Serkeljof to his preparations. Boarding their own boat, each one checked their armour and weapons again for readiness. Some now glinted and gleamed with magic – gifts from the Knights of Himimborg after their efforts last night against the rats.

Thunder gripped the Spear he had received. There had been several offers to the Warforged, but when he saw the sigil on this item he had strode forward and seized it immediately.

A Legion Spear, he had thought. Charged with lightning. I can do a lot with this.

The last thing that happened before Himimborg began to be left behind was a short blessing on the voyage. Those workers on the dock paused in their tasks, and the Knights of Himimborg gathered at the edges of their vessels as Thunder spoke to them all.

“You are all valiant Knights of Himimborg!” his voice rolled out across the water. “You take on a great Quest today, to find and rescue a King. There will be terrible dangers ahead. Hideous foes await us, magic will assail us, the Dead may walk again. But I know that Kord is with us. He is with us in our Strength, in our Resolve, and in our Courage. He is with us because we earn his favour with our bravery. And he is with us as we crush our enemies, in all their forms, before us! Knights of Himimborg, you are blessed in the name of Kord!” He raised his arms high and bellowed “For the King! For Kord! For glory!”

As one, the assembled Knights roared back “For the King! For Kord! For glory!”

Setting sail, Ariel kept up easily with the long oar-strokes of the two longships. As the hours flew past, there was little conversation amongst the party. The prospect of investigating an island where the Dead had been locked up in tombs for more than two centuries, possibly eager to get out in all that time, did not make for an enticing prospect. Thunder spent the time in contemplation and prayer, asking for Kord’s assistance in the coming times.

As the island came into view in the distance, Aengus fey stepped over to Serkeljof’s ship, disappearing from one place and emerging in the other a heartbeat later. Other Knights had been running from ship to ship by using the still-moving oars as gangplanks, but it looked to take years of practice and the Eladrin didn’t fancy a dip in the sea.

After a short conversation with Serkeljof it was decided that the group would land first and do some reconissance, with the rest of the Knights following soon after.

Glorium hove closer into view, it’s three towers reaching high into the sky. Two were reasonably small and squat, but the third was huge – reaching more than a hundred feet up. It’s wide base and narrow windows made it almost a fortress in it’s appearance.

Landing on barren rock, Sigurd bade Ariel to take herself away a short distance and wait for a call, which she did gladly. The silence of the island was disquieting after the noise of the voyage, and weapons were loosened in sheaths before anyone stepped further out. Between the islands were a series of bridges bordering and crossing several shallow pools of water. The whole place seemed largely deserted.

“Wait!” said Iben, suddenly, pointing to the ground ahead. “There are marks, here, faintly made on the rock.” Gathering, the party could see faint scuff marks, as if made by something, or someone, heavy moving around the island. They seemed recent, and the tension rose another notch.

Swiftly checking out the two smaller towers, it was discovered that the doors were locked with some sort of mechanism. Not wishing to disturb the place any more than necessary, it was decided to head for the main tower and try that door.

As it reached high into the sky ahead of them, both Aengus and Karl produced lock-picking tools and began to squabble humourously about who would be the one to open it. As they began to examine the door, a shout came from over the water. Distantly, all could hear a Knight of Himimborg relaying the information they had not wanted to hear.

“Sails! Sails! Four longboats heading here! ‘Ware raiders!”

“Outnumbered two-to-one,” commented Thunder. “They’ll have to land and bring the fight here. We should prepare for a battle.”

Next time: The Battle of Glorium!


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## Mathew_Freeman (Dec 16, 2008)

*The Battle of Glorium*

Serkeljof was proving his mettle as a commander. Seeing that engaging the oncoming ships in open water was suicide, outnumbered as they were two-to-one, he quickly brought his two longships into dock. Swiftly, the well-trained and experienced Knights of Himimborg took to the island and readied themselves.

Thunder had been checking the area over for strategic defense points. Where the group had landed, three small bridges split off. Thunder explained his plan to Serkeljof and the others. In the cold air, he was the only one not surrounded by puffs of misty breath.

“I have seen such a situation before,” he stated. “When outnumber, we need to funnel them towards a killing zone and prevent them from surrounding us. With your ships docked there and there,” he pointed to the longboats, “They have no option but to land here, in front of us. As such, if you will take one flank and Gunar the right, we can hold the centre. As the enemy advances, your Knights can fall on them from the sides and we will have the advantage.”

“Hmmm,” replied Serkeljof in his mocking tones. “You have some experience of this sort of thing then, yes? I should trust you?”

Thunder’s centuries old body shifted slightly on the rocky ground. Meeting Serkeljof’s eyes, the Warforged spoke with certainty. “Yes, you could say I have some experience. I also know that you can see that this is a good plan whether you like to admit it or not. Get the Knights into position.”

Gunar, the huge shipmaster, nodded his own approval and the plan was laid.

Whilst this conversation was going on, Aengus and Karl continued to work on the door of the main tower.

“My Lord,” acknowledged Karl. “This…is going to take some time.”

“I agree,” replied the Eladrin Warlock. “I hope our friends can bring us enough space in which to work. There do seem to be rather a lot of them on those boats…”

The seconds ticked by as each group took up it’s position. Serkeljof drew his rapier, warming up his limbs with a series of test strikes. Watching, Iben could see that his technique was good.

For all his abrasiveness, thought the young fighter, He does care for the other Knights. And he is clearly and experienced fighter himself.

“Here they come!” warned Sigurd, her keen eyes watching the shore. “Watch out for arrow fire!”

As predicted, a small shower of arrows were launched from the boats, but with no real effect. The assembled Knights of Himimborg gave a great roar of challenge as the boats began to discharge their occupants. Hideous squat bog trogs were the first to land, their horrific appearance matched by their savagery as they howled and charged forwards. The approaching longships moored side-by-side, allowing creatures from all four boats to leap from ship to ship and head towards the land. Several troll-kin began to wade forwards through the others, towering above them and screaming their own battle-cries, and in and amongst these monsters were several human-sized figures, great horns or antlers coming from their helmets.

It was a site to freeze the blood of less doughty warriors, but the Knights of Himimborg stood firm as the wave of bog trogs assaulted them. Fighting furiously with axe, spear and sword, they may not have been disciplined but they certainly were effective. Several bog trogs were killed in the opening few seconds.

Thunder waited for the first wave to reach him before lifting his voice in a blessing. “In the name of Kord, Knights of Himimborg! Victory or death!” The divine power crashed across the battlefield in an instant, and each Knight could feel the spirit of the God watching over them. Following up this prayer, Thunder drove his Legionspear into the nearest bog trog, levering it’s arm out of the way and opening a gap for Iben to wade in with his axe.

A second later he heard a quiet female voice next to him, saying “Don’t look at this too closely…” before a series of arcane syllables sounded. Sigurd spoke the words for a Colour Spray, and rays of brightly coloured magical energies glinted in the light in a wide area in front of the defending Knights. Around them, bog trogs howled and clutched at their eyes, seemingly dazed by the powerful magic.

Invigorated by the success of the spell, the Knights counter-attacked, hacking and slashing back at the trogs. Serkeljof’s rapier sparkled in the sun, piercing and stabbing around him on the group’s right. To their left, the man-giant Gunar wielded an oar from the ship as a weapon, giving him incredible reach. More than one bog trog had to pitch backwards, trying to dodge it.

Abandoning his attempt to open the door for a moment, Aengus ran forwards towards the back of the fray. Grabbing the box recovered from the ship, he opened it. Immediately the spectral form of the minotaur appeared, swirling around him. Before it could do anything to Aengus, he shouted to it.

“We are sorely beset by foes! I seek not to quell your rage at confinement – instead, I say to you go forth and wreak destruction upon them!” He pointed to the oncoming bog trogs, engaged in furious battle with the Knights. With a bestial roar, the Minotaur spirit raced into the midst of them, passing through the battle-lines of the Knights like a ghost. As he smashed into the middle of the oncoming horde, he almost disappeared, but the shrieks and cries coming from his position showed he was doing his work well.

As more and more bog trogs and trollkin disembarked from the ships, they fought their way past the spectral minotaur in their midst, the sheer press of numbers meaning that it couldn’t block them all. The Knights of Himimborg were driven back a step, a couple falling, and for a moment it looked as though the line would break.

Just at that moment, as Aengus turned to head back to the tower door and assist Karl in opening it, the Gnome yelled out in victory.

“It’s open! I got it open!”

Peering inside, Karl could see that the door opened into a large space, partially filled with rubble and with a staircase reaching around the inside. Small shafts of lights illuminated parts of the tower, and dimly, in the walls, he could see what looked like hundreds and hundreds of individual tombs.

Next time: A fighting retreat!


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## Dinkeldog (Dec 16, 2008)

What levels are the party members at now?


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## Mathew_Freeman (Dec 17, 2008)

Dinkeldog said:


> What levels are the party members at now?




As of the current moment in the Story Hour, they're third level (hence the first use of Colour Spray!).

crater, who is running the game, is offering us quick advancement for the moment so that we can level quickly and start to deal with some heavy-duty threats. As such, we're getting 800xp per session regardless of what happens, which means that in the real world we've just levelled up to 4th. We've also gained another player, who will be introduced shortly...

And thanks for reading! And commenting! I really appreciate it.


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## Mathew_Freeman (Dec 18, 2008)

*A Fighting Retreat*

Iben was facing three or four bog trogs when the Sigurd's _Color Spray_ went off next to him. Taking full advantage of the distraction of his foes, he killed one and charged into the space it left, crashing his axe into the skull of another. A few Knights attempted to follow him but couldn’t make it, and whilst Iben’s courage was unbowed, a small nagging voice in the back of his head suggested that this might not have been such a good idea.

As the bog trogs recovered, they began to try and surround him and cut him off from the others. Several blows got past Iben’s armour, and despite his rage and fighting mettle, he could feel his lifeblood beginning to pool at his feet.

Grasping her Holy Symbol of Melora, Sigurd spotted the danger Iben was in. Focusing her thoughts, she prayed swiftly to her Goddess for the wounds to heal and Iben felt the gash along his arm close up by itself.

_I have falled in with powerful allies_,” he thought to himself. A second later the ground just to his right appeared to freeze, ice forming in seconds and growing and stabbing upwards into his foes. Twisting his head, he saw Sigurd lower her hand, a pleased smile upon her face. Withdrawing from the frontline, she began to make her way towards the tower.

Aengus, too, was beginning to retreat. However, before he did so he launched a green-tinged _Eldritch Spear_[1] into the melee, his magical sword flaring in his hand. One bog trog was punched bodily off it’s feet, it’s head a smoking ruin. On the front line, a crack of thunder sounded as the Warforged used his own powers to try and turn the tide.

Serkeljof had been fighting one of the huge trollkin, man-to-beast. It had flailed about itself, smashing parts of the rock to pieces, but so far it’s opponent had proved too elusive. Seeing an opening, the beast smashed both arms down – only to find that Serkleljof had slipped to one side. Leaping upwards, his rapier flashed through the eye of the beast, and it staggered back and collapsed off the bridge, dead.

Catching the eye of the Knight Commander, Thunder called for a retreat. There were simply too many enemies to hold them at this position, and with more trollkin coming and the horned humans yet to join the fray, the situation looked difficult. Defending the tower doors would make things easier.

“Back to the tower! Back to the tower, all of you!” he called. Despite his rage and bloodlust, Iben heard the words and managed to pull himself back from the combat.

As the Knights and the group pulled back slowly, Aengus teleported between them and the bog trogs. Freezing the air and the ground around him with a magical word of power, he stopped their movement and was able to teleport back out within seconds. This opened a gap between the Knights and the trogs, even as they advanced.

Pulling back, the group, led by Karl, entered the tower as the Knights get a careful eye on the now slowly-oncoming horde of monsters. A watchful silence fell for a second.

A silence that was broken with an echoing boom, as the stone doors of the tower shut with an utter finality. Karl, Aengus, Iben, Sigurd and Thunder were locked inside – whilst the Knights, the bog trogs and the trollkin eyed each other with mutual loathing on the outside.

[1] Critical hit! There were others in the fight, but this one came just at the right time. It's also notable that in this fight Iben pulled off a magnificent triple attack - something along the lines of a charge, that allowed him to make another basic attack if he dropped his foe, which then criticalled, allowing him to use a class feature to charge again! Awesome stuff, and really hammered home the point about how he can really dish out the damage.

Next time - The Tower of Glorium!


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## Mathew_Freeman (Dec 19, 2008)

*Whispers In The Dark*

Iben stared around him at the inside of the great tower of Glorium. Rubble lay across the floor, from the upper storeys and from now-ruined columns. The only light came from shafts of sunlight, breaking through old walls higher up. The dim light only emphasised the shadows.

A shiver passed through the young Kindraeder, swiftly supressed. Thousands of tiny spaces honeycombed the walls, and from each one Iben could see the remnants of a buried king or warrior. Lifting his eyes up through the tower, past the ruined floor of the next level that stood thirty feet over their heads, he could see the tower roof was more than a hundred feet up.

Sigurd whispered a quiet word, and from her hand a golden radiance spread, illuminating the space around her. It revealed, on the far side of the room, a ruined staircase winding around the edge of the tower.

“With your permission, my Lord?” asked Karl, and at a nod from Aengus he started forwards. “I shall scout ahead,” he continued. “Don’t get too close – this staircase doesn’t look too safe.”

With Karl going first, and Aengus in the middle, the group began a slow and careful ascent of the stairs, mindful of the crumbling stonework. The staircase hugged the wall, but had no railing or other method of support, leaving a yawning gap to the group’s left.

After a short climb, Karl came to a gap. The staircase ahead had crumbled away, leaving a five or six foot space before it continued. Peering over the edge, he could see that the drop was somewhere in the range of fifteen feet to a hard stone floor – the sort of distance that could easily break a leg.

After a short discussion, Thunder wrapped a length of rope around himself, with the other end attached to Karl. After a short run up and jump, Karl easily cleared the gap. With a little more work, everyone got across safely – Thunder himself landing with a loud thud on the upwards stairs.

Karl continued his slow ascent, keeping a careful eye on the tombs embedded in the walls. As he climbed, he could see that the bodies within were becoming less well-preserved. In some cases, only the skeletal remains of the inhabitant could be seen.

Iben suddenly became aware of a whispering – a quiet chorus of voices lingering in the air. Straining his ears a little more, he could hear a word, seemlingly being passed back and forth around the inside of the tower.

_Kindrader…_

Glancing around, he could see that the others could hear it, too. Thunder heard an ancient name for his kind, Sigurd a quiet moan of _Ausssssslander_… Weapons were loosened in their sheaths, spells and prayers brought to mind.

As he rounded the final corner to arrive at the upper level, he could see ahead of him the remains of the floor of the second level of the tower. Upon that floor, kneeling quietly, was a single figure. Bone white in colour, skin stretched tightly over it’s frame, Karl could see it’s hands ended in viscious claws. It seemed unaware of him for now.

Using the _mage hand_ power of his gloves, Karl sent a tiny handwritten note back along the stairway, keeping half an eye on it as it floated gently along in the air.

...and as such, he saw a white blur of motion come down the wall, leap, grab the paper and disappear into the darkness below.

The whispers got louder.

Note: This was a very creepy moment for me, playing Thunder. We had no real idea what was going on, or what sort of threat we were going to face. Having something just leap out of the darkness was a horrible reminder that we might be in well over our heads!

Next session: We gain a new player, as randomling joins the group! *Enter the Dragonborn!*


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## Mathew_Freeman (Dec 19, 2008)

*Enter the Dragonborn!*

Aldis Salsgard raised her head painfully from the cold stone floor and cautiously tasted the air as her eyes adjusted to the dim light.

_Cold,_ she thought to herself. _Stone, dust… and living creatures!_ Her head ached, and she could almost feel the shackles that had bound her. Blinking slowly, she looked around. There was a peculiar whispering in the air.

She could see that she was on a small stone platform in some sort of tower. Around her, there were gaps in the floor and she could see down a thirty foot drop to a lower level. There was light coming from shafts of sunlight breaking through gaps in the wall higher up the tower.

Another source of light caught her attention. Across from her, a group of humanoid creatures were climbing the stairs. _Two humans, a gnome, an Eladrin, and I don’t recognise the other,_ she considered. _The human is some sort of mage, with a light spell active. I wonder what they’re doing here? Have they been captured too?_

Closer to her, Aldis suddenly spotted another figure. Bone white, skin stretched tightly over it’s frame. The gnome saw it at the same time and froze, before writing a short note and sending it floating back to the others. The whispering increased, and Aldis briefly heard the word _Wyrmling…_ in her ears.

Then things began to move very fast.

In a blur of motion, something, skittered down the tower wall, leapt off, and snatched the note out of the air before grabbing the edge of the stairs and swinging around under them. The gnome reacted by drawing weapons and shouting a warning, as his companions did the same. The mage brightened her light trying to see where the creature had gone.

All around, the whispering got louder before a swarm of creatures descended from the walls. Glancing around, Aldis saw one run up and over the edge of the platform she was standing on, claws extended.

Reflex and training overrode thought. In one fluid motion Aldis stood to her full seven-foot height, reached over her shoulder to her greatsword – _Thank Bahamut it’s still there!_ she thought – and parried the attack. The creature hissed at her and lunged again, twisting past her sword and lunging for her midsection. This time, her platemail took the blow but the creature didn’t break through. However, a second, and then a third creature joined her on the platform.

As the creatures attacked all around them, Thunder charged forwards, heading up the stairs to the larger platform, knowing that fighting on the staircase itself was a very poor decision. He heard Sigurd curse behind him, readying a Thunderwave if the creatures behind them attempted to jump the gap, with Aengus settling in to blast anyone that got too close.

Gaining the platform alongside Karl and Iben, a furious melee began. The bone creatures were fast and tenacious, dodging and striking hard where they could. Iben struck out with his axe, the runes glowing softly, but taking injuries in return. As he fought, keeping his shield high and his stance defensive, Thunder looked across at the figure on the other platform. Suddenly he recognised the insignia on her golden armour.

“That’s a Paladin of Bahamut!” he cried out. “She needs our help – push through these monsters and help me get to her!” Focusing the power of his own god at the undead creatures around him, Thunder issued a proclamation as he attempted to _Turn Undead_ – “In the name of Kord, back!”







One creature was reduced to dust instantly by the wave of radiant power that issued forth, but the others dodged over or under it. Thunder could see that the Paladin was using radiant powers of her own to strike out, scoring terrific wounds on her opponents.

Back down the stairs, Sigurd blasted two attackers to dust using a _Thunderwave_ as they attempted to jump across. Together with an _Eldritch Spear_ from Aengus, the third figure was also knocked back off the ledge and smashed onto the floor below.

Iben, Karl and Thunder fought back and forth across the platform, struggling to reach the Paladin. As several of their foes fell, and the Dragonborn’s greatsword neatly took out a couple more, the creatures suddenly backed away and disappeared over the edge of the platform, disappearing back into the darkness from which they had come.

A sudden silence fell.

“Hail and well met,” called Thunder to the Dragonborn. “Let me introduce myself…”

Note: Please welcome randomling's character to the game! A Dragonborn Paladin was something we badly needed, as we'd had no Defender in the party. Lots of damage and healing potential, but little in terms of high AC blockers!

That said, Thunder didn't take a single hit in this encounter, despite lunging into melee. He's built exclusively as a melee Cleric, though, so it's no surprise. With a Wizard and a Warlock, it didn't make sense to make him ranged-focussed, and it's great fun mixing it up and smashing some foes about.

Next time: Introductions, and the second wave arrives.


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## Mathew_Freeman (Jan 7, 2009)

*The Second Wave*

Once introductions were completed, Thunder checked again at the insignia on the Dragonborn’s muscular chest.

“That is a symbol of Bahamut, correct?” he queried.

“Yes,” she replied simply. “The Platinum Dragon is both my patron and my ideal. I strive each day to live up to the standards Bahamut sets for me – to battle against evil, to prevail, and to help others do the same.”

“Then truly we two are well met,” smiled Thunder. “I follow Kord, God of Strength in battle and, if I recall, long-time ally of Bahamut. I pledge my shield with yours – together we shall work to drive evil from the land!”

“If I may,” interrupted Karl. “My Lord Aengus, we must keep moving. Outside, the Knights of Glorium are still surely engaged with their foes. Time is of the essence.”

Swiftly now, the group continued to round the edge of the tower, jumping across gaps in the stonework. A second large platform gave them a second to pause and gather themselves, and to see ahead.

The whispers had started again. Murmurs of “Auslander”, “Wyrm”, “Kindraeder” and “Einherjar” echoed down from the walls.

In the far corner of the tower, a faint light glowed. The largest platform seen yet stood there, and in it’s centre a magical light illuminated the surrounding stone. Straining his eyes, Iben reported that it appeared to be some sort of mechanical construction that stood on the platform, an intricate web of metal extending upwards. Sigurd offered that it must be the key to the tower – the location they were searching for within the grim stonework.

Between them and this construction was a larger gap. Karl, again, volunteered to be first to take the jump, with Thunder again acting as a counterweight should he fail to make it. With the ropes tied, Karl took a short run-up and launched himself into space, arms reaching out.

As he landed, he had but a short second to brace himself as three of the creatures sprang out of the darkness, crashed into him and sent him back over the edge and out of sight with a sharp yelp as he dropped. More creatures poured down the walls and up over the edge of the platform, screeching their rage at the interlopers.

A moment later, the rope around Thunder’s waist went slack.

Next time: The fate of Karl!


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## Mathew_Freeman (Jan 13, 2009)

*Leap of Faith*

The skeletal creatures were just as fast and as deadly as before, but this time the group were ready for them.

Staying tightly bunched together, they worked hard to protect each other and guard each other’s flanks. Karl’s possible loss had dimmed their spirits a little, but the pressing concerns of staying alive made their hearts sing with the joy of battle.

Ducking beneath the claw-slash of one creature, Thunder drove his spear into it’s shoulder, hearing it hiss in pain as the magical weapon struck home. He punched forwards with his shield, wrenching back with the spear at the same time and pulling it clear. To his left, he could see Aldis swinging her greatsword in clear, bright arcs, her scales glowing gold in the dim light.

An echoing boom rang through the chamber, and two skeletons were blasted backwards off the ledge, their bones splintering in the air as they fell. A cry of “Melora!” came from Sigurd as she celebrated the success of her magic.

Aengus had worked a bit more space for himself. Teleporting to an adjacent ledge, he began peppering the attacking skeletons with _Eldritch Spears_, the emerald blasts of arcane power slamming into each foe in turn. Thunder himself used his power to _Turn Undead_ to crush another skeleton to powder. The tide began to turn.

Just then, climbing into view, came Karl, blooded but undefeated. Of the three skeletons that had taken him over the edge there was no sign. Attacking from the side, his return threw the skeletons in chaos and within a few seconds more they had once more fled from whence they came, their whispers their only presence amongst the group.

Aengus’ face broke into a wide grin as he saw the diminutive gnome stand panting, keeping a careful eye out for any further foes. “How did you manage that?” he called. “We thought you were lost to us!”

Grinning in return, Karl told his story. “Well, my Lord,” he began. “They took me over the edge and were clawing away. I didn’t want to drag our esteemed Warforged friend over the edge with me, so I cut the rope and took the drop. Managed to twist around on the way down and land on one of them, so that left two more. Got the drop on one nice and swiftly, and then one-on-one it turned out my fighting skills were better than his. His head is down there somewhere. Body too – nearby. Then a short climb back up and back into the fray.”

“Oh, incidentally, my Lord – thank you for the _Eldritch Spears_. Most, uh, illuminating when you need a little light to climb by.”

Now able to cross safely to the larger platform, the group swiftly moved across to examine this strange machinery. After some examination of the device, built into the actual stonework of the tower, Aengus and Sigurd were together able to offer some ideas as to what it actually does.

Sigurd’s quietly assured voice gave the news. “It appears to be a magical device that requires a power source. And by that, it requires some sort of captured spirit in order to function. It strikes me that in order to get this to work, one of us will have to sacrifce ourselves.”

Thunder knew in his heart that this was the moment he had been brought back for. He was the obvious choice, surely, being a spirit within an artifical form, rather than flesh-and-blood like the others? But before he could voice this thought, Aengus made a surprising suggestion.

“Bully!” he said. “How about our minotaur friend?”

Opening the box, he swiftly coversed with the minotaur spirit, offering it peace away from the demands of the group. With some persuasion, the minotaur spirit agreed to inhabit the machine and power it – floating gently through the air and sinking into the metallic construction.

Within seconds, a faint portal had appeared, which swiftly grew strong and whole. Exchanging looks, the group headed through to see what features they could discover in this strange place.

They emerged into a smaller room in better repair. Around the walls was a huge mural telling the history of the Swordlands region. For full details, see the Glorium page of the wiki.

Note: Having a Paladin in the party made a notable difference in this fight, with the undead hordes going down much more quickly with her radiant powers!

Next time: The room beyond the portal is revealed!


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## Mathew_Freeman (Jan 16, 2009)

*Moving On*

“Fascinating though these murals are,” said Thunder, “We need to find a way out of this room before we, excuse me, you, starve to death.” He grinned, wryly.

Aengus sighed quietly. “Of course,” he replied. “Not all of us have the benefit of your Warforged constitution, and there is a pressing need to get out of here and attempt to help the Knights of Himimborg from dying in combat agains the raiders.”

The group quickly noted the room had a portal shaped gap in it’s decorations, in the area of the World-Tree mural. Closer examination revealed that one gemstone in this area was missing, and Aengus realised that it would be possible for the group to replicate it’s shape through magic and thusly open the portal. He also noted, however, that arcane magic was not what was powering the portal. Thunder examined the portal and the missing keystone space as well, but also concluded that it was somewhat of a mystery to him.[1]

A dank water stain dripped along the wall by the portal, with algae growing at the bottom of the edge of the room. With help & guidance fromm Aengus and Karl, Sigurd carefully aimed a Ray of Frost into the space. Her magic shone and with precision the gem-shaped hole was filled with ice. The surrounding stones began to glow, with tracks of colour arching through the walls. The portal seemed to pulse for a second before flaring into life, glowing brightly.

“Right,” commented Aengus. “Let’s see what’s on the other side.” Carefully, the Eladrin pushed his head through the portal, seeing what appeared to be an empty room full of debris. Signalling the all-clear, the party moved warily into this next room, Aengus noting that the teleportation effect didn’t seem to be taking them very far.

Entering this new room, lit only by Sigurd’s light and the small glow of Thunder’s blue eyes, they could see a room filled with metal junk. A second later, and there was a sharp intake of breath from Iben.

“These are pieces of Warforged…” he said quietly. It was true, scattered around the room and covering the floor were arms, legs, torso’s, gauntlets and even some heads. Most were intact, but some had rents and other damage in them. Four pillars held up the ceiling, ten feet up, and on the far side on a raised plinth were three stone statues.

The middle statue was instantly recognisable to Thunder as a statue of Kord – wearing a horned helmet and holding a massive sword in one hand. The other hand was raised in a clenched fist. The statue was expertly carved, and Kord’s expression was clear in it’s power and fury.

On his left was a slightly larger statue of a Giant. Each character recognised it as that of Surtur, the lord of the Fire Giants. Carved into the wall next to him, leading all the way around, were scenes of fiery destruction being wrought upon human settlements. The sea was being boiled into steam, a city stood ablaze, a mighty forest became nothing but ash.

On Kord’s right was another statue, this one of Thyrmm, the lord of the Frost Giants. The carvings on his side of the room showed more scenes of devastation as storms covered the land in ice, glaciers replaced rivers and forests turned into petrified wastelands.

As Karl began to softly tread his way through the piles of Warforged components, Thunder began to test the ground ahead of him. Despite picking up a longspear, he was unable to locate the actual floor under the accumulated stacks of metal. Aengus looks ahead at the raised dais on the far side of the room, and spotted several pieces of alchemical apparatus and some books and tools. He also spots that the tools were sized and shaped to work on Warforged.

Thunder, moving carefully and wary of sinking into the mass of metalwork, reached the dais. Kneeling at the statue of Kord and bowing his head, he prayed.

“My Lord Kord, grant me the wisdom to see the path I must take. Lead me onwards to your enemies, that I might destroy them in your name and discover the truth of my existence. Guide me towards the battles I am destined to fight.”

In answer, the room began to shake and rock. In the middle of the room, a great disturbrance started, pieces of metalwork sliding together, before a mound of metal rose upwards. As the collected items fell away, a gigantic Warforged, fully twelve feet tall, stood revealed, it’s eyes glowing red.

Staring at the party, it’s mouth opened.

“Designate: Enemy!” it cried out.

[1]Consecutive natural 20's on our skill checks on those two queries! Our DM was not impressed.

Next time: The battle in the junk! Things are broken! Warforged vs. Warforged!


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## Mathew_Freeman (Jan 19, 2009)

*Warforged vs. Warforged*

The huge warforged reared up out of the surrounding parts and plucked a spear from it’s back. With a tremendous throw, the spear sliced into Sigurd’s leg and carried her backwards, sending her spinning into the alchemical materials. As she lay, several spilled alchemical reagants began to merge together, hissing and spluttering as they did so.

Yelling in anger, Karl leapt forwards off the dais and attacked. His first strike clanged off his opponents armour, but, nimble and swift he twister and struck again, penetrating it’s skin and damaging it. Thunder also ran forwards to engage it with the _Legionspear_, but as he closed the monster drew two bastard swords and parried his attack, striking in return. Thunder managed to get his own shield in the way, but felt the force of the blow ring through his arm.

Iben then joined the fray, howling in battle-fury. His enchanted axe sheared through the armour of the Warforged, dislodging a chunk of it.

Sigurd, regaining her feet amidst the wreckage, created a zone of _Icy Terrain_, freezing the metal around the party’s opponent. Unable to keep it’s footing, it fell prone. In a moment, the area was blanketed in darkness as the fey spirits allied to Aengus did their own work. With the creature down, Karl moved in again, stabbing ferociously.

Thunder paused for a second. Before it had vanished into the darkness, he realised that he had recognised the face of this creature. But there was something odd, something wrong about it.

“In the name of Kord, may his holy fire burn my enemies!” he cried, stabbing down with the Legionspear. The speartip ignited as he struck, and the divine fire spread quickly across the enemy, burning it. The creature writhed in the blackness, visible to all. However, the fire also weakened the ice encasing it somewhat, and it stood and struck back at Karl, driving him back a step and trying to make some space in the cramped room. Turning to Thunder, it met his gaze and said “I hoped you would come!”

Thunder stopped for a second, before parrying another sword strike. _That voice,_ he thought to himself. _It can only be him. General Requiem of the Legion!_ As he struggled with the knowledge that his foe was a former commanding officer, Iben roared again.

Drawing the primal spirits to him, Iben’s face took on, for a second, the aspect of a Frostwolf, one of the most feared predators of the Swordlands. In a savage fury, he chopped and hacked at his enemy in front of him[1]. Bolts of radiant power arched out from Aldis, exploding against the wall as another _Ray of Frost_ shot forth from Sigurd.

Behind Sigurd and Aldis, and as yet unseen, rat forms the size of small dogs began to emerge from the alchemical spillage. In scant seconds, the two adventurers found themselves beset from behind!

[1] This is, of course, the Frostwolf Rage daily power from the Barbarian playtest. Iben can certainly dish out plenty of damage, and with him hitting 5th level and gaining a second Rage power, we noticed a jump in power in this session.

Next time: The Battle Continues! The secret of this Warforged is revealed!


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## Mathew_Freeman (Jan 20, 2009)

*Requiem And Revelation*

Aengus, Aldis and Sigurd spun swiftly at the sound of movement behind them. Congealing out of the alchemical spillage behind them came several rat-shaped forms the size of small dogs, baring their teeth and snapping at the adventurers. Aldis moved to defend her Wizard companion swiftly, her golden armour shining brightly in the dim light.

The Eladrin Warlock took a different approach. Taking a swift step through the fey world, he moved to Requiem’s side, before teleporting back and leaving a freezing cloud behind him. The ice spread through the metalwork around the Warforged’s legs, locking him in place and preventing him from escaping the foes surrounding him. As he returned to the dais, safely out of reach of Requiem’s swords, several rats bit at him, one drawing a little blood from his leg. Sigurd was similarly bitten, and could feel the strange toxins that formed the rat begin to sap at her strength.

Karl, still dodging and moving as best he could on the slippery surface, struck upwards once more at General Requiem. In return, the large Warforged smashed a sword into Karl’s side, injuring him again. Thunder spoke a _Healing_ Word to repair the damage and followed it with a furious strike into Requiem’s side, shouting at his opponent, “How did you know to expect me?” he cried.

His eyes glowing brighter in battle lust, the form of the Warforged turned ponderously towards Thunder. “I don’t know how long I can hold this back,” he roared, striking out again. Before the blow could land, Iben’s axe blocked it as the Kindraeder attacked again. This blow landed across Requiem’s side, denting it and causing a cry of pain from the Warforged.

Sigurd had collected her wits and threw off the effects of the bite, concentrating her mind. A familiar incantation crossed her lips, and two rats were _Thunderwaved_ off the dais. Turning, she also threw out a _Colour Spray_ in the direction of Requiem, but the magical attack bounced off him without effect.

Examining the situation, Aengus found himself beset by rats. Using the power of his armour, he summoned forth the _Armour of Agathis_ to protect himself. The zone of darkness he had conjured earlier faded away, revealing the full extent of the damage done to General Requiem.

Thunder stared again at the giant figure fighting him. _There’s something wrong_, he thought. _That isn’t what he looked like. It’s as if he’s been augmented somehow._ Grimly he blocked another blow. _Or corrupted might be a better word. And wait – his Ghulra is missing!_

Karl shouted up at the Warforged figure, “I’m going to use that helmet as a chamber pot when I’m done with you!”, stabbing again at the leg of his opponent. Thunder also struck home, opening a gap in Requiem’s defences as his holy fire continued to ravage the creature’s body. Requiem’s body burned, but through the fire his eyes met with Thunder’s again. “There is something you must know!” he shouted, even as he once more hacked at Karl.

Karl took the blow and executed a perfect riposte, striking home and then following it by using the backswing of his weapon to spin and strike again. As Karl's blade sliced across Requiem’s leg, his eyes changed to blue for a second, piercing in the gloom. He called across to Thunder.

“In the last days of man, when Surtur and Thrymm attack, when all that is falls to dust in the wind – these are the last orders of the Legion That Waits. Hold the Bridge, for the Bridge must hold!” Thunder nodded in return, fixing the memory in his mind.

Requiem then roared with great force, red light shining out from his joints. He lashed out in all directions, sending Karl sliding backwards over a pile of metal junk. Iben lashed out in return, his blade going wildly askew.

Sigurd and Aengus fought the rats, the sound of another _Thunderwave_ mixing with the clash of steel from Aengus’ sword. His strike hit home, and the ichor that made up one of the rats splashed across the dais and the statues on it.

Requiem was beginning to weaken under the relentless onslaught he was subject to. Karl on one side, Thunder on the other with the power of Iben in between, all striking as best they could. A _Flaming Sphere_ from Sigurd began to burn in the room as well, adding to the holy fire conjured by Thunder. As Requiem roared in pain again, Karl seized his moment.

Taking a breath, he scrambled forwards and climbed the side of the giant Warforged, using his natural agility and small size to dodge it’s blows. Reaching the head, he struck hard, jamming his sword into Requiem’s open mouth. The light flared once more, and then, with a screech of metal, the Warforged crashed to the ground and was still.

Note: Well, our DM turned out to be a little disappointed with that fight. He'd created Requiem's stats when we were all about third level and just wasn't prepared for the amount of damage we could now dish out. He said it was sad to watch as his prized creation was ripped to shreds. Hah.

Next session: The looting! And another portal.


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## Mathew_Freeman (Jan 21, 2009)

*An Urn Full of Questions*

As the raging light from Requiem died, all that was left was Sigurd’s magelight spell to illuminate the room. Looking down at the fallen Warforged at his feet, Thunder felt a deep sense of sadness.

_He was one of us once,_ he thought. _Now he attacks, raging and confused. What if this is what has happened to all the Legion? What if I am the only one left?_

He knelt and examined the form more closely. Now that it had stopped moving, Thunder was able to get a much better idea of what had happened to the General. He could see that in addition to his Ghulra being removed, many modifications had been made. The body had been augmented and corrupted, growing in size and strength but losing the fluid grace that made members of the Legion so human-like.

Sigurd and the others had also been examining the other items on the dais. They found a book of star-charts, detailing formations in both the real world and that of the Feywild. Inside this book was a collection of other pages showing examples of Ghulra. On some pages, the Ghulra were combined like a jigsaw, as if an attempt was being made to turn them into one form, but each attempt was incomplete.

Several other items were also located, including a human toe preserved and mounted on a chain, a whistle, a box of white powder (Sigurd thought this might be a component in creating more of the rat-creatures) and a large urn. Aengus and Sigurd both could sense powerful magic within the urn, and after a short discussion agreed to open it.

Aengus’ gasp of shock sent Thunder moving quickly over them. Mutely, Sigurd turned the urn so that he could see inside it. Collected inside were several hundred Ghulra, and Thunder could feel his comrades spirits looking down on him as he stared at it.

“You know what this means?” he asked, sifting through the small discs. “I’d estimate that there are nearly 500 Ghulra in here – that was the full membership of the Legion. I think I may be the only one left.”

A short while later Karl came over to Thunder where he knelt praying to Kord. “We’ve counted the Ghulra,” he said. “Four-hundred and ninety-seven. Including you and the Warforged that was destroyed at the mountain, there is still one missing. Unfortunately, unless you can remember the names of every member of the Legion, we’re not going to know who it is.”

Thunder searched through the pile, a query in his mind. Locating a partcular Ghulra, he held it up. “I am almost glad to see this here, even though it may mean we will face him in combat one day. This is the Ghulra of The Strength of Steel, the first and greatest member of the Legion. At least he is not the one that is missing. I hope to meet him again one day.”

As they had talked, Iben had been prowling the room looking for another exit. “All of you, look!” he exclaimed, suddenly. “The portal has changed – we can leave.”

Gathering around it and taking their new items with them, including the two bastard swords that General Requiem had been using, the group stepped through.

Note: One more update and we're up to date, just ahead of next Monday's game. Also - more than 1,000 views, huzzah! Thank you.

Next time: Through the portal, and a very important birthday.


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## Mathew_Freeman (Jan 22, 2009)

*A New Land*

Stepping through a magical portal is always a slightly unsettling experience, and as the group exited Glorium tower they felt a certain oppresive weight lift from their shoulders. The constant threat of attack from the skeletal creatures or from another Warforged construct had led to a palpable sense of continuing tension, and as the light blue energy of the portal surrounded them they, finally, started to relax.

As their vision cleared, each member of the party could see where they had landed. Instead of the rocky island of Glorium, they now stood halfway up a large hill, frosted with snow and attacked by a biting wind. Ahead of them, a snowy forest filled the valley, with a narrow path down into the lowlands.

Iben thought through his lore of the area, and concluded from the clues available that they had moved a long way north – further into the Beastlands. With no other clue as to what to do next, they began to march down the hill, looking for human civilization.

Within an hour or so, a large gorge opened up in front of them, with cave openings clearly visible on the other side. Figures could be seen moving from cave to cave on the far side of the gorge wall, which rose high into the sky. A narrow rope bridge seemed to be the only way across, and warily the heroes approached it.

A quiet warning sounded, and a platform was lowered from the trees as they crossed, with several human figures clutching weapons on top of it. After a short conversation, the party were allowed to move up and into the inhabited areas of the caves and speak to the town’s leader, Yanni.

Yanni explained that this was the settlement of Wayweary, a mining and forging community famed for it’s weapons and armour. Upon learning that the group were in the midst of fighting the Beastmen and also possibly the Dead that were beginning to rise again, he eased his own tension and spoke more.

He explained that recently a group of Beastmen had come down out of the same hills as the group, lead by a centaur. After hearing the description of Sigmund from Iben, he confirmed that this was ths same creature. The Beastmen had gone to a set of local caves, newly opened, and fought some sort of battle there before departing.

Exchanging looks, the adventureres decided to investigate these caves for themselves. Yanni also spoke of the Formorian Prince that lived nearby, by name of Kindrbode. This sparked some considerable interest from both Karl and Thunder, both expressing an intention to visit this Prince – possibly terminally, if they could manage it.

“How will we get in, though?” asked Aengus.

Janni replied “It is the Prince’s birthday soon, and he invites people from all around to attend his castle and the yearly feast. The Prince himself will eat the most, of course, and enjoy the presents that everyone brings. You’ll have to bring him something to get in.”

Thunder drew one of the bastard swords that he had taken from the remains of General Requiem. “Will this do?”

“By Thor’s beard!” exclaimed Yanni. “That’s going to make the cake we made him look a bit silly…”

Laughing, the group rested up and recovered themselves. The following day, they explored the caves the Beastmen had visited, discovering little but for some evidence of a battle and a gauntlet, perhaps of Warforged make. Another of the Legion may once have been entombed here, but if so it was now gone.

Before leaving for Thruthgelmir, the group were talking in a small cave they had been granted to stay in for the duration.

“I have had an idea,” stated Thunder. “The Ghulra, the soul-stones of the Legion, have come into our possession. Why, if not for a reason? These soul-stones may still hold the essence of the Warforged they once were. By giving that essence a purpose and a life, we could use these Ghulra as weapons against our foes.”

“How so?” asked Aengus carefully. “I’m not sure what you’re talking of.”

In answer, Thunder looped a fine silver chain through a tiny whole drilled in the top of one Ghulra. “This was once the Ghulra of a friend of mine named Life’s Bright Spark,” he said sadly. “She was a fine and devout Cleric of Kord, and taught me many of His teachings. She always looked to protect us, and was never overcome by fear, or doubt, or rage. I hope she can protect me, too.” Looping the chain over his head, the newly-made amulet sat neatly on Thunder’s chest, catching the firelight. To Aengus’ and Sigurd’s mage-vision, they could see the amulet glowing slightly, protecting it’s wearer.

Thunder spoke again. “I am sure that each member of the Legion would be keen to help us. Let us seek to forge them into new weapons, armour and other items, that we may make ourselves capable of doing what we must. Sigurd, and Aengus, with your magical training and knowledge of arcana, you should be able to make this happen.”

As Karl reached into the urn, Thunder put one hand out. “Not that one,” he said firmly. “The Strength of Shield deserves a greater craftsmen that one of us, and should we ever put his Ghulra to use it should be for an item that will last a thousand years or more.”

The heroes spoke and worked long into that night, arming themselves for the battle to come.

Note: This idea of using the Ghulra to make magical items came about through discussion at the table. Broadly speaking, it allows Joe (the DM) to make sure we have level-appropriate gear without handing out lots of treasure (which is tricky given our accelerated speed of xp and level gain).

It also allows us to become more involved in the campaign world, letting us fill out the history of the Legion That Waits by coming up with more names to work with. The deal is that each item has to be named and detailed a little as we make items.

I'm very happy with the idea, and it means that Thunder now has:
# Life’s Bright Spark (Amulet of Protection +2)
# Link In The Chain (Exalted Armour +1) &
# Bright Fury of Kord (Symbol of Turning +1) to go with the Legionspear he already owned. Should make us all that bit more powerful for the next session!


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## Mathew_Freeman (Jan 28, 2009)

*A Diving Contest, Part One*

Once the forging of magic had been done, tired limbs rested and bellies re-filled with food, the group spoke once more with Yetta and Yuppi, the baker and blacksmith, respectively, of Wayweary. These two brave souls were the two that were to take the cake to Prince Kindrbode for his birthday celebration, and the adventurers had decided to journey with them. Apparently, since the Prince could only count to four, this was to be his fourth birthday party. No one in living memory could remember when it wasn’t his fourth birthday party.

Yetta explained the route to them. Using a rough map of the area as a guide, she pointed out the various dangers that lay in their way. “A cliff, the first bridge, through the woods, back across the river and finally through the snowlands,” she said, sounding almost happy at the thought of three days of hard marching. “Plus, of course, the creatures that will try and stop us. Raptors in the mountains, the Fisher King and his troll-kin servants in the river, and the ever present wolves may all try to take a bite out of us as we go.”

“The Fisher King?” queried Aengus. “That sounds ominous.”

Yuppi spoke up now. “The Fisher King is the father of all trolls. He lives in the river, old and foul, and preys on those that get to close. The only thing that he could possibly be bribed with is fish – they’re the only thing he likes to eat better than human flesh!”

A visible shudder went through the Eladrin at Yuppi’s words, as he pictured himself being slowly chewed upon by a group of troll-kin.

“But we won’t be prey to him!” announced Yetta. “We shall gain the blessing of Lady Snowshoes before we set off on our journey. We do this ritual every year, and it’s never failed yet.” She went on to tell the tale of Lady Snowshoes and how she came to marry Cleanfeet, Lord of the Sea. She had declared that she would marry the most handsome of all the spirits, but when the time came to pick her husband all the male spirits hid their faces under their cloaks, leaving only their feet exposed. Lady Snowshoes was forced to pick Cleanfeet, and although his face was not the greatest he was strong and powerful, always there and unchanging. It is said, however, that Lady Snowshoes has spent the years since their marriage sweeping his waters back into the sea – and popular retellings claims this is a tale of the importance of give and take in a relationship.

“How does this ritual work?” asked Iben keenly.

“All of us that are to journey will climb to a high ledge above the river, and leap forth into it. Lady Snowshoes will be impressed by our bravery and bless our journey,” replied Yetta calmly. Iben gulped, picturing the scene as the ground got closer and closer and closer and closer…

“Sounds fantastic!” piped up Karl, his gnomish face shining with excitement. “I’ll go first!”

Emerging from the cave in which they had slept the night, the party gathered at the base of the cliff. The air was crisp and clean, the sun bright in the sky. The rest of the village crowded round the base of the cliff, near to the pool that the divers were aiming for.

As the group, including Yetta and Yuppi, worked their way up the winding path to the ledge, sometimes having to scramble and climb up the more difficult patches, they saw an increasingly fantastic view spread out below them. The ledge had to be one hundred feet above the river, and each member of the group quashed a tiny quiver of fear at the prospect of leaping off.

Seeing the discomfort more evident on some faces than others, Yetta spoke up encouragingly. “Remember, both Yuppi and I have done this before, and we’ve never been injured!”

“Well, apart from that one time…” interjected Yuppi quietly.

At the ledge, Yetta placed her back against the cliff wall, grinned and with a huge cry of “Lady Snowshoes!” she leapt forwards of the cliff and plunged down into the pool below. The watching villagers cheered and whooped in celebration.

“Right!” said Karl confidently. “Me next!” He too, placed his back against the cliff wall, and then paused. “Not high enough!” he announced, and turned and climbed up another twenty feet to a higher ledge. Grinning, his face appeared over the edge for a second. The next moment, he backflipped off the ledge and spinning and somersaulting he flew down to the calm pool, straightening out at the last minute and entering with barely a splash. Another huge cheer went up from the watching villagers at his bravery and showmanship. A cry of “Lady Snowshoes be praised!” came from several lips.

Breathing deeply and gathering her faith, the Dragonborn Aldis went next. As she dived, she looked behind her at the sky and breathed flame all the way down, drawing another gasp from the crowd. Surfacing, she stood for a moment in the cold water. Speaking for her ears alone, she said “Lord Bahamut – protect us on this journey and guide us through all our battles to victory!” Striding ashore, she gratefully received a large wollen cloak warmed at a fire and began to towel herself dry.

Note: We had been told that this whole session would be done as a giant skill challenge, with each section contributing to our final success or failure. As you can see from the descriptions, we rose to the challenge.

Next time: One contest ends, and the journey begins!


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## Mathew_Freeman (Jan 30, 2009)

*A Diving Contest, Part Two*

Watching Aldis’ dive, along with the others, had made Aengus acutely aware of the high standards that had been set. He wracked his brain for how he could live up to the now high expectations of the villagers below. Suddenly smiling, he ran forwards and leapt high, gracefully twisting and turning as he fell. A second before he would have hit the water, he travelled through the Feywild a short distance, reappearing in the real world some twenty feet higher up than he had left – in effect, hitting the water twice. Another huge cheer went up from the villagers at this display of prowess and mystical power.

Sigurd resolved that human wizardry should be acknowledged, too. Whilst the others had been leaping forwards, she had been quietly working on the words and gestures of a ritual, unknown to the others. As she stepped off the ledge, she cast Feather Fall upon herself and instead of plummeting down to the water she floated gently, passing by the other caves in the wall. At her speed of descent, Sigurd was even able to greet one woman who was watching as she passed, leaving her dumbfounded.

Further wonders followed when she made contact with the water. With the magical ritual protecting her, her feet did not break the surface and she calmly walked back over the water to the shore, leaving her shoes only slightly damp. The watching crowd were quiet, awed by her power. Yetta called out “It might not be of the tradition, but Lady Snowshoes will surely respect a show of power such as that!”

The man next to her retorted “Or else she’ll be so confused by the ways of these Auslanders that she’ll just choose to leave them alone!”

Since arriving in the village, the Promise of Distant Thunder had been content to let the villagers believe that he was a man who chose not to remove his armour, rather than the Warforged he truly was. He glanced down at the villagers below, who were beginning to turn their heads back upwards in preparation for the next leap.

Rather than attempt to emulate the tumbling theatrics of Aengus and Karl, or the magical power of Sigurd, Thunder dived cleanly and directly into the water. Just before impact, he released a burst of radiant energy, causing a huge splash and making the water churn and bubble in dramatic fashion. Pausing underwater, he took advantage of his Warforged constitution to wait as long as he could before making his way back to shore, wading slowly out from the freezing water and keeping his face impassive. As he accepted a towel and began to dry his metallic body, he could hear the excited whispers of some of the village children. “He dived in his armour! He dived in his armour!”

This left Iben and Yuppi at the top of the cliff, standing side-by-side on the ledge. Yuppi grinned and gestured, but Iben shook his head. “Uh, you go first,” he said, trying not to let his nervousness show.

Yuppi nodded once, and with a mighty cry of “Lady Snowshoes!” he leapt out, stretching his arms wide and whooping all the way down. He hit the water cleanly and swam to shore, to be engulfed by his wife, Yetta, in a huge bear hug. The two grinned at each other, sure their efforts had brought good fortune on their forthcoming journey.

Iben stared again over the edge of the cliff, thinking to himself who he, who could overcome all fear and worry on the battlefield, could be so afraid as something so simple as a drop into water. Seeking reassurance, he went through his totems and fetishes, seeking comfort in their unfailing presence. Muttering prayers to every spirit he could think of, he took his life in his hands and made a mighty leap off the ledge. Screaming all the way down, he crashed into the water.

Dragging himself ashore, he felt as though his skin was on fire from the impact. Wincing, he looked up at Thunder mutely. “Iben, that was bravely done,” responded the Warforged. “But you are not truly injured. Kord teaches us that there is always a cost to achieving your goals. The pain will fade in time, but not with my help. You shall endure, overcome, and be better for it.” Iben nodded in understanding.

Next time: Journeys with a cake!


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## Mathew_Freeman (Feb 3, 2009)

*Journeys With A Cake*

Once all were dried and ready, the group began their journey. The cake itself was to be pulled by an ox, a huge but docile beast that placidly trudged along the narrow path. The cart itself was a modified mining cart, with the cake securely wrapped in blankets inside to keep it from getting damaged.

Yetta and Yuppi walked by the ox, keeping a careful eye on it. The path was frequently narrow, but the sure-footed beast walked along easily. Thunder and Aldis walked in front, guarding against any of the possible dangers that had been mentioned previously, with Aengus and Karl a further forty or fifty feet ahead of them, their eyes looking into every nook and cranny of the mountainous path. Behind the cart Sigurd and Iben guarded the rear. The plan was to make the first bridge crossing by nightfall.

As the path wound higher into the hills, the river dropped away. Yetta explained that it was named the River of Knives , so called because of the high amounts of iron ore found throughout the area. She pointed to the rocks that broke the surface of the water, and the group could see that some of them looked almost rusty. Yetta explained that difficult though this trail was for the cart, it was still easier than trying to navigate the dangerous and unpredictable river.

As the sun began to dip towards the horizon, the group reached the highest point of the days travel and began to descend again towards the first river crossing of the trip. The brake was applied to the cart and the ox was moved behind it to act as a further brake as it travelled downhill. The path wound through a twisting path towards a wooden bridge around fifteen feet across. On the far side of the bridge, woods clustered around the trail as it disappeared back up into the hills.

Although Karl and Aengus had kept a sharp look out throughout the day, tiredness had taken its toll. Their only warning was a harsh, avian shriek as a large form launched itself from an overhanging ledge. Thinking quickly, and hearing Yetta’s cry of “Raptors!” Karl used the magical powers in his gloves to conjure the scent of fresh blood. Diverted from its original target of the ox, the huge bird-like creature instead latched on to Karl’s head with its talons and plucked him off the ledge.

Karl could feel the raptor’s talons digging into his skull as it went into a glide across the mountainside. Through the pain, he managed to find the concentration to use the magical powers of his cloak Time To Exit Stage Right and teleport on to its wings. Drawing his shortsword and clutching hard onto the raptors feathers with his other hand, he stabbed downwards and was encouraged to hear another scream from the raptor in return.

Aengus, angry with himself at missing the approach of the raptor, launched himself into a flat run towards the edge of the path and hurled himself in a leap towards it. Seeing he couldn’t make it on muscle power alone, he utilized his fey heritage and jumped through the Feywild, appearing next to Karl on the beast’s back. Grabbing onto a handful of feathers, he spat a curse at the creature, dooming it to die.

Iben yelled and ran forwards, drawing his axe and scrambling down the slope to try and stay near the rapidly moving creature, as Thunder prepared a healing spell should Karl come back into range. Drips of blood from the Gnome’s head had splashed onto the rocks, and the Warforged feared for his friend’s safety. The raptor was moving rapidly away, beating it’s wings and flying as best it could with two unexpected passengers. It rolled from side to side, seeking to dislodge them.

With all attention on the raptor, the only warning the group had was a second yelling shriek from above as a second raptor, this one even bigger, flew down and seized the ox in it’s talons, lifting it high out of reach back up onto a ledge above. The ox was ripped out of it’s harness, and the cart began to slowly rumble forwards down the slope. Yetta wedged herself in front of it, her feet sliding on the scree.

Sigurd, seeing the cart move away from her, reached into her magical repertoire and conjured an Icy Hand spell. The magical construct reached out and grabbed the cart, lending it’s strength to help stop it rolling down the hill.

Karl stabbed frantically again, triggering the power of his sword This May Sting A Little and feeling it slide deep into a vital muscle of the raptor. He shouted in triumph, enjoying every second of the wild ride he was on. Aengus, in turn, created a freezing vortex on the raptor’s back but unfortunately the raptor’s constitution proved to be stronger than Karl’s, and he shivered in the magical cold, feeling it seep into his skin.

Turning, Iben ran back up the slope he had just descended and began to climb the wall towards the ledge of the second raptor, which was now busily attacking the loudly-lowing ox. He could see blood starting to drip down and the raptors beak came briefly into view, stained red. Aldis also began to climb, her Dragonborn limbs not quite as suited to the difficult terrain, but with determination she matched Iben in speed.

Thunder, meanwhile, had parked himself in front of the cart, and grabbed at the brake. Using every ounce of force he could muster, he forced it back into place and stopped the cart in it’s tracks. Glancing left and right, Thunder could see that Karl and the first raptor appeared to be circling back round, and Thunder kept a careful eye out for the condition of the Gnome. Blood had splashed on the rocks, and it was hard to see from whom. The raptor was trying to scrape Karl off against the rock walls, and he had swung back round underneath it as best he could.

Seeing the cart was now safe, Sigurd directed her magical hand to start climbing the rock wall, seeking to stop the second raptor from further injuring the ox. Looking up, she also fired a Ray of Frost up at it, impacting on it’s flank. Encouraged, Yetta and Yuppi began to climb up too, spears clutched in their hands.

Karl was now hanging on for grim death underneath the increasingly ferocious raptor. Summoning up his strength, he wrenched his shortsword free and plunged it back into the beast’s side. At the same time, he heard Aengus launch an Eldritch Spear into the side of the creature, and with a final croak, it died. Aengus was able to teleport free, but Karl suddenly realized with a sinking heart that he was now riding a dead raptor, at speed, towards an incoming cliff wall.

Note: This was all enormous fun - hats off to crater for coming up with it!

Next time: A meeting with the Fey


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## Mathew_Freeman (Feb 6, 2009)

*Journeys With A Cake Part 2*

The raptor on the ledge, having felt as though it was going to have time to devour the ox in peace, was somewhat startled as Iben climbed past it and then leapt down upon it, striking hard with his axe. A second later, Aldis followed suit, her newly made helm adding to the ferocity of her charge. Under attack from sword, axe and spell the raptor panicked and tried to launch itself off the ledge to escape. Reacting, both Aldis and Iben took advantage and struck again, and the dead body of the raptor tumbled off the ledge.

Karl, riding the other raptor as it’s death-plunge took it towards the cliff wall, saw the second raptor fall of the ledge in front of him. He brought his feet up and pushed as hard as he could, springing clear at the last second as the two raptors collided and collapsed in a bloody heap. He hit the ground and rolled, coming up against the cart as he did so, breathing hard. The cool touch of Thunder’s hand helped him up, and as it did so Karl could feel renewed strength flow back into his limbs as the cuts on his head closed and healed.

Between them, Yuppi, Yetta, Aldis, Iben and Sigurd’s magical hand were able to bring the ox back to ground level. Working hard as best he could with the limited materials available and his own faith, Thunder was able to staunch the bleeding and bandage up the poor beast of burden before it died. With only a short walk to go before resting for the day, the ox was put back in the repaired harness and the group followed the path to the bridge.

Despite the narrowness of the bridge, the crossing was made safely. Moving into the woods, Aengus scouted around for a decent campsite. To Yetta and Yuppi’s surprise, he found an excellent site – a large, now-hollow tree that had been struck by lightning some years previously. With an open top and only one entrance, it made a great spot to wait out the night. Tinder was gathered by Iben and a fire lit, and the party settled down for the night. Aldis took time cleaning her armour, making sure each plate and piece gleamed as though new. Iben, who had taken the skull of the raptor he had slain, was working hard scraping it clean to add to his personal trophies.

Karl, meanwhile, was engaged in working with the feathers he had taken from the first raptor. Abandoning his usual impeccable cleanliness, he had begun to weave them into his hair.

Thunder took the first watch, needing less sleep than the humans, and at around midnight Aengus took over, his sharp eyes scanning the woods around him for any signs of movement. He knew wolves lived in these woods, and in harsh times they might be moved to attack.

Off to his left, about thirty feet away, a twig snapped as though someone had stepped on it.

Aengus’ sharp Eladrin ears had picked up the sound of a snapping twig in the vicinity. He had been staring up at the night sky, using the book recovered from Glorium to compare the skies now to those from years past, and becoming increasingly interested in the changes in the formations over time.

He had been warned by Yuppi that wolves lived in these forests, hungry and lean. Quietly waking Karl, the two of them crept quietly into the forest, seeking to discover whether this was just a harmless animal or something more serious. After a few moments, what sounded distinctly like soft, booted footsteps could be heard, walking parallel to the camp. Exchanging glances, Karl and Aengus woke their companions and the group moved as silently as it could through the dark trees to investigate.

Ahead, they could see dim light flickering in the night. Moving closer, Aengus saw small footprints as if made by booted feet leading towards the light. At the edge of the clearing, each member of the group could see an empty campsite, fire built, and food laden all around. A roast boar with an apple in it’s mouth sat mounted on a tripod, a rack held several dragonfish and two rabbits, and over the fire itself a deer was roasting on a spit.

Aengus caught his breath as he realized what was going on. In areas such as this, far from civilization and the trappings of humanity, it was possible to cross from the World to the Feywild just by walking. They stood now at the far edges of the Beastlands, where it was said that a conjunction with the Feywild exists.

Iben, too, being familiar with tales of spirits, could understand what had happened. We are being invited to talk with Lady Snowshoes, he thought to himself, and stepped into the clearing, gesturing the others forwards.

On the very edge of hearing, but swiftly growing louder, quiet whispers could be heard.

“They have come! They have come!”

“Who has come? Who is here?”

“They have answered the call!”

“They are here!”

Realising he was in the presence of Faerie, Karl introduced himself with his full family name and rank, the other following suit with similar words. As each person spoke, they noticed that the animals and foodstuffs that were laid out around them were animatedly moving and wriggling on their respective hooks and spits, and the voices that could be heard were coming from them. As Iben spoke and introduced himself, the boar spat out the apple in it’s mouth and joined the chorus. With a start, Aldis noticed that it was the fish asking “Who has come? Who has come?” as their eyes were sewn shut.

Looking around on it’s spit, the deer nodded at Karl: “The Instrumentality1 has answered the call! So Far have his little feet carried him!” The fish wriggled as they hung and slapped their bodies together, creating the effect of a light smattering of applause. Looking across at Iben, the deer said “Kindraeder has answered the call, so pleased you have come! The herald they call him!” The fish applauded once more.

Confused, Aldis asked of the camp “What call? We have heard no call, we are travelling to Thruthgelmir.”

Looking back and meeting her gaze, the deer responded. “Wyrm has come, she comes to free her people. And the Eladrin, too! So cruel she was to summon him so, so cruel she was. Einherjar has answered the call! The Call That Does Not Sound!” With each announcement the fish slapped their bodies in applause.

“The Call That Does Not Sound?” asked the boar in a grunt.

“And yet he stands before us!” rejoiced the rabbits.

“And a human woman has answered the call,” continued the deer, “but not ours, not ours!”

“Not ours? Then whose?” grunted the boar.

“Perhaps her own? Perhaps?” asked the rabbits.

Trying to get a grasp on the situation, Aengus calls out “We have spoken with the Wailing Spirit of the Mountain, near Kindraed!”

The boar responded loudly “You must save us!”

The fish and rabbits chorused immediately, “Save us! Save us!”

The deer spoke again, saying “The end will come, the land will die. Faerie, too. You must save us! The lands are joined by lines – these lines must be severed.”

“You mean.. Leylines?” asked Aengus, calling on his knowledge of the natural world.

“Well…” began the deer.

“She will tell you, she who awaits at the end of the World!”2 interrupted the boar.

The deer continued quickly. “Beware Siegmund!” At the mention of this name the rabbits trembled and squealed with fear

“He tricks you! You have what he has not, and he wants it. He –“

A sharp snap of a twig sounded in the forest, off to one side, and in an instant, every animal went limp, the boar picking up the apple with its mouth again before falling still.


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## Mathew_Freeman (Feb 9, 2009)

*Journeys With A Cake Part 3*

At the sound of the twig, Karl spun round trying to see what was moving out in the blackness. Seeing no movement, he crept quickly out of the clearing, scouting around. The rest of the group fanned out around the edge of the clearing, but could find nothing more than a small set of wolf tracks. Neither Iben nor Aengus could explain them, save to say that another spirit had interrupted what was going on.

After a short discussion on the do’s and don’ts of dealing with Faerie, it was decided that the food could be eaten, and the companions fell upon it ravenously. Sigurd, however, had a very bright idea and asked Iben if she could borrow his Bag of Holding. Placing the cooked Dragonfish inside, she explained that should the Fisher King or his troll-kin be encountered, we could produce these fish as a distraction or bribe. This idea was greeted with great joy by the others, who had been somewhat worried by the prospect of facing angry troll-kin seeking to devour them.

After feasting and returning to the tree, the whole group, including Aengus, fell asleep inside. Awakening, they found that a deep snowfall had happened during the night, with light flakes still falling as the sun was coming up. Thunder, feeling truly rested for the first time since he had been rescued from the Ice Wall, noted that Aengus seemed disturbed. Pressing him, Aengus admitted that he had had a dark and disturbing dream during the night (see Ragnarok page).

Sigurd has had another bright idea during her sleep. She asks Yuppi and Yetta if the cake can be dismantled, showing them the Bag of Holding. Quickly the idea is grasped – by dismantling the cake and storing it in this magical bag, it can be transported more easily and with less risk. Yetta has made the cake so that it can come apart in layers and pieces, and it stacks up neatly inside the bag. Sigurd can now ride inside the cart with Yetta and Thunder, whilst Yuppi keeps an eye on the ox from outside. Aengus and Karl continue to range ahead with Iben guarding the rear.

After half a days walk through the waist-deep snow, the travel-party comes to a stone bridge crossing a second stretch of the River of Knives . This bridge has a thirty-foot span, and is well built and sturdy. The path continues down into lower hills on the far side, but as the party cross the bridge they can see that the river is swollen and running faster than normal.

Yuppi casts his eye down at the raging water below, and looks along it’s path. Pointing, he says “We’re going to need the raft. Normally we can walk alongside the river and stay off it, but with the snowfall, and the recent rain there is no way we could manage that. There is a raft prepared – I hope you’re all ready for some more hard work?”

The ox was left behind with sacks of food for the return journey, tied up safely in a cave with the cart. With Iben’s Bag of Holding taking the weight of the cake, all members of the party clamber cautiously onto the raft. As they set out, Yuppi stays at the back, doing his best to steer with an oar. Aengus sits at the front, keeping an eye out for rocks hidden under the water. Iben and Thunder sat at the front corners with long poles, ready to use their strength to keep the raft from crashing into the sides of the gorge.

The first set of rapids were negotiated with ease, and the river opened out for a moment. This respite was short-lived, however, and as the gorge ahead narrowed the river once again picked up speed. Racing around a corner, everyone could see more jagged, rusty rocks looming up from under the water. Unfortunately, on this occasion Aengus’ eyes were not keen enough, and a jagged rock ripped into the raft from beneath, splitting it down the middle. Despite heroic efforts to hold it together, within seconds the party had been dumped unceremoniously into the freezing, fast-running river. 

As the raft split, Aengus once again called upon his Faerie-like powers to teleport to safety on the bank. Over the next minute, he saw Karl and Thunder also pull themselves out of the water, but of Yetta, Yuppi, Sigurd, Aldis and Iben there was no sign.

Following the path as best they could, the three of them moved around the next bend in the river to be greeted by an awesome sight. The gorge ended abruptly in a swirling maelstrom as the river dived downwards between walls of rock, disappearing underground. Overhanging vegetation grew in the tremendous spray that was thrown up from this sinkhole.

After a short discussion, Karl found himself, once more, on the end of a rope being lowered into the vast, sucking hole at the centre of the maelstrom. With water all around him, he, in turn, slowly lowered a torch ahead of him as he descended into the blackness, desperately hoping for a sign of his companions. Above him, Aengus and Thunder, perched dangerously on the strongest tree-branches they could find, kept careful grip on the rope and slowly continued to lower their Gnomish friend.

Next time: Did the others survive? More importantly, did the cake?


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## Mathew_Freeman (Feb 18, 2009)

*Onwards to Thruthgelmir*

Karl slowly dropped through the raging waters, his sharp eyes peering as best he could through the spray and the darkness beneath. Distantly he could see a dim light shining, and he tugged on the rope to let his comrades above know that life was present. A short while later, after some very nifty ropework, Karl, Thunder and Aengus stood beside a damp shore underground.

The journey through the maelstrom had left Yuppi, Yetta, Iben, Sigurd and Aldis breathless and sore. One by one they had dragged themselves out of the freezing water, pulling up onto a sandy shore and collapsing to get their breath back. Aldis powerful lungs dragged air back inside of her – as a creature of fire, she had found the immersion particularly unpleasant. Never again! She thought to herself. I would rather face a hundred Beastmen than be drowned in that cold!

Sigurd was weakly able to conjure a magelight, illuminating the nearby area. Yuppi moved towards Iben and asked, her throat raw, whether the cake had survived. Iben was able to show her his magical bag, and inside the various parts of the cake were intact. “Had we not been able to produce that cake, our lives would have been forfeit,” explained Yuppi. “We would have been better off turning back. Thank you.”

About fifteen minutes later, all were reunited. Yetta put forward their choices from here on in. “We can take a long, quieter road, or a shorter and more dangerous route. It’s been about five years since we had to go this way, and the Fisher King and his trolls still live down here. We’ll have to stay well clear of them if you don’t want to get ripped to shreds.”

After a short discussion, it was agreed that the shorter, more dangerous route was the best option. Yuppi and Yetta led the way through the broken tunnels. The path was not a smooth mineshaft or worked tunnel, instead it meandered up short climbs, down rough drops and sliding slopes, through more freezing streams and past the distant sounds of rats and bats. At all times, every member of the group kept their eyes peeled and their ears open, listening for the first sound or watching for the first movement that would indicate the trolls had found them.

A couple of hours journey later, Aengus spotted a trail of wet footprints on the rock ahead of them. The sole that had left them had no imprint at all. With a smile, Aengus turned to the rest and said “It appears that Lady Snowshoes is to be our guide out of here. We must truly have impressed her with our diving, and with our courtesy last night in the forest.”

Five hours later, after following the footprints as best they could, the part emerged from underground into a blizzard white landscape, just as the sun was setting. Distant mountains reached for the sky, sharp crags and snowy peaks on all of them. All around was a desolate waste, no life, no animals, no sound other than that of the snow. Yuppi estimated that they were perhaps half a days journey from Thruthgelmir and Prince Kindrbode’s party, so it was decided to make camp and push on in the morning.

Yuppi & Yetta helped set up, then over the remaining provisions they told The Saga of Harald Know No Fear [1], one of the mighty ancient Kings of the Swordlands . As the clouds above parted and the temperature dropped, shooting stars could be seen overhead, racing through the sky. Aengus sat up through the night, not needing sleep, only rest. He watched as the stars slowly moved overhead, taking note of their positions and constellations. As the sky lightened, clouds began to form again, heavy, black and pendulous. As all awoke and broke camp, a huge clap of thunder started as the rain began to pour down.

Thunder and Aldis stood defiant in the rain, even as some of the others sought shelter. “It is a sign from Kord!” cried Thunder. “He sends the lightning to say we are to strive forwards and strike down our foes!”

“And my Lord Bahamut sends the thunder!” returned Aldis. “We shall shake our enemies and destroy them.” As she spoke, another lightning flash and thunderclap lit up the sky, and the two grinned at each other. Squaring their shoulders, they began to march forwards along the mountain trail, through the slushy, melting snow. The wind swirled, trying to blow them off the side of the mountain, but despite all these weather conditions the group moved well through the storm. After a few hours march, Thruthgelmir was revealed in front of them.







[1]See the next post for the text of the Saga.

Next time: We venture nearer to the Thruthgelmir, the End of the World.


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## Mathew_Freeman (Feb 18, 2009)

*The Saga of Harald Know No Fear*

_What gods are these to whom you pray?
The father asked the son,
“The shadows, the sun, the falling leaves,
For we two worlds are one.”

Where now the steepled kirk and fist?
The wise man asked the fool,
“The bowered wold, the breaking waves,
The moon upon the darkened pool.”

Where now the legion and the crown?
The old king asked the knight,
“We now are lost and so remain,
For this war we cannot fight.”

What men are these who this way come?
The hunter asked the prey,
“Sons of this world and of that,
Or so the faeries say.”

What gods are these to whom you pray?
The father asked the son,
“The shadows, the sun, the falling leaves,
For we two worlds are one.”

- From the saga of Harald Know-No-Fear
_


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## Mathew_Freeman (Feb 23, 2009)

*The Hall At the End of the World*

Thruthgelmir stood proud and stark against the skyline, sticking up from the land around like a spike thrusting up against the sky. To it’s left and right, mountains and crags marched away into the distance, but beyond Thruthgelmir there was nothing more than rolling clouds and distant lightning. No mountains. No land. No creatures.

Truly, marvelled Iben to himself, It is the End of the World.

As the companions approached the hall, they could see all around them that there were figures moving around the ruined buildings in the shadow of the Hall. The buildings, explained Yetta and Yuppi, were the former dwellings of Harald Know-No-Fear and his men, left derelict countless years before.

The figures, upon closer examination, turned out to be Orcs of the White Rhino tribe. The companions, moving with confidence amongst them, realised that they must serve Kindrbode through fear, rather than respect.

“I wonder,” grinned Karl “If we could create more fear amongst them, would they follow us?”

The idea also appealed to Aldis. Flexing her full frame and loosening her sword in it’s sheath, she posed the simple question “Do you think they could be afraid of me?”

Yetta also told the others of the Vizier, the head of the Orcs and wielder of magical power. He is their leader, and Prince Kindrbode’s main advisor, a fearsome creature that holds control over the surrounding lands only surpassed by his master. Little more was known, but his description was confirmed – Thunder made a mental note to see if this creature could stand up to his Spear, if he got the chance.

Yuppi suggested that the cake be presented, in order to facilitate getting into the Hall. It was quickly taken from Iben’s magical bag and constructed, with Aldis and Thunder taking the front positions. The rear of the cake floated along unsupported – Sigurd and Karl using their magical powers to help sustain it and provide an eerie reason for the group not to be bothered.

As they walked through the crowds of Orcs, dozens of them stared at the sight. Orcs of all sizes, from huge brutes down to cunning magic-users and sneaky backstabbers, even including some Orc children, known as Snotlings. The combined emnity and hate was almost palpable, and each member of the group knew without a doubt that a short command from the leaders could lead to an instant bloodbath.

The Hall itself loomed ever larger, and passing under the sharp points of a huge portcullis the group entered. Inside, a short entranceway opened out into a much larger hall, dimly lit in red light.

Two large Orcs stood guard at the entrance, and seeing the cake they motioned the party through. Further down the corridor, another order stood behind a table. Staring at them, he gestured at the many items in front of him and abruptly grunted “Wear a hat, then go down the stairs.”

With varying degrees of horror, each member of the party realised that in front of them was a large table full of party hats, complete with tassles, ribbons, coloured foil and paper streamers.

Player's note: Once again, our Beloved DM combined horror and humour, for which I thank him. More to follow later today, and probably throughout the week!

Next time: Inside the Hall


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## Mathew_Freeman (Feb 25, 2009)

*Ready For a Grilling*

The huge central Hall of Thruthgelmir was thick with smoke, the atmosphere hot and humid. As the party cautiously entered, still bearing the cake, they could see that instead of a standard floor there was a great series of grills and iron bars supporting the occupants. Thirty feet down, a great bank of glowing goals provided both the light and the heat of the room. Overhead, the ceiling was lost in the smoky haze.

At the right hand corner of the room was an entrance to the kitchens, and to get out of the heat and claustrophobic space the party took the cake through with some speed, surprising some Orc kitchen staff. Whilst Yetta checked over the cake, repairing some of the damage done during the journey and fitting the heavy duty candles into their holders, Sigurd quietly performed a magical ritual that allowed him to understand the Orcish language. What she heard, however, she considered far to coarse and vile to pass on to the others.

Whilst Yetta continued to work, the rest of the group, and their party hats, returned to the main Hall. Moving further inside and looking through the smoke, they could see various humanoid figures. More Orcs, various groups of humans and a few huge Ogres loomed up in the red light. Two of the Ogres were engaged in a viscious, though apparently friendly, fistfight, battering each other back and forth in the centre. Four towering columns, reaching sixty feet overhead, marked the edges of their battleground. Around the pillars, bets were made and money exchanged over the eventual winner by a mob of cheering Orcs and shouting humans.

Aengus had been keeping a careful eye out for Sigmund, the King of Himimborg’s centaur half-brother, and was relieved to see that he was not in attendance. However, he did spot one of the Satyxis – the horned figures who had menaced the party before, most notably when escaping from the Ice Wall and during the Battle for Glorium. The figure was extremely striking, a lithe female form in armour with two large horns protruding from her head. She had not mingled with the other guests, and instead stood to one side sipping a drink quietly and watching with great concentration.






Further details emerged from the gloom as the groups eyes adjusted. Aldis looked around the walls to see that two huge stained glass windows glared down on the proceedings. The windows featured pictures of giants wreaking havoc across the land with ice and fire, trampling the buildings of men beneath them. Karl, being the inquisitive Gnome that he was, examined the grilled floor and realized that portions of it could swing away due to some mysterious mechanism that led away towards the end of the Hall. Iben spotted another human across the hall, a huge and muscled old man chewing on a bone. Returning his look, the man gave a cheerful wave quite at odds with the hell-like surroundings. Finally, Sigurd tapped Thunder on the shoulder and pointed at the wall next to where they all stood.

“There’s a tomb here,” she said. “I think it’s Prince Kindrbode’s mother.”

Next update on Friday, as we investigate the Tomb of the Fomorian Queen.


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## Mathew_Freeman (Mar 2, 2009)

*Tomb of the Fomorian Queen*

The tomb was embedded in the wall, hidden away in a large alcove. Fully twenty feet long and made entirely of stone, the carvings on the near side clearly stated that this was the final resting place of Kindrbode’s mother, the former Queen of the Fomorians.

The Fomorian Giants came from Svartlheim, or the Feydark to the Auslanders, but a few had come to the surface lands and taken a piece of them for their own. Kindrbode was the son of the Queen of those that made their home here, but his rampant ambition meant that he never was content to remain a Prince only. It was rumoured, said Yanni, that Sigmund had aided Kindrbode in poisoning his mother in order to take the realm for himself, although no-one could work out what sort of fearsome poison could affect the inhuman constitution of a giant.

Sigurd wondered out loud about the possiblity of getting the tomb open and having a look inside. “Maybe we could work out what killed her,” she said. “Then we could use the same sort of poison against Kindrbode. After all, I’m sure none of us want to go up against him physically.” Thunder saw the wisdom of her words, thinking that although a physical battle was always a joy in Kord’s eyes, to die with your purpose unfulfilled would not honour him.

Thunder and Aldis hatched a plan to give Sigurd time to open up the tomb and have a look inside. At the far end of the Hall, the looming throne of Prince Kindrbode stood thirty feet up on a massive raised platform. A long slope led up to it, flanked with torch-mountings. Karl and Aengus between them had established that the fearsome mechanism that controlled the grilled floor was housed somewhere under that block. In the short-term, however, at the bottom of the slope were the brawling Ogres.

“Aldis,” said Thunder calmly. “How would you like to brawl against me?”

Aldis calmly eyed the mechanical form of the Warforged, noting his strength and balance, and the utter certainty of his demeanour. She knew that he would be a formidable foe in a serious battle, but the thought of testing herself against him in a mock-fight stirred her blood. “I would be delighted,” she replied, mouth pulled wide in a grin. “Let’s make a distraction they’ll be talking about for years to come!”

Moving across the Hall to the far side of the Ogres, past the old human still gnawing on his bone (who gave another cheery wave and ambled over to see what they were doing), they found a small group of Orcs talking in their guttural language. Without Sigurd present, translation was impossible, but taking advantage of what he saw Thunder gave the nearest Orc a resounding shove, sending him into the next. The Orc turned, teeth bared, and glared at the Warforged who stood and gestured him forwards. The Orc seized the moment to grab Thunder’s shoulders and plant a firm headbutt on his forehead. The resounding clang echoed through the chamber and the Orc went momentarily cross-eyed before roaring in pain. Aldis took this as her cue to launch an uppercut on the other Orc, and soon all four were brawling on the ground, with even the Ogres ceasing their fight to come over and see what was going on.

_Fantastic!_ Thought Thunder to himself. _We’ve certainly drawn attention to ourselves!_

Back near the Tomb, Sigurd and Iben had managed to lever the top off the tomb. Inside, a dessicated giantess lay dead.

“In Melora’s name,” gasped Sigurd. “Her stomach has been ripped open – from the inside!”

Next time: Enter the Prince!


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## Mathew_Freeman (Mar 6, 2009)

*Enter the Prince*

As Sigurd and Iben stood gazing in horror at the shredded tissue that lay decomposing in front of them, they were both surprised to hear a low voice from behind them.

“Well,” it said. “I alwaysh wanted to know exactly how she died.” Turning, they beheld the old human man they’d seen earlier. He threw away his bone casually over his shoulder and extended his hand. “Greetingsh!” he exclaimed. “I am here ash the representative of the Free People of Mickelgarth, and Snufflegruff ish my name. Pleashed to meet you.”

Iben took his hand and shook it warmly, explaining to Sigurd that the people of MIckelgarth had long lived under the threat of Kindrbode without ever truly becoming his servants. Stating that he was from Kindraed, the two quickly exchanged news of their respective regions, and Iben asked how Snufflegruff had made it to the Hall.

“It’sh shimple,” he said in return. “I ran. Took me about a month. A bunch of the othersh started the journey with me, but funnily enough they all dropped out after a couple of weeksh. Wimpsh, all of them. We should get thish closhed up, sharpish, before someone noticesh.”

With the help of the surprisingly strong Snufflegruff, the tomb was quickly closed and re-sealed. It seemed that Aldis and Thunder had put on a sufficiently good show (“Nice uppercut,” commented Iben) to keep the attention entirely on them and the investigation had gone entirely un-noticed.

With an ear-splitting blast, the brawl was brought to a sharp close. Two troll-kin, clutching huge horns, had blown on them to quieten the room. They were followed by two sharp-eye Orcs clutching large crossbows, and then finally the Vizier made his appearance. A spectacularly ugly Orc, he was dressed in a long robe and had his ears pierced in several places. He raised his hands above his head and called out across the room.

“Ladies and gentlemen!” he cried. “I bid you to be silent for the arrival of the greatest, the most powerful, the most awe-inspiring and the most majestic Prince Kindrbode!” As one, with the true fervour of those who know their lives are on the line, the room burst into applause.

The subject of their applause lumbered slowly into the room. Standing fifteen feet tall, humped and mis-shapen, oozing pus from several sores and with his two eyes always looking in different directions, dressed in filthy clothes, Prince Kindrbode entered through the doorway. He paused for a second by the rack of levers at the back of his hideously ornate throne, running a hand over them and grinning, before settling himself in front of the large table that had been laid for him. He leant over to the Vizier and muttered something in his ear.

“The Prince commands entertainment!” called out the Orc. “We shall have the choir!”

Four Orcs, trembling and afraid, moved forwards to the bottom of the slope up to the throne. They were dressed in matching costumes, and nervously began to sing.

Note: We truly had no idea what these Orcs were going to sing to us, but crater surprised us all by actually providing both the Orcish original and the English translation, in a fine singing voice. The lyrics (sadly, just the English version) are:

_Orc is Strong
Man is Weak
Blood for Grumsh
Time for Lunch
Heft your Spear, don your Armour
Burn the Farm, kill the Farmer
Drink his Blood in the Moonlight
Take Everything of value you can find_

and should be sung to the tune of "Silent Night".

*Next time: The Prince's judgement.*


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## Mathew_Freeman (Mar 11, 2009)

*Ten!*

After the haunting, multi-layered harmonies of the Orc choir ebbed away into the smoke, the room was quiet for a moment. The song had spoken of the worship of Grummsh, of Orc superiority, of blood, death and killing. Everyone in the room had been moved according to their feelings.

The Sinister Vizier moved slightly forward and called out to the assembled throng.

“The Prince will now count the choir!” he said. There were some nervous looks around the room, as the Prince had never been known to count higher than four.

“Ein!” shouted the Prince. “Zwei! Drei!” There was another long pause. The choir, trembling in their boots, looked up fearfully. The assembled Ogres, Dragonborn, Warforged, Humans and others waited with baited breath.

With an enormously pleased grin on his face, the Prince uttered the word “Zehn!” Swiftly, the Sinister Vizier whispered in his ear.

“Zehn! Zehn!” demanded the Prince, gesturing at the choir. The Sinister Vizier shrugged and turned back to the crowd below.

“The Prince has decreed that there should be ten singers. There are only four. My… apologies.”

Reaching behind him with one long, misshapen arm, the Prince pulled one of the twelve levers behind him. In an instant, the iron grill that the choir stood upon at the base of the steps to his throne swung down and open, the Orcs standing on it dumped unceremoniously and screaming into the burning coals. Iben jumped backwards as the pit opened up, wary of his footing.

The Prince chortled and laughed out loud like a child who has just discovered how much fun his new toy is.

Note: Kindrbode was counting in the Real World language of German – one, two, three, ten.

Next time: Presents are received. And what, exactly, are shox?


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## Mathew_Freeman (Mar 13, 2009)

*A Gift Well Given*

After the Orcs had finished screaming in the fire (still in four-part harmony), the iron grill slowly, and with many creaks and clanking noises, winched back into place with a resounding boom.

The Sinister Vizier took a deep breath, enjoying the smell of his freshly-roasted brethren, and spoke again.

“Next,” he said, “We shall see Rusalka, on behalf of Sigmund the Conqueror.”

The horned woman strode forwards, a large barrel under her arm. Showing not the slightest trace of fear, she moved confidently up the steps to the Prince’s throne. When she reached the top, she set the barrel down amidst the feast at his table.

“You’ve got to admit she moves well,” noticed Aengus admiringly. “I’ll have to have a chat with her, if I can get her alone…”

“I bring a cask of fine brandy,” she announced. “Ten pints of it.” The Vizier leered at her, and Kindrbode seized the barrel and drained it in a single draught, taking huge gulps as he did so.

“The Ogres of the Shaven Yak Clan!” cried out the Vizier as she departed down the steps.

One of the two Ogres that had been brawling in the middle of the Hall made his way up to the Prince, covered all the way by the Orc Crossbowmen in case of treachery. It had been the leaders of the Shaven Tak Clan, together with those of the Mammoth Tusk Ogres, that had once attempted to otherthrow Prince Kindrbode, and the remains of those leaders were now held in effigy above his throne, plastered across the wall like some obscene hunting prize.

The Ogre carefully and slowly laid a sack of prodigious size on the table in front of the Prince, and opened it. As the Vizier looked inside, the Ogre proudly held up ten fingers.

“Bath salts!” announced the Vizier to those who couldn’t see. Kindrbode took a long, slow, sniff and then opened his mouth and stuffed the whole ten kilos-worth down his neck in a single bite, chewing happily. “And now,” continued the Sinister Orc, “The Mammoth Tusk Ogres shall present their present!”

As the two Ogres crossed on the stairs, Sigurd whispered to Iben. “They’ve all brought things in multiples of ten, not four. How did they know?”

Iben replied “I don't know. But the Cake of the Wayweary people is only four tiers high. They could be killed. Let me go warn them.”

Karl, who had overheard, interrupted and replied “I’ll do it. They’re less likely to notice I’m gone.” He moved quietly and casually towards the kitchen, catching Snufflegruff’s eye as he did so and giving him a small nod.

The Mammoth Tusk Ogre leader, meanwhile, was showing the Prince his fine collection of tusks that he had offered as a gift. Once again, the Prince simply ate the lot, belching contentedly at the end. Taking this as a sign of favour, the Ogre hurried back down the steps on to safer ground. One of the Orc Crossbowmen made a great show of raising his crossbow as if to fire, to the general merriment of the other watching Orcs.

With a voice dripping in sarcasm, the Sinister Vizier called out again. “The ‘Free People’ of Mickelgarth – who is their representative this year? Come, step forwards and lay your tribute for the Prince’s birthday.”

Dropping the chicken bone he had been gnawing on, Snufflegruff heaved a large bag on his shoulder, grunting slightly with the weight, and made his way up the stairs. At the top he paused for a second before clearing a space and placing his offering on the table.

“And what fine treasures have the Mickelgarthers brought their Lord?” enquired the Sinister Vizier.

“Shox!” said Snufflegruff.

“Shox?” replied the Vizier, baffled.

“Shox?” said the Prince, his brow wrinkling in confusion. “Vas ist Shox?” Slowly, his hand reached towards the levers behind him.

“Shox!” said Snufflegruff again. “Do none of ye wear shox around here? Shurely ye jesht with me? How do you keep your feet warm?” Shoving his hand into the bag, he pulled out a pair of very large, and very thick, wollen socks, in garish, mismatched colours. The Princes arm froze, then reached back round in front of him, gathering up the bag.

“Wait, pleash,” said Snufflegruff “They’re shupposhed to go on your – “ The Prince, ignoring him, licked his lips as the last sock disappeared down his throat. “Ah well,” sighed the Mickelgarther. “At leasht you appreshiated them.” He turned and headed back down the stairs, moving back to the food table and picking up another piece of meat to chew on.

“The Prince summonsh, forgive me, *summons* Aldar the Dragonborn to deliver her present,” called out the Vizier. He adjusted his robe fussily and looked about. “Aldar? Obey! You are summoned!”

From the entranceway, a six foot tall figure carrying a large box moved forwards and began to cross the room. As he passed Aldis, she averted his eyes from her gaze, dropping her head slightly.

Thunder nudged Aldis in the side. “Who is that?” he asked. “I take it you two have some sort of history.”

Aldis scowled at the back of the figure now climbing the stairs. “I thought I was the only survivor of the ambush that my old friends walked into. I presumed Aldar was dead like all the rest. But if she survived too… I wonder, was she the traitor that betrayed us? She is certainly toadying up to Kindrbode and the Vizier like a good servant.”

Aldar had reached the top of the stairs and opened the box. Glittering light came from within, and Kindrbode reached over immediately and poured the contents into his mouth. Brilliant jewels spilled out as he chewed and swallowed, gorging himself. Aldar, a tension showing in her neck, retreated and made her way back through the crowd. Again, she couldn’t face looking Aldis in the face. She bared her teeth, growling quietly under her breath as Aldar went past.

The Vizier, who had quietly placed a gem or two in his own robes, spoke forth again. “The Jesters of Igglingsborg shall entertain us all,” he pronounced. “The Prince requires great entertainment.”

The four humans in Jesters outfits nervously began to perform, knowing that with only four of them their time was likely to be limited.

“Quick!” hissed Aengus. “There are six of us! If we join them we can spare them! Pull out your best party tricks, everyone!”

“My best party trick involves me, a knife, a willing volunteer and normally, a trip to a Temple for healing,” muttered Karl. “But I appreciate what you’re saying, my liege.” He began to caper and dance, leaping into the air and bouncing off the surrounding Orcs and Ogres as he did so.

Stony-faced, Sigurd stared at him and Aengus, who was conjuring glittering waves of faerie light, at Aldis as she performed a Dragonborn war dance and at Iben. “I can’t believe we’re doing this,” she said. “It’s so undignified.”

Iben gestured the large figure of Snufflegruff over to him, said something quietly in his ear, and then bent down and lifted him above his head in a single movement. With muscles straining, he began to turn the human around and around over his head, spinning him. Thunder swiftly stepped in and took the weight, stand straight-legged and proud as he hoisted the Mickelgarther even higher.

“Fine!” said Sigurd. “If we’re to make fools of ourselves, let’s make fools of them, too.”

With a gesture and a wave of her hand, she transformed herself into a likeness of the Sinister Vizier, her skin green and warty, a suspicious look on her face and a sneer on her lips. Lacking the ability to speak Orcish, she instead started to point at various people in the room.

“Blah, blah, blah, do what I say,” she uttered in a passable imitation of the Vizier’s voice. “Blah, blah, blah, now we shall have the Angels of Heaven giving us things, blah blah blah, the ground should be grateful I walk on it…blah blah blah…”

A bumper update today!

Michael, who plays Sigurd, took us all slightly off-guard with that moment, but it was very much worth it. We launched in with a barrage of skill checks to see if we could save the Igglingsborgers from death, and just about made it.

The tension of this scene was that we all knew that a big fight was coming, just not exactly when it'd be...

Next time: Too Much Cake Is Bad For You.


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## Mathew_Freeman (Mar 16, 2009)

*Too Much Cake Is Bad For You*

As Sigurd waved her hands and continued to drone on in Common, imitating the Sinister Vizier (who was turning slowly purple in rage up on the raised dais), she was unaware of the stunned looks she was receiving from around the hall. For a second, everything save the burning and hissing coals beneath her had gone utterly still, before a single Orc grunted in mirth.

His neighbour quickly shushed him, fearing reprisals from the Prince, but as Sigurd continued (“Blah blah blah, see my big pointy hat, blah blah blah, dance for me maggots…”) he couldn’t hold it in any longer and almost exploded in laughter. A second later a nearby Ogre joined in, a deep throaty chuckle and in moments the whole room was laughing out loud. Aengus’ merry laughter span through the smoke, with a giggling Karl providing a neat counter-point. Aldis and Thunder’s voices were both lower, as befits creatures of their size, with Iben occupying a mid-note that created a pleasant harmony.

Suddenly a discord sounded in the room, a harsh, manic laugh booming through the room. Spinning, Sigurd suddenly became aware that the Prince was laughing hard, hit to burst. He poked the Vizier with one long, grubby finger and exclaimed “Blah blah blah!” before continuing to laugh. Masking his annoyance, the Vizier waved the Jesters away, seemingly safe from the Prince’s wrath.

Seeking to regain some of his lost authority, the Vizier clapped his hands together and shouted for the cake to be brought out. “As quickly as possible!” he demanded. “The Prince is still hungry!”

The group rushed to the kitchen, to find Yetta and Yuppi applying the final touches. Despite the cake only having four tiers, they had brought a great many candles with them and were able to stick ten in the top of the cake. Lighting them, they checked it over one final time before getting ready to take it out.

From the doorway, a gruff voice registered his interest in the proceedings. “I shay,” it said. “I can’t help but think that I shmell a rat here. What’sh going on?” Snufflegruff stood there, watching with interest. “No, sheerioushly,” he continued. “I can shmell a rat.”

Aengus’ eyes suddenly went wide as an idea hit him. “No…” he breathed. “Not a rat. Not in so many words. But a rat! An alchemical rat!”

Sigurd cottoned on. “The Tomb, that strange smell. It’s the same smell that the alchemical rats give off – that must be how Kindrbode killed his mother! And if Sigmund was involved it makes even more sense. Hang on a moment…” She took the magical bag from Iben and rummaged around it in, eventually producing the flask taken from Glorium. “We can put this in the cake! He’ll eat it – after all he’s eaten everything else – and then…”

“Killed by rats from the inside,” said Aengus. “Is there any more fitting way for him to go?”

Quickly, knowing that the Prince’s patience was not his strong point, the cake was dosed with poison. Thunder and Aldis took up the load at the front with Iben (magically assisted by Sigurd) taking the back part of the cake on his broad shoulders. Making a slow procession, and being very careful not to drop anything, they stepped back out into the main Hall and began to ascend the long flight of steps up to the throne and Prince Kindrbode. Karl, knowing that violence was imminent, snuck around the side of the Hall and began to climb the wall, hand-over-hand, in the darkness and smoke, swiftly becoming lost to view.

The Prince’s eyes lit up at the sight of the cake, and for a few brief seconds he even managed to focus both eyes upon it, before the left again went wandering off around the Hall. The Vizier sneered and gestured them forwards, letting the Orc Crossbowmen cover them all the way, ever alert. The two Trollkin bodyguards were also paying careful attention. Suddenly, and in a rasping and ghastly voice, the Vizier began to sing.

“Happy birthday to you, Happy birthday to you, Happy birthday Prince Kindrbode… Happy birthday to you!”

As the party neared the top of the steps, the Vizier halted them. Kindrobode’s mouth was drooling, splittle slowly collecting on his already filthy clothes. “One moment!” said the Vizier. “We shall test the cake before the Prince is permitted to eat it. Trollkin! Come forwards!”

The same thought ran through everyone’s heads. _We’ve got to stop him!_

Note: Yes, our DM sang to us, and even forced us to join in. Quite what ther other people in the pub thought of us I don't know...

Next time: Who will eat the cake?


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## Mathew_Freeman (Mar 18, 2009)

*A Poor Choice of Diet*

As the Trollkin stepped up smartly and cut a small piece of cake from the main part, Sigurd acted quickly. Disguising her actions as best she could, she attempted to use magic to cause the most poisonous part of the cake – the icing – to fall off the top and spill to the floor. Misjudging her power, however, she yanked it too hard and it spun through the air towards the Vizier. Grinning, the Vizier snatched it out of the air and sniffed it suspiciously. Finding it to his liking, he stretched out and slammed it back on to the piece that the increasingly-nervous Trollkin was clutching.

“Eat! Eat! Eat!” he said.

Staring around him, the Trollkin placed the cake in his mouth, chewed, and swallowed. A few seconds went by whilst all eyes (save one of Kindrbode’s, which was staring at one of the Ogres) were focused on him. Obviously feeling that something more was expected of him, he grunted something in Orcish.

“Tastes of almonds,” translated Sigurd, her ritual spell still working.

Apparently satisfied that the cake was poison-free, the Prince lunged forwards and, with both arms, grabbed the rest of it. Almost unhinging his jaw, he opened his mouth wide and with ten seconds, the whole cake had turned into nothing more than a fine shower of crumbs on the floor. He belched, hugely, sending a wave of foul gases across the room and grinned widely. The Vizier, his interest waning, waved the party back down the stairs.

Keeping a very careful eye on both the Trollkin and the Prince, Iben, Thunder, Aldis, Aengus and Sigurd back oh-so-slowly down the stairs, not daring to turn their backs. Step. Step. Step. Step.

As they reached the bottom, the Trollkin suddenly burped. The Vizier’s head snapped round to stare at him. The Trollkin staggered, clutching its stomach. Something seemed to be moving under its clothes, pushing against the skin. The Trollkin swallowed hard, burped again, and then paused for a second in disbelief.

There was a moment of stillness on the dais. Then a large rat-head poked out of the Trollkin’s mouth, sniffing the air. It was quickly joined by a second, and in a shower of gore six more clawed their way out of the creature’s stomach, chittering and scurrying onto the floor. The Vizier yelled and shoved the Trollkin off the dais as it dropped to the floor, watching it fall and split into a further group of rats when it hit the grill below. “Treachery!” screamed the Vizier. “Kill them! Kill all the humans!”

“Honestly,” said Aengus quietly to Thunder at the bottom of the stairs. “You’d think they’d be able to tell the difference between a human and an Eladrin.”

“Tell me about it,” replied the Warforged.

All over the Hall, Orcs, Ogres, Humans, Warforged, Eladrin, Gnomes and the Sytaxis drew weapons and prepared to go into battle. Prince Kindrbode got to his feet, ponderously, to observe the mayhem. Lifting his hand, he opened his mouth to give the final order to attack.

From his position on the wall above him, just getting ready to either drop off weapons-first or try and manipulate the many levers at the back of the hall, Karl saw a small rat head poke out between Kindrbode’s teeth.

Note: We were oh-so-nervous at this point. What we wanted to happen was that Kindrbode would eat the cake immediately, die, so that we could mob the Vizier and friends before the Orcs and Ogres could make it up the stairs. Of course, our best laid plans were brought to naught as crater wound us up for as long as possible.

la_bete, playing Karl, made the decision to go up on the wall because he knew he would be missing the next session. This allowed crater to Karl do 'behind-the-scenes' stuff with him.

Next time: The Battle of Thruthgelmir! Who's heading for a fall?


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## Mathew_Freeman (Mar 20, 2009)

*The Battle of Thruthgelmir, Part 1*

Karl had been steadily and quietly climbing the wall at the back of the giant Hall of Thruthgelmir. His plan was to use the magic of his gloves to try and activate the levers hidden behind the Prince’s throne, and swing the inevitable battle in his friends favour. He had scaled the wall, keeping carefully out of sight and staying high up, hidden in the smoke.

From this vantage point he was, therefore, the first to notice that Prince Kindrbode’s body was behaving in a most peculiar fashion. There seemed to be lumps forming under the skin, moving about, and shifting beneath his clothes. The Prince opened his mouth to speak, but instead a small group of rats spilled out from inside his gut. Karl chuckled to himself. This promised to be most entertaining.

Meanwhile the Vizier was still screaming for the humans to be killed. In response, both Thunder and Aldis charged up the steps towards him, swiftly followed by some of the Orcs. A short melee ensued, with the two heroes trading blows on the steep steps with the vile Orc-kind that were following them. As more Orcs and the leader of the Wyvern Tusk clan of Ogres closed in on Aengus, Iben and Sigurd. Off to one side, the humans of Iglingsborg found themselves under attack from the other Ogre champion even as they attempted to launch a volley of arrows at the Orc Crossbowmen up on the dais. Battle cries and the clang of weapon against weapon filled the air.

Sigurd jumped back as a howling Orc charged at Iben brandishing a pair of punch-daggers. A curiously cultured weapon for such a savage beast, thought the Wizard. Composing herself, she looked up at the dais. Prince Kindrbode, the Sinister Vizier and an Orc were stood in close proximity – perfect targets for a spell. With a wave of her hand as she focused her will, Sigurd cast a sleep spell. Grinning, she saw the Vizier and Kindrbode both stagger a step and yawn as the spell began to take hold.

Iben had been standing next to a large support pillar as the fight began, and four Orcs closed in on him. The Kindraeder felt his battle-fury settle upon him, and in one swift arcing stroke his slew all four as they came in, before racing to the bottom of the ramp with axe raised high. Dodging the blows of other Orcs he slammed the axe into the side of the Ogre chieftain, feeling a rib snap under the impact. Drawing breath for a second, Iben then turned and charged once more the full length of the ramp, overtaking Thunder and Aldis and covering the ground at great speed. Reaching the top, he leapt over a swing from the Trollkin bodyguard before catching Prince Kindrbode on the side of his head with a clipping strike.

“Your death is come for you, Prince!” howled Iben as he struck. “No more shall you bring terror to this region!” In return, Kindrbode yawned again, and Iben was surprised but pleased to see rats fighting each other to climb out of his stomach.

As the Orcs and Ogre closed in on him, Aengus realized he was badly outnumbered. Reaching into his pocket, he found his small Onyx Dog statue. Summoning the magic within it, he dropped it on the floor and watched as it swiftly grew to normal size and began to move about, guarding him from attack. At the same time, the Eladrin drew his sword, dropping into a guard position as he sought a space to wield his own magic. Looking around him, he could see that Rusalka the Sytaxis had pulled out a bow and seemed to be struggling to decide which side to take.

“Stick with us!” shouted Aengus over the din. “It’s your best chance. Trust me – there is going to be a shift of power tonight, so be on the right side!” Rusalka sized up the odds as Aldis crashed her greatsword into the Orc in front of her. The Orc fell off the stairs in two pieces, disappearing on the far side of the ramp. Turning back to Aengus, Rusalka nodded and drew back on her bow, sending an arrow deep into the back of the Frozen Yak clan Ogre chieftain.

Resisting the magical sleep as best he could, the Sinister Vizier stumbled towards the rear of the Hall. Reaching it, he took one lever in both hands and pulled hard. As he looked back over his shoulder, he could see that what was a set of stairs and turned into a steep ramp. Thunder and Aldis lost their footing under the abrupt change and slid back down to the bottom, joined by several more Orcs. The move left Iben alone on the dais with the two Orcs, the Vizier, one Trollkin and the Prince. Unfazed, Iben brandished his axe again and began to chant his death-song.

Next update on Monday! The battle concludes!


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## Mathew_Freeman (Mar 23, 2009)

*The Battle of Thruthgelmir, Part 2*

At the bottom of the ramp, a furious battle was raging. The Orcs had the advantage of numbers and were trying to surround Thunder, Aldis, Aengus and Sigurd. Thunder and Aldis were struggling back to their feet after being dumped by the ramp, and both had to lever themselves up off the floor whilst dodging axe blows. Once they regained their feet, however, their superior skill began to tell as they fought back-to-back and cleared a space around them.

Aengus threw a curse into the fray and ran through, looking to make his way up the ramp. The going was steep, but with the aid of his ability to teleport his made it up to the top in a few seconds. Barking, the Onyx dog followed as he ran to assist Iben. Crossbow bolts from the Orc archers bounced off the stones around him and whizzed over his head.

Iben was winding up another huge swing of his axe on Kindrbode. Just before he swung, he noticed that Kindrbode was making no effort to defend himself, instead pressing both hands over his mouth. Shocked, Iben took a step backwards as the Prince swallowed hugely. After a second, Kindrbode’s eyes went wide and he groaned in agony – and then, in a shower of Giant-blood his stomach exploded, covering Iben in gore as thirty or forty huge rats leapt out from inside him. The rats scurried away instantly, climbing down the sides of the dais to escape as Kindrbode toppled backwards into his throne, ending up sitting there like some grotesque mockery of a ruler.

Covered in blood, faced by enemies on all sides, Iben let his battle-rage loose, felling the Trollkin in a single blow and howling in rage. The noise drew the attention of all the fighters in the Hall, and they saw Iben drenched in blood as Kindrbode lay dead in front of him. A cheer went up from the party and they returned to the fray with renewed power. The Dragonborn Aldar, seeing that the Prince was slain, drew her won weapon and waded in alongside Aldis.

“This is madness,” she said. “You’ll never win against all of them. Sigmund will come for you.” She blocked an axe strike from a burly Orc, grunting under the impact.

“So be it,” responded the Paladin grimly. “When he does, he’ll get more of the same!”

The Sinister Vizier threw off the magical sleep and was just turning to adjust another lever when he felt something drop over his head. As he reached up to free it the rope went tight, and the Orc was yanked upwards into the darkness. As he ascended, he scrabbled and kicked against the wall trying to get free, but a moment later Karl came into view above him.

“Greetings, Vizier,” said the Gnome, who had braced himself against a support. “Meet my friend…” The last thing the Vizier saw was a shortsword flashing towards his face.

Surrounded by Orcs, Thunder knew that he had to give Aldis some space. In a second, he drove his Legion Spear through the body of one Orc, and then spun round to stab up into the Ogre chieftain. As he struck, he called down Kord’s wrath on the beast, and the spear tip ignited in lightning. The Ogre staggered back, small bolts of lightning leapt off him and struck other nearby Orcs, burning them. Taking a breath, Thunder spoke a Healing Word, curing some of the small cuts and bruises on Aldis’ body.

In turn, Aldis drove the Ogre back further, battering away at him with her greatsword and stopping him from being able to take a moment’s breath. Suffering from many points of impact, the Ogre was tiring fast.

A terrible creaking noise came from near the entrance Hall. Looking to see what it was, Sigurd realized the a couple more of the guard Orcs had started to raise the portcullis with the aid of a winch. On the far side, she could see many more Orcs waiting to get in and reinforce their leaders. Quickly, she spoke the words of a Stinking Cloud spell, and the noxious vapours began to choke the Orcs as a green cloud formed. The Orcs struggled to open the portcullis, heaving under the weight, and a couple began to slip underneath. As they entered the cloud, however, they coughed and died. Sigurd concentrated hard, keeping the cloud sustained with magic and moving it around as Orcs tried to dodge past it.

Iben and Aengus fought the two Orc Crossbowmen on the top of the dais, who had drawn axes now their enemies were in range. The ferocity of Iben combined with the cool head of Aengus’ swordplay saw one go down quickly, and Iben took the opportunity to run forwards and leap off towards Snufflegruff and the other human villagers who had been battling the Ogre leader. Catching hold of one of the hanging cages he swung on it and dropped next to the grinning Mickelgarther.

“I’ve come a long way to find you,” said Snufflegruff as he dodged another swing from the Ogre’s club. “Let’sh shee what you’ve got, eh?” Iben grinned back.

Aldis had been biding her time, knowing that sooner or later the frenzied attacks of the Orcs would leave them open. Taking her chance she ran one through with her sword, slipping easily past it’s guard. Up on the dais, Aengus felt the death-blow as the boon of his Curse activated. Gripping the magical Rod he now wielded, he was able to spread the curse across to the other Orcs and the Ogre, seeing them all lurch slightly as it bit home. Ignoring the Orc next to him for a moment, he poured his will into the room and a powerful Fey wind blew through the Hall, accompanied by a ghostly moaning. All of those creatures that were under his curse swayed under the impact, feeling the ancient power of the Fey course through them, ripping their very souls apart.

Aengus followed it with a more mundane attack and threw an alchemical firebomb into the mix, watching it explode and fizz in the throng. Taking advantage of this, Aldar and Thunder together brought the Ogre down, Thunder driving his Spear through it’s brain for the final blow.

Over by the remaining Ogre, Iben was now exchanging blows with it. It had another surprise for him, though, as it reached up and opened the cage above his head. Leaping forth, several skeletal figures leapt out and scuttled to attack, surrounding the group.

“I’ve got these,” announced Snufflegruff. “You deal with him!” He charged into the skeletons as they clawed and bit at him. Finishing off the other Orc, Aengus moved over to the side and launched an Eldritch bolt into the mix as Karl climbed down the wall and attacked them too. Under the weight of these attacks, the Ogre and skeletons couldn’t last long and they swiftly fell.

With the Ogres dead, and Sigurd’s magical cloud heading their way, the rest of the Orcs fell swiftly. Within a few more seconds, the battle was over and the group stood in the Hall. Rusalka had also survived, and Yetta and Yuppi looked out from the kitchen where they had been keeping themselves safe.

Still covered in blood, Iben swung his axe over his head. “VICTORY!” he hollered.

Breathing heavily and clutching a wound on her side, Aldis echoed him. “Victory!” she said. Looking across at Aldar, she spoke more quietly. “And you and I need to have a talk.”

Note: This battle took an entire three hour session to play out, and even though Kindrbode went down early it was very tense. The turning point, for me, was Sigurd using Cloudkill to block the entranceway through which lots more Orc Minions could have arrived. Without that, we might have found ourselves overwhelmed. Just goes to show the value of a good Wizard player!

This post brings the Story Hour up-to-date, but we're playing tonight so hopefully by Wednesday I'll have something more to add.


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## Mathew_Freeman (Apr 15, 2009)

I'm back from my holiday in Virginia, USA, and I'll be adding some more to this story hour tonight.


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## Mathew_Freeman (Apr 15, 2009)

*Beyond the End of the World*

After the adrenalin rush of battle had subsided, the companions that had defeated Prince Kindrbode and his minions looked around the devastated remnants of the Great Hall. Corpses were piled everywhere, none grander or more foul than that of Kindrbode himself.

The Giants body lay in the wreckage of his table, sprawled with his stomach gorily splayed open. The contents of his stomach, however, had survived relatively intact. After some discussion, the gems that the Sinister Vizier had swiped were deemed to be of less unpleasant nature, and Kindrbode’s body was thrown into the firepits.

Karl, however, took a moment to live up to a promise he had made – he made the head into a chamberpot and used it, before tossing it dismissively into the fire along with the rest of the trash.

Outside, trying to get away from the stink of burning Orc-flesh, and watching the rest of the Orc tribes flee, broken, into the distance, Iben and Snufflegruff talked for several hours. Snufflegruff spoke of a prophecy that had long been told in his village, that Auslanders would come and lead to salvation. Shaking Iben’s hand, Snufflegruff added that he felt the prophecy “wash more than filled now, you shee.” As thank, Thunder gave him the one of the two bastard swords that he had recovered from the body of Requiem – telling him to take it back to his village and use it well.

The Warforged had decided to keep the other sword, and other the next few days he trained hard with it. He felt almost as though he were relearning swordplay, rather than learning it for the first time, and the long, heavy blade felt natural in his hand.

Departing, Snufflegruff spoke his final words to the group. “There are many talesh of the Worldsh End. Shome shay it endsh in Fire and Frosht when the Primordialsh return to lay washte to all. But in our village they shpeak of the Aushlandersh that lead the worthy to victory againsht them. I hope that thish refersh to you, I truly do.”

Leaving, he passed Aldis and Aldar as they spoke quietly, for many hours. Finally, Aldis returned to the others, saying that she would not speak of her one-time friend. Aldar departed for points unknown.

Back inside the Hall, Rusalka was talked into staying, rather than returning to Sigurd. It took a quantity of gems, and Aengus’ smooth words to convince her. Thunder spoke of the good she could do under the banner of Kord, and although momentarily unsure, Rusalka finally agreed when Karl added that if, in fact, she did attempt to rejoin Sigurd’s ever-increasing army, he would personally remove her knees.

Karl and Aengus began to work on the great door at the back of the Hall, the one that reputedly led to the Underworld. The other villagers – Yuppi and Yetta, the Iglingsborgers and Snufflegruff, all departed on their way, to spread the tale of Kindrbode’s demise. Over the next few days the door was slowly opened, new magic items were created and Aengus and Rusalka found time for a little “night hunting”.

Finally, with a cry of exhausted joy, Karl finally cracked the incredibly complex lock, defeating the countermeasures built into it and enabling the group to progress. Behind the door lay an unassuming stone spiral staircase, leading down into darkness, out of sight.

Note: This is the first part of several catch-up posts over the next few days, hopefully!


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## Mathew_Freeman (Apr 17, 2009)

*The Doorway to Hell*

Karl had been working hard on the imposing stone door at the back of the Hall of Thruthgelmir. Several times he had almost given up, as it seemed that every time he opened a section of the lock, some bizarre illogical counter-measure would activate and the lock would get more complex, not less. Still, he had persevered, and finally his patience was rewarded as the door swung open to reveal a descending stone spiral staircase.

Gleefully calling to the others, Karl conjured a magical light and peered down. The tight curve of the stairs meant he couldn’t see far, but as his companions approached, buckling on armour and weapons, the Gnome had a sudden, brilliant idea. Grabbing the now-cleaned skull of Prince Kindrbode, he clambered inside and hurled himself down the steps, bouncing, clattering and tumbling all the way. About half-way down it did occour to him that perhaps there was no bottom and he’d simply spin on through all eternity, or that he finish in a dreadful thud against a harsh wall, but instead the stairwell opened into a room and the skull skittered across the floor before coming to rest.

Karl clambered out, staggered, looked around blearily and was violently sick.

A few minutes later the rest of the group, having run down the stairs trying to keep up, arrived, lit by Sigurd’s own magelight. The room they found themselves in was clearly Prince Kindrbode’s bedroom – a filthy, refuse-strewn mess. In one corner a mattress, crawling with bugs, and in another a few scattered clothes. The stench was appalling and there appeared to be nothing of value except for an exit through the north wall. It was swiftly taken advantage of.

Giant-sized footprints lead further into the caves underground, finishing at a junction with a river. The water was tinged red, and Aengus speculated that this was water from the River of Knives, still stained with the rust from the iron deposits. With no other option, the party continue to follow the river, and after half an hour of walking a distant light emerged. The light of day penetrated weakly into the cave, along with a tremendous low rumbling roar.

Blinking in the sudden light, the companions emerged to a great vision of Nothing. They were stood on a small ledge, partway down a huge cliff. Above them, they could see jutting rocks and the high edge of the cliff, and ahead of them clouds, mist and spray disappearing into a grey bleakness lit only with the occasional rumble of thunder and far-distant flash of lightning. Below and to the sides the cliff extended to the edge of vision with nothing but a narrow ledge as a way down. Roping themselves together, they began to move down.

The journey was slow, monotonous and dangerous. Jutting rocks wore at the ropes, the path was slippery with water and occasionally other waterfalls shot from the cliff with great force, arcing off into the mist below. A cold wind blew and as the hours passed they took more and more time sheltering in small caves against the weather. Some caves extended further back into the wall, and it became apparent through the days of their journey that there were evidence of workings in the stone. Each layer showed more ancient work than the last, firstly appearing hundreds of years old, then millennia. There were rooms and hallways, maybe even evidence of long-gone cities.

Sigurd explained her theory as they walked, that each civilization had built on the work of those previously, striving ever upwards to escape the depths they had started from. Moving inside the cliff and following the pathways, climbs and slides down the group continued.

Aengus stopped suddenly at one point, smiled grimly, then continued walking.

“What was that?” asked Thunder. “You looked as though you’d seen a ghost.”

“Not exactly,” replied the Eladrin. “It’s just… I can feel my kin are getting closer. Or me, closer to them.”

“Hang on a minute,” said Iben. “I thought Eladrin came from the Feyworld, not from miles underground in dank caverns.”

“About that,” Aengus said. “I suppose this would be a good time to tell you that only my mother was an Eladrin…”

Note: This came as a bit of a shock, as you can imagine. Martin, who plays Aengus, had been dropping some hints for some time that he wasn't all he appeared to be, but to find out he's half-Drow was a bit unsettling.

Next time: The party finally meets some other intelligent life down here!


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## Mathew_Freeman (Apr 20, 2009)

*A Most Interesting Form of Transport*

For several days now, the party had been descending within an apparently endless series of tunnels, caves and caverns, following their departure from Thruthgelmir and the lair of Prince Kindrbode. Now, the stone began to turn a faint shade of green, the traces of civilization slowly growing less and less. These caves were clearly very, very old.

Finally, after even Karl’s cheery voice had given out and his spirits were flagging, they came finally to a sign of inhabitation. Ahead of them, the ground abruptly ended in a great blackness as the roof soared up overhead out of range of their light. A platform of stone jutted outwards in a semi-circle, and at the point of it a huge chain was anchored, disappearing off into the darkness.

Karl noticeably brightened at the sight. “Finally!” he exclaimed. “Something to do!” Checking his possessions were securely attached, he scampered out onto the chain, his small, deft feet easily finding purchase and helping him move along. Around him he could feel an enormous sense of space, something he hadn’t noticed in more than a week now since going underground. He almost cartwheeled in joy, before catching himself and sternly reminding himself to stay focused. After a few minutes he found a huge loop of metal that hooped up over the chain, leaving a giant space for him to run through. Ladders were attached to the outside of the hoop with another chain leading up into the darkness. Quickly, Karl ascended one ladder and moved up, trying to see where the chain was leading to.

Back on the platform the others were alarmed to see lights in two of the incoming tunnels. Not knowing whether those that approached were friend or foe, they pulled to one side warily. A small group of humanoids approached, Dwarf-like in stature but somehow darker and as if they had been somehow corrupted. Aengus spoke quietly to the other, identifying these creatures as Derro and not to be trusted for a moment. The two Derro had several Orc slaves with them, their hands bound with thick ropes and forbidding iron collars around their necks. The Derro glanced once at the companions, and then seemed to dismiss them as irrelevant.

From another tunnel two lizard-like creatures emerged, heavily armed and armoured. A foul smell emanated from them, identifying them to Aengus as Troglodytes, and as dangerous foes. They seemed wary of the group, keeping a safe distance both from them and from the Derro. They looked at the chain, and then settled down to wait, giving nothing away.

Back up the ladder above the hoop, Karl was surprised to see lights in the distance. He could feel the chain starting gently to vibrate as though something was travelling along it. Something big.

Next time: The Ship!


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## Mathew_Freeman (Apr 22, 2009)

*The Drow Ship*

Swooping forwards out of the darkness, lit by lights on the deck, came a contraption such that Karl had never seen before. It was like a large sailing-ship, but instead of sails it had two huge balloons extended over the top of it. Each had a bright light situation under it, illuminating the deck.

Under the ship were a selection of gears, cogs and levers, moving ceaselessly as it clanked it’s way along. The chain that Karl had walked along disappeared into an opening at the base of the ship, at the front, and it seemed as though the peculiar vessel was somehow moving along this chain. Karl could see that it would fit through the hoop that he was on top of, and in a moment of inspiration he dropped on to one of the balloons as it went past, snuffing his own light source as he did so. The top of the balloon had several ropes criss-crossing it, and he was able to hang on without difficulty.

The rest of the party were now able to see the ship as it slowed and pulled into the platform, coming to an easy halt. A moment later, a ramp was lowered to the ground, revealing a dark-skinned humanoid figure at the top of it.

“Drow!” whispered Aengus. “Be very careful.”

“Why?” remarked Sigurd sardonically. “Is he an uncle of yours or something?”

The figure was slender in build with light hair, and surveyed the people below him imperiously before gesturing at the Derro to come forwards. Producing a pouch of some kind, the Derro pressed it into the Drow’s hand and advanced past him onto the deck of the ship. The Troglodytes followed immediately afterwards, also paying with a small pouch. Finally, the Drow turned his attention to the party and spoke in Elven, asking their business.

A very swift conference decided that Aengus was the only one who could talk back to him, and the Warlock stepped forwards to use his diplomatic skills. After some discussion, the remains of the alchemical poison were offered up, along with a pouch of copper coins from Iben. Seeing that the Drow was about to strike Iben for his poor offer, Aegnus smoothly stepped in and spoke again, sweetening his words and (reluctantly) offering the gems that had been taken from the Hall. With a more graceful demeanour, the Drow inclined his head and invited them on board, before heading down an interior set of stairs, locking the hatch behind him to leave the passengers on deck.

In a single smooth motion, the ramp folded back up on to the ship and the whole vessel rotated one-hundred-and-eighty degrees on the chain, causing Karl to almost lose his grip in surprise. As the ship began to move back along the chain, he dropped a small message onto the deck near Aengus’ feet, letting his liege lord know he was there.

The ship sped swiftly along the chain, travelling through several of the giant hoops. Eventually it reached another wall, and as it got closer the group could see a large hole had been cut in it. Passing neatly through, the voyage continued in a second cavern. The engineering was astonishing, far surpassing anything that the companions had seen so far on their journeys.

“I need to warn you about the Derro,” spoke Aengus quietly. “They are Dwarf-kin, and share many of their skills and habits. But they are also dark and twisted, with a love of magical experimentation and slavery. They combine the two, making twisted monstrosities from their slaves to do their work for them.”

Iben shuddered at the thought, the human picturing in his mind what might happen should he be captured. Aengus continued “Lastly, they have formidable mental powers that they use in battle and to communicate amongst themselves. Do not trust, and never believe what they say. They lie more easily than any other race before back-stabbing and capturing their former ‘friends’.”

Silence descended at this words, and Iben glanced at the Derro – only to meet their gaze, as they stared, unblinking, at the adventurers before turning back to each other.

Hours passed, cold and silent, as the ship sped ever onwards.

Next time: Through the cloud of fire!


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## Mathew_Freeman (Apr 24, 2009)

*The Cloud of Fire*

As the Drow ship sailed ever onwards, silent and smooth along the massive chain, the time passed slowly. After some hours of travel, a sudden whispering voice raised Aengus from thoughts of his family.

“My Lord,” whispered the voice of Karl from above, facilitated by his magical gloves. “In the distance, there appears to be a set of strange lights.”

Glancing around, Aengus saw that the Troglodytes seemed worried, engaged in quiet conversation and strapping on their weapons. The Derro also were placing their Orc slaves between them and the edge of the ship. A second later Aengus could see the lights in the distance. They seemed to be flashing, and then a moment later as the ship turned he could see more clearly. He nudged the others and brought their attention to bear on it.

Sigurd spoke first, in wonder. “There appear to be rolling clouds of fire in the distance,” she said. “And we’re heading towards them. What astonishing magic!”

Iben, gripping his axe tightly, seemed less impressed. “We have no cover or shelter!” he cried. “We are sure to be burned. Can we attract the attention of the Drow below and warn them?”

Aengus moved swiftly in response, trying to get the attention of the Drow who were sealed in the lower levels of the ship. His efforts were to no avail, though, and only a few moments later the companions were swept towards the burning cloud with great speed. The glow surrounded the ship and the temperature rose sharply to uncomfortable levels. Larger sparks within the cloud suddenly resolved themselves into bat-like forms, swooping around the ship. Two larger glows could also be seen at the far edge of the cloud, closing rapidly on the ship. The bats, half-a-dozen of them, uttered battle-cries and dived in to attack.

The Derro stood firm, apparently using their mind powers to defend themselves although there was no visible effect. The Troglodytes simply did their best to duck and cover as the fiery forms swept past, aiming for various members of the party. Drawing weapons, the group fought back as best they could.

Karl, still on top of the balloons, shot one-handed with his small crossbow, peppering the incoming creatures with bolts. Thunder stood motionless, tracking one creature only with his eyes before ducking to one side and striking at it with his sword. The blow sent the creature sliding into the side of the ship as he deflected its attack run. The impact shook the ship, and Karl had to grab on tightly to the ropes lashing the balloon to the ship to stop himself sliding off and down into oblivion.

As another of the fire-bats dived in, Sigurd utilized her intelligence. Reasoning that a creature of fire would be vulnerable to magical attacks of ice, she fashioned an Icy Hand that grabbed the incoming creature and held it immobile. Other bats attacked the Troglodytes, with yet another killing an Orc in a single motion, burning straight through it. Sigurd lost her concentration as the body slumped to the floor, and the creature that she had held wriggled free of it’s magical entrapment, leaving a trail of fire as it swooped at her. Her dodge wasn’t quite quick enough and she was left with a burn along one arm.

The bats continued to swoop and dart around – Iben screamed as he channeled the primal spirit of the Frost Wolf, smashing his axe into one fire bat as it got close to him. Aengus followed up immediately with a curse and an Eldritch Spear, the green glow lighting up the underside of the balloons in a lurid glow as the curse damaged the creature further.

The Derro seemed strangely still, but their concentrated faces showed that they were waging war on a different level. As Karl shot again, missing this time, Thunder drove his sword through the cursed bat and Aengus reacted to transfer his curse to all of the other creatures with a wave of his magical rod. The Icy Hand that Sigurd had created grabbed hold of another bat – but then the tide turned as the ship entered the burning cloud.

Aengus threw up his hands in a vain attempt to deflect what he was sure was immolation, but the magical protections of the ship activated. A shimmering magical field encased the ship, protecting it from the firestorm’s ravages, but the two glowing spots within closed and landed. Each was around nine feet high, a small cyclone of flame with long, trailing arms like whips. They appeared to look around them, choosing their targets, before lashing out with long tendrils of flame. Another Orc slave was slaughtered.

Thunder turned to face this new threat, sword raised high. Around him, he could see and almost feel his companions moving their focus to this new threat.

_We are becoming a unit_, thought the Warforged. _I hope our togetherness sees us through._

Next time: The battle continues, as the temperature rises!


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## Mathew_Freeman (Apr 27, 2009)

*On The Lash*

The two Fire Lashers stood towards the ends of the deck, one battling and burning the Troglodytes as they did their best to fight back, the other engaging the party and the Derro. Around the ship, the remaining fire bats still circled.

One circled a little too close, and Iben took a second to charge it and wound it, his magical axe rending the body hidden under the flames. It screamed at him in return and retreated.

Aengus sized up the situation, considering his options. These new creatures were clearly more dangerous than the bats, and so he concentrated his mind and utilized one of his more powerful curses. Delivering a psychic attack, he prevented the creature from being able to perceive any of his allies. The Derro followed up with their own psychic assault, further weakening the creature, and then moved their Orc slaves to protect themselves.

There was a pause in the battle as the companions took stock – a pause that was filled by the sound of a descending Gnome. Karl, gripping a rope in one hand, swung down and continued to shoot at the creatures attacking his friends. The bolts clattered off the deck or disappeared off the edge of the ship and as Karl landed his drew his shortsword and lashed out again, before reversing his stroke and stabbing. This final blow landed properly and the fire lasher recoiled at the blade’s bite. Thunder took advantage, opening a further gap for Iben by driving his blade into the creature’s side as Sigurd crushed a fire bat in his Icy Hand and blasted several more with a Colour Spray.

Roaring in pain, the creature seized upon one of the Orc slaves and flung it bodily over the side of the ship, but before it could do more Iben attacked again with his Axe, crashing it into where you’d expect it’s head to be. The creature flickered in response, seeming hurt by the attack.

Sigurd found herself beset by fire bats as they flitted around her, almost setting her clothes alight. Coming to her aid, Aengus summoned winds of Fey power and battered the creatures. Although they were all affected, none dropped from the sky. At the far end of the ship, the Troglodytes were engaged in a deadly battle with the other lasher. It looked as though they couldn’t find as they flailed away at it, but the companions knew that keeping it occupied was just as important.

As the battle raged, Karl stepped quickly around, his sword a blur of parry and riposte as he sought to deflect the attacks of the creature against him. The Lasher caught Iben round the neck, trying to pull him in close to it, and at the same time two fire bats swooped through the young human, burning him more. As they exited his body, Sigurd caught them in a Thunderwave, disintegrating one but Iben’s beard still caught on fire. However, with the Frost Wolf Rage still burning in his eyes, the fire was quickly extinguished.

The Derro continued their mental assault on the lasher, and then Thunder stepped around a lashing flame-tendril and drove his sword into the heart of the creature. As it writhed and died on his blade, the Cleric of Kord directed it’s dying energies to Iben and watched his burns heal up in a burst of soft light [1]. As the rest of the group swiftly finished off the rest of the fire bats, the other Lasher immolated the second Troglodyte and leapt back off the ship, fleeing into the darkness as the Drow vessel exited the burning cloud.

Everything went quiet, apart from some small plink noises from Thunder as his metal body cooled from the heat.

Note: [1] A Healing Strike, and very useful it was too!

Next time: I miss a session, and the party encounter some unfriendly creatures without both Thunder and Aldis in attendance. Find out how a party of one controller and three strikers gets on.


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## La Bete (Apr 27, 2009)

I'll be posting the session summary shortly - however it can be summarised by:

(1) Amazing, evocative descriptions of the surroundings by the GM.
(2) Life as a melee striker in a session without defenders sucks donkey genitalia.


As described to Matt:

missing two players
return to character gen
barely avoided

missing defender
means nasty monsters beat on
the poor strikers

lack of the leader
results in players missing
by one or two points


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## La Bete (Apr 30, 2009)

*Lighten the Load*

As the vessel continued on into the darkness, the attention of the heroes was drawn to a sputtering sound coming from one of the burners overhead. The flames from that burner started to dim, and the vessel slowly began to assume a significant list.

"Well that's not good" commented Aengus "anyone got any good ideas how to fix that?"

As if by way of answer, the trapdoor to below slammed open, and the Drow captain appeared on deck. Looking up at the burner, his face assumed a mask of concentration, and arcane phrases spilled from his lips.

Some minutes of this passed, with the captain apparently oblivous to the useful (and less useful) comments from the party. Finally he turned, and sneered to the party. "Your efforts to defend the ship were inadequate. We will need to... lighten the load, by a hundred or so pounds. Or rather you will. Attend to it."

Ignoring shouted questions from the party, he swiftly returned downstairs, and with a slam of the trapdoor, was gone.

"Lighten the load?" said Aengus "How are we supposed to do that? Throw our gear overboard?"

"I suspect, given the pointed looks our esteemed captain gave us," interjected Thunder "that a hundred or so pounds strangely enough matched the weight of a passenger, and we were supposed to choose who goes over the edge..."

"Thow someone overboard? That's inhuman!" cried an outraged Sigurd. "I have no love for Derro or Troglodytes, but I'm not going to be party to murdering one of them like this!"

"Maybe we could join forces with the others and storm belowdecks?" mused Aengus, and the band of heroes began quickly forming a plan...

A scream from behind them cut this planning short - turning to see what had occurred, one of the troglodytes had disappeared! The remaining troglodytes looked around in confusion. "What in the spirits' name happened?" whispered Iben, only to be answered by a low giggle from above.....

With the load reduced, the vessels list seemed to right itself, and it picked up speed. After another day (or more?) on board, some soft low lights began to appear out of the gloom far ahead. As their eyes adjusted to the scale, what seemed like scattered lights resolved into a sprawling city carved out of a colossal stalactite, hangng from the ceiling. 

As the ship sped toward the city, it seems that our heroes have reached their destination......


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## La Bete (May 11, 2009)

*Into the Dark*

With a loud klunk, the vessel came to a halt on the platform. The heroes looked at each other uncertainly, as beyond that cast by the burners only the most occasional light broke up the overpowering gloom surrounding them. Once again, their 'Captain' appeared on deck, this time with his Grimlock minions surrounding him. With nary a word, the Derro picked up their gear and departed the vessel - followed by the surviving Troglodyte.

Looking at the party the drow sneered "Wait here - I must see if the authorities will permit you entrance. Do not move."

Naturally, our heroes disregarded their instructions, and promptly attempted to break into the lower decks, discovering that the Grimlocks served as the motive power source for the vessel, as well as bodyguards for the drow.

After some time, the drow returned, and with a sinister smile said "You are free to... enter the city. So..." indicating the ramp, "You go now."

Suspiciously, the party assembled their equipment and trooped off the vessel, with a brief hiccup caused by Aengus engaging in some strange Drow ritual, that appeared to involve some crotch-grabbing. Very odd[*]. Moving away from the ship with just the lights from their lamps (and Sigurd's sunrod) the darkness surrounding them became even more oppressive. Climbing the steps up into the city, with no sounds other than their footsteps, the party's unease grew. Finally reaching the top of the stairs, the party's spirits lifted as they could see a dimly lit area ahead.

Those spirits soon sunk again, as the true horror ahead of them became clear.....

(Attempting to pick the Drows pocket - Thievery check... 1! Followed by a Bluff check... 20!)


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## La Bete (May 11, 2009)

*The Garden*

In the dim light, the party could see a large ruined courtyard, shrouded in webs, with some sort of metal netting above. Cautiously entering the courtyard, the true horror of this place became apparent...

Like some horrific drow contemprary art piece, the webs were filled with bodies. Dozens of bodies - drow, human, elven and others. All horribly tortured, and strung up and embedded in the webs.

As the heroes stood amongst the bodies, movement below them, and amongst the bodies brought them to full alertness. Across the courtyard emerged the familiar figure of the drow captain "Do you like our garden?" he cackled, "Perhaps some of you could join it?"

On the stairs below the party emerged Grimlocks, and the more perceptive members could see Derro moving though the bodies....

Pointing at Iben, the captain shouted "Kill the Kindraeder, but you can keep the rest as slaves!" With this, battle was joined.

Lunging out of cover, taking advantage of surprise, Karl threw a cloud of shuriken at the approaching Derro. His grin of delight turned to dismay as the Derro quickly appeared next to him. Using their strange weapons and foul mind powers, Karl was left staggered and immobilised.

Aengus used the advantage of concealment to attack the drow captain, leaping out at him, and using his onyx dog for the first time in combat.

In a frenzy, Iben slashed at the Grimlocks approaching up the stairs, to little apparent effect. Sigurd unleashed her arcane powers, but the creatures seemed to shrug it off and continue up the stairs, catching the Wizard in melee combat.

Using the power of his cloak _Hip Deep In Alligators_, Karl retreated from the Derro to appear at Sigurds side. Engaging them with his sword, Karl had little more success than Iben and Sigurd.

Seeing the troubles his fellows were in, Aengus summoned a sygian blackness over the Grimlocks, giving the heres a moments relief, before he went on to harrass the drow.

Leaving the Grimlocks to Karl and Sigurd, Iben summoned forth the power of his ancestors, and charged the Derro, staggering them briefly. Similar to Karl though, Iben was entangled by the Derros strange weapons, and reeled from their psychic powers.

Desparately trying to put down some of the Grimlocks, and keep them in the blackness summoned by Aengus, Karl and Sigurd battled with the Grimlocks, but with blow after blow raining down on him, Karl finally succumbed and slumped to the ground.

With the situation looking bleak, Sigurd lashed out again with her thunderwave, thankfully catching one of the grimlocks and hurling it off the steps to its death. With a healing word from Thunder, Karl was able to regain his feet and slash at one of the Grimlocks, bringing it down. Aengus's spell had also slain one of the Grimlocks, bringing hope back to the heroes that they might survive.

Battling the drow, Aengus was pressing him hard, before with a slash of his sword, the drow destroyed the onyx dog. Still the drow, perhaps unfamiliar with not having his minions shield him, appeared to be slowly retreating. 

Meanwhile, only his barbarian endurance was keeping Iben in the fight, as repeated blows and psychic blasts battered him. A well-timed haling from Thunder, and some assistance from Karl helped him begin to get the upper hand.

Seeing the way the battle was heading, the drow withdrew from combat, heading for one of the tunnels. "Not so fast!" shouted Sigurd, grabbing him with his Icy Grasp. Eager to press the advantage, Aengus pursued the drow, only to curse as he escaped his bonds, and sprinted down the tunnel.

Seeing the retreat of the drow, the remaining derro scattered, and disappeared into the gloom.

Victory! for the heroes. But only just.


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## Mathew_Freeman (May 13, 2009)

*The Three Way Choice*

The group rested, recovering their strength after the difficult and draining battle against the Drow. It had become clear that they should consider this entire city to be a trap for them, a hostile place that would kill them or enslave them without a second thought. The area they were in was shrouded in darkness, but now they had time to explore Aengus discovered an ancient wall at the edge of his vision. Following it, he found three tunnels leading further into the city.

The three tunnels themselves looked superficially identical, but had different symbols on the floor in front of them. Each was egg-shaped, one filled in entirely with black stone, one with white and the middle symbol split half-and-half, vertically. Sending their magelights briefly down each tunnel showed Sigurd and Karl that the tunnels were about twenty feet wide and extended away into the darkness, with only the faintest glimmer of light to be seen, far in the distance.

Sigurd suddenly stiffened and stared down at the middle symbol, saying “There is powerful warding magic here. Please, no one attempt to cross and enter the tunnel. I’m not quite sure what would happen, but it wouldn’t be pleasant.” At her words, and as she strained her magical senses to learn more, tiny runes began to appear all around the edges of the tunnel. Studying them in concert, Aengus and Sigurd agree that they indicate that a surge of necrotic energy is likely to be the consequence of crossing the ward – something to be avoided.

Thunder turned to Aldis and Iben, both of whom were staying well back whilst the arcanists did their work. “It’s times like these,” he said in dry, metallic tones, “That I wished I had spent more time studying magic. Still, I have my own skills in battling those that use necrotic energy.” Twirling his sword in one hand, the Warforged concentrated for a moment, sending tiny trails of radiant energy tracing up and down it’s length.

Karl was beginning to grow bored. “So, which tunnel?” he asked impatiently. “That Drow we were fighting went down the solid black tunnel, but I’m not sure I particularly want to run into him again. I reckon if the Drow have put such an impressive set of wards on this tunnel it should be the one we pick – nothing like a challenge, eh Thunder?”

Noding, the Cleric concurred. “Kord teaches us that our destiny lies in our own hands only when we challenge ourselves and push hard against obstacles placed in our way. If the Drow have placed such a ward, then either they are protecting something, or they are afraid of something. If they are protecting it, then we can damage them by attacking it. If they are afraid, then we should seek to find out what they are afraid of to see if we can exploit it!”

Sigurd wasn’t so sure. “This ward is powerful and will be difficult to dispel. Any attempt runs the risk of hurting us and limiting our resources, and in this place we need all of our resources just to survive. I am not sure the possible reward justifies the risk. And Melora teaches me differently than Kord does you, Thunder.”

Aengus stepped in and settled the matter. “I believe that between us we can and will disarm this ward. Surely it is worth a try – after all, if it appears to be beyond us we can change our minds and stop? Are we agreed?” Looking around him, the Eladrin saw that he had swung the argument in his favour. “Excellent. Let us begin.”

The group set to work. Karl, pulling ever more complicated tools from his belt, began to try and interfere with the runes directly, scattering coloured sands over them, conjuring small lights and chipping away delicately at the edges of some of the stones. Simultaneously, Sigurd and Aengus began to push with their own arcane powers, seeing the twisted strands of the web of magic that enveloped the tunnel entrance and trying to burn or prize them away.

Thunder took a simpler attitude. Channeling the power of Kord, he stepped onto the ward itself and took the blow, enduring the pain and battling it with radiant power from within himself. Occupying the attention and focus of the trap, he sought to make sure the others were spared the backlash. Gritting his teeth against the necrotic energies surging through him, he managed to speak. “Quick as you like, please, quick as you like…”

Karl pulled a small magnet from his pocket, muttering quietly to himself. “Let’s try this, just here, with a spread of green ink… ahah!”

As if a tap had been closed, the ward shut down. Thunder staggered a step as the necrotic energy abruptly shut off, giving him nothing to fight against.

Bounding to his feet, the Gnome headed off down the square tunnel. “No time like the present, eh? Let’s get going before it resets itself!”

Note: This was an interesting little Skill Challenge, and we used a wide variety of skills to deal with it.

I'm hoping to include more dialogue and conversation between the characters in the next few updates, all comments welcome as to whether they're interesting or not!

Next time: An interrupted rest!


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## Mathew_Freeman (May 15, 2009)

*An Interrupted Rest*

The tunnel ahead was still lit up with the runes signaling the ward, but even as the companions move down it they are fading back into the stonework. After a few minutes Sigurd indicates that they have passed the warded area, but after another moment also confirms that the ward has reset itself behind them, blocking their retreat.

The group continue down the tunnel, their eyes scanning the darkness ahead as it is pushed back by their lights. Visibility is severely limited, and they are all aware that at any moment an enemy could strike at them. After about half an hour, a few spaces open up in the wall on one side like windows – but show nothing more than a black void. There is a faint breeze playing over everyone’s skin, and Aengus distantly catches the very faint sound of a small creature in the dark.

Seemingly endless, the tunnel continues through the rock, until it suddenly opens out on the left hand side to a series of stepped terraces. Only the first one or two were visible, but it seemed that there were more heading off down into the depths. Aldis breathed deeply and said that she could smell a faint metallic scent in the air, and that it didn’t smell quite right.

Thunder felt the same thing. “There is a storm coming,” he said. “A storm, underground? How can this be? There can be no clouds – there is no sky!”

Aengus responded, his face turned away from the Cleric. “There are caverns here big enough to have storms within them. When the roof is more than a mile over your head, you don’t need to worry about the sky.” His words silenced the group as they began to understand just how alien their surroundings were compared to surface life.

Just around the corner were a set of small rooms. Given their exertions against the Drow and the ward, not to mention the long walk since, it was decided to make camp to rest and recuperate. Sigurd brightened at the prospect, and explained that she had been studying an old book of magic for some time now and was pleased to have finally cracked the code on part of it. Working quickly, within ten minutes a complicated diagram occupied the main entrance to the room with Sigurd and Aengus safely inside it. Karl had secreted himself away in a small nook ten feet off the ground, with Thunder settling himself to watch a side tunnel.

As the group rested over the next few hours, each of them could occasionally hear a low rumbling which slowly got louder. Thunder, stood immobile in the Warforged equivalent of sleep, wondered if it was actually getting closer, like a very distant storm moving slowly in.

With a start, he felt something run across his foot. Glancing down, he spotted several small spiders on the floor, moving towards the back of the cave. A short yelp from Karl indicated that more spiders were occupying his attention, and then, in a near-silent rush, hundreds of spiders began to stream through the room towards the back wall. They spread along the floor like a carpet, coming up through holes, through the front entrance and the side tunnel, across the ceiling and all were going as fast as possible. Aengus, safe inside the ritual circle, looked out over the path and swore in Elven as something big and spidery seemed to be making it’s way over the tiered steps towards him.

There was a short and tension-laden pause as the flow of smaller spiders ceased. Then, with a chittering cry, a spider fully eight high with long, sharp, metallic mandibles scuttled down the side corridor and speared him through one shoulder. Crying out in pain and unable to get his shield in the way in time, the Warforged felt a burning pain spread through his limbs, weakening him.

Next time: Blades in the Dark!


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## Mathew_Freeman (May 17, 2009)

*Blades In The Dark*

At the sound of Thunder’s cry the rest of the companions moved quickly to help him. Aengus, cursing again the limits of his own vision, called upon his Fey powers to grant him the ability to see in the least light. Looking around, he could see that the giant spider attacking Thunder was almost fencing with him, using it’s long front legs and mandibles as swords. Looking out of the cave he beheld the vast distance between the Drow stalagmite-city and edge of the cavern. At least half a mile away, he could see rolling clouds below him that seemed to be moving closer, but nowhere in his vision could he see any additional spiders.

“Looks like it’s just the one!” he called back into the room. “Karl, you don’t need to worry about covering us, just get in there and kill it!”

“Gladly, my Lord!” responded the Gnome. As Thunder moved back into the room, managing to shrug off the worst of the poison’s effects, Karl leapt out of the nook and ran forwards. As he approached, he leapt again and tumbled forwards, rolling under a strike from the spider and slicing it across the abdomen. As he came back to his feet, however, the spider screamed and reared up on it’s back legs. Descending, both front sword-legs cut into Karl, wounding him grievously (1). Sigurd and Aengus both blasted at the spider with arcane powers, but it retreated a little down the tunnel and they hit nothing but rock.

Thunder had been studying his foe, seeing it’s reach and speed. Stepping forwards, he lunged in and cut into one leg, placing a Righteous Brand in place to aid Karl’s next attack. At the same time, he chanted a short prayer to Kord and healed some of the wounds that the Gnome had suffered. Taking advantage of the Brand, Karl hit with his sword again but with the poison working through his veins his strike was weak and did little damage.

Thunder and Karl exchanged a look and both backed into the main room, forcing the spider to follow them. It’s mandibles continued to lash at them, and in short order Thunder was hit again, more poison coursing through him. An Icy Ray from Sigurd froze the Spider in place for a moment as another Eldritch Spear from Aengus shattered rocks over it’s head. Using a Healing Strike, Thunder damaged the spider again, and Karl darted around the far side of it to cause it to divert it’s attention between both foes. Slashing at one hind leg, he severed it and the spider twitched and staggered, losing it’s balance and poise. As it tried to retreat, two blade strikes finished it off. As it collapsed to the floor, Thunder stepped up and hacked off it’s head.

Looking around him, he stated “Just to be sure.” Karl came over and Thunder checked his wounds, removing the poison and bandaging him up. At the same time, he prayed to Kord for healing and felt the punctures in his own body close up.

Aengus checked out of the front entrance again. The storm clouds had moved closer during the fight, but more worryingly a thin, light orange mist was rising up towards them. Long coils were expanding across the path ahead and behind the room the group were in, and Aengus realized that all the local wildlife had fled from this unnatural weather formation. Aengus spun back and warned the others that all of them needed to take cover.

Looking around, it was quickly realized that there was little cover to be had. The nook that Karl had hidden in was too small for anyone to share it with him, and there were no other exits from the room. The only option seemed to be a pit in the ground, around ten feet deep and about the same in length. After a very short discussion, consensus was reached that it was the only choice, and the party descended.

As Thunder jumped down into the pit, the floor gave way beneath him. Scrabbling at the walls, the Warforged disappeared in a cloud of dust as the others looked helplessly on.

Note: (1) Double critical! Big damage, plus of course the poison effect. Ouch.

This is by way of being a special bonus update, as I'm home and online on a Sunday. An additional update coming tomorrow, as usual!

Next time: What IS in that jar?


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## Mathew_Freeman (May 18, 2009)

*The Horror in the Light*

Thunder’s weight, having proved too much for the pit floor, dropped him onto a hard stone surface. He managed to catch himself and get stable, staring quickly around him for an attack. None were forthcoming, and he looked up to see the others staring down at him.

“It’s not too far,” stated the Cleric. “Get yourselves down here – there’s a tunnel. We can escape that mist, although of course I’ve no idea what we’re heading in to.”

Sigurd spoke a single magical word and stepped off into space above him, floating gently down in a swirl of light. Aengus simply teleported into place, stepping through the space between as if crossing a path. Lacking such magical means of transportation, and being unwilling to follow Thunder’s somewhat abrupt movement, Iben, Aldis and Karl simply climbed down using ropes. In a short space of time, the group stood in a new corridor. One direction lead to what appeared to be a blank wall, but the other led away into the distance. After several hundred metres, it opened out into a larger room, dimly lit from an unknown source.

Karl and Aengus moved forwards to analyze the situation. As they reached the end of the tunnel, they could see that they were in a large room. On their level, the floor ended about twenty feet ahead of them, and dark water lay about five feet down. A short ramp led into the water from one side, with a further narrow spit of paving leading to a middle platform. Dotted around this level were several pillars, around five feet tall and apparently made of glass. Each was filled with a murky liquid that gave off a soft glow that illuminated the stones within about ten feet of it.

Looking higher, the two Fey could see that there were several chains hanging down from the ceiling, suspending several large cages in the air. Each cage, from what they could see, was filled with limbs. Hands, feet, legs, arms and a few torsos writhed and moved within the cages, seemingly unattached to each other. They were crammed in tightly, with no room for more than the slightest movement. One or two hands waved uselessly in the air outside the cages, as if trying to reach out for their freedom.

Right at the back of the room, higher up above the cages, was another, larger cylinder, again lit with the soft glow. It gently lit the surrounding area – another platform of stone. The room seemed empty and silent, save for the gentle lapping of the dark water against the stone, and an occasional creak from the chains holding up the cages.

Karl gestured the others forward carefully. A short whispered conversation ensured as to the best course of action, which was abruptly cut short at the sign of movement on the higher levels. Several dark-robed figures passed in front of the larger cylinder, and Karl suddenly realized there was a ladder on the left-hand side of the room leading down to their level. “Hide, everyone!” he said. “We can ambush them!” The Gnome darted off into the gloom, pressing up against one lit cylinder, with Aengus hot on his heels.

Thunder, Aldis and Iben remained in the corridor entrance, but Sigurd also moved forwards. Heedless of the smell, she slipped into the water via the ramp, leaving only her head visible. For a moment she wondered if anything else called the water home, but dismissed the thought from her mind.

As the dark figures made their way down the ladder, Karl pressed up against the cylinder, watching carefully around it as they descended. His attention focused elsewhere, he failed to notice the faint signs of motion and movement within the light source he was using as cover. Something moved within the liquid, coming into focus just over his head…

Note: Chalk up another one for crater - this room was geniunely unsettling as we went in. We had no idea what was coming next!

Some might say we were better off not knowing...


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## Mathew_Freeman (May 20, 2009)

*Lending a Hand (Or Two)*

Karl’s attention was fixed on the robed and cowled figures descending the ladder to his left. The lit cylinder he was pressed up against had a strange glowing liquid within it, and from that liquid suddenly a single hand slammed up against the glass with an audible “Thunk!” His heart racing, the Gnome stared at the hand (which didn’t seem to be attached to anything else) as it slowly drifted back into the light. Glancing round, he saw that none of the others had noticed.

The cowled figures moved to the central platform, moving easily between the four cylinders that lit the area. Carefully unscrewing the top of one of them, they gently dropped something in, almost as though feeding it, before placing the lid back on and moving round. From their hiding places, the companions exchanged looks – what exactly was in these lit jars?

One of the cowled figures now moved towards the narrow causeway linking the central platform with the section of stone the companions stood on. Stiffening, he suddenly stared across the room at Karl as he tried to hide behind the pillar, and a keening wail split the air as the figure screamed out a warning. Pulling his hood back and drawing a rapier, he revealed his facial features for the first time. He may have once been a Drow, but now his skin was pulled back tightly over his bone structure, revealing sharpened teeth and pure-red eyes filled with hate and madness. It’s bare skull gleamed in the light. The other three figures did likewise, with two moving back towards the ladder a little and pulling out small hand-crossbows instead, whilst the other joined the screamer at the entrance to the platform.

“Guess we’ve blown our chance of surprising them, then,” muttered Karl under his breath. “Arse.”

Dashing forwards, drawing his weapon as he went, he dove and somersaulted, leaping into the air. His attack missed, however, as the hairless Drow dodged to one side, but with a vicious backswing Karl cut him deeply across the chest, drawing blood and getting a second scream out of the creature. Now he was closer, he could see that the skin all over the creature was stretched as tight as a drum-head over the bone. Flicking it’s blade high and then attacking from above, the creature fought back against the Gnome, but Karl’s eyes were the faster and he parried, feeling the impact jolt up his arm. Two more impacts follow as the other creatures shot at him with crossbows, the bolts slicing into his arms.

Looking up, Aengus could see more figures arriving upstairs, dressed the same and also drawing weapons. Seeking to minimize their ability to see, and hoping to cause some sort of magical explosion, the Warlock targeted one of the lit pillars on the central platform and smashed it with an Eldritch Spear, the green bolt impacting hard and shattering the glass. The liquid spilled across the floor, and from within the glass came tens of hands, squirming on the floor in a seething mass. Almost immediately they began to wriggle and move towards the party.

Emerging from her watery hiding place, Sigurd attempted to knock Karl’s opponent out of the way with a Spectral Ram spell, sending a bolt of force shooting across the room. Again, the figure dodged back from it, but as he did so he moved into the path of a bolt of radiant energy from Thunder, the Cleric of Kord having moved up as quickly as he could behind his friend. The radiant bolt had passed through Karl harmlessly, emboldening him as it went, and Karl grinned savagely as he continued to duel with his foe. Chopping smartly at his legs with his shortsword, he ditched the cloaked figure into the water where he swiftly sank from sight.

Distantly, a figure could be seen jumping down onto one of the cages, closing in on the melee beneath as Karl ran forwards into the central area. As he approached, the acolytes on the platform shot again, but this time they aimed at the cylinders, smashing another and releasing more of the scuttling hands. These hands crawled hideously over the phone, swarming all around Karl and pinning him in place as he fought to get clear of them. One leapt up on to his torso, clinging there and digging in with it fingers, trying to break through to the skin beneath his clothes.

“I have an idea,” shouted Aengus, and reached into a pocket. Drawing forth a crystal prism, he tossed it casually into the air before firing another Eldritch Blast through it. The bolt split into four, striking at the chains above another cage and shattering them. The cage dropped sharply, causing the acolytes to dive clear as it smashed a third pillar. The central area was growing dimmer and harder to see as the cage tilted on the edge and plunged into the water.

“We need the light, they don’t!” responded Sigurd, targeting another acolyte with her Icy Grasp spell. A large and frosty hand was conjured next to an acolyte, squeezing and freezing him in place. Simultaneously, Thunder pushed up next to Karl and hammered into the swarm of hands next to him with a powerful strike of his sword. On impact, an echoing blast of noise rolled through the room, setting the chains and cages swinging again and the hands were pushed backwards, dispersing with some flipped on to their backs. With an exultant cry, Thunder moved into the gap and made room for the others to follow him into the central area.

With a hideous wrenching sucking sound, like wet tubes being slapped together, an eruption of tentacles pressed down from an unseen source above the fight. Infused with a dark & twisting necrotic energy, they struck both Karl and Sigurd, wrapping briefly around them before disappearing back up into the darkness. Sigurd gasped in pain as the necrotic energy lingered, draining the energy of the combatants and leaving dark, injured trails of pain along their arms and torso.

Riding the pain, using it as a spur to carry on, Karl used the power of his cloak to teleport into combat with two more of the acolytes, one of whom had only just broken free of the icy hand that Sigurd had conjured. Striking out in a whirlwind of blows, he sliced into them.

“Surprise, motherers!” he yelled.

Note: Now, I know that ENWorld has some filters that will kick in on this post, but frankly I felt that la_bete's enthusiastic mode of speech whilst playing Karl (and to be fair, whilst not playing Karl) should be properly represented here. 

Next time: The battle continues! Where did those tentacles come from, and when are they coming back?


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## Mathew_Freeman (May 25, 2009)

*The Wizard Uses An Action Point*

The two hairless Drow acolytes dropped their crossbows and tried to draw their swords as Karl appeared next to them. His blade tripped one, and he slashed into other – aided by it’s inability to dodge as well due to the large icy fist that was gripping it. Flipping back on to this feet, the Acolyte struck back at the Gnome, but despite attacking from both sides the wily Rogue was too quick for them, ducking and then leaping over both of their blades.

Thunder was not doing so well against the crawling claws that were attacking him. They had reformed into a single mass and scuttled up and over him, locking him in place. His strong Warforged skin meant he could resist most of their attacks, but as they climbed higher he began to wonder exactly what might happen if they reached his face and went for his eyes. Another group of claws was scuttling closer, moving up next to him as he battled away.

“I’ve had another idea!” called Aengus from behind him.

“I hope this idea doesn’t involve releasing any more of these things!” responded the Cleric.

“No – it’s a much better idea. Close your eyes for a second, though!”

Closing his eyes, Thunder heard a whoomph of noise in front of him, followed by a burning smell. Stepping back half a step from the heat, he opened his eyes and saw several burnt hands dropping off him. The stone in front of him was scorched and damaged, and Thunder glanced back over his shoulder to the Eladrin.

“I admit,” he said, plucking a smouldering claw off himself and spearing it with his sword, “That was a much better idea. What exactly was it?”

“Alchemical grenade!” said the Warlock cheerily. “Like magic, only with more fire! Many uses, but best against closely packed targets, you see.”

Seeing the immediate threat was now lessened, the Eladrin teleported over to the edge of the middle platform, looking for more targets. Thunder continued to battle against the remaining claws, but at a word from Sigurd he moved back a step to open a space for the Wizard to cast another spell. Crossbow bolts from distant acolytes bounced off the stone around her.

“Right,” said Sigurd determinedly, “Let’s kick this up a notch. Filthy Drow all deserve to die anyway, them and their creations, too.” In a blur of spellcasting motion, she threw an Icy Terrain spell into the middle of the platform, coating the area in ice and causing a magical wind to swirl through the area. The claws were caught and immbolised or destroyed outright, freezing in place. Secondly, with another swift gesture she tightened the Icy Grip she held over the acolyte near to Karl. The crunch of a snapping bone was audible across the room as he writhed in pain.

Lastly, and moving up closer to the central platform to do this (with a quiet “Thank you, Thunder,” as he moved out of the way) she unleashed a shimmering rainbow of magical power that played out from her hands. All of the rest of the claws and one of the acolytes were caught in the blast, the acolyte’s skin bubbling under the radiant power. He blinked stupidly as the light went out, standing dazed and staggered as the magical assault damaged his mind. The claws faired no better, being split into small sections and scattered again.

The spray of radiant light also lit up the rest of the room for a split second like a bolt of lightning, throwing stark shadows against the walls. The writhing figures in the cages froze in mute agony, and some more acolytes were revealed in the act of reloading crossbows further back in the room. Also revealed, standing on top of a large cage towards the back was another former Drow.

His appearance was, if possible, even more horrific than those of the Acolytes – his skin not only stretched but also deformed in places, sagging off his chin. He wore no robes on his torso, which was bulging and moving as if snakes were crawling about under it, and as the light washed across him he threw up an arm reflexively to protect his eyes. The gesture revealed a set of bony protrusions extending from his arms like knife blades.

As the darkness fell again, the room now lit only by the remaining cylinders, there was a retching sound and a huge gobbet of mucus came flying out of the darkness. Striking Sigurd, it adhered to her clothes like glue, and the Wizard cried out in pain as the necrotic energy within it drained her life-force. Attempting to call up her own powers of healing, Sigurd was stunned to find that they had no effect – her wounds remained open and bleeding

Note: Michael, playing Sigurd, did a great job in this round in clearing the various enemies that were in our way and acting like a true controller. And now with Arcane Power having come out, expect even better things from our Wizard!


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## Mathew_Freeman (May 27, 2009)

*Tentacular Spectacular*

The situation was growing increasingly bleak for the heroes. Whilst the threat of the Crawling Claws was all but ended, the increasing dimness of the room was making finding their targets increasingly difficult. The hideously deformed Drow up on the cages could see in the dark, as could the other Acolytes, and they continued to rain down crossbow bolts and magical attacks from the safety of the shadows.

Meanwhile, on the ground, Karl was still engaged in fighting a couple more Acolytes in hand-to-hand combat. Finally spotting an opening as one over-extended himself, he launched a nasty riposte that bit deeply into his opponents spine, almost slicing him in half. Kicking his sword free, Karl pushed the body into water with a splash, pulled out a sunrod and lit it, forcing back the darkness. Spying the ladder revealed clearly to him, he began making his way over there.

Sigurd, having shown forth her magical might, became a crossbow magnet as she was hit repeatedly by the cultists hiding in the upper reaches of the room. The final few claws also mustered a last attack, immobilizing her in place and letting her wounds run even clearer. Weakened already from the necrotic mucus attached to her, Sigurd saw the room start to spin around her and struggled to hold on to consciousness.

As Aengus tried his trick with the prism again, splitting his Eldritch Spears four ways to attack the chains of the cage that the monstrosity stood upon, Thunder called upon the power of Kord to aid his allies. Uttering first a Healing Word to close his own wounds, he then stepped up to the beleaguered Wizard and uttered another prayer, watching with satisfaction as her wounds closed.

“Kord is with you, Sigurd,” he said calmly, ignoring the continuing hail of crossbow bolts. “You are a brave fighter, never afraid to make yourself a target.”

“Melora is with me, also,” she reminded him. “Kord is not the only deity that should occupy our attention.” Grinning, she moved away, her hands already moulding the next spell to be cast. Triggering it, she blasted another group of Claws off the side of the platform with a Thunderwave, the noise of the spell rising above the clash of blades.

Thunder had taken his attention to the deformed Drow up on the cage. Lacking ranged capabilities, the Cleric simply moved towards the ladder, but before he could get far the figure jumped back and away from him, ending up near to the large cylinder on the upper level. There was a half-second pause as he gathered himself, and then he once more erupted in tentacles that struck out across the whole group. Karl, this time, managed to dodge clear as they lashed down, and Aengus was shielded behind a cage, but Thunder caught the full brunt of the attack. Several tentacles slapped at him, spinning him around in place and draining his energy again. Metal creaked as they grabbed hold and attempted to pull him apart. Sigurd too took another blow.

A sound of distant laughter echoed from above as the tentacles withdrew, and the other acolytes took heart, firing again with their crossbows. However, as Sigurd’s reserves of strength began to drop, the magical properties of her armour activated. The robes she now wore were made of Bloodthread, a powerful magical substance. As the blood from her wounds seeped into it, it hardened and increased it’s protection. The incoming crossbow bolts were deflected away or failed to penetrate it.

Seeing this, Thunder pressed the attack. He stepped up, using another magical shot from Aengus as cover, and brought down the final Acolyte with a spearing sword strike. Sigurd’s Icy Hand had been slowly draining him of his strength, and he became easy prey for the Warforged’s sword. Shrugging off the necrotic effect from the tentacles, Thunder pushed up further, followed by Aengus’ teleport as his Fey Pact power activated.

“Melora, grant me your aid,” whispered Sigurd to herself, healing her own wounds before launching an acid arrow at the laughing figure above her. It crashed home, splashing acid around him and sizzling as it began to eat away at his skin. Howling in pain, he vomited up another gob of mucus but this one went wide of it’s target to sizzle in return amongst the lower platform. Seeing his attack miss, the figure retreated into the darkness on the top level.

With the way now clear, Karl began to climb the ladder to the higher level, seeking to end the fight and sheathe his sword in his enemy’s blood. Aengus, looking to follow him, blasted at the last few Claws as they attempted to follow the Gnome, before another Thunderwave from Sigurd blasted them into smithereens. Thunder, slinging his shield on his back for a moment, joined Karl on the ladder, his weight causing it to creak with his weight. As the light of Karl’s sunrod began to beat back the darkness at the top of the ladder, they could see the figure clutching at his chest where the acid still burned him. The figure took a small flask from his belt and poured it over himself, and it fizzed away the acid.

“He’s an alchemist of sorts,” noted Karl from the top of the ladder. “Guess he’s been working on himself, somewhat…”

“He’s an abomination,” replied Thunder, reaching the top and pushing past the Gnome. “I’ll get him.” Charging forwards, the Cleric sliced at the figure, but the Alchemist dodged aside and raked him with his claws. Feeling more necrotic energy seeping into him, Thunder stepped back and tried to gather his wits. This opened a space for Karl to charge in with a malicious grin, drawing an attack from the Alchemist which he dodged easily before striking back. Slicing up into vulnerable tissue, Karl attempted to impair his foe’s fighting prowess but to no avail as his attack was deflected away.

As the battle raged on the upper level, Sigurd knew she had to do something about the Acolytes still sniping at her. Gathering her clothes, she began to rise into the air under a Levitate spell, casting her magelight forwards for better visibility. The final acolyte left alive found himself drawing level, eye-to-eye with the Wizard as she shaped another spell to attack him with.

Aengus had been following Thunder and Karl up the ladder, offering his support. As he reached the top, he saw a gap between the three figures and took a shot, catching the Alchemist with another Eldritch Spear in one leg. As the Drow staggered back from the attack, Thunder lit up his own weapon with radiant power and powered it forwards, smashing into the Alchemist with an Avenging Flame attack. Fire flickered across the Drow’s body, searing into him as he moved around and clawed at the Warforged again.

However, in his keenness to try and kill the Warforged who had set him on fire, the Alchemist had forgotten about Karl. With a sudden sidestep and swift blow, the Gnome up-ended the Drow off the side of the ledge, sending him falling thirty feet to the water below. Even as his tentacles erupted again, seeking something to latch on to and save him, he splashed into the water and sank, dead.

“So, then,” said Sigurd on the other side of room as she crackled with magical power from her mid-air position. “Do you really wish to continue this battle?”

The last remaining acolyte looked at her and fled into a side tunnel.

Note: Forgive the title, it got into my head and wouldn't leave.

This turned out to be one hell of a battle, with the alchemist battering us from above whilst we tried to deal with the claws and other acolytes. Kudos to crater for sorting it all out and thinking it up!

After the battle in Glorium against the dead kings, I'd mentioned that being harrassed by infantry at the same time would have made the fight even more interesting. I think this idea was taken on board for this encounter, and it showed up what a good encounter can be.

Next time: We discover a prisoner, or is she better described as a victim?


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## Mathew_Freeman (May 29, 2009)

*The Dying Drow*

After the fleeing acolyte’s footsteps faded away down the tunnel, the companions gathered themselves at the top platform. Drawing nearer to the largest cylinder, the could see that it, too, had more of the disembodied hands within it, swimming about. Glad that it had never been broken, despite the splash from Sigurd’s Acid Arrow spell damaging the exterior, they resolved to stay clear of it for now.

A further exploration of the area revealed other horrors, however. All around were implements of sadistic design – saws, hooks, blades, needles and other bits of metal in peculiar twisted shapes. Many were still caked in what ted shapes. Many were still caked in what might been fresh blood, or some other substance. Karl was briefly tempted to take a particularly nasty looking dagger as a new weapon, but the thought of it’s previous use was too much for him to bear.

Iben , who had been last up the ladder, moved slowly around the room. He quivered with rage at the obscene and horrific acts that were indicated by the various tables and benches throughout the room. Many tables had thick leather straps hanging loosely from them, and on the wall a set of short chains and manacles indicated that not all of the victims were laid down before the torture began.

Aengus, with his enhanced vision compared to the others and quicker speed, had ranged further into the room. An oath sounded from him as he called Thunder forwards.

“Get over here, now! There’s another Drow on this table, and she’s still alive! Move!” Hurrying forwards, the Warforged moved up to see for himself. He found Aengus undoing a series of straps that had bound a Drow woman to a table. Her skin was stretched in places, and there were several scars along her arms and a couple on her face. Checking her body, the Warforged noted analytically that her breathing was shallow and ragged, and that her life-force was weak. He began to help as best he could.

After a few minutes of attention, the unconscious woman began to come around. Seeing the metal face above her she shrank back in fear, so Thunder stepped back calmly and allowed the more personable Aengus to speak to her in the Elven tongue. Hearing his voice she began to babble and whimper back to him, and although he did his best to calm and soothe her she still shouted and ranted. Eventually admitting defeat, he called Thunder forwards again who administered a simple sleeping draught – a trick he had learned as part of his training as a Healer. She slumped back on to the table, her head gently lowered by the Eladrin.

“What was all that about?” queried Sigurd. “I don’t speak Elven, but she sounded very agitated. Did you manage to get anything useful out of her?”

Taking a deep breath and pushing his hair back, Aengus, for the first time in the weeks that they had been together, looked rattled. “Her name, as far as I can gather, is Purpura. She is, or was, a slave to House Infanti, a Drow noble family. I don’t know anything further about them, unfortunately. Although the Drow and the Eladrin share a language, the use of words is sometimes very different. She kept speaking of stairs, a garden, and flowers. She repeated those things over and over again – wouldn’t talk of anything else.” He looked around, the disgust at what he saw evident on his face.

“I think she was being modified, changing somehow. The Drow like to work on their slaves, see if they can make them better. The process is known as Fleshwarping, and you saw some of the results in those acolytes we fought just now, and their leader, the Alchemist. He’s clearly been working on himself for some time – thinking about it, I believe those tentacles he attacked with may actually have been his intestines.”

Iben, still a Kindraeder at heart and not used to this kind of depravity, turned a mild shade of green at the thought. Aldis had already moved away from the bench to kneel and pray for those killed.

Continuing, Aengus said “I think I can bring her back, if I can study what’s been done to her and try and reverse it. Thunder, if you’d be willing to help I think we can save her life?”

Before Thunder could open his mouth Sigurd spoke harshly, saying “She’s a filthy Drow slave! Why are we wasting her time on her? We are, in case you’d forgotten, in the middle of a Drow city with no known way out and enemies on all sides, and you’re willing to put everything on hold so that you can play doctor with this woman?”

Karl threw Thunder a look that said _I’m keeping well out of this_, and the Gnome slipped away to check the area in case of attack. Iben joined him.

Putting some diplomatic notes into the conversation, Thunder considered his words and spoke. “We have the facilities here to help her. We can carry her with little effort, as she is weak and light in weight. I care for the survival of all living things, and if she was a slave she can hardly be blamed for the actions of her owners. Let us make a stretcher and carry her with us, if we can.”

His calm voice prevailed, and a stretcher was constructed for the woman. As it was completed, Karl’s voice came back from the edge of the room.

“Hey everyone, I think I’ve found that staircase she was talking about.”

Note: An interesting little discussion round the table over this matter, that played out pretty much in-character. Martin, playing Aengus, was dead set on rescuing this Drow woman and Michael, playing Sigurd was set against it.

Sigurd, you'll note, has been slowly becoming much more aggressive than she was at the start of the campaign, and much nastier. Wonder how far it'll go?

Next time: The lounge. A chance to rest, surely?


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## Mathew_Freeman (Jun 1, 2009)

*The Anit-Solar Lounge*

With the Drow woman safely strapped into a stretcher, the rest of the group hurried over to join Karl at the edge of the room. He had found a narrow staircase that descended out of sight, without lighting.

“Any objections to me going first, nope, excellent, follow on then!” called Karl as they approached. The Gnome headed off down the stairs confidently but quietly. Keeping about ten feet further back, the rest followed.

Noticing Aengus was absently rubbing a metal ring that he wore, Sigurd asked him if he was feeling alright.

“Yes, mostly,” he replied as they continued down the stairs. “This ring – it is enchanted to help me find my father, whom I believe may be down here somewhere. Ever since we arrived I’ve felt as though I am getting closer to him, closer to what he was trying to do. It’s not a precise magic, in that I don’t get an idea of which direction he lies, but it’s more of a feeling. The feeling that I am getting, however, is that I’m on the right track. Fingers crossed, as you humans say.”

Ahead, Karl held his hand up for silence. The stairs ended in a doorway, leading to a larger room. Seeing no immediate danger, Karl waved the others in. As they entered, they could see that this room appeared to be some sort of stables, but instead in horses the various pens held large lizards, each with barding and saddles strapped to them. They were chained securely in place, but as the companions entered they stirred a little, perhaps expecting food or water. In the dim light of Sigurd’s magic, the party stayed carefully away from them.

Karl suddenly swore. Coming into view at the far end of the room was an armoured figure, slim of build. “Another bloody Drow,” muttered the Gnome under his breath. “Should have spotted him earlier.”

Moving forwards, as there was no point in pretending stealth given their light source, the party passed a large window space on their right, opposite the pens. Glancing out, Iben saw that the blackness was absolute – nothing was visible. Clutching his greataxe for comfort, a familiar object in this strange underground world, he kept pace with the others.

The Drow warrior wore fine armour, well-maintained. At his hip hung both a rapier and a small crossbow, together with a couple of daggers in obvious sheathes. As the group approached him, he surprisingly turned away and opened the door ahead of them, passing through and beckoning them on. The next room was a small antechamber, bare of furniture, and the warrior unlocked the other door with a small key and passed through.

“Be welcome to this place,” he said in the common tongue, his accent thick but understandable. “You are expected. Please make yourselves comfortable whilst I bring the others.” Exchanging wary looks, the rest of the group passed through the door after him.

The next room was a large courtyard area, extending around sixty or seventy feet on each side. Several chipped and worn pillars disappeared up into the darkness overhead, the light from the group not enough to penetrate it all the way to the ceiling. Around the edges of the room there were several growths of vegetation – trailing creepers of flowers that extended up the walls and grew out over the floor as if reaching towards the centre. Aengus recognized them as nightshade plants, and Iben added in that they represented the souls of the dead.

In the centre of the room stood several finely carved stone chairs and tables in a rough circle, surrounding a depressed area of floor. This depression was not constructed of stone, like the rest of the floor, but instead a latticework of thin metal strips acted as a grid between which some sort of transparent glass-like structure hung in sheets. It was clearly an ornate concave window of some kind, although looking through, nothing more than darkness could be seen.

Aengus spoke aloud as the Drow Warrior disappeared through a far door. “I wonder if that is some sort of viewing gallery?” he wondered, moving around the room to examine the various chairs and tables. On several of the tables stood a hookah, fine glasswork and tubing with several thin pipes extending out of it so that those sat could inhale the smoke within. A small light sat at the top, glowing dimly.

“I guess we had best take a seat,” said Thunder. “But stay wary, all of you. This may, of course, be yet another trap for us.”

“At least this trap comes with seats!” responded Sigurd. “Filthy Drow have at least given us a place to rest for a while.”

The group arranged themselves around the room and waited in the dim light.

Note: Not what we were expecting! Cordiality and politeness - we were very much on edge waiting to see what would happen next.


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## Mathew_Freeman (Jun 3, 2009)

*How Exciting!*

Sitting in a room, with the only light coming from Sigurd’s spell, it has hard to see across the circle of chairs and tables. Falling silent, the group simply waited to see what would happen next.

There was the faintest whisper of movement on the far side of the room, and each member of the group suddenly became aware that a Drow woman was now sat across from them, at the edge of their light. She gave the tiniest acknowledgement of their presence, but apart from she was a study in indifference.

Continuing in silence, other Drow entered the room from the many entrances, taking their seats around the circle. Aengus attempted to strike up conversation with a younger woman sat near to him, but in response she merely arched an eyebrow and remarked “Aren’t you the spawn of Gastris?”

Not knowing how to answer this question, Aengus once more fell silent. Across the circle, one of the other hookahs was drawn upon, faintly illuminating the face of an elderly Drow woman as she sipped on a pipe. Looking back across the room, Thunder was surprised to see that he was now joined at his table by another armoured Drow. This one seemed older, his armour finer and more ornamental. Thunder could see that his face looked particularly cruel, even amongst the standards of Drow.

On the other side of the circle, nearer to Aengus and Karl, another older Drow woman was sat. Her face bore that same tightness they had seen amongst the acolytes and the Alchemist – marks that she had been Fleshwarped. Iben had to turn away from her to avoid shuddering at it, and as he did so he heard a faint squeaking noise, as if something metal was being wheeled in.

Looking around the circle in the near darkness it appeared that many figures had entered and taken seats, or reclined across chaise-longes’. Once all of these Drow had arrived and taken their places, all in the most eerie silence, a final figure entered.

Once all were in their places, waiting in the most eerie silence, a final figure entered through the door. Taller than the others, he moved with a sinuous grace. Although he wore several weapons upon his person, including a matched pair of crossbows of extremely high quality, and his armour had a fine baroque artifice to it, all of the companions noted that his hands ended in long talons. These looked to be far more dangerous weapons, as did his filed and pointed teeth that were exposed by his wide mouth.

“My friends!” he announced in a clear and pleasant voice that all the more jarring compared to the mouth that uttered it. “I am so pleased that you have all arrived, I thank the Stars Below. When word reached me that you were on your way, I must confess I was worried. Our city is not always, how can I say, accommodating to visitors and I am glad that you have made it to this meeting. Please, eat, drink.”

A number of Drow stepped forwards out of the shadows with trays, bottles and glasses, giving out food and drink to all assembled. Unlike the other Drow, who calmly took the offered items, none of the companions requested anything. Instead, Aengus introduced them – Sigurd of Concordance; Karl of the Instrumentality; the Herald, Iben of Kindraed; The Promise of Distant Thunder, Last of the Legion That Waits; and himself, Aengus. When he spoke his own name there was a small reaction amongst the assembled Drow.

Next to Thunder, the old warrior simply turned slightly and said “How exciting.” His voice was flat and without emotion.

From the far side of the circle came a voice, petulantly saying “But isn’t that a bit of an Eladrin name? We must get you a real name as soon as possible.”

Speaking again, the tall Drow said “And I must introduce us in turn. I am your Uncle, Aengus, and my name is Enteritus. Gathered here are your Great-Uncle, Encephylitus, commander of our Drow forces and swordsman beyond equal in this city; your Grandmother, Rubella; in the chair is your Great-Grandmother, the ever youthful and beautiful Ebola; next to her are your cousins, Distonia and Malaria; and finally your niece Roseola.”

Some of the other Drow shared Aengus’ lighter skin, marking them, like him, as half-Drow, half-Eladrin. Apparently Aengus was not as unique as he had thought. Following this thought, he asked the circle, seeking information. “I had no idea that interbreeding was so often done amongst Drow and Eladrin,” he said. “But I see no full Eladrin amongst you – where are they?”

“Foolish boy,” responded Great-Grandmother Ebola. “All Eladrin are slaves down here, you must know that.”

“It is no crime to mate with your Eladrin slaves,” continued Enteritis, “Why, we are a most liberal and accepting society, I think you will find.”

“Enteritus,” asked Roseola, sprawled in a chair to Aengus’ left. “Why exactly are we here?”

“You are all here,” announced Enteritus, spreading his hands wide and pointing at each member of the gathering in turn, “Because I have some wonderful news!” The twisted form of the fleshwarped Drow grow almost animated in excitement. “Why, only this morning I discovered that I had been poisoned.”

“How exciting,” said the Drow General, sitting next to Thunder again, this time with a note of genuine enthusiasm in his cold voice.

Note: This Drow general was genuinely getting on my nerves - no roleplaying required!


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## Mathew_Freeman (Jun 5, 2009)

*The Antidote*

Enteritis continued to speak, staring intently at each of the Drow and Half-Drow in the gathering as he did so.

“Yes, my family, I have been poisoned!” Uncle Enteritis paused for dramatic effect.

“Have you not taken all your daily antidotes?” scolded a particularly stern Aunt Chlamidia

“Indeed, I have not been remiss insofaras my standard range of cures and antidotes is concerned, but, as i’m sure at least one amongst you may well know, there is NO cure for the particular poison which I have been careless enough to expose myself to.”

“Whatever could it be?” mused the other Infanti’s, innocently.

“Purple Dragon Bile.” stated the sinister fleshwarped figure, now beginning to pace slowly and purposefully around the outside of the circle of chairs and chaise-longes, passing with studied intent behind each member of his, and Aengus’, extended family.

There were mutual nods of admiration amongst the gathering.

“How exciting.” noted Great Uncle Encephylitus, once more.

“Secondly, I can’t help but incline towards the suspicion that someone in this room is responsible for my assassination.” continued Uncle Enteritis, to stiffled gasps of disbelief. “Purple Dragon Bile, being a relatively fast-acting poison, leaves me with perhaps several minutes of life remaining. Time, I fear, is against me my brothers and sisters, aunts and uncles, and as such I have decided, in the spirit of fairness...” he paused once more. There was a faintly discernible restlessness within the chamber.

”...to have you ALL killed.”

An uncomfortable moment of silence followed. In that moment the party studied the faces of the Infanti family. Each ones eyes darted around the circle, searching, scrutinising one another’s almost expressionless and passionless faces. Body language suggested a growing restlessness that not even the guarded reserve of the Drow nobility could conceal.

“How exciting.” The tone of voice was at this point slightly more tentative, although he did a muscle move on his face. Thunder found himself fighting an increasingly overpowering urge to attack this Drow commander.

“I have coated every surface in this room with Svirfneblin Dark Blood,” announced Enteritis. This caused a much greater stir. “It is a fatal contact poison, and I am afraid that by merely entering the room you have all come into contact with it. It is fatal, of course, but somewhat slower acting, and whats more, there is a cure.”

Sigurd whispered across to Aengus, “Any ideas?”

“No!” he muttered back. “But I do know that you need an awful lot of svirfneblin to make a very small amount of poison. And if he’s made enough to coat every surface in this room…”

On Thunder’s left, another of the Drow was saying quietly to herself “I did wonder where all my slaves went, but this is more than I expected…”

Enteritis had been moving around the edge of the circle, and now he came to a final halt just behind the Drow commander. “The cure is, for those in the know, gnome blood.”

“How exciting.”

Everyone in the room looked at where Karl had been sat, only to discover that he appeared to have vanished. Aengus distantly heard a voice, apparently coming from under a nearby table, muttering determinedly to itself “Ain’t no Drow motherer going to take MY blood, dammit!”

Settling himself, Enteritis issued his final announcement. “Oh! There was one other thing, I almost completely forgot! I have also finished my novel! I do hope that at least one of you survives to read it.”

“How – “ But the Drow commander’s utterance was cut short as Enteritis put a crossbow bolt through the back of his head. Slamming forwards from the impact, the now-dead Drow was pinned to the table by the bolt, whilst his body slipped quietly off the chair to hang there.

Grabbing weapons, the companions surged to their feet. All around them, the lightning quick Drow had risen too, and the silence was broken with several war cries and the beginnings of incantations.

Note: I'd been waiting for this to happen! My only regret was not being able to take out that Drow commander myself.

Next time: The battle! Keep an eye out for all the crazy powers crater dreamt up for his Drow!


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## Mathew_Freeman (Jun 8, 2009)

*Against the Drow*

With the news that the dying Enteritis had poisoned the whole room, it immediately became apparent that whoever could kill Karl and take his blood would survive, the rest perishing. Not willing to abandon their friend, the companions attempted to defend him as the Drow attacked.

Surprisingly, Great-Grandmother Ebola was quickest. She stood, her flesh deforming and sinking, distending into a shapeless mass that oozed forwards. One loose, flabby arm swung round, flailing at Aengus but swooshing over his head. Taking discretion to be the better form of valour, unsurprisingly, Enteritis himself backed into the darkness, reloading his crossbows. One more bolt bounced off the table near to Thunder, but a Drow curse indicated that the other bow had jammed [1].

Taking his fate into his own hands, Karl launched a furious counterattack on the sheet-like furl of flesh that was Great-Grandmother Ebola. Weaving through the legs of the table he was under, he got behind her and stabbed deeply with his sword, his face lit up with glee as it always was in time of battle. A second later, Iben arrived and crashed into her as he raged, trying to knock her prone. The Kindraeder brandished his axe at the other Drow, snarling at them.

“A Kindraeder does not abandon his friends!” he shouted. “If you want Karl’s blood, you’ll have to spill mine first!”

From across the room, Cousin Malaria turned to her sister Distonia and said “What spirit! He’ll make a fine slave, once he’s broken in.”

Replying, the other said “And I’ve got just the collar for him. Lovely.”

Thunder, on the other hand, found himself in greater trouble. Throwing back her hood, Grandmother Rubella revealed another Fleshwarped face, this one scarred in neat lines. Her cheekbones almost pushed through, and the tops of her ears, normally pointed as all Drow ears were, had tiny blades attached to them that glinted slightly in the light. Involuntarily, Thunder took a small step backwards at the sight, and as he did she hissed and leapt upon him. Caught off guard and being unable to get his shield up in time, her long claw-like fingernails were able to gouge into his body.

Aengus, dueling with Ebola, was distracted for a second as his niece Roseola rolled smoothly from the chair that she had been occupying. Landing neatly on the floor, she scuttled backwards on all fours before beginning to climb the pillar behind her, her eyes fixed on the face of her Uncle. Whetting her lips, she waited for a chance to pounce.

As the clash of blades, noise of spells and screams of the Drow echoed through the chamber, on the far side, Distonia and Malaria, the two pregnant Drow, stood in unison. Glancing at each other, their flesh deformed and changed, running down into the floor and separating into small piles. Seconds later, the piles grew upwards, forming into several new creatures that looked like black-skinned minions, displaying long claws and fangs.

Aunt Chlamydia also rose out of her chair, gesturing. Her hands wove the shadow around her into an attack, launching a bolt of darkness towards Karl that crashed into him and lit him up, preventing him from hiding in the pervading gloom. A second later she followed it with a bolt of necrotic energy that hit Aengus, and the Eladrin found himself hard pressed to keep his concentration against the attacks of the oozing Ebola.

Surveying the situation, Sigurd realized that things were getting worse, quickly. Marshalling her arcane power, she decided to thin the numbers of the groups opponents with an Icy Terrain spell. The dark-skinned minions were caught in the radius, several of them keening in pain before collapsing to the floor. As they did so, the gibbering noises they had been uttering quieted for a moment, before the others took up the cry and made it louder.

Still grappling with Rubella, Thunder felt her digging in, reaching essential parts of his interior. Marshalling his own forces, he broke the grip with an abrupt wrench, and with a word his sword lit up with radiant energy that crackled along it’s length. The pure light spread in a small pool around him, and it was Rubella’s turn to step back a moment.

“In the name of the Storm God!” cried Thunder, and attacked.

[1] A one on the attack roll, in other words.

Next time: The battle continues!


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## Mathew_Freeman (Jun 10, 2009)

*Battling the Fleshwarpers*

His sword blazing with radiant power in the darkness of the Drow court, Thunder swung at Grandmother Rubella with an overhead strike. Screaming, she dodged to one side and the blade crashed into the ground with an explosive burst of thunder. Cursing, the Warforged brought his blade back into a defensive stance as the necrotic energy continued to surge through his body, draining his energy.

Aengus, still dueling with Ebola, unleashed a psychic attack upon her, attempting to hide himself. However, her oozy form seemed to almost be lacking a mind that he could focus on, and the attack failed. Moving back, he tried to draw her attacks on to him rather than the vulnerable Karl.

Great-Grandmother Ebola, however, was able to put family disputes second when her survival was on the line. Still seeking the antidote to the poison in her body, she lunged at the Gnome, and with the aid of the darkfire still flaming around him she was able to slice at his arms, almost causing him to drop his sword. In response, he span around her onto the central area of glass, balancing carefully on one of the metal bars that were holding it together. As Ebola tried to keep up with him, turning slowly in place he stabbed deep and twisted the blade hard. Gurgling, she collapsed and died as her internal organs were damaged beyond repair.

“That’s one,” commented Karl, before darting backwards to the centre of the dipped area. “Which Drow piece-of-crap is next?”

Thunder didn’t have time to appreciate the bravado shown by his friend. With Rubella still trying to pry open his chest, he was dismayed to find Uncle Enteritis beside him. The Drow warrior had drawn a fine and clearly magical rapier, and in a blur of motion he feinted to one side and then angled the blade past Thunder’s parry, stabbing deep into his shoulder. Learning in close and applying some more weight on the blade, Enteritis pushed it further inside, laughing all the while.

“You’ll die, Cleric of Kord,” he said, staring at Thunder. “If I don’t kill you, or they don’t kill you, the poison will kill you. You’re going to die!”

Staring back at him, the Warforged ignored the pain. “It’ll take more than you to kill me!” he returned, grimly. “And besides, unlike you, I have friends. Look behind you.”

Spinning, the Drow warrior withdrew the blade instantly as Iben, screaming another battle-cry, hurdled the stone table between him and the duel. His axe whipped round and smashed into the parry that Enteritis was attempting, knocking the rapier away and crashing into his shoulder. The impact took the Drow cleanly off his feet and down onto the ground, but he did manage to keep his grip on his weapon. Iben glanced up at Thunder before pulling his axe high again to focus on a death-stroke.

Before he could finish off the warrior, however, Rubella interrupted. Distending her jaw, she was able to bite at both Thunder and Iben simultaneously. Thunder managed to lodge his sword in the way but Iben wasn’t quite quick enough. As he was bitten, blood spraying across the floor, he felt a poison spread through him. Try though he might to shake it off, the proud Kindraed warrior was unable to do much more than dimly react to the further attack launched his way, his axe now feeling heavy in his hands.

Across the room, Roseola leapt off the pillar she had climbed and clawed at Aengus, her once-beautiful face twisted in rage and hate. Sigurd attempted to intervene with a Spectral Ram spell, a construct of force flying across the room and attempting to knock Rosiola back, but Aengus’ niece was too quick and dodged past it. The spell instead struck a chair behind her and smashed it before dissipating Aengus also found himself under attack from Aunt Chlamydia,

With the blade removed from his shoulder, Thunder was able to engage Enteritis in combat again. He could see, out of the corner of his eye, that Karl was starting to edge closer to this melee and so utilizing a common divine attack, he placed a Righteous Brand on the Drow, knowing that the mark would guide Karl’s attacks to the Drow’s weakest defenses. The radiant damage from the attack sliced into Enteritis as he dueled the Cleric.

Karl was eyeing the gap in Enteritis’ defences, assessing his movements and speed and planning his attack. His thoughts were rudely interrupted, however, as the black skinned goblinoid creatures began to run towards him, tracking nimbly across the thin struts supporting the glasswork in the pit. As they passed, they sliced and clawed at him, and despite defending himself as best he could he was left bleeding from a couple of minor wounds. One creature that had injured licked it’s hand clean of blood as it slowed, back on solid ground.

“Tasssssty…” it hissed, grinning.

The creatures had finished their run blocking Aengus from Thunder, Sigurd and Iben, but the Eladrin had a plan. Conjuring an icy wind, he used the power of his Otherwind Stride to teleport across the room. Chlamydia and Roseola were left chilled by his departure as he reappeared in a more suitable location, joining Sigurd with space to fire further bolts of energy.

Freed from having to worry about the life of his Lord, Karl tumbled forwards into a handspring, coming out of it with his blade held high and stabbing Enteritis in the leg, looking for an artery. As the Drow let out a cry of pain and staggered, Karl swiftly climbed up his body and drove his sword in through his ear and through the brain. The Drow was dead before he hit the ground, his magical rapier clanging onto the stone surface.

“Drow, zero,” said Karl. “Gnomes, two. Who wants my blood next, then? Come and get it!”

Next time: The conclusion! Who lives? Who dies?


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## Mathew_Freeman (Jun 12, 2009)

*The End of the Family*

As Karl stood shouting his defiance at the Drow surrounding the party, Rubella stepped up to lay claim to him. Hissing in rage, she slashed with her claws. Karl, however, was too quick for her and pulled back a step, dodging her blow.

Sigurd, meanwhile, was hatching a plan of her own. Gesturing in strong, straight motions she conjured a Wall of Fire across the middle of the room. Caught in the conflaguration, the black-skinned creatures crisped and burned instantly in the power of her magic, dropping to the floor. Under their feet, the glass and metal struts in the dip began to distort and bend slightly in the flames.

Rubella continued to froth and slash at Karl – but as she did so the calm visage of Thunder moved around her. Striking with power, he inflicted yet another wound on her.

“In Kord’s name!” he cried out, and the wounds on both his and Karl’s body began to close up as his God answered Thunder’s battling spirit.

Seeing that things were not going their way, Chylmidia attacked from across the room. Putting her hands together into a fan, she uttered a word of magic and a black net of energy sprang from them. The net shot towards Karl, and before he could dodge it collapsed around him, holding him in place. The necrotic power of the web drained his strength as well, and Rubella grinned as she saw him visibly weaken, even as he tried to strike at her again. The strands extended back to Chylmidia’s hands, and it looked for a second as though she was controlling him like a puppet.

Attempting to draw some of the attention away from his Gnomish friend, Aengus engaged Chlymidia in a mental duel. For a split second both of them froze, eyes locked, and then, with a scream, Chylmidia broke the connection, staggering back. The strands linking her to the web broke, and Karl began to try and free himself.

Iben had finally shaken off the poison that had affected him. Grimly taking up his axe, he darted to one side, right on the edge of the glass and struck at her, knocking her to the floor.

“For Kindraed!” yelled Iben, lost in battle-rage. Even from there, though, she was a threat, clawing at him and hanging on to his leg even as he struck again with his axe.

The dim light of the chamber was lit with the glow of magical weapons, the light from the Wall of Fire and from Sigurd’s magelight. From where she stood, she could see that Chylmidia was perilously close to the fire and with a sudden flash of insight Sigurd began to move. Running hard past Rubella and Karl, she placed the Drow female between herself and the Wall. With a single, explosive gesture, she brought forth a Thunderwave.

Chylmidia, still reeling from Aengus’ mental assault, was caught unprepared. Flung backwards, bleeding from the nose, her body went directly through the Wall of Fire, crisping her skin and landing her on the metal-and-glass structure beneath with a crash. As she tried to stand, the entire thing gave way beneath her and with a fading scream she dropped from sight.

With the disappearance of Roseola, who had scurried up into the darkness at the top of the pillar, that left only Rubella, still clawing at Iben from the floor.

“This ends, now,” spoke Thunder. Raising his sword, he invoked one final prayer and the weapon lit up with radiant power, bathing the Drow in a gentle glow. Slashing downwards, Thunder killed her in one smooth motion.

As she died, the only sounds left in the room were the breathing of the companions as they sought to catch their breath, and the noise of a light breeze coming from the new hole in the floor.

Note: Best battle of the campaign so far, for me.

I have absolutely no idea what levels, roles or mechanics any of the Drow were using to do all that stuff, but crater was handling it brilliantly. We were living in fear of every turn, as each Drow unleashed new and horrible attacks on us.

It's become clearer to me over time that this group is actually doing a good job of working together in tough combats. Thunder tends to sit in the middle of everything (with Aldis, when randomling is playing), Sigurd lurks at one side and Iben, Karl and Aengus do all the damage. Karl, in particular, is a steady stream o'death but Iben has his explosive moments. Aengus' powers tend more towards the weird. 

I've got one more write up to do of the end of this session (possibly two) and then unfortunately the campaign updates will have to go on hiatus until the beginning of August, when crater returns from his current over-work-hell. Hopefully you'll still be reading!

Next: Finally, we meet Mistress Night and Day!


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## Mathew_Freeman (Jun 15, 2009)

*Interview With a Fey*

Karl idly stepped closer to the jagged hole in the floor where once an elegant lattice-work of iron and glass had stood. Looking down, he said simply “I can’t see the bottom, it just fades into blackness. Unless she can fly…”

Aengus, more attuned to the feel of the place, had suddenly realized that the creepers and vines at the edge of the room were moving in the breeze – but moving against it. He called out, attracting the attention of the rest of the companions as the leaves and roots gathered, twisted together, and rose in the shape of a female form. Flowers and leaves clothed her as her body rose up. With a simple wave of her hand each member of the group felt the Drow poison leave their systems.

Smiling, the figure spoke in a pleasant voice. “Once, Enteritus was a favourite of mine, it must be said. But now, after his actions, I must confess that all of you are. The Feywild is in grave danger, and I ask you to help.”

Aengus replied, saying “Will you tell us your name before we agree to your request?”

“I have two names in your language. One is Hel, the other is Mistress Night and Day.” Flowing forwards, branches rustling together, the figure moved into the light cast by Sigurd’s magic. “The World Above and the Feywild are connected and joined, and what befalls one will affect the other. Ragnarok is to come, and come soon, and the surface world will not survive as it is. However, we here in the Feywild can be saved if the connection is broken.”

Thunder spoke up. “You say that Ragnarok is unavoidable, and that the world will be destroyed. I was created to avert that, and to be a Protector for Humanity.”

Sadly, Hel spoke in reply, saying “The Primordials have sworn that Ragnarok is to come. It cannot be stopped, not even by such as you, Warforged of Kord. You, Aengus, and your companions must make the Disjunction between World and Fey-world. The Leylines that flow through all things are linked with three seals, and if the bloodlines that hold these seals can be ended, then the seals will break and the worlds separated. In killing Kindrbode you have broken the first of the seals, but you must now kill the Witch and the Dragon if you wish to continue. Should you succeed in this quest, I will grant you a great boon in return.”

Sigurd said “I know a little of leylines, and the way they are bound, but to work a Disjoining as you mention will require assistance. Are there any you know of that can assist us?”

“Journey to Mickelgarth and Helsingfen,” replied Hel. “There you will find Aengus’ father. He has also agreed to help me and will be of great assistance. I hold the soul of his wife in my care, and he realized that above all things he wished for her return to him. It is strange, the actions of those that are descended from me – often, when I think I understand them, they surprise me. Including you, Aengus.”

Startled, the half-Drow replied “I am descended from you? So my abilities, my powers, they are sourced directly in you?”

“That is correct,” she said. “The lineage of the Infanti lives on through you. But now there are other Drow approaching, seeking to kill those that have killed. I leave you now to make your exit.” The mass of vines, branches, leaves and flowers sank back into the floor, disappearing back to the edges of the rooms. Karl cocked his head and listened for a second, before drily noting that there appeared to be several Drow attempting to break down the doors.

Iben recollected the room full of Lizards, and with undue haste the companions made their way there and mounted the beasts. Leaving behind a Blade Barrier from Thunder and a cloud of alchemical spores from Aengus to distract and delay the Drow following them, the companions made their way out of the wall exit and up the side of the city, seeking to return to the surface lands.

Note: This post marks a hiatus in the campaign as noted in the previous post. We're all hoping to pick up where we left off, and it's likely that randomling (playing Aldis) will also be back at that time.

crater has neatly signposted the next stage of the campaign here - battling the Witch, and the Dragon!


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## Mathew_Freeman (Jul 31, 2009)

Sadly, due to a change in my personal circumstances I'm going to be leaving the campaign.

I believe it will continue, but I'm not sure if crater or any of the other players will pick up the Story Hour. I hope they do, purely so that I can read it!

I've really enjoyed the campaign, and wish crater all the best with it.


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## Mathew_Freeman (Oct 23, 2009)

Breaking news!

The campaign is BACK ON! We'll be playing a new session in November, with the full group and possibly a new addition. Happily, the sessions will now also be longer so hopefully we'll get even more done, letting crater open our his imagination in even better ways.

Plus, we've been told to bring our characters back in at 11th level - so Paragon Paths R Us.

Really looking forward to getting back into this - will update Story Hour when I have more information.


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## Mathew_Freeman (Feb 5, 2010)

*Iben Falls*

The giant lizards proved to be eager and unpredictable mounts. One by one the adventurers spurred their hissing beasts out of the gaping window, lunging into the darkness, and down the sheer rockface of the Drow city. Far below, the vortex of clouds broiled and swirled, like a spiralling thunderhead lit from within by sporadic flashes of lightning.

The party rallied together, their mounts clinging to the vertical rockface, only their harnesses kept them from a long fall into the dark sky below.

‘To leave this place it appears that we must climb, and cross the ceiling of this cavern!’ yelled Aengus.

‘Then I suggest we do so with haste!’ returned Thunder, as large windows below them suddenly erupted with bristling black spider legs. Clambering out onto the city wall came a squadron of six Drow giant spider riders. With spears, swords and nets readied, they gave chase.

The adventurers urged their mounts upwards, each taking a different route around the craggy architecture of Guningagap. Their pursuers were fast and agile, and they quickly began to close. Suddenly two more leapt out of a cave mouth nearby and skittered in to flank the lizard riders. One fired a dart from a small crossbow, the bolt ripping through Sigurd’s cloak and into her shoulder. She reeled in the saddle, but kept her seat.

Iben, who had been last out of the lizard stables, wheeled his mount about with a twist of his body.

‘Keep going!’ He shouted, ‘I thirst for Drow blood still!’

Karl and Sigurd had been just infront of the barbarian. By the time they saw what was happening they were already far ahead.

‘Iben!’ Shouted the wizard, but the Northman spurred his mount into a downwards charge. The giant lizard grasped at the rock with powerful claws as it lurched and leapt down the rockface. With one slice of his hunting knife, Iben severed his riding harness. He leapt from the saddle into the dark air.

The front rank of Drow saw the giant lizard still charging towards them and desperately tried to steer their mounts out of the way. The lizard ploughed into the first two giant spiders, and then lost its grip. It tumbled out of control, scattering spiders all around it.

As the lizard impacted, Iben was in freefall over the heads of the main pack. The three Drow in the rear guard steered out of the way of the carnage as it fell towards them. Those above fell into those below until all that could be seen was mass of flailing spider legs plummeting down the rockface. Iben drew a sword from his back and decapitated the first Drow and then the second as he fell. The last just had time to lower his spear when Iben slammed into him. The barbarian hit with such force as to pull both rider and mount from the wall. As they fell into the darkness drow and human were still locked in a grapple, his enemies spear protuding far from Iben’s shoulder.

At the edge of the city the remaining adventurers drew their mounts to a sudden halt to see the last of the figures falling slowly into the night below.






‘Such valour, I have not seen it’s like.’ spoke Thunder solemnly.

‘Now thats what I call an exit!’ Karl nodded with admiration.

‘We have slain near all the nobility of their city,’ began Aengus, ‘Not to mention most of my extended family. While I sense that we will benefit from Hel’s protection, there will be those who will not forgive this, for many lifetimes to come. The time to mourn our friend is not now. We should not linger.’

Travelling upside down across the roof of the underworld, clear pathways led the party between the stalacites and through the growths of giant funghi. At length they reached a cave mouth where the giant lizards scuttled inside, coming to a rest on solid ground. As gravity reasserted itself the adventurers found they had to sit down on the rock floor to gather their senses. Weak on her feet from the loss of blood, Sigurd fell out of her saddle and collapsed. Quick work by Thunder revealed the bolt had been poisoned, and although he was able to steady her condition she quickly lapsed into unconsciousness.

‘If these drow maps do not lie, it will be a journey of many days, perhaps weeks, before we reach the surface,’ said Aengus. ‘The dangers we face will be many. We will not emerge without a fight.’

‘Iben would have wanted it that way’, quipped Karl.

‘Then let us not disappoint him.’ spoke Thunder.

Far below in the eternal darkness of the underworld, Guningagap was silent.

Note: This marks the post-credits wrap-up, as it were, detailng the death (?) of Iben. James, who was playing him, has moved back to Australia as of last year.

However, I am pleased to announce that my friend Sean, better known on these boards as Khynal, will be joining us tomorrow playing a human Paladin. Under what circumstances we meet him, and what happens next, I have no idea, but I'm very excited to be picking up this campaign.

I'll try and get details of what Paragon Path everyone picked, and post them up at the end of the next write-up.

Edit: As it turned out, Sigurd's player couldn't make it yesterday, so I've added in a little revision to help us out, narratively.


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## Mathew_Freeman (Mar 8, 2010)

*The Vampires of Skeinwald*

The party leave the cave and emerge on a hillside overlooking the whaling port of Skeinwael. There seems to have been a battle here but now the town is deserted, not even a single corpse lies in the streets where blood stains the cobblestones and weapons lie discarded. Many of the building appear to have been barricaded from within, although it appears that none of the defences held to the end.

Except that is for the great hall of Bjornyak that stands in the center of the town. Here they find the windows and doors still shut and bolted from inside. On the doors of the hall is a runic inscription, part of a saga describing the fall of the Formorian witch-queen Angrbode – ‘The Dunking of the Witch’.

Inside the hall the party meets Oellorn of Igglingsborg, a holy warrior of Kord and veteran ogre hunter. Oellorn has been trapped in Skeinwael since he arrived several days ago. The town is host to some unnatural curse and creatures of darkness hunt throughout the night. Oellorn has been tending a man who is suffering some kind of unholy affliction, the man is an aged warrior, apparently from Himinborg, and has suffered many wounds. Karl recounts The Prophecy of House Aellrinnath, and Oellorn recounts the ledgend of ragnarok as told amongst his people.

The party makes preparations to stay the night and hunt down the source of the evil the next day. As night falls strange sounds are heard outside. Hearing a cry for help, the party ventures out into the streets around the hall and are attacked by vampire spawn.

They soon learn that the vampires are using illusions to lure them outside, and spend a long night beset by undead trickery. The vampire illusions become stronger when the wounded man awakens and explains that he is Siegfried, king of Himinborg, and that he will soon succumb to the vampires curse. He asks the party to kill him before this happens, which Thunder, after much soul-searching, does.

Soon after, a group of Knights Himinborg arrive led by Serkeljoff. The party explain that Siegfried’s last words were to announce that whoever carries the token of the first knight shall succeed him as king. It is revealed that both Thunder and Serkeljoff possess such a token, Thunder knows it as the symbol of the Legion That Waits. Thunder renounces any claim to the throne and Serkeljoff is informally made king.

At dawn the party, together with the Knights Himinborg, locate a blubber boiling tower on the shores of the Kindersee where it appears the vampires lair. They venture inside and find hordes of vampires waiting in the darkness. Taking advantage of the fire pits in the tower they set the place ablaze and wait for the creatures to die in the flames.

The next day Serkeljoff explains that they are raising an army to meet Siegmund. The party explain that their mission takes them far into the Beastlands, to Mycklegarth and Hamingjen, to hunt down the surviving spawn of 2 mythical creatures of the Feywild. The 2 groups prepare to go their separate ways.

Note: crater has been kind enough to write-up this session in short, as I've simply not got around to it. It was a very atmospheric game, and made a great job of introducing Khynal's new character.

Killing Siegfried was possibly the hardest decision I've had to make in a campaign - I had no real idea if his suggestion was an illusion or if it was true! Handing over the Crown to Serkeljoff was equally unpleasant - words can't explain how irritating that guy is, or how well crater plays him! I'm sure at least one of those decision will come back to haunt me.

We're playing again on March 20th, and hopefully I can get my own notes in order this time.


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## Mathew_Freeman (Apr 28, 2010)

*Thunder's Memories*

_Like his father before him, Bor is a good king. He embodies those qualities most admired among men, and asks of noone that which he would not ask of himself. Bor rules the land east of the mountains as far as the sea, and has been able, through strength of character, to forge a peace with those kings who had made trouble for his father. It is through the strength of steel that he has been able to keep it.

Now that good king Bor is old in years, he meets with the Einherjar at the stone circle. They appear just as he remembers, having seen them once before as a boy. Eventually, Bor is left alone amongst the standing stones, with only a sadness to keep him company._

Note: To recall, the Einherjar are the collected Warforged of the Legion That Waits. This is a short extract from Thunder's mind, as the distant past starts to come back to him.


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## Mathew_Freeman (Apr 28, 2010)

*The Journey to Mycklegarth*

The adventurers leave Skeinwael early in the morning as the ashes of the vampire horde are still glowing. Accompanied by Oellorn of Igglingsborg they travel several days into the evergreen forest until they arrive at a small villagers named Mittewald. There the villagers explain how a warband of ogres raided the outlying farms and took some of the farmers captive. The party agree to chase down the ogres and are given sleds and dogs to travel over the ice fields between Mittewald and Mycklegarth.

Many days of pursuit follow. Thunder uses divine magic to keep the dogs on their feet day and night. They find the ogres camps, and, it appears, the remains of some of the human captives. Soon they adventurers sight the rearguard sled, massive ogres swathed in heavy furs hunched up in a sled, an orc drives the dire boar beast of burden. Ahead in the distance, more sleds lead the way.

The party destroys the first sled and take out it’s crew. Catching up with the main pack 2 more sleds filled with ogres and orcs come into view. A longer battle ensues at high speed, with exchanges of missile fire, and Karl performing stunt leaps between the sleds. Having dispatched the main group the adventurers chase after the lead sled.

The chase continues over a frozen lake, where the ice breaks beneath them throwing everyone into the freezing water. Climbing out onto the drifting ice floes the adventurers battle an ogre shaman who moves around the battlefield in and out of gaseous form and his orc battlerager driver. Aengus uses Armour of Agathys to freeze the water under his feet and save the drowning villagers, meanwhile Oellorn battles the orc on a slippery ice floe. The ogre shaman and Karl find themselves grappling underwater until the shaman finally attempts to flee and is killed by Aengus.

They emerge on the other side of the lake to be met by 2 primitive looking hunters from Mycklegarth. One introduces himself as Finn, and leads them to their village. In Mycklegarth the party meet Snøflgrøf once again. They tell him of their quest to slay the spawn of Fenryr. Finn relates The Saga of Halfdan Man And A Half, and Snøflgrøf says that he is certain that the death of a fearsome monster known as Nyfellryr will bring them closer to the end of their mission.

That night, Thunder recovers more memories…



			
				From the mind of the Promise of Distant Thunder said:
			
		

> _“War is a storm,” speaks The Precision Of A Sharpened Blade, “It rises from peace and destroys all in it’s path.”
> 
> “War is a savage animal,” speaks The Link In The Chain, “It cannot be tamed and answers to no master.”
> 
> ...




Note: This account, and the memory above, come directly from our GM, crater. He's stepped up where I've failed and is keeping the account of the campaign going on Obsidian Portal, and I'm cross-posting it over to here.

You may notice that the names of the Warforged are somewhat influenced by the names of the Minds in Iain M. Banks Culture Series. We went for this as a deliberate move.

Lastly, it's important to note that whilst Thunder is pretty certain he's not the knight that stands and speaks at the end of that memory, neither can he remember who it actually was...


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## Mathew_Freeman (Apr 28, 2010)

*Sigurds's Retreat, and, Fenryr's Lair*

*Sigurd's Retreat*

Whilst recovering from the effects of a near-fatal Drow poison, Sigurd retreats to a small fisherman’s house on the black stony beaches of Skeinwael. There she completes her spiritual initiation and becomes an Oracle of Kord. She studies the natural forces around her.

By day the ebb and flow of the tide, the gentle rise and fall of the waves, the movements of schools of luminescent dragonfish as they swim through the shallows of the Kindersee, all these things speak of change to come.

By night the dark water becomes still and calm, a mirror onto the heavens where each reflected star is said to represent the soul of a hero. In the land where the brave may live forever, dead heroes dance in ripples on the surface of the sea.

For those that did not die well, their suffering in the underworld reveals itself in the Nightshade blossom that is found on the moor. A white flower with a black center the Nightshade is said to be Hel’s own flower.

Sigurd now partly dwells in the land of the dead, the stars above, their reflections below, the nightshade in the field, and the Ghulra clusters (see An Urn of Questions) that she has lain out in patterns in the straw-strewn ground of her cabin. Sigurd still dreams of Ragnarok, and come the dawn the rainbow remains clear in her minds eye. This is Kord’s land. Beyond Himinborg people talk of the gods of Aelfheim, they are but invaders in Kord’s bright gift. Lady Snowshoes, The Hanged Man, The Boon Companion, even Hel herself. One day they shall all be gone and the strength of the One God shall remain.

Worlds above and worlds below reveal their secrets to the Oracle of Kord. Making sense of the voices will take time, and her journey is just begun.

*Fenryr's Lair*

“If it is monsters you seek, then you have come to the right place.” announced Snøflgrøf to the adventurers as they prepared themselves for the next stage of their quest. “Here in Mycklegarth we have monsters and heroes aplenty. The biggest and baddest of which is none other than Nyfellryr, as foul a creature as ever there was. Nyfellryr has plagued these lands for many long years. It appeared from who knows where centuries ago and claimed the forests around as it’s own until it was slain by my great grandfather. During the time of The Curse it rose from the ground and then reappeared briefly. 10 years ago, when Siegmund first began his forays into this part of the world, he disturbed the dormant beast and since then a tribe of savage shapechangers has taken to worshipping it as a god. I am certain that the death of Nyfellryr will bring you closer to the end of your quest.”

The party set off from Mycklegarth guided by Finn, the storyteller. Several days journey through the woods led them to the Barghest Quarry, where they found a brutal sacrifice in progress. The survivors of the sled chase, orcs and ogres alike, were chained at the bottom of a chalk quarry pit awaiting some end. The ruined village was shrouded in a fog of chalk dust as the Barghest horde danced and howled to summon their foul god.

Making their way unchallenged through the horde the adventurers descend into the pit where they are set upon by a stampeding undead were-mammoth. Nyfellryr was nearly unstoppable, and the writhing mass of necrotic rot-grubs that constantly consumed it’s regenerating flesh were flung in a spray from the huge beast wreaking havoc amongst the living.

After a hard fight the party slew the beast, causing panic amongst the watching Barghest horde. The party decide to hasten back to Mycklegarth, before the Barghest reassemble and launch a revenge attack on the village. Leaving the quarry they find a series of chalk caves and a runic circle where once stood a warforged.

Back at Mycklegarth they are met by rejoicing villagers and carried shoulder high to Snøflgrøf. Whilst the villagers prepare to defend against the Barghest attack, Snøflgrøf asks to speak to the party in the privacy of a mud dwelling.

There he reveals that, while Nyfellryr was a terrible threat, it was not the beast they were seeking. In return for ridding Mycklegarth of this foe he tells them that it is he who is Fenryr’s heir, and offers to lay down his life to prevent Ragnarok destroying the Feywild, the land of his forefathers.

The party reluctantly acknowledge that they must do this for the greater good. Oellorn is torn as he sees that the killing of a goodly soul must serve a higher purpose. It is Karl who strikes the first blow. Attempting a mighty and well-placed death strike he finds that he has only inflicted a minor wound on the spawn of Fenryr.

Just then, Finn and his captains burst into the room, announcing that the Barghest horde has reached the village. They stop in horror at the scene that confronts them. With the cry “ASSASSINS!” Finn and the villagers tranform into werewolves and attack, some shielding their king with their bodies, others leaping ontop of the adventurers.

A savage battle ensues in which the werewolves try to drag the struggling Snøflgrøf to safety while they battle the party. In the closely confined chaos of the fight, first Karl, then Oellorn, then Aengus are infected with a form of ‘Full Moon Fever’ which sends them into a feral rage, attacking friend and foe alike, only the warforged Thunder appears to be immune to the effects of the werewolves’ bite.

After a long and brutal struggle the party succeed in killing Snøflgrøf and the werewolf captains, to find that the entire village is under attack around them. Ferocious Barghest wolves are locked in combat with the villagers who have all transformed into werewolves. The only way out of the village appears to be through the midsts of this savage battle.

Note: Firstly, regarding Sigurd. Michael, the player of Sigurd, has been unable to join the last few sessions and as such crater has agreed that his character can stay "off-screen" for a while. The decision to pick Divine Oracle as his Paragon Path was decided some time ago, happily, and as such Sigurd is going to be doing some long thinking and when she returns, hopefully she'll have some good news for us.

Moving on to the two fights in the last game, all I can say is "Ouch". The undead-were-mammoth that was Nyfellryr was bad enough, but the second attack by multiple werewolves (all of whom had a "Howl" power that caused other nearby werewolves to gain an additional basic attack) nearly did for us. With a mixture of luck and good dice-rolling (plus what I would like to modestly nominate as a very well-placed Blade Barrier) we got out of it, but at one stage two members of the party were attacking people at random in the throes of werewolf-induced battle-rage.

Best moment: Oelorn attacking Karl under the influence of said battle-rage, only for half of the damage inflicted on the Gnome to bounce back to the Paladin due to his "Shield Other" power. Comedy genius.


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## Mathew_Freeman (Apr 28, 2010)

*Sigurd's Divinations*

“We are a world apart,” said the stars on the water, “We are not you.”

“I am Sigurd of Concordance, I am the Eye of Kord.”

“Welcome Sigurd,” spoke the souls of dead heroes, “We too are children of The One God, a thousand deaths here dance in a single ripple of your oar in the water. We are not you.”

Sigurd raised the oars out of the water and watched as water ran from them, disturbing the calm surface of the Kindersee.

“Look,” said the departed, “The Battle of Skøninjen Way!” Sigurd saw the specks of reflected light weave and bob in spreading circles on the dark water.

“Look,” said the fallen, “The Death of Bør!” More drops fell into the darkness and sent ripples across the flat plane of the sea.

“You honour me with your dance.” said Sigurd, “But I am not you, I am a world apart.”

“Yes,” spoke the dead heroes, “You are not of this land. You are an Auslander, and so shall you remain until Ragnarok comes. Surtur will reunite us, can you see?”

Sigurd looked long into the dark water. At length she spoke “Yes I see him, he is near, and Thrymm follows.”

“The power of the New Gods begins to fade.” continued the dead, “Soon, this land will once again stand alone.”

“The conjunction weakens,” replied Sigurd, “I see this too. And what of Concordance? I saw once that my city was destroyed.”

“It is Hel’s will that you are here. You have all answered the call. It was her will that forged the link between our worlds. When she is gone, so shall be the conjunction that brought you to us, and here you shall remain until the end.”

“Then it was no ocean crossing that took us to this land?”

“No,” replied the dead, “For we are world’s apart. It has always been so.”

The next day Sigurd awoke to a blood red dawn. She knew then that Fenryr’s bloodline had been broken.

Note: crater is giving us all this background knowledge between games. It's making me paranoid. What's he up to?


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## Mathew_Freeman (Apr 28, 2010)

*The King in His Hall, and, The Wyrmling Turns*

*The King in His Hall*

Alone on a mountain of bones sat Serkeljof, king of Himinborg. Lost in thought, his gaze wandered over the remains of Himinborg’s defeated enemies. All about lay giants and sea-monsters piled high about the three thrones of the Great Hall, until his gaze finally came to rest on the bones of Nidhog, the great faerie dragon herself.

At length a warrior arrived, the creaking doors allowing a wedge of red sunlight to break the dim and dusty peace of the windowless hall. Tall, broad and advanced in years the braided knight approached the throne where the king sat quietly.

(Translated from Old Norse) “Sire, We have word from Kindraed, Konigshelle, and Karlsbad on the Eastern shore. We have word from Braekonsgard, Braeborg, and Brershalle at the Southern Edge. We have word from Igglingsborg, Wayweary, and Thruthgelmir at the World’s End. We have word from those that yet remain on the islands of the Kindersee. They will all answer the call. They will all make for Skeinwael and await your order.”

Serkeljof remained silent for a time, as the aged veteran patiently waited for a response. “Imagine, if you will, that you were a loyal servant of Kord,” began the king quietly, “Would it not be appropriate to kneel on entering the Hall of Rivenhart, as it has been for the five centuries or more since it was built?”

The warrior quickly knelt.

“Kindraed, you say?” continued Serkeljof, “I was not aware that goats and pigs could be trained to bear arms.”

“The thirteen families and the lands around have proffered several hundred fighting men, sire. They seem quite spirited. They will not fight in the name of Kord, but they will fight nonetheless.” explained the veteran.

Serkeljof leaned forward on the plain wooden throne. “And what of Thruthgelmir? I understood that the Auslanders had rendered that acursed hall vacant.”

“Indeed my lord. There we have the pledge of Queen Rusalka to send archers numbering near a thousand, but as mercenaries requiring gold, or gems even.”

“I should have kept that sword of Siegfried’s. It would have fetched enough to pay for twice that many.”

The veteran shifted uncomfortably as he stood up. His knees troubled him more these days.

“How long before the southern edge forces are on the northern shore?” asked the king.

“Fourteen days, maybe less with favourable winds. The Auslander witch says that Kord will bless their voyage.”

“How kind.” declared Serkeljof, as he rose to his feet and stretched out his crooked spine. “Then what remains, o valiant Fruhli, Knight Himinborg?”

The veteran Knight Himinborg and champion storyteller thought on this a while. “Er, provisions and supply trains are in progress sire…”

“Hmm, no. There must be something else…” pondered Serkeljof.

“Our scouts are searching the mountains for Siegmund’s camp, we expect to receive word any day now.”

“No, no. I’m sure there is something else.”

Fruhli thought some more. “There has been no contact with the Auslanders for near ten days…”

“Pah! There is one other thing, i’m certain…”

“I know not what my lord.” returned the baffled veteran.

Serkeljof looked skyward in despair. “My armour, perhaps?” he sighed.

Fruhli bowed quickly and strode out of the hall, calling for the king’s armour. Outside the hall he descended the muddy wooden stairs through the streets of Himinborg. All about, in the blood red light of the Cycle of The Sword, the remaining elite veteran knights were readying themselves for one final ocean voyage.

*The Wyrmling Turns*

This land is young and this people strong,
The children of Nidhog and Helman,
Born as slaves,
May yet die free.

As he spoke, the Battle Chaplain poured wine into the chalice.

This land is young and this people brave,
Of dragon and man,
Of this world and that,

Aldis, kneeling at the other side of the altar, took the intricately worked golden vessel in both mailed hands.

Of storm, the vengeance rising,
Of fire, the desire in our hearts,

Slowly, she raised the chalice to her long mouth.

Of ice, the resolve in our cause,
Of acid, that no chains may bind us.

As the words of the oath gradually increased in volume and intensity, she began to drink the Blood of Bahamut.

This land is young and this people true,
The sons of Man and the daughters of Wyrm,
Hold to the oath of our ancestors,
That none shall set themself above another,
That the poorest has yet a mouth to feed,
As the richest,
That the smallest has yet a life to live,
As the Mightiest,
And so with all things,
Must the heart of the Valkyr guide her.

The dragonborn paladin rises to her feet and gradually unfurls a set of wings, joint by joint, ligament by ligament, skin stretching taught over strong sinews, until the two clawed extremities could almost touch the walls on either side of her. Her whole life had been but preparation for this day. This Valkyr had reached the final stage of her rebirth, and now she would see her people to freedom.

“The Valkyr are ready, Aldis” began the Chaplain, “Will you lead them?”

Aldis breathed deeply, savouring how her wings and her armour weighed heavily across her body.

“I will,” she replied, “For the Auslanders approach. Tonight we shall pray for their safe arrival.”

Note: More background information keeping up to date with Serkeljof, and also Aldis, the PC played by randomling. Hopefully randomling will also rejoin the game at some point.


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## Mathew_Freeman (May 28, 2010)

*The Hanged Man*

Whilst walking along Skeinwael’s black sand shoreline, Sigurd happened upon a trail of bare foot prints. The tide washed over them and then withdrew, fizzing and popping over the coarse dark grit. The oracle followed the faint foot prints across the beach and into the woods outside of town, where they became damp imprints across the dry earth. There in a clearing she saw a figure hanging upside down by the legs from a stooping ash, apparently caught in a hunter’s trap.

“Is this Lady Snowshoes?” asked Sigurd as she entered the clearing.

“Junge fraulein,” responded the figure in the gruff voice of an old man, “You have the benefit of both of your eyes. Do see fit to use them on occasion.”

The old man was gently swinging to and fro. The noose around his feet creaked as he slowly turned in the breeze. Sigurd stepped closer and saw that this was indeed an elderly yet heavily built man, half-elven possibly judging by his ears, dressed in weather-worn travelling clothes. His upside down face, reddened and flushed, was framed with white braided beards that hung over his broad features towards the ground, his large broken-knuckled hands trailing in the leaves that lay beneath him. One keen blue eye looked up at her while an empty socket remained where the other one should have been.

“Would you care for some assistance?” inquired the oracle, stooping while craning her neck, so as to see the old half-elven gentleman the right way up.

“Have you anything to drink?” replied the old man.

“I have some goats milk, but i’ll have to fetch it from the village.”

“You are the Auslander woman they talked about,” began the one-eyed man, ignoring Sigurd’s offer of refreshments, “And yet you bear the mark of Kord. That could be said to be… auspiscious, wouldn’t you say? And to think we had no idea who had called you!”

“The Legion must be remade.” spoke the Auslander.

“That’s all well and good i’m sure, but right now my power is on the wane, thanks to the actions of you and your companions. Don’t think me ungrateful, but what I really need you to do is to find my eye.”

Sigurd scanned the forest floor around her. “Do you think it is somewhere around here?”

“Probably not, I lost it in a storm some time ago. I suppose it could be anywhere really.”

The way the old man pronounced ‘anywhere’ left Sigurd in no doubt that he really meant it. She pondered on this for a while. The old man slowly rotated in the hanging trap. When he had come full circle Sigurd continued. “Well, if I find it I will be sure to put it aside for you.”

“That would be most kind of you fraulein. I will be sure to reward you if you are able to recover it.”

Sigurd left the clearing, scanning the leaf-strewn ground around and abouts. From far behind her the old man, still hanging upside down, called out. “Any luck?”

“Some good sized acorns, a snails shell, nothing else.” the oracle called back.

Sigurd wandered far through the forest until she had lost her way. At length she arrived at a crossroads.

Note: This serves to reintroduce Sigurd in her capacity as a PC. Happily, Michael has been able to rejoin the game after some time away. This brings the party back up to five members, and it also meant that for the first time ever we covered all four D&D 4e roles in terms of having a Defender, Leader, Controller and two Strikers. With the challenges ahead, we're going to need everyone!


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