# Adventures in the Eastern Provinces



## the Jester (Nov 15, 2009)

4/1/2530 S.C.

It’s a nice spring day. The weather is just right- a little overcast, a little windy, warm but not hot. It’s the perfect kind of day, Shifty reflects, for a mark to come into town. 

The balls arc in the air, from one hand to the other, then reversing direction. He adds another ball to the mix. Most of the locals have seen it before, but it still gets him a drink or two from time to time- not to mention the occasional coin from visitors. Of course, most of Overland’s traffic comes from Woodcut, which is a small, not-too-wealthy village a little less than 20 miles away. That means that the average visitor doesn’t have much more money than the average local. Things used to be busier, but that was before the river shifted, drying up the creek that the village had used to float logs to Overland. Now the lumberjacks have to haul their timber by wagon, which is slower and more expensive. 

Shifty catches all the balls in his small, weathered hands, tucks them into his satchel and bows to the smattering of applause from his regulars. Someone buys him a cheap cup of wine and he sits at the window and sips at it, hoping he will see an opportunity coming his way. 

The small gnome strokes his van Dyke beard and nurses his wine for a few moments before he sees a pair of figures crossing the creek on the ferry. The Swift Wagon is at the edge of town, just below the ferry itself. As it is so close to the crossing, the inn attracts a lot of the strangers in town and is therefore a wonderful place to find a mark to steal from. That is why Shifty hangs out here so much. At first, as the figures approach, his interest deflates, for he recognizes them as a pair of locals. But then it is piqued again, for they are battered and bruised! The two figures look like they have been beaten, and both of them look scared and shaken. 

Shifty tries to hide his keen interest in them as they sit at the bar. Curly, the man tending said bar, exclaims, “What the hell happened to you two? Here, these are on me!” He pulls the bung from an ale keg and pours each of them a draught. 

“We were at the mud baths,” one of them says, “and we were attacked. A group of frog people came and drove most of the people there off!”

“I think they killed the old man that tended the baths, too,” adds the other.

”They beat us- we were lucky to escape alive.”

”Were there other people at the baths?” Curly asked. “What happened to them?”

“I don’t know for sure. They drove us off. But I saw that they captured a couple of other folk.”

“One of them was that woman, what’s her name, Bylla,” the other says. 

Curly whistles. “They say that she’s got some property down in Grumbleford. She’s a pretty wealthy landowner, isn’t she?”

_Aha,_ thinks Shifty.

***

The hardest tavern in town is the Silver Fish. Tall-Oh-Gee (but call him Cavemouth) is trying, but he just can’t sucker anyone into arm wrestling him or engaging in a drinking contest. The fact that he is penniless doesn’t help, as he has nothing to wager (and the keeper has already stated that he will not accept a mace as payment).  

Maybe the fact that he is an imposing 7’8” tall and nearly 300 pounds of rock-hard, dark grey mottled muscle has something to do with it, but it’s disappointing nonetheless. He could _really_ use a drink. Too bad the townies don’t have any good old fashioned moonshine, but you can’t win them all.

“I’ll drink any of ya under the table,” he challenges again, but again, most of the tavern’s other patrons ignore him. This time, however, one of them responds.

“Ha! I’ll bet you the cost of the drinks that I can outlast ya!” the dwarf sneers.

“Um,” the goliath admits, “I can’t really afford that.”

“Well, then, what do you have to wager?”

“No maces,” the keeper says severely. “I only take coin.”

The goliath scowls. The dwarf laughs. “Here, I’ll buy you a round,” he chuckles. 

“My thanks,” Cavemouth replies. He takes the watery beer from the keeper and sips it. Just a sip- he’ll need to make this one last. “I don’t suppose you need anyone to help you brew beer?”

The dwarf laughs again. “Not me,” he answers, “but if you’re looking for work, I know a farmer a few miles outside of town who needs some strong arms to split some wood and do some labor. And if you’re interested in brewing, I know he makes some very good applejack.”

Cavemouth grunts. “Thanks for the beer.” He scowls up at the keeper and stands. _I think it’s time to find a new tavern, maybe see if I can find someone who’ll take the bait._ He heads out to the street, limbering his arms as he goes. His plate armor clanks around him; his greataxe is strapped to his back. _I should try the inn at the edge of town. Maybe I can get some out of towners to wrestle me or something._

He walks north to the edge of town and pushes through the doors into the Swift Wagon. An old gnome, with white hair, a combover and a van Dyke is walking towards the door.* He stops, stares at the huge goliath, and cries, “You’re exactly the kind of person I’m looking for!”

Cavemouth halts, somewhat puzzled.

“There’s a damsel in distress,” says the gnome. “A _rich_ damsel in distress. I need some muscle to rescue her. By the way,” he adds, “I’m Shifty.”

“Call me Cavemouth,” the goliath replies. “All right, you’ve got my interest. Tell me more.”

“Well,” the gnome answers, “it seems that she’s been kidnapped by frog people at the mud baths north of town. I was about to go try to find out more information about them- I know a local sage.”

“All right,” nods Cavemouth. “Sounds good so far. I’m in.”

The two of them proceed across town to the tower of Karlinndan, the local sage and wizard. (Shifty met him once, long ago in the Feywild, before the terrible events that led to the loss of his village, and now Karl sometimes provides him information about interesting items that the gnome has picked up.) Shifty raps at the door, and a few minutes later the party is inside, conversing with a middle-aged eladrin with long hair and spectacles. Books are everywhere in his tower.

“Frog men, eh?” muses the eladrin sage. 

“Yeah, and the guys I talked to said that they were repulsive to be around,” Shifty replies. “They used primitive weapons and armor, too.”

“Sounds like you’re dealing with bullywugs. They’re foul little buggers. It is said that they are the creation of primordials rather than gods, and that nature itself is revolted by them. It’s fascinating, really.” 

“Well, we need some help to deal with them,” Shifty says, “and there’s a rich damsel in distress involved...”

***

Shifty, Cavemouth and Karl head to the market square, where (so Shifty says) they can probably pick up some more muscle to deal with the bullywugs. They find the person that he is looking for seated on a bench, watching the crowd (or rather, looking for marks, much as Shifty had been doing at the Wagon). Karl cocks an eyebrow at her startling blue color and horns. “Sepia,” he nods to the tiefling. “It has been a while.”

“You two know each other?” asks Shifty.

“We met about a year ago,” the wizard replies. “I was doing some research about tieflings, so naturally, it seemed logical to go to the source.”

“What’s going on?” the tiefling asks, and Shifty explains the situation. “I’m in,” she says, “and if there’s room for one more, I see a friend of mine over there.” She gestures towards a small figure that at the others at first take to be a human child, but then realize is a halfling. She walks over to him. “Good afternoon, Hammhokk,” she says. 

“And to you,” the small figure pipes up. “I was just looking to see whether you might have anything going on that you might need help with.”**

“Funny you should ask,” she replies.

***

The newly-assembled party heads out of town, going north along the creek side. It is early afternoon- they figure that they’ll reach the mud baths sometime the next afternoon. They make decent time, trekking along the rough, intermittent trails, moving amongst dry scrubs and brush. 

Until, suddenly, parts of the brush come to life and attack.

Small, twig-like creatures that rush in, surrounding the party in waves of almost overwhelming numbers! Cavemouth starts hewing about him with his axe while Sepia and Shifty start fighting back with daggers. But the strange twig monsters leave an itching, burning poison behind in their wounds, and soon Sepia is retreating, trying to keep her distance from her attackers. 

Karl _fey steps_ out of a circle of the enemy, and then fires a _scorching burst_ where he had just been, blasting two of the twig blights to pieces. Then, to his horror, he sees two large vines in the brush start to move. One creeps forward and lashes out, impaling Sepia. She screams in pain, almost fainting. The other impales Cavemouth, dealing terrific damage, and then draws back, pulling him with it. “It’s trying to eat me!” he screams, and hacks at it with his axe. 

Sepia pulls herself free and tries to back away, but more of the twig blights scratch her and the poison grows worse. She falters, then collapses. 

”You can do it!” Hammhokk cries majestically. “You’re my best friend!”

Arcane power courses from the halfling, and some of Sepia’s wounds close up. Her eyes flutter open and she groans in pain. 

Shifty dispatches the last of the twig blights tying him up and bounds in to aid his goliath ally, slashing with his dagger. The vine writhes as he cuts it deeply, and then Cavemouth hews it in two with his axe!

Another explosion of fire nearby eliminates two more of the twig blights, allowing Hammhokk to withdraw and pull his bow out. He fires an arrow, but misses the remaining vine. However, the party is now able to focus on it, and in a few moments it dies, cut to pieces. 

“What were those things?” wonders Sepia.

“The little ones were twig blights,” Karl states. “The vines, I’m not so sure about.” He picks one up and examines it. “But look, the thorns are hollow.” He looks up at Cavemouth. “These things are bloodsuckers. You’re lucky you broke free of it!”

***

The party rests and sets watches. The night is chilly and clear, and they are undisturbed. While they strike camp, Hammhokk- whose first name is Jexx- comments, “We should reach the mud baths today.”

“Hopefully,” Shifty says, “we can also rescue that damsel in distress.”

About an hour after noon, they do indeed reach the mud baths, immediately encountering a group of the strange creatures known as bullywugs. Ranging in size from about 4’ to about 6’, the strange frog-folk are surrounded by a miasma of foul air that almost makes our heroes gag just to be around them. They prove immediately hostile, hopping to the attack. Behind the mud pits is a large willow tree whose branches reach the ground; another bullywug proves to be lurking back in there. Two of the frog-folk hurl rocks while the others move up to engage our heroes. Two of the three of them fall and hurt themselves while attacking, and the party dispatches them shortly, leaving one alive but unconscious as a captive.

“I don’t see any sign of the damsel,” Sepia says, after the party looks around, “but at least they had a few gold and silver pieces.” The party splits the loot; each of them ends up with 7 gp and 10 sp. It is certainly better than nothing, and for Cavemouth, it is the difference between no money at all and a few coins! He grins happily.

Karl says, “We can ask this fellow where the captive is, once he awakens, and if need be, I have a ritual that will allow me to comprehend his language.”

This proves to be a good thing, because the bullywug proves to be very, very stupid. It doesn’t understand much that the party says, does or pantomimes, but eventually, after a very trying series of agonizingly-slow breakthroughs, the party gets the bullywug to start leading them in the direction that his fellows took their captive. 

About 200 yards down their trail, however, there is a complication: next to a large mud pit lays a pair of dead bullywugs, and no sign (at least from a distance) of their captive. 

“Do we approach?” wonders Hammhokk.

“We ought to at least check out those bodies, I suppose,” Shifty says. 

The group’s captive is clearly distressed. Karl can still understand its croaking, and he tells the others that it doesn’t seem to know what happened. “In fact, it seems to think that we killed its companions, and now we’re going to murder it.”

Hammhokk shrugs. “I’m going to let it go,” he says. “We’ve learned everything that we can from it.” With that, he unties it. “Go on, now. You’re free. Run!”

The bullywug bolts, hopping away, but as the party advances to examine the scene, the brush at the far edge of the mud pit rustles- and a pair of drakes emerges. Immediately, they charge at Cavemouth, working in concert and almost pulling him down before he even has a chance to draw his axe! One of them tears a chunk of his buttock out. Blood gushes and he bellows in pain.

“Uh oh,” says Shifty.

The mud starts to churn, and a pair of muddy figures rises up. They start throwing great big gobs of mud, plastering Sepia and Hammhokk, and the thick muck clings to them, slowing their movements. 

The party starts to fight back, but then things get much worse. The ground starts to shake directly underneath Cavemouth, and in a spray of earth, a huge, insect-like creature emerges. 

“ANKHEG!!” bellows Hammhokk.

_*Next Time:*_ Will I TPK the new party so soon??

*Shifty’s player described him as “a fantasy Herb Tarlick.” 

**Hammhokk’s player described him as “McCauley Caulkin with a harmonica.”


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## the Jester (Nov 15, 2009)

*CAST OF CHARACTERS*

Toll-Oh-Gee ("Cavemouth")- goliath fighter 1
Shifty- gnome rogue 1
Jexx Hammhokk- halfling bard 1
Sepia Umber- tiefling rogue 1
Karlinndan- eladrin wizard 1

Sepia is the only female pc at this time.


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## Brain (Nov 20, 2009)

aha, the new story hour!  Glad you got your game up and running in your new location.


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## hippie2049 (Nov 21, 2009)

Hella OG Cavemouth.


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## the Jester (Nov 22, 2009)

The ankheg gives a shrill screech. Dust and earth are flying through the air around it. Still assailed by the drakes, Cavemouth gives a yell of surprise as the ground beneath him collapses towards the ankheg, and then he screams in pain as its great mandibles close on his leg. He flails his arms in the air as blood sprays everywhere from his wounded thigh.

The mudmen, meanwhile, hurl globs of mud at our heroes. Sepia and Hammhokk struggle to break out of the hardening shells of muck, their movements slowed by its thick weight. Shifty keeps his distance, trying to avoid being a target himself by keeping his friends between himself and the mudmen, and hurls shuriken back at them. They sink into the creatures’ muddy forms, clearly not doing much damage. _Of course,_ he thinks, _they’re made of mud. My weapons are only going to sink into them with minimal damage! Time to change targets._ He hurls another shuriken, this one at a drake, and catches it in the eye. It howls in pain and springs towards him; its companion follows.

Karl fires a _scorching burst_ at the drakes, distracting them again, and Sepia- finally breaking free of the mud- springs forward and cuts one of the lizard things with her knife. It bares its teeth, growling like a guard dog, and snaps at her, but she spins away, avoiding the blow. 

The drakes close on Hammhokk. “Help!” the little halfling cries, trying desperately to free his legs and get some distance- but the mud clinging to him will not relinquish its grip. The halfling shrieks as long, dagger-sharp teeth tear into him from both sides.

Karl grimaces as the beasts dance around the bard. _They’re too close to Hammhokk for another _scorching burst, he thinks, and aims a _magic missile_ at one of the creatures.

”HELP!” cries Cavemouth hoarsely. He struggles to free himself, but the ankheg’s mandibles grip him ever tighter. The bug-like creature begins backing its way down into its hole- taking Cavemouth with it! “HELP!!” the goliath repeats, even louder. 

Sepia rushes in on one side, jabbing the ankheg with her dagger. Shifty hurls shuriken from the other. And although Cavemouth’s struggles cease, the ankheg squeals- and releases him, withdrawing to under the ground!

“He’s dead, isn’t he?” cries Shifty. “Oh, why did I try to save him?? He’s not worth it!”

“No,” Sepia answers. “He’s alive!” She shakes him, trying to bring him around. “Cavemouth! Wake up! We need your help!!”

Hammhokk finally breaks free of the mud and tumbles away from the drakes. “Ha!” he cries, firing an arrow from his shortbow into one of the drakes’ flank. The beast looks momentarily confused, and then refocuses on Sepia. “It was her, not me!” the bard squeals.* Then he spies his unconscious warrior friend- and cries, “Oh no! Wake up, Cavemouth, you can do it! You’re my best friend!”**

The goliath’s grey eyelids flutter- and then open. He groans. Takes a quick look around at the situation- and struggles to his feet, axe in hand. With a roar, he leaps forward, up out of the ankheg hole- and swings, striking a telling blow to one of the drakes. It shakes its head, looking slightly dazed. 

The ground erupts again, this time underneath Shifty, but the gnome is too quick, darting away- and in to flank the badly-wounded drake. His dagger slips in to the thing’s neck, and the drake collapses in a great gout of blood. 

The ankheg rears up and flows forward, following him. Shifty cries out and flings another shuriken at it, and Sepia stabs it in the side. Bug juice flows out and the thing jerks back, bloodied- and burrows back under the ground.

Hammhokk feels something (a ball of mud, to be exact) slam into the back of his head, and he falls unconscious. Karl starts blasting the mudmen with _scorching bursts_ while Sepia, Shifty and Cavemouth engage the remaining drake. All of our heroes are wounded, as is the drake and one of the mudmen. Karl now turns his attention to the other, noting with satisfaction that his _scorching bursts_ work significantly better than weapon attacks. 

Unfortunately, the drake fells Cavemouth again before the two rogues manage to slay it.

“We have to save Hammhokk and Cavemouth!” cries Sepia. 

“They’re not worth it!” replies Shifty, but he springs forward to try nonetheless. 

Another _scorching burst_ damages both mudmen, but neither one drops. Looking at the shape everyone is in, Karl cries, “Let’s get out of here!”

Shifty reaches Hammhokk and grabs him by the collar. He drags the diminutive bard back a few paces, even as the mudmen keep firing on him. Sepia and Karl, meanwhile, manage to get to their fallen goliath ally.

_No way can we lift him,_ thinks Karl. He and Sepia start shaking and slapping him to bring him around, and after a moment, the goliath’s eyes open yet again. With a groan, he staggers up and looks around. 

“I was too late!” cries Shifty, abandoning Hammhokk’s body as another ball of mud strikes him. He staggers away, slowed by the mud already hardening on his body. “Oh no! Why did I try to save him? He wasn’t worth it!!”

Karl shouts, “Go! Everyone, run!!” He fires another _scorching burst_ to cover the party’s retreat and prepares to go help Shifty, but the gnome manages to shake the mud off. 

The four remaining would-be heroes run for their lives as mud balls keep pelting them from behind. They don’t slow until they are well out of range.

”Damn it!” curses Karl. “We need reinforcements.”

“Especially a healer,” agrees Shifty. “Maybe some kind of priest.”

Cavemouth snorts. “More muscle will do the trick.” He pauses thoughtfully. “You know, there is a group of mercenaries that encamps not far from here. I have a friend that works with them- maybe he can help us.”

“We need someone, that’s for sure,” replies Sepia.

The party strikes out, heading south along the creek for a mile or two before turning more or less west for a few miles. Before long, a group of tents comes into view- a haphazard collection, disorganized and loose. There are pickets of guards around it, but it is very clear that this group of mercenaries (who are probably really closer to being bandits than a traditional mercenary company) lacks any kind of professional discipline. _Then again,_ thinks Karl, _when was the last time there was real work for mercenaries around here?_ 

The party keeps their guard up as they approach the pickets. When the party gets within about twenty yards, the guards raise crossbows and one calls out, “That’s close enough!”

Cavemouth steps forward. “Hail,” he calls, his hands empty and raised.

“What do you want?” the guards’ speaker hollers. 

“I am looking for one of my friends,” Cavemouth responds. “Kane. You may have seen me before- I dragged him here one night after, uh, some drinking.”

The guard squints at him for a moment, then says, “Oh, it’s you! Okay, come on in.” He turns and exchanges some words with the other guards, who laugh. Cavemouth lets out a deep breath and the party moves into the messy camp. Garbage litters the paths between the sprawls of tents. Before long, the group reaches a small, grease-stained tent with many patches and tears in it. 

“Kane!” calls the goliath. “It’s me, Cavemouth.”

“Ah, big one!” comes a voice from within, and the man inside steps out into the light. He is wearing thick hide armor, replete with sewn cuts. A broadsword is strapped at his side, its pommel well-worn and stained by the salty sweat of a dozen battles. Black hair falls straight to his shoulders. Beneath his heavy brow, dark eyes stare out. 

“We have come seeking your aid,” Cavemouth says as the two grip forearms. “Frog men have taken over the mudbaths and kidnapped a wealthy damsel...”

“Bullywugs,” puts in Kane.

“The damsel is rich,” adds Shifty.

“...and we’re trying to rescue her.”

“Is there a reward?” asks the mercenary.

“We hope so,” Sepia quips.

Shifty says, “The woman is rich, and she has a reputation for fair play. We think we can trust that we’ll be rewarded.”

“But there is no guarantee,” adds Sepia. 

Kane rubs his chin. Although the party cannot tell, he is attempting the difficult mental feat of calculating how long his money will last. Given the expense of hiring multiple whores in the same night, he is pretty sure that it won’t be too long. _Besides, the big one is good in a fight, and he did pull me out of that tavern after I killed a bunch of people before the watch could get me._ “Who else goes with you?”

“These folk behind me,” Cavemouth replies.

“You travel with child, a demon and a librarian?” exclaims Kane.*** “No wonder you need a strong arm! Very well, I will help you- for a fair share of the money.”

“Of course,” Shifty says. “We’re also looking for a priest or healer of some kind. Is there, perhaps, someone in your band that might be able to help?”

“We are a free company, not a band,” Kane corrects. Then he shrugs. “There is Shar. She is a priest, but I hold no truck with magic.” Disdainfully, he adds, “We can go to see if she is interested if you wish.” 

“Yes,” the other four say in unison.

***

The cult of the Sword Emperor has existed for as long as the Empire has, in its present form. Of course, it predates its present form, but whatever its ancestor was, whatever faiths it held to, are no longer relevant. 

The cult is found amongst warriors of all kinds, from brigands to generals. Not all soldiers follow its path, but those who seek true excellence with their skill at arms respect its tenets. To turn the martial into the spiritual- to be one with one’s weapon- to fight. They are values held by those who not only live by the sword, but _enjoy_ living by the sword. 

Thus, even such a small mercenary group as the Twin Javelins- who have between fifty and eight swords at any given time- has a small shrine to the Emperor within it. Weapons left as sacrifices in the Sword Emperor’s name hang on lines above a greatsword that has been driven, point first, into the ground. On the ground before it is a circle 30’ in diameter, big enough for a duel between two small groups of fighters, for the challenge is always a distinct possibility in a shrine of the cult. 

The party arrives to find the shrine tended by a slight female elf. “Shar,” greets Kane. “This big one is my friend. We are going to kill frog men and rescue rich damsels.” 

The elf looks the group over.

”Bullywugs,” explains Shifty, “have captured a wealthy landowner from Gumbleford in the mud baths. If we rescue her, she will reward us.”

“Where there is battle, I follow,” the elf says.

***

Our heroes, their ranks swollen with their two new recruits, head back to the site of their ignominious defeat by the mudmen. Although the bodies of the drakes are still present, along with the corpses of the bullywugs that first drew their attention. Mud is splattered everywhere from the previous fight. But the mudmen do not rise from their pool to attack- at least, not yet. 

“Where is this missing woman at?” asks Shar.

”We don’t exactly know,” Sepia replies. “The bullywugs took her, and we think that those bodies there are the ones that had her. Obviously, however, something went wrong when they got to here.”

Shifty suggests, “Let’s analyze the scene. We can try to reconstruct the ambush on the bullywugs as best we can. Maybe we can figure out what happened.”

The party’s battle in the area didn’t spill over to where the bullywug corpses are, so it is relatively easy for the party tell that the bullywugs were attacked by mudmen. They cannot, however, discern the fate of the woman that they allegedly had been carrying.

Then Shifty examines the pool of mud itself. It is recessed into the ground- and as the gnome looks it over, he notices that there is a narrow passage that leads behind the bath into some kind of cave beyond. He alerts his companions, and they spread out and prepare to enter. Cavemouth squirms through first. He reports a slope beyond to another passage big enough for the party to follow. 

The others follow Cavemouth into the chamber that he has found, and then the party advances through passage and emerges into a cathedral of mud. Small islands of land dot a lake of hot-looking mud that pops and bubbles. On the far side of the great chamber is a huge stone figure, crudely sculpted into a pregnant Earth Mother type figure with enormous breasts. Before it, between its legs, is a large formation of mud, out of which stick a hand and part of a face.

“There is someone in there!” exclaims Shar, shaken.

“Yeah, but how do we get over there?” wonders Shifty. He eyes the islands, gauging the distance between them, trying to see an easy path. “I could probably make it from island to island, but it would be risky...”

“I wonder how hot the mud is,” says Karl.

”There’s an easy way to find out,” replies Sepia, and she hops in. “As a tiefling,” she explains, “my people are resistant to fire.” She smiles. “It feels nice, actually. I don’t think it would burn you, either. And it feels _very_ restorative.”**** She starts to move forward. 

With a shrug, Cavemouth jumps to one of the closer islands. His powerful legs easily clear the distance. The others start to consider their options, and suddenly half a dozen mudmen rise up, out of the pool all around them. 

Immediately, it is obvious that something is wrong with most of them. Black goop leaks from them, and they reek of foulness. _They are corrupted. Something terrible is going on here,_ realizes the wizard. 

While the two uncorrupted mudmen hang back and throw balls of mud, the corrupted ones swarm in at our heroes.

_*Next Time:*_ Our heroes fight for their lives in the Mud Cathedral!

*_Misdirected mark._ I love that power!

**”You’re my best friend” rapidly became Hammhokk’s _magnificent word_. 

***He refers to the gnome (Shifty), tiefling (Sepia) and wizard (Karl).

****Once she was in it for an entire round, I told Sepia that if she was in the mud for an entire round, she could spend a healing surge as a standard action while in it. The healing power of the mud baths!

*EDIT:* I added the map, since there is no secret stuff on it. The round dots are tree trunks, which give cover to those in a tree square; the letters are various monsters (bullywugs, mudmen, corrupted mudmen, etc).


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## the Jester (Nov 22, 2009)

For the record, the new pcs are:

*Shar*, elven cleric 1 of the cult of the Sword Emperor
*Kane*, human fighter 1

Edit: Also, glad to see you guys found this thread! We played for about 14 hours over the last couple of days and had a kick ass time, with several pcs reaching 2nd level by the end of it, so I should have a couple more updates before too long.


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## the Jester (Nov 27, 2009)

The corrupted mudmen swarm towards our heroes, and both Sepia and Cavemouth- who have both advanced- find themselves surrounded and beset. The other two mudmen hang back and hurl gobs of mud at the others. Cavemouth roars and draws his axe, laying about with it, while Sepia fends off the incoming muddy bludgeoning, ducking under some attacks while others land solidly on her. Very quickly, she finds herself staggering on the edge of unconsciousness.

Shar lifts her holy symbol- a stylized representation of a greatsword- and utters a _healing word,_ and Sepia strengthens, straightening again as Kane leaps forward, hacking about with his broadsword. Mud splatters everywhere; the mercenary barbarian shoulders his way forward, and Sepia slips back. Behind them, Shifty hurls shuriken and Shar’s bow sings, while the sound of Karl’s voice rising in the words of a spell precede a burst of ice that creates a frozen area in the mud. Two of the mudmen- one corrupted, and the other ‘normal’ (or at least as normal as a six foot man made of mud can be, anyhow) slip and fall in the icy area.

Cavemouth and Kane work well in tandem; the fighter and barbarian sweep through the near mudmen with brutal efficiency, backed up by their allies’ missile fire. The two prone mudmen struggle back to an upright position, oozing up rather than standing*, but while they do, Shifty leaps towards one of islands in the mud, hoping to close the distance and take advantage of their relative disadvantage. Unfortunately, he misses and slips into the mud, chest deep! “Oh no!” the white-haired gnome cries. “Why did I try that? It wasn’t worth it!”

Kane laughs. “Don’t worry, small one- the big one and I shall destroy these mud demons!”

“Not everything is a demon, you know,” Sepia says, firing another sling bullet at the mudmen who were caught in the _icy terrain._ A _scorching burst_ hits them both again, and the one that is not corrupted explodes into pieces of clay.

From his position in the mud, Shifty throws another shuriken at the last remaining mudman, and it collapses back into the pool. The party stays on guard for a few moments to ensure that no more enemies will rise up; Shifty pulls himself onto one of the islands. Once it seems that the battle is truly over, the party returns its attention to the mud ball underneath the great Earth Mother figure. There is clearly a person in there. Cautiously, they make their way to it and begin digging the figure out. 

“She’s alive,” reports Shar, “and it is definitely a female half-elf.”

“It sounds like Bylla,” says Shifty. He rubs his hands together. “Let’s get her out of here and see if we can bring her around!”

***

The woman is indeed Bylla, the wealthy landowner that the party set out to rescue. They bring her around relatively easily; she is hungry and thirsty, but other than minor effects of deprivation, in good health. She thanks them profusely for their rescue of her, and offers them a great reward if they escort her to her home in Grumbleford.

“Now _she_ was worth it!” declares Shifty.

***

Grumbleford is further south than Overland, and east as well. The County Road runs between Overland and Grumbleford; the party decides that, rather than following the creek back to Overland and then taking the road, they will strike out overland, due south (Overland is several miles to the west), catch the road, follow it to the fork at Governor’s Tower and then take the south fork to Grumbleford. Accompanied by Bylla, the party makes good time. Early in the second afternoon, they find a pair of farmers tending to a small apple orchard and stop briefly. The farmers are obviously nervous at first- a well-armed party of hard-looking folk tends to trigger that kind of reaction from an unarmed, outnumbered group of peasants. Once the group shows no intention of robbing or killing them, the farmers relax and become quite friendly, telling the party that they are only about two miles from the road and giving them a jug of strong applejack.

“Have you seen anything unusual going on in these parts?” asks Shar. 

“Well, there was another stranger came through yesterday,” one of the farmers replies.

“What kind of stranger?” 

“He said his name was Novak. He said he was studying the Burnt Field.”** The farmer makes a warding gesture with one hand.

This definitely counts as unusual; everyone knows that Burnt Field is an unhealthy place. “I wonder why someone would do that,” muses Karl. “If we see him, we’ll have to ask.”

***

A few hours later, the party reaches the road and turns east on it. Not long after that, they come upon a man dressed in leather armor, with a scimitar at his waist, wearing a garland of leaves. He introduces himself as Novak. 

“We heard that you’re investigating the Burnt Field,” says Sepia.

“Yes, this is true,” he says. “And I need some help.” He looks them over. “Frankly, I will pay well.”

“The Burnt Field is cursed,” objects Shifty. “We’ll die if we go in there.”

“Nonsense. I’ve been in there myself- though not all the way to the center.”

“Why are you going in there, anyway?” Karl asks.

“There are some objects inside that could be very dangerous in the wrong hands- and the wrong hands are looking for them.”

“That’s kind of vague,” Shifty says.

“What kind of objects?” asks Sepia.

“Crystals. As I said, I will pay well.”

“We’re already in the middle of something,” replies Shifty. “We need to return this person to her home to get paid for rescuing her.”

“How much time do you have before your enemies get these crystals?” asks Karl. “Maybe we can find you on our way back.”

“There isn’t much time,” Novak states, “but I can wait a few days. But once my agents inform me that the enemy has entered the Black Field, I must move quickly.”

“Your ‘agents’?” asks Shar. 

“I am a druid. I have animal spies watching.”

“I see,” says Karl, and Shifty cuts the conversation short with a jerk of the thumb towards Bylla: “One thing at a time.”

***

At Grumbleford, Bylla lets the characters stay at her mansion for the night and pays them the handsome sum of 300 gold pieces for rescuing her. Moreover, she tells them, “I am quite fond of those mud baths. If you can show me evidence that you have driven the bullywugs back, I will pay you again- not as much, but nonetheless a considerable amount.”

_This woman is a gold mine!_ thinks Shifty. _300 gold pieces! That’s the most money I’ve ever earned in one job! I wonder how much she is willing to pay us for taking care of the rest of the bullywugs?_

“What kind of evidence?” asks Karl.

“Maybe the chief’s head dress or something,” suggests Shar. 

“Perhaps. Mostly, though, no more reports of bullywug attacks there.”

***

That night, at a tavern in town (for of all our heroes, only the bookish Karl accepted Bylla’s offer of shelter for the evening, with the others seeking out the kind of place where they can carouse and fight), Shifty tells the others, “I don’t trust that Novak guy. He’s going to betray us in the end, mark my words.”

“Why do you think that?” asks Shar.

“I don’t know. I just don’t trust him. He looks _too much_ like a druid for him to actually _be_ a druid.”

“That makes no sense.”

Shrug.

***

The group resupplies in town, then heads back north to meet up with Novak. They find him several hours before dark. 

“How much are you paying?” demands Shifty. 

“I will give each of you twenty gold if you come with me to the center so that I can take the crystals away.”

Some quick arithmetic leads those with their numbers to realize that this is over a hundred gold in total. Obviously, Burnt Field presents certain dangers- death or being cursed- but how often will such a large payment stare them in the face? Sometimes one must seize the opportunity that is presented to him or her- and this, it seems, is one of those times. 

Novak passes out black armbands. “Wear these,” he commands. “This will inform my allies that you are on our side.”

“What if we don’t?” asks Kane.

“Then they might attack you. Bears, wolves, that kind of thing.”

Kane pulls his armband on. So do the rest of our heroes, with the exception of Shifty, who palms his and stuffs it in his backpack. Surreptitiously, he mutters to Sepia, “I told you this guy is bad news. Black armbands!”

Meanwhile, Karl asks Novak, “Who exactly are the people you’re trying to stop?” 

“They are a renegade group of druids,” claims the druid.*** “We can expect interference from _their_ agents in Burnt Field.”  

“Let’s go,” Kane says, and the group begins to make its way into the burned area. It is an area of around 20 miles by 15 miles. The carbonized stubs of trees stab the sky like a field of ragged pikes. The rolling hills are covered in ash and the burnt waste of scrubs. Here and there, a mighty attempt at new growth has managed to produce a sickly mutant tuft of grass or two, but even that is sparse and weak. A few animals live in the zone around the perimeter, but once the party has advanced a few miles, they are eerily alone.

Until they are ambushed by quick successions of stones, slung from two small figures lurking above them in the burnt branches of an especially large dead tree. 

Kane, in the lead, is suddenly attacked by a cat-sized drake with a stinger on its tail, which scratches the back of his hand and injects venom into him. And then a pair of wolves dart out from behind the trees.

“Kill them!” bellows Novak, and the party attacks.

_I just know this guy is going to betray us,_ thinks Shifty.

*...but still requiring a move action to right themselves. Hurray for cinematic description!

** Burnt Field, according to local lore, was once an area of rolling meadows, but about 35 years ago, something (supposedly) fell from the sky and burnt it. The fire went out, but nothing grew there. Several groups of people went to check it out, but none returned, and so it has come to be shunned. It is said that those who enter the Burnt Field either never return or are cursed, dying shortly after they come back.

***Pcs checked their Intuition many times during their interactions with Novak, but his superior Bluff of +10 won the day every time- the only time I rolled low for him, I rolled lower for the pcs!


----------



## the Jester (Nov 27, 2009)

The wolves bound forward, engaging the Kane and Sepia. The halflings in the burnt branches keep firing stones, though at a slower rate.* Shar and Shifty dive behind burnt trunks of their own and start to return fire, the elf with her bow and the gnome with his shuriken; likewise, Karl hangs back and fires spells at the treed slingers. Meanwhile, the drake flits from one hiding place to another, stabbing Kane again with its tail stinger and then vanishing behind a screen of burnt trees. Sepia duels one of the wolves, using the two pairs of brass knuckles that she picked up in Grumbleford.**

Novak steps forward and gestures, and a burst of _fungal rot_ catches both of the halflings. They cough and gag as spores sprout on their skin.

_Oh yeah,_ thinks Shifty, _this guy is definitely crooked. Evil rot powers? I’m keeping my eye on you, buddy!_ He flings another shuriken and it sinks into the eye of one of the wolves, which yelps and tries to withdraw.

“You aren’t going anywhere,” growls Kane, and decapitates it with a sweep of his broadsword. Blood spurts out, leaving a spreading pool in the ash underfoot. Then the barbarian glances at the huge dead tree whose branches support the halfling slingers and smiles. 

With a laugh, he rushes to the tree and starts climbing. 

Novak moves up on the other wolf, snapping an arm towards it. His arm lengthens and turns woody and thorny, and he rakes his _vine strike_ across the wolf’s forelegs. It yelps, staggering, and Karl finishes it off with a _magic missile_. 

Kane, meanwhile, reaches the first halfling’s branch. He charges with a _howling strike_ and cleaves the halfling’s chest open. It falls to the ground, 20’ below, dead. Immediately he whirls around and charges into the other halfling, bringing his broadsword down into the slinger’s head. Red, grey and white splatter down on the ground below. Kane clambers back down the burnt tree with a grin. “Now where is that drake?”

But it has gone into hiding. Karl says, “It could be anywhere by now.”

“We’ve driven it off,” replies Novak. “That’s good enough for now. And clearly, the enemy already knows that we are here.”

_Who is your enemy really?_ wonders Shifty.

***

The party loots the bodies- finding about 18 gold pieces in mixed coins- and keeps moving deeper into the Burnt Field. Shifty takes the others aside, one by one, and shares his suspicions with them again. “I’m telling you,” he insists, “this guy is going to betray us in the end.”

The ash grows thicker as the party moves along. The group ascends a mound of burnt soil and thick ash and spy an old wagon with some bones near it at the bottom of the slope, partially buried in ash. 

“Let’s check it out,” says Shar. 

The party descends towards the wagon, slipping and sliding down the ashen slope. When they are about halfway down, a trio of large beetles, glowing red from glands on their back, emerges from the ash. 

“Fire beetles!” cries Karl. 

The party begins to duel with the beetles, but even as they do, the bones below start to clatter, and three skeletons rise up as well!

“Hah! The dead rise against us!” Kane laughs, thrusting his blade deep into a beetle’s flank. “We will have to kill them all over again!”

Karl blasts two of the skeletons down immediately with a _scorching burst,_ while the others focus on the beetles. Soon the great bugs have been slain, and only one of the skeletons has any staying power- but it is hard to kill. When it finally falls, the party spends a few minutes catching their breath and then searches the area. 

Within the ruin of the wagon is a locked chest. Shifty picks the lock, and our heroes are overjoyed to find nearly 200 gold pieces within it! Novak declares, “I am not interested in the treasure. Split it amongst yourselves.”

_Never trust a man who claims he doesn’t care about the money,_ thinks Shifty.

“Over here, in the bones,” calls Shar. “There’s an axe here- look at this!”

The cleric lifts up a formidable-looking greataxe. The party clusters around and admires it for a few moments; Karl says, “It’s a magic axe. We should take it.”

“I will wield it,” offers Kane, and the others assent.*** The burly human takes up the axe and gives it a few practice swings. With a grunt of pleasure, he straps it to his back. 

***

Deeper into the eerie burned area. As night falls, the party debates whether to leave the Burnt Field to camp, but in the end Novak vetoes the idea. “It will take over a day to reach the center anyhow,” he points out, “so there is no point in leaving. We’ll have to spend a night here sometime.”

To the party’s surprise, they are undisturbed while they sleep. There are no insect noises, leaving the party in an eerie silence broken only by their own breathing. When Novak’s watch comes, Shifty stays awake too, not trusting the party’s employer not to be up to something while everyone sleeps. But he does nothing other than watch.

The next day consists of trekking through more ash. Finally, late in the afternoon, the party comes to a large crater that stretches almost a mile across. According to Karl’s calculations, they have reached the center. 

“Wow,” says Shifty.

Scattered in several areas through the crater are large amounts of strange, silvery material. It is hard to tell what it is at this distance, but bits of it are burnt. It has the look of wreckage. There is also a pair of weird, fleshy, tumorous-looking areas. Each is large- several hundred yards across- and full of strange projections, growths and secretions. Even from here, the party can see bits of these earth tumors moving and writhing, as if alive. Three similar areas are different in that they are a grey color, like dead meat, and show no signs of movement.

“Now _that_ is creepy,” opines Shar.

“What are those things?” Karl demands, pointing at the fleshy areas.

Novak answers, “We call those earth tumors. Now you see some of the danger of the crystals falling into the wrong hands.”

“And the crystals should be in the central wreckage?” asks Shifty. 

“They should be,” replies Novak, “but we may have to search the other areas of major wreckage, as well.”

“Oh, I see,” the gnome says. “So the deal is changing. Are you going to pay us more, to compensate?” 

”Of course. I will increase your wages. If you stick with me until I have recovered all of the crystals, I will pay you fifty gold each.”

It is pretty hard to argue with that kind of money, so our heroes shoulders their packs and head into the crater.

“I just hope,” Novak adds, “we don’t have to enter the earth tumors.”

***

The party picks its way through the rubble and ash in the crater. No trees still stand here; everything has been flattened, either by the impact or the subsequent fires. 

“What happened here?” Karl asks Novak.

The druid regards him for a moment. Then he shrugs and says, “An airship crashed. The crystals powered its engines.”

“An airship...”

Novak nods. “A ship,” he elaborates, “that flew through the air.” He shrugs again. “I really don’t know much more than that about it, personally.”

Shortly, the party approaches the central wreckage. There are piles of the strange silvery stuff, which they can now see is some kind of fabric-like material. But whatever was made of it must have been huge. Now, large swaths of the material lie draped over the landscape, shining with a dull silver sheen under the sun.

“This was a weird-looking ship,” comments Shar. 

Roughly central to, and attached to the wreckage by thick silvery lines, is some sort of wooden cabin. Just beyond it, folds of the material have formed a large hump that overlooks the area. “Look!” exclaims Shar. Atop the hump of material are a pair of creatures, clearly lookouts- and equally clearly, they have seen the party. “Is it just me, or does that look like a metal cat the size of a wolf? And does that look like some kind of cat-person, or is it just me?” 

“No,” says Shifty, “it’s not just you.”

_*Next Time:*_ Who is at the center of the wreckage? Will our heroes have to enter the earth tumors? And will Novak betray them??


*_Stone rain,_ of course, is a recharge power, and sadly, I never got it to recharge in this fight.

**I am letting her use them as a rogue weapon, +2 proficiency, 1d4 damage (brutal 1). They are mechanically speaking not quite as good as a dagger- with her rogue abilities, Sepia has an additional +2 to hit with the dagger- but it’s flavorful and the brutal 1 might help. (I don’t think she’s hit with them and rolled a 1 on damage yet, though!)

***Although Cavemouth uses the greataxe, his player missed much of this session. He was there neither for the fight, nor for the treasure, alas.


----------



## the Jester (Dec 3, 2009)

_Thirty-five years ago:_

“The others!” cried the technician. “Captain, we’re losing the cage!”

The airship shuddered and lurched as it lost weight. The captain cried out as the loss of her crew hit her. 

Another explosion, and the technician said, “That’s two engines aflame, sir!”

The orange furred captain cried, “By Hobbes!” Large gold hoops were through both of her large cat ears. Her tail twitched madly, assisting her in keeping her balance in the shifting gondola as well as serving as a barometer of her agitation. “I would have thought something that has lasted this long might be able to stay in the sky a little longer!”

Wisely, the technician said nothing. He _had_ advised her against taking the vessel out of its ancient dock, but once the captain had figured out how to open the outer doors of the mountaintop redoubt, there was no stopping her.

After all, what better way to spot a hidden mountaintop fortress than from above?

The acrid smell of the burning radiocrystal reached inside the gondola. “Sir,” the technician said hesitantly, “perhaps we should leave. I don’t think we can save-”

She cut him off. “You’re right, of course, Lerrmurr. You were right all along.” Her voice was ravaged by grief. “The crew are dead. Only we remain. We must flee.” The two of them moved close together so that she could sprinkle the _fall powder_ on both of them. “We never should have tried to use this thing. Fifty thousand years is too old.” The deck of the gondola, suspended beneath the vast balloon of the airship, began to tilt alarmingly. The stench of the smoke kept growing stronger, making the technician’s eyes tear up and his head swim. His sensitive nose was burning in the toxic fumes. 

The two of them moved to the edge of the gondola and leapt out the window. 

They were still several hundred feet up, but it didn’t matter. Their feline reflexes enhanced to the utmost by the _fall powder_- a product of the same ancient tabaxi empire as the airship- and seconds later they hit the ground, rolled and came to their feet. The technician cried out and stumbled, then lifted one foot off of the ground and balanced on the other with a hiss.

“Are you all right?” the captain asked him.

“Broken,” he replied through gritted teeth.

In the sky behind him, the captain could see the airship getting lower and lower. It was going to crash, probably less than two miles away. They were nowhere near safe. “You have to move,” she said. “The airship is coming down. Hobbes knows what will happen then- we need to get back to our people and get a team to get the radiocrystals back before something terrible happens. We don’t have time to fashion a splint, so you will have to cling to my back.”

With some effort, they hoisted the technician onto his captain’s back, and the captain began to jog away- directly opposite from the airship’s path. Lerrmurr kept his eyes to the back, watching with horror as the ancient Miloxi airship slowly descended until, finally, there was a bloom of violet fire and a flash of burning light, followed by a terrific explosive noise. 

Immediately, the meadows behind and around them began to burn. Trees closer to the blast ignited like tinder, and a huge bellow of smoke rose up across the entire horizon behind them. Worse yet, the fire began to spread towards them with appalling speed.

“I’m slowing you down too much!” cried the technician. “You have to drop me!”

His captain ignored him.

Lerrmurr did the only thing he could: he wrenched himself off of the captain, flinging himself to the ground. “Run!” he screamed. 

The captain turned and saw the oncoming conflagration. She tried to pick up the technician again, but he resisted her. “Run!” he cried again. “Or we will both die!” 

She ran.

Lerrmurr collapsed back and watched the violet-tinged flames approach. Already, the heat was burning his fur. _I die,_ he thought, _that this land may live._

The flames closed around him, and he closed his eyes.

To awaken in excruciating pain. He felt as though he was on fire everywhere. His fur was gone, burned out; he could feel the cracked naked flesh of his body weeping pus. But he was alive. He opened his eyes, and found himself on a mat of straw in a hut of human construction. 

A male human sat beside him. “You are awake,” the human observed.

Lerrmurr mewed, but could do little more.

The tabaxi technician was not too familiar with human facial expressions, but somehow the smile on the man’s face did not strike him as pleasant.

“Good,” the human said. “There are things we want to know.”

***

_The present:_

Our heroes move up the draped silvery fabric towards the strange cat-folk at the center of the wreckage. The wolf-sized metal cat lopes towards them, while the feline humanoid instead hurries to the broken cabin, or whatever it is, and opens the door. Another of its kind emerges to join it.

“Stop them!” commands Novak. He gestures and a burst of _fungal rot_ hits the pair of humanoids, while the others move forward to engage. The iron cat bounds forward and leaps to the attack, with the two cat-folk hot on their heels. A fierce melee ensues, with Karl staying back and hurling magical attacks and Novak using the reach that his _vine lash_ gives him while the others fight up close. 

After a moment, another of the cat-humanoids emerges from the crashed airship’s cabin. He looks a little bit different from the others- he wears a harness festooned with odd tools, and while the other two look sleek and trim, this one is chunky and less fit. He creates some kind of _concealing haze_ and hangs back, seemingly getting a _fix_ on Shifty and setting up for a single devastating attack.*

He never has a chance. 

The party moves too quickly, cutting through cat-folk and cat-construct alike. Kane shatters the iron cheetah, and the two humanoids in the front rank fall moments later. The final one is slain before he has a chance to strike. 

“Well done!” exclaims Novak. “With luck, our mission is accomplished!” He sets to searching the fallen cat humanoids. While he does, Cavemouth tries to cut the fabric with his axe, but only succeeds in dulling the blade. Meanwhile, Novak finds that the one with the tool-bedecked harness has a hard case strapped to its side; he opens this and then grins. “The crystals!” he cries. Then his face falls as he examines the contents. “But not all of them.” 

“So now what?” asks Shifty. 

”We will check out the other areas of wreckage,” replies Novak. “With luck, the missing crystals are in there.”

“And if they’re not?” 

“Then we will plunge into the earth tumors.”

***

The eerie, burnt landscape that the party traverses seems almost like an alien world. The blackened stumps seem like weird fingers pointing futilely at the sky. They reach the second area of debris after nearly an hour, their progress often impeded by ankle-deep drifts of ash. Debris is scattered about- mostly the strange silver fabric, but also a few bits of charred metal. 

There has obviously been a fight of some kind here- several dead animals are about, as well as the corpse of a huge mutated bear, with a second vestigial head and a pair of wickedly barbed tentacles. _I bet that was on Novak’s team,_ thinks Shifty.

There is no sign of the crystals that the party is seeking, so they move on towards the next area of wreckage. More sheets of the silvery fabric, folded and draped into a hill, and the remains of some kind of cage that must have fallen and shattered. Burned bones were scattered amongst the wreckage. 

“Careful,” says Shar, nodding towards the bones. The party keeps a good eye on them, and after a few moments, they animate into a collection of decrepit skeletons. Our heroes de-animate them right back.** Again, however, there is no sign of the hoped-for crystals. 

“Damn,” swears Sepia. “I don’t want to go in those things.”

“I will pay you well,” says Novak, “I assure you.”

***

The earth tumor swells like a zit on the land. It is the size of several square city blocks. The air near the tumor is warm and clammy, and smells of odd organic processes, including a rich helping of rotten meat. Weird fleshy growths thrust from the ground like buildings, some of them moving. Other areas have foul yellow crystal formations forming barriers and jagged outcroppings. Some areas of the tumor move. 

Sepia shudders. “This is disgusting.”

The party enters the tumor, trying to stay on the ground but rapidly finding no path that will take them further inward without requiring that they mount the tumor itself. Soon the area seems to respond to their presence, with growths and fluids moving to bar their path, until finally they are ejected, battered and fouled by noxious chemicals.*** 

“Damn, that place is foul,” says Shar. 

“We must reach the center and see if the crystals are there,” declares Novak.

Shifty grows more and more uneasy. _I just _know_ that this guy is going to turn on us,_ he thinks. _The only question is, when?_

The party plunges into the tumor again, fighting through membranous closures and slogging along channels filling with organic soup. This time, the tumor responds quickly, trying to channel them out, but they persist until they finally break into the central area.

In the center is a piece of wreckage: not the silvery fabric that they have seen so much of, but some kind of mangled metal device. A hatch is half-sprung, and a violet radiance emanates from behind it. Yet the entire device is tightly wrapped in fleshy appendages forming a protuberance sprouting mushroom-like from the ground.

The tumor goes crazy as the party tries to cut, pry or trick the device (which Novak calls an “engine”) free of it tumorous housing. The ground starts to ripple, attempting to throw them back; fingers of tough, horny material rise up and try to herd them away. Fissures and furrows, ridges and rises form. 

Finally, though, they manage to cut the engine free. Almost immediately, the area around the ‘housing’ dies, turning gray and putrescent. 

Novak rushes to the engine and pries the compartment open, retrieves a crystal and places it in the hard case that he took from the cat-person. Closing it securely, he replaces in on his belt. 

Then our heroes flee for their lives, trying to outrun the collapse of the earth tumor.

***

After the party makes good their escape, Karl asks, “So you have what you need now, right?” 

“Not yet,” Novak replies. “We still don’t have all of it.”

“How much more is there?” demands Shifty.

”There is only one more crystal,” says Novak. “And I am paying you all very well.” 

“Fifty gold each, right?”

“Probably more.”

***

There is only one more earth tumor; it seems likely that the party will find another engine within the center. The experience is very similar to their breaching of the first one, with the tumor resisting their intrusion, but their experience in the first one help them know what to expect in this second one. Soon they reach the center and cut the engine free of the organic growths suckling upon it, and the last earth tumor starts to die. They flee ahead of the wave of decay. 

Again making it out just ahead of the collapse of the tumor, the party scrambles to a safe distance across the burnt landscape, then pauses to catch their breath. 

“Did we get it?” asks Shifty.

“Yes,” Novak answers. 

The hair on Shifty’s neck stands up. _Now. He’s doing it now._

“And now you must all die.”

_*Next Time:*_ Novak turns on the party!

*The tabaxi technician’s _fixes_ are a lot like an assassin’s _shrouds._

**This was a very easy encounter- only worth 200 xp, and there were 6 pcs present. 

***This was a skill challenge- one that the party failed (several times, before all was said and done). Failed checks resulted in lost healing surges.


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## the Jester (Dec 11, 2009)

Our heroes have seen the _fungal rot_ that Novak can create employed on their enemies. The spores take root in flesh, rotting flesh and weakening muscle. Now it happens to them. 

An explosive series of movements- our heroes scatter, with several of them rushing towards their erstwhile ally and now betrayer. Coughing and gagging on the thick bloom in the air, Shifty tumbles away from the rest of the party, trying to get some distance to keep himself out of any other area effects that Novak might be able to conjure. 

Cavemouth charges the traitor. His axe whistles through the air, and Novak jerks back just in time to avoid a lethal blow. Still, Cavemouth manages to wound him, and an instant later a rock- propelled by Sepia’s slingshot- smacks into the side of the villain’s head. He cries out, staggered, and Shar sinks an arrow into his thigh. 

Novak backs away a little, trying to keep enough distance to take advantage of the enhanced reach that his _vine lash_ gives him. Unfortunately for him, Cavemouth presses forward, cutting Novak over and over with blows that the druid barely avoids. 

Shifty springs in to flank him. “I knew you were a bad guy!” he cries. “I’m ready for you!” He feints at Novak’s belly; when the druid tries to block it, Shifty sinks a _torturous strike_ hilt-deep in his eye!*

Novak topples over with a scream. He cries out, “The Shadow Circle will destroy you all!” Then he spasms once and moves no more. 

“I knew it,” Shifty repeats. “I knew it!”

“Now what?” asks Cavemouth. 

“We go home,” says Sepia.

“No, what about the crystals?”

All eyes fix on the hard case holding the strange crystals that is strapped to Novak’s belt. 

“I guess we take them,” answers Shifty. 

***

When they open the case and examine the crystals, something makes the hair on the back of their necks stand up. Their skin crawls. The very presence of the strange stones seems to provoke an uncomfortable mild nausea.

“We shouldn’t hold onto these for too long,” Sepia opines. “I can talk to my fence and see if we can sell them.”

“They aren’t supposed to fall into the wrong hands. We should be careful getting rid of them.” Shifty frowns. “On the other hand, we probably don’t really want to keep them for very long, either.”

“I’ve got a solution to that,” says Karl. “This is the bag that the sneakier cat guy had. It’s bigger on the inside than it is on the inside.” He demonstrates. “I believe that it’s a _bag of holding._ And that means that we can probably safely store the stones in here.”

This excellent idea is quickly executed; even so, the party agrees, they need to figure out what to do with the gems.

***

The party stops long enough to decide that Karl should hold the bag, and to give the armor that the head cat guy had been wearing to Shifty. It, too, is magical. Then they resume traveling outward, away from the center of Burnt Field, back towards home. A day and a half of slogging through ashen drifts and moving through the ghostly burnt stakes of the dead forest leads them at last to the road; one more day sees them home to Overland.

The question of the strange jewels remains, however. After some discussion over a couple of tankards of ale at the Silver Fish, the party decides that they must be very discrete when trying to get rid of them, but get rid of them they should.

To that end, Sepia contacts her fence, Wilcox. She dances around the subject perhaps too well, asking him if he has seen or heard of anything unusual lately.

”What kind of unusual?” he asks.

”You know, unusual items, gems, things like that.”

“What do you mean by ‘unusual?’ I see a lot of gems...”

“Something with, uh, unique properties... maybe some kind of powers.”

Wilcox squints at her. “I will keep my ear to the ground for you, but I haven’t heard of anything like that recently.”

“This would be recent. Well, thanks anyway,” the tiefling says, and leaves. When she reports the details of the conversation to her friends, Shifty groans. 

“You didn’t learn anything, get a value on the gems, or... or anything!”

“Well, at least he doesn’t know that we have the gems,” she counters.

***

Cavemouth, meanwhile, goes to the local smith and drops his axe off for repairs. (It was damaged when he attempted to cut the strange silvery material in the central crater in Burnt Field.) 

“I should have this ready for you by the day after tomorrow,” the smith tells the huge warrior. 

“Good,” Cavemouth responds. “Do you have a loaner or something that I can use in the meantime?”

The smith cocks an eyebrow at the goliath. “Well,” he drawls, “I could always _sell you_ a second axe, but I don’t loan my work out. It loses a great deal of its value once it has been used.”

Grumbling, Cavemouth walks away without an axe. The expense of buying a second one just seems too high for a day’s worth of benefit. So the party instead waits until his axe is ready, drinking and whoring with their newfound wealth. An extra two days is nothing, when you’re flush with gold and have no pressing concerns.

***

Wilcox’ door swings open. The fence glances up- he is working on a dwarven pebble puzzle- and raises his eyebrows. “Haven’t seen you in town before,” he says.

Dour-faced like most of his kind, the strange dwarf replies, “I am not from here.”

“Right... well, if you have some merchandise that you need to sell, you’ve come to the right place. Of course, I don’t deal in stolen goods, but I am sure that a member of your honorable race would never bring something like that to me anyway, but good business requires that I tell you that up front.”

“Of course. But you misunderstand me. I am not here to sell; I am looking for something to buy.”

“Ahh, well, look around my shop and feel free to make any inquiries you come up with.”

“I do not think,” the dwarf answers, “you have what I want on the shelf. I doubt whether you have it at all. And yet, if it is in your town- if it comes through your town- I suspect that you may become aware of it.”

“Now you have me intrigued, sir.”

“I am looking for some unusual stones,” the dwarf says.

***

Cavemouth exclaims, “Good as new!” He takes a few practice swings with the greataxe, cleaving through empty air, then turns a broad smile on the smith. “Well done!”

“I always strive to do quality work,” the smith replies. 

The two clasp forearms and then the goliath returns to the street, where the rest of the party awaits him. “Good as new!” he repeats enthusiastically.

“Maybe next time you can avoid trying to cut strange cloth in the first place,” Kane says, needling his friend.

“The question is, what do we do now?” asks Karl.

“Well, the answer is obvious!” Shifty proclaims. “We only have one paying job on offer right now. We need to go finish off the bullywugs and drive their tribe away from the mud baths, and then Bylla will pay us again.”

“Good call,” agrees Karl.

“Gold is a powerful argument,” nods Kane. 

The party sets out for the mud baths, walking north out of town. As when they made the journey before, they expect it to be a day and a half worth of walking to reach the place. Linden trees, as well as oak and various types of scrub, dot the land and virtually line the edge of the creek that the trail runs alongside. When the sun’s descent in the west starts to touch the ocean, the party stops to make camp. They set up a nice sheltered area to sleep in, build a small fire and have dinner. 

Then a voice emerges from the darkness: “May I join you?”

The party looks up to see a dwarf in leather armor with brown robes hanging loosely over it. He bears a garlanded staff. 

“Certainly, rock brother!” Cavemouth says. 

The dwarf moves up to the edge of the fire and begins to warm his hands. He glances around at all of them, his eyes flinty. “I understand,” the dwarf rumbles, “that you were working with someone named Novak recently.”

“Why, is he a friend of yours?” asks Shifty.

“And how do you know that?” adds Kane.

“You were seen by associates of mine, traveling with him and wearing his black armbands.”

“_I_ never wore his armband,” retorts Shifty. “So what’s your relationship with him? Is he one of your friends?” Surreptitiously, the gnome’s hand falls on the hilt of one of his daggers. 

“Hardly,” the dwarf responds. “And I doubt whether he was a friend of yours, either.”

Shifty and Shar exchange a glance. “You’re right about that much,” the elf admits, as Shifty’s hand drops away from the dagger.

“What happened to him?” the dwarf asks.

“He betrayed us, and now he’s dead,” Shifty states. “I put a dagger in his eye.”

The dwarf nods. “Good. And I suspect that you have something that I am interested in taking off of your hands.”

“Really? What would that be?” 

“The crystals.”

“Who are you, anyway?” demands Sepia.

“I am called Nom,” the dwarf answers. “And I am a druid, opposed to Novak’s faction.”

“And what do you know about the crystals?” inquires Shar. 

“I know that they are very dangerous in the wrong hands. I know that you worked with Novak to retrieve them, and now I believe that you have them. But they are cursed. If you bear them for too long, you will fall under their curse, and eventually it will kill you. Your hair will fall out; your limbs will grow weak; over time, you will grow sores and chancres.”

“Yuck,” opines Sepia. 

“We don’t really want that,” admits Shar. 

“Give them to me,” Nom says, “and I will ensure that they are properly disposed of.”

“How so?” demands Shifty.

“To be honest, I don’t know the details myself. But believe me, the alternative is a terrible, slow death.” The dwarf sighs. “I am trying to help you.”

“Well, we just had these appraised,” lies Cavemouth, “and we have a very nice offer for them...”

“Believe me, you do not want them to fall into the wrong hands,” Nom sighs. “How much are you being offered?”

“Five gold for the lot of them.”

“I will pay you ten.”

“Give us a minute,” Shifty requests. “We have to talk this over.”

Nom nods, withdrawing from the fire. Keeping one eye on him- _We’ve had enough weird druid issues already!_- Shifty and the others discuss the situation. They certainly don’t want to die a terrible cursed death; and Nom doesn’t cause Shifty the same kind of discomfort as Novak had. Over Karl’s vociferous objections, the party agrees to Nom’s deal. Coins from the dwarf go into the party’s pockets, and in return, Karl reluctantly empties the jewels from the _bag of holding._ Nom takes them gingerly, and the party throws in Novak’s hard case.

Gems in the case, case in hand, Nom leaves our heroes to the night. 

***

When they reach the mud baths, our heroes find a group of bullywugs lounging about as if they own the place- which, at the moment, they effectively do. But with Kane and Cavemouth leading the charge, Shifty and Sepia (with her new brass knuckles, purchased in Grumbleford) right behind them, and Shar and Karl in the back firing arrows and spells, the frog-men are quickly brought low. 

“We need to find the leader,” states Shar. “Kill him, and the rest will crumple.”

“They are cowardly,” acknowledges Kane. “Why, the mere presence of a demon in our ranks might stir them to flight!”**

The party backtracks the bullywugs, this time going well past the site of the mudman ambush where they eventually found Bylla held prisoner. The trail leads them deeper into the mud flats, then into an area where the ground slowly drops into a marsh. The trees gradually change into a mix of cypress, willow and other types that like moister ground. Moss hangs in great wet green sheets from scraggly vines. Strange vapors rise from the ground, and puddles become more and more common. Dryer areas of ground are still soggy; our heroes leave visible footprints in many of the areas they traverse. The bullywugs’ tracks are fortunately equally easy to follow.

Soon a fog rises up, thickening the deeper the group goes into the swamp. The daylight seems to wane; whether it is oncoming night or simply an artifact of the fog is impossible to tell. 

Then, slowly resolving from the mist, the party sees a few crude huts. Outside of them- bullywugs!

“We have found what we seek,” announces Kane, and he charges.

_*Next Time:*_ Dude, where’s my cow?


*Critical hit with combat advantage... this did something like 27 points of damage in one fell swoop.

**Kane, of course, constantly refers to the tiefling Sepia as a ‘demon’, despite her protestations.


----------



## the Jester (Dec 12, 2009)

The mist limits visibility to between twenty and thirty feet- uncomfortably close range, to Karl’s mind. He scowls, hanging back as far as he can and hurling _magic missiles_ and _scorching bursts_. But he only has one or two targets available at a time. Meanwhile, Kane and Cavemouth have rushed forward, completely out of his range of visibility; and while he can hear them fighting up ahead, the scholar really can’t tell how they are doing.

Shifty and Sepia move forward more slowly than the warriors. They keep close enough for Karl to see them, slashing with daggers and punching with the brass knuckles. The wizard backs them up with his magic, thinking, _I hope Kane and Cavemouth are doing okay._

Suddenly a bright flash of light and a burst of warmth announce some kind of explosion up ahead. _Whoops,_ thinks Karl.

***

At the front lines, Cavemouth staggers back. The bullywug that just belched out a _fiery croak_ at him wears a fancy feathered head dress and dangles with bone fetishes, some of which look to be from humans. “I think I found the chieftain!” the goliath fighter cries, and springs forward with a _crushing surge._ 

More bullywugs bound in from the side to intervene.

And, in turn, Kane charges in with a _howling strike_ to intervene in their intervention, cutting another bullywug down.

The chieftain vomits up _electric reflux,_ dazing Cavemouth. The goliath hacks at one of the other bullywugs nearby, cutting its belly open and spilling entrails out in an ankle-tangling mess. The bullywug falls. 

Kane howls again and rushes in at the bullywug chieftain, who defends himself with a crude staff. Kane sheers it in half with a blow of his magical greataxe. The bullywug cries out and staggers back a step.

Kane’s axe sings as it decapitates the chieftain. The barbarian throws back his head and gives a loud howl of victory.

Unfortunately, many of the other bullywugs don’t know that their chief has fallen. They keep fighting, using spears, hopping to the attack throwing crude javelins or rocks. Our heroes keep fighting, and the fog keeps the bullywugs from concentrating their forces too strongly. Within minutes, the frog-folk attack has ceased; whatever survivors there might be have fled.

Panting, muscles aching of violence, our heroes regroup to catch their collective breath. The chieftain’s head goes into the _bag of holding,_ Kane grinning the whole time. Then they turn around and head out of the swamp, universally agreeing that spending the night in it would be a terrible idea. 

“We should go straight to Grumbleford,” suggests Shifty. “That’s where Bylla is, and she’s the one who is going to pay us.”

“Getting paid is good,” agrees Sepia.

“Grumbleford it is,” nods Kane. 

***

Along the way to Grumbleford, our heroes stumble upon the group of peasants that told them of Novak’s presence the first time. At first our heroes are suspicious that the farmers might have had some deeper involvement, but their worries are quickly assuaged as they spend an hour or two with them. They give Cavemouth (who is seeking the recipe of a goliath wheat ale that he once had) two jugs of applejack, and then the party keeps moving. That night they camp at the crossroads where the road to Grumbleford runs south from the County Road that runs west to Overland and east to the distant coast. There are several merchants that are camping there as well, and our heroes share a fire with them and purchase a few minor trinkets (such as a necklace that Sepia buys). 

The next morning the party heads south along the road. A few hours into the morning, they see a familiar face: a farmer from the Overland environs, traveling with his two sons. Oddly, they are armed.

Our heroes hail them and inquire about their weapons. “Has the road been so unsafe lately?” asks Sepia. 

“Oh, it’s not that,” Saul (the farmer) replies. “But I’ve had some issues lately. My cows keep vanishing!” Saul elaborates, with his sons Paul and Gaul occasionally throwing in a few words. It seems that four of his cows have gone missing over, roughly, the last month. Always, a single cow vanishes; there is never blood or remains. “I went to Grumbleford because I was looking to hire someone to help me figure out what’s going on.”

“We’re on our way to Grumbleford to get paid,” Shifty says, “but after that we will be looking for more work. We’ll look you up.”

***

Bylla gladly pays the party another 120 gold pieces for driving away the bullywugs, with the understanding that if more reappear, they will complete the job. This seems fair enough to our heroes, who agree, take the money and head back out of Grumbleford almost immediately, with a stop at the local alchemist’s shop (Althong’s Alembic) so that Sepia can buy some alchemical fire. They reach the crossroads about an hour and a half before dark and elect to camp there again, even though it’s early; the place always has a few travelers at it, and if the population hereabouts were higher, it would probably sprout a town. So they have another pleasant evening at the crossroads, making different friends and sharing a different fire, and then return to Overland the next day. 

“We should go see Saul,” says Shifty.

“Let’s stop off and have a beer first,” suggests Cavemouth.

“Aye!” Kane nods vigorously. 

So it’s to the Silver Fish they go, where they have a round or two and mellow out for a little. They have spent the last almost two weeks either traveling or fighting almost every day; a little time to unwind seems warranted. 

As they sit at the bar, the tender leans squints up at Cavemouth and says, “By the way, you know your friend Shaft?”

“Yeah?” Cavemouth does indeed know Shaft- a human druid of his acquaintance by virtue of being a talented brewer. They met as part of Cavemouth’s quest to find the goliath wheat ale recipe. 

“He was asking around about you.”

“When?”

“Earlier today. I got the impression that he’d be around again. He wanted me to let you know he was looking for you.”

“Well, thanks.”

“No problem.”

Our heroes finish their drinks and are just about to leave when the door opens and a dark-skinned, bald, middle aged man looks in. “Cavemouth!” he exclaims, and strides quickly over to the table the party is seated at. 

“Hey, Shaft!”

The newcomer glances at the others, then says, “Let me talk to you outside for a minute.”

“All right.” Cavemouth shrugs and follows his friend outside. Shaft walks him into the shade of the alley between the Silver Fish and the barn next door. 

“You’ve made yourself a target,” he says. “Where are the crystals?” 

“We gave them to a druid,” answers Cavemouth. “He approached us a few nights ago...”

“You gave them...? What was his name?”

“Uh...” Cavemouth wracks his brain. “I can’t remember. He was a dwarf, if that helps.”

Shaft stares at him for a moment. “They haven’t turned up, so everyone thinks you have them.”

“Everyone?”

“The druids,” amends Shaft.

”You mean the evil ones, like Novak?”

“More than just them. There are different factions.”

“What’s the Shadow Circle?”

Shaft stares at the goliath as if dumbstruck. After a moment, he replies, “A legend. They are among the other druids in secret- a cabal that believes that civilization is an affront to nature, and must be torn down. But they are a legend. They don’t really exist.”

“When we killed him,” Cavemouth says, “Novak told us that the Shadow Circle would destroy us all.”

“By the primal spirits,” whispers Shaft. “I must go. Good luck to you. You really don’t have them any more?”

“The dwarf was very persuasive.”

“Good luck.”

Head awhirl, Cavemouth re-enters the Silver Fish and recounts what his friend told him. 

“I told you guys we shouldn’t have given him the crystals,” Karl sighs.

***

As there is nothing that they can do at the moment about having made themselves targets, the party resumes their current activities, which is to say: they have another round, then go to Saul’s farm. 

“Is there a particular part of the pasture that the cows always vanish from or anything?” asks Karl. 

“Nope,” says Saul, “they seem to go from various remote parts of the pasture. It was only three days ago the last one went, though. I can show you where that one was.”

The back corner in question is mostly unremarkable, but it is apparent where the cow vanished because the fence has been cut. The party scours the area for tracks, and they find some: small, reptilian, bipedal. Kobolds. 

“We can probably backtrack them,” Karl says, “but I’m prepared more for talking and investigation than for combat today.”*

“I don’t want to lose any more cows,” Saul replies. “The sooner you look into this, the better.”

“Very well.” 

***

Backtracking the kobold trail leads the party west out of town. They go across rolling plains dotted with trees and scrub, until they come to a narrow depression where they see the missing cow. 

It is staked out, almost as if it were bait.  

_*Next Time:*_ Delicacies!


*He’s referring, of course, to his spell choices. Between a spellbook, his tome implement mastery and his Expanded Spellbook feat, Karl has a lot of options for a 4e pc!


----------



## the Jester (Dec 18, 2009)

“Look,” Sepia says, gesturing at the brush around the staked-out cow. “There are kobolds in there.”

“Not for long!” quips Cavemouth.

But before the words are even out of his mouth, Kane is charging ahead with a wordless battle cry. Into the brush, then swinging his magical greataxe- and suddenly gore and brains are splattering in the brush. Squeals of fear and anger come from the hiding kobolds as they turn to see the barbarian spin and charge another of them, his axe a blur as it sweeps into the little dog-lizard humanoid’s neck from the side, decapitating him.

Kane roars.

The others break cover, charging in, and suddenly everything is chaos. 

The poor cow. It strains against the ropes holding it, but to no avail. It trembles in fear; being in the middle of violent combat is not its natural state. The screams of the dying kobolds terrify it. 

But not as much as what it senses is coming from below. 

The ground, much like the cow, is trembling.

The cow lets out a terrified moo as sling bullets whiz past it. One- not really a bullet, but more like a small jar- hits Cavemouth and bursts, covering him in a sticky mess of glue. The goliath curses, struggling to free himself, but he is stuck fast. “Damn it!” he swears.

Meanwhile, Karl hangs back and directs his spells at the kobold slingers, zinging them with _magic missiles_ and _scorching bursts._ Fortunately, the brush is wet enough to avoid starting any large fires. Shifty stays near him at first, throwing shuriken, but wades in quickly when it becomes apparent that the battle is going to be very one-sided.

Unfortunately for him, his assessment proves less than accurate. 

The cow _screams_ as the ground beneath it erupts and a huge, insect-like beast lurches up from below. 

“It’s another ankheg!” cries Karl.

But Cavemouth, who is closer, corrects him. “No it isn’t- it’s the _same_ ankheg! I can see the scars it took in our last fight!”

The ankheg squeals and latches onto the cow. Squirming up from the dirt around it are a pair of smaller, immature-looking ankhegs as well. “Broodlings!” warns Karl. “Watch out!!”

***

Wizzy- one of the hapless kobolds- sees his chance. 

Not that he wouldn’t flee if he could; but the new boss would kill him if he returned empty handed. The new boss is very _hungry,_ and he wants his delicacies. 

Wizzy sprints forward and snatches up one of the broodlings, then turns and runs. 

“No you don’t!” cries Sepia, and she punches him in the face with her brass knuckles, leaving him staggered. He drops the ankheg broodling and shakes his head to clear it.

_WHACK!_ Another brass knuckle blow to the face breaks several of the bones in the kobold’s snout, and he drops like a sack of potatoes. Then the tiefling returns her attention to the big ankheg, who is pulling the cow down into the ground. _I don’t think I want to save the cow that badly,_ she thinks.

Meanwhile, Cavemouth finally wrenches free of the sticky goo that the kobold slinger had stuck him with. And then, boldly, he grabs the cow and starts to pull it back up, trying to wrest it from the ankheg’s grasp. The two of them wrestle roughly over the poor cow, who is lowing in pain and fear. 

With a roar, the goliath pulls the cow free- at least for the moment- and then whips his axe out and severs the ropes keeping it from fleeing. Bloody and in terrible pain, the cow lurches away, trying to reach some kind of safety. With it out of the way, Karl blasts the other broodling with a _scorching burst,_ slaying it.

Kane, Shifty and Cavemouth pounce on the ankheg, hacking at it. It squeals again, spitting acid at them, but all three manage to dodge out of the way before returning to their assault on it. 

The bug grabs onto Cavemouth and starts to drag him under as well. “No you don’t!” the goliath shouts, pushing off of its carapace with his boots and freeing himself. The ankheg, clearly hungry and angry both, emerges from its burrow and scuttles forward to attack Sepia, who jams a dagger in its eye before socking it with her brass knuckles. The beast’s forelegs wave in the air, and everyone focuses their attacks on it, hacking, stabbing, shooting and pummeling it. The ankheg fights fiercely, but it is plainly weakening.

“We have it now!” Shifty declares. He slips into flanking with Sepia and stabs it in the back. It whirls to face him, and Sepia throws herself against it, driving her dagger deep into the wound he just opened. The ankheg screams as brownish juice sprays all over. It raises itself up, then slams itself down, its antennae moving weakly. Kane and Cavemouth both drive their axes into it, and the bug gives another, faltering cry. 

Sepia smashes its face in with her brass knuckles, and the ankheg stops moving (except for a few twitches). 

A quick look around confirms that all the kobolds have fallen; the fight is over. Our heroes catch their breath and then discuss the situation.

“First of all,” Karl says, “isn’t it weird that we fought this same ankheg before, a few dozen miles away? Do they have that big of a territory?”

“Ankhegs are common in this area,” Cavemouth replies. “And they do have a pretty big area that they hunt. But still... you’re right, that is pretty strange.”

Kane snorts. “Maybe it wanted its revenge on us for defeating it once.”

“I don’t think that they are that smart,” muses Kane. 

“What were these kobolds doing, anyway?” wonders Shifty. 

“That one is still alive,” Sepia says, pointing at Wizzy. “I just knocked him out. It seemed like they were trying to capture the ankheg broodlings for some reason.”

“Well,” says Shar, “since we have a prisoner, it should be easy enough to find out...”

***

When the party brings their captive around for questioning, he proves to be more than happy to talk. Clearly a coward, the kobold informs the party that his tribe has recently had its leadership usurped by a new boss- a goblin, in fact. The goblin has taken to eating young ankhegs- apparently, they are quite a delicacy (_If there was a dwarf amongst us, we’d already know that,_ thinks Shar)- and has demanded that his kobold minions bring him broodlings snacks periodically. “If we don’t,” Wizzy whines, “he hurts us!”

“So you have been stealing the cows to attract the ankhegs?” asks Shifty. “That makes a weird sort of sense.”

The party binds the kobold and then withdraws a few dozen feet to talk over their next move. “We continue backtracking them until we reach their lair,” says Cavemouth.

“And kill them all,” Kane adds with satisfaction.

“Well, hold on a minute,” objects Karl. “We might be able to handle this another way. If we slay this goblin, we might not have to kill them all.” Kane looks disappointed. “There might be a lot of them,” the wizard continues. “Kobolds breed like rats.”

“Very true,” agrees Cavemouth. 

“If we can avoid fighting a hundred or so of them, we probably should,” Shar nods. “We also might be able to find the old chief- the one who has been usurped- and get him to turn on the goblin, once we show that we can defeat him.”

“Hey kobold! Is your old chief still alive?” demands Cavemouth.

Wizzy nods.

“All right,” says Shar, “I think we have a plan.”

***

Their prisoner leads our heroes to a ruined outpost on a hillside, indicating that it is the location of the kobold lair. The party lets him go, warning him that if he crosses them again, they will show no mercy. 

Then they plunge into the kobold lair.

Their assault goes pretty much exactly as planned. They carve through the initial kobold guards, work their way inside the outpost and through a series of kobold warrens. Once they have penetrated deeply enough, the goblin that has taken control of the kobolds comes to the battle; and, once the party has pounded him with attacks to the point that their prowess is undeniable, the former kobold leader- Wyrmkin- turns on him, exhorting those kobolds still loyal to him (as well as those wise enough to see which way the wind is blowing) to join in finishing him off. 

“No more stealing cows,” Shifty warns Wyrmkin sternly, after the fight is over. “You have seen what we can do. If you molest the people of Overland again, we’ll be back.”

”Don’t worry about us!” Wyrmkin exclaims. “Until that damned usurper Thox came along, we never troubled your folk. Now that I am in charge again, we shan’t do so again.”

The party negotiates an appropriate payment from the kobolds- consisting of the pink potion that Thox had carried- and departs, returning to Overland. 

***

Rested, recovered and rewarded, the party spends some of their hard-earned money back in town. Soon enough, though, Shifty points out that, to maintain the extravagant lifestyle that they are rapidly becoming accustomed to, they need to find another paying job. Shortly, word reaches them of goblin bandits marauding the road east of the crossroads. 

“Even if we aren’t hired to take them out,” Shifty says, “they undoubtedly have some loot.”

So the party once again sets forth to find adventure, heading to the crossroads for another night’s rest in the company of the various merchants that are encamped there. They reach it in the middle of the afternoon. Once there, the party questions the merchants, and though none of them have been assaulted by the goblins themselves, there is a general consensus that they are a nuisance that is only growing worse. 

However, as night falls, another group of merchants limps into the crossroads. These ones look more like peasants than merchants, and our heroes make inquiries of them. Indeed, it turns out that the goblins had assaulted and robbed them.

“They seem to have come out of a chasm that opened up in one of the recent earthquakes,” one of the merchants says. “I don’t know if they just moved into it, or if they were there already and just gained egress after the quake, but either way, they are causing nothing but trouble!”

“I don’t suppose you’d care to hire us to deal with them?” Cavemouth asks. 

The merchant snorts. “If I had any money left, maybe,” he replies, “but my money and merchandise have all been stolen!”

_Yep,_ thinks Shifty. _They’ll have some loot for us, all right!_

_*Next Time:*_ Our heroes make their first foray into the Dim Depths of the Earthquake Rift!


----------



## the Jester (Dec 19, 2009)

Curse you, Sagiro, for your most excellent story hour!!

I had to go back and edit a couple of references in here- I put "Black 
Circle" where I meant "Shadow Circle." Sagiro's Black Circle organization is NOT in my campaign. The Shadow Circle, dating back to the 2ed Complete Druid's Handbook, _is._

Sigh. I think I made the same mis-statement in game, too, so now I need to inform the players that I'm a dork.


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## the Jester (Dec 21, 2009)

Cavemouth peers down into the chasm. “Well,” he says, “I can see some ledges down a ways on either side. The highest one- closest to us- is on this side, but the next one down is on the other side.” He squints. “Looks like it narrows on the way down, too.”

“Let’s take a look from the other side and see if we can tell anything else,” suggests Shifty. 

The chasm itself is only 20’ wide and 50’ long, so it takes a minimum of effort to circumnavigate it. Once on the other edge of it, they peer down again, but cannot tell anything new. Karl drops a stone in, and it bounces off the sides and out of view, but the party hears a distant splash from below. 

“Well,” Cavemouth says, “since it narrows, if I fall, I will stop before I hit bottom, so...” He starts to clamber down. Shar, meanwhile, uncoils a rope and searches around for something to tie it to; she finds a tree not far from the edge of the rift. 

The goliath finds the descent fairly easy. There are plentiful handholds and cracks that allow his feet purchase. Shortly, he reaches the ledge. From above, Shifty cocks an eyebrow as he sees the warrior draw out his greataxe and rush into some kind of opening with a bellow.

“Uh-oh,” the gnome sighs. “We’d better hurry down after him.”

The sounds of battle rise up from below, and the party scrambles after their point man, some of them using the rope, some just clambering down the face of the rock wall. Quickly, they reach the small ledge at the bottom and hurry into the cave opening that greets them. 

Cavemouth, a few dozen feet ahead of them, has already slain several goblins, and more are coming. The passage opens into a chamber; another side passage cuts into it just beforehand. Goblins are starting to rush out to meet the party’s unexpected assault.

Charge!

Our heroes meet the oncoming enemy without mercy, hewing and blasting their way through. In only a few confused moments, the first wave of goblins has been slain or thrown back. The party quickly strips the dead of valuables, although this proves to be only a handful of silver and gold coins. 

“Which way?” asks Shar, but the sound of more running feet answers for them as another wave of goblins, these ones looking meaner and tougher, storm forward. One of them has the look of a chief, with fancy tattoos on his arms and face. They rush forward.

The ringing of weapons heralds sprays of blood from both sides. The goblins and our heroes stab and cut at each other; Shar and Shifty hang back, shooting arrows and throwing shuriken. Karl, in the rear of the party, casts _magic missile_ after _magic missile_ into the leader. Sepia makes good use of the alchemist’s fire that she had purchased in Grumbleford.

After a few exchanges- during which both the party and the goblins suffer about equally- the two sides break apart and halt a few dozen feet away from each other. 

“What do you want with us?” snarls the goblin chief. 

Surprised to find a possible parlay, our heroes hesitate long enough for the priestess of the Sword Cult to speak up. “You need to stop your raiding of the road nearby,” she declares. She gestures to the dead goblins scattered about. “If you don’t, you’ll meet the same fate as your tribesfolk.”

The goblin chief stares at the party for a moment. “We don’t want any trouble with your kind,” he finally says.

”Well, leave the merchants alone and you won’t have any, but if you don’t, we’ll wipe you out,” Shifty threatens. 

“All right,” the chief shrugs. “No problem. We will leave your merchants alone.” He gives them a nasty smile. “But if you come back, we will kill you.” 

“Someone will kill someone, that’s for sure,” Sepia retorts, posturing with her brass knuckles. The goblin chief’s bodyguards chuckle ominously. 

“Go,” the chief snaps, “before I reconsider.”

“Wait,” says Sepia. “I want a slave.”

The goblin chief spits. “Not one of my folk,” he states flatly. “But we will _sell_ you one of our slaves.”

“Really? You have slaves?”

“Of course- kobolds.”

“All right,” Sepia agrees with a shrug. 

“I don’t know if that’s such a good idea,” says Karl from the back, but Sepia ignores his objection and gets down to haggling. In the end, for ten pieces of gold, she obtains a kobold named Yiddy. 

***

Dirty, sweaty and bloody, our heroes return to the top of the chasm. Shifty says, “You know we’re just going to have to come back here and kill them all eventually. They have no intention of leaving off with their banditry.”

Shar shrugs. “So be it. When the time comes, we’ll handle them.”

_And get the rest of their loot,_ the gnome thinks to himself.

The party starts towards home, but the hour is late enough that it is already nearly dark when they reach the crossroads, so they decide to camp there again. It is rapidly becoming a home away from home! 

Since they have a kobold with them now- around whose neck Sepia has tied a rope- they set watches. In the night, Yiddy makes an escape attempt, but is caught; Shifty uses his innate gnomish mastery of illusion to scare the hell out of the little slave, and the poor little fellow spends the rest of the night curled into a quivering ball. Sepia both socks him in the snout and then tries to give him comfort; despite the beating and scare, our heroes suspect that they are treating the kobold far better than the goblins did. At least they feed him their scraps.

***

About sixty miles away, as the crow flies, in the camp of the free company known as the Double Javelins, a rider garbed all in black arrives, dismounts and strides quickly through the pickets, recognized by the other mercenaries. When he reaches the tent of the band’s fiercest warrior (and therefore commander), he stops. The flickering of an oil brazier gives away that the commander is awake, so he claps. 

From within, a grizzled, rumbling voice calls out, “What do you want?”

“Captain, it is Dolorous Pete,” the rider says.

“Enter,” the commander replies at once. 

Dolorous Pete pushes the tent’s flap aside and walks in. Thannox, head of the Double Javelins, glares at him. The huge half-orc has one broken tusk on the side of his face that is split by the wide scar of an old axe blow. Even at night, he wears his thick hide armor; it is said that he never sleeps without it, even when he has whores in his bed. Nor, it is said, does he ever sleep without a weapon at hand. Next to his sleeping pallet a brace of javelins lies; next to that, a pouch of deadly poison. Dolorous Pete suppresses a shudder; he has seen what that terrible venom, extracted from the deadly spider called a tarantella, can do to a man.

“Well?” Thannox demands. 

“Dasserc isn’t worth the effort. Not only aren’t there very many people, they don’t even live in houses. The place is a ruin. The folk huddle under lean-tos to stay out of the rain. There isn’t a standing building in the whole place. But Woodcut is a different story. They have good, strong wooden buildings there. A couple of them are even two or three storeys high.”

“Wood,” the half-orc says in distaste.

“I know, captain. But even so, the town fronts on the Wildwood, so there would be no help for them from the north or west. South is the Troll River, and there is no ford or bridge closer than the ruins of Thrushton. The only trail out leads to Overland, and we can block that easily. Also, there are less than 200 people there. It should be an easy first step.”

“Wood burns.”

“I know, boss, but we have to start somewhere. And we can make an example of anyone that causes trouble by locking them into a building and lighting it on fire.”

“An example,” Thannox rumbles, “that they might take to heart... and try to burn _us_ out.”

“Well, sir, it is close enough to the river that a channel could be dug to provide sufficient water to douse any fire.”

The half-orc laughs unpleasantly. “Given enough labor,” he says with a smile. 

“You wanted my opinion as an old military man, sir, and there you have it. Overland is too big; same thing goes for Grumbleford. We take Woodcut first, then press the men into service by threatening their families. Then we recruit everyone in Overland and Grumbleford who has a stomach for fighting and a wish for glory. Once we have them on our side, there is nobody to resist you. After all, nobody has seen the governor or his men in decades. Or any of the Imperial Legions, since they were withdrawn to Chebonnay. And believe me, sir- I was there- those legions are _gone._ When the Six-Fingered Hand swept down on the city, they destroyed all resistance.”

“People have a very short memory,” Thannox says. “They will forget that they were ever part of an Empire. They nearly already have!” He pours two cups of wine and quaffs one, handing the other to Dolorous Pete. 

“Yes, captain,” Pete answers, drinking his own wine down. “But they will never forget _your_ rule.”

***

The morning sun creeps up out of the distant eastern sea. Our heroes rise, break their fast and camp, and prepare to set out.

“You know,” says Shifty, “that chasm isn’t that far from the Governor’s Tower. Maybe we should let them know about it.”

“Nobody’s supposed to go there without good reason,” Karl replies. “They say that the governor dislikes being disturbed.”

Sepia snorts and gives Yiddy’s leash a yank. “Bandits seem like the kind of thing that the governor would want to know about.”

“It is only about 20 miles from here anyway,” Shar says. “And Shifty’s right- that chasm is pretty close, all things considered.” 

Cavemouth grins. “What the hell, maybe they’ll have a good recipe for some beer.”

The party turns north off of the road. The trail leading towards the Governor’s Tower. It is fairly overgrown and obviously doesn’t see much use. It is not too overgrown for them to follow it easily, however, and they tromp up the trail. By late afternoon the tower itself comes into view, surrounded by a low stone wall that also includes a stable, chicken coop and a well.

But there is no sign of inhabitants. The coop and stable are empty, and the tower has the look of a place long-abandoned. The gardens are overgrown and untended. 

”I don’t think anyone has been here in a long time,” says Shar. 

The party starts poking around. Cavemouth peers into the well and says, “I’m not sure, but I think there’s something down there.” He squints, trying to resolve it, but to no avail.

”Let’s send down the kobold,” suggests Shifty. 

The well has a line with a bucket attached to it; they force poor Yiddy into the bucket and start to lower him down. Almost immediately, he screams in fear. “HELP!” Quickly, the party hoists the trembling, cowardly dog-lizard fellow back up. 

“What is it, Yiddy?” asks Sepia. 

“There’s something bony down there!”

Everyone takes another look down the dark shaft, but again, nobody can see anything. Cavemouth shrugs. “I’ll climb down,” he offers. 

“You sure that’s a good idea?”

“Of course not,” the goliath grins, “but if the kobold can get in and out, so can I!”

The problem with his reasoning becomes apparent immediately: he is _huge_ compared to Yiddy-in-a-bucket. “I don’t see anything,” he grunts up from below, and struggles back to the top. “But then again, I couldn’t really see past my own body,” he adds sheepishly. 

“I’ll try,” Shifty sighs. His slight gnomish stature is much more suited to penetrating a narrow well; moreover, he will fit in the bucket, like Yiddy did. The party slowly lowers him down the well. “I don’t see anything, either,” he calls to the others.

”Here, take another look,” Shar says to Yiddy. She grabs the kobold and drags him to the edge of the well.

“Wait!” squeaks the kobold. “I’m scared! Don’t make me!”

“Oh, shut up.” Shar hoists the little fellow over the lip of the well and drops him in. A wail, followed by a crash and a splash, mark his progress. 

“HEY!!” shouts Shifty from below. “You hit me with him!” 

“Is he all right?” Sepia yells down. “Yiddy!”

Shifty’s voice floats back up from below: “...I don’t really think so.” 

Sepia turns to Shar and glares at him. “You owe me a new slave!”

Shar shrugs. “Fair enough.”

“There’s nothing down here,” Shifty calls again. “Haul me back up.”

A few moments later, with their gnome back on the ground with the rest of them, the party heads into the tower proper. It has three storeys, although the uppermost is twice the height of the lower two; all is abandoned, but there are old foodstuffs- long spoiled- and uniforms in the place. “It doesn’t look like they intended to abandon this place forever,” Karl muses. “They left stuff behind, and there are no signs that they left in a hurry, either. Something must have happened to the governor and his men after they left.”

“Look at what I found!” exclaims Sepia. “A sprig of mistletoe!”

“That’s a druidic holy symbol,” Karl states. He examines it closely. “It looks to me like it got left here a year or two ago at most, but everything we’ve seen indicates that the governor and his men must have vanished thirty years ago or thereabouts. A druid must have come and looked the place over much more recently.”

“I wonder if it’s connected to Novak,” Cavemouth says. 

“Well, let’s consider this,” Shifty suggests. “Nobody is here. Nobody has _been_ here for decades. There are uniforms, though- and if we wear them, we can claim that we’re the governor’s new men.” He grins. “And who will contradict us? This is perfect! We can _be_ the authorities if we want!”

Outside, the shadows have grown long. The sun is setting. Our heroes elect to stay the night in the tower and see if anything interesting happens (it doesn’t), and in the morning they debate their next move.

”Next, _you_ need to get _me_ a new slave,” Sepia tells Shar. 

She shrugs. “Let’s go back to the chasm, then.” 

“The goblins probably won’t like seeing us.”

“Then we kill them,” says Shifty.

But upon returning to the chasm, Sepia stops them. “Wait a minute. I forgot- I already used up all my alchemist’s fire. We should go back to Grumbleford first so that I can restock.” So they turn right around.

_*Next Time:*_ Our heroes return to Grumbleford, the crossroads and the chasm!


----------



## hippie2049 (Jan 3, 2010)

Gotta love crossroad adventures. Reminds me of the halfling party.


----------



## the Jester (Jan 3, 2010)

In Grumbleford, Sepia buys more alchemist’s fire, but the price is daunting. _I’m really going to need a steady stream of income if I am going to use this stuff regularly,_ she thinks glumly, _but at least I’ve got a few flasks for now._

Meanwhile, Shifty makes some discrete inquiries until he manages to find a tailor that is willing to fit the uniforms that they found at the governor’s tower to the party’s members’ measurements. He is clearly nervous about this; it is technically illegal, though tracing it back to him would be difficult if Shifty didn’t talk.

“Don’t worry,” Shifty reassures him, “we are the legitimate authority around here. The governor has employed us and we need to look good in his service.”

“Whatever you say, as long as the coin is good,” replies the tailor.

When the party reunites at their inn, Sepia has another piece of news for them: “I heard that the merchant’s guild is offering a bounty for goblin scalps- two gold pieces each.”

“We did tell the goblins in the rift that we’d leave them alone as long as they stopped raiding,” Shar points out. 

Shifty shrugs. “We’ll just have to see if they’re keeping their side of the deal,” he says cheerfully. “There are still goblin raids going on, after all.”

Late the next day, once the fitting and sewing has been finished, the party departs Grumbleford and heads as far as the crossroads before dark. They set up camp there, where they meet a group of traveling halflings called the Slysneak Family Circus. While they entertain and amuse the crowd, Shifty spies at least one of them filching wallets as well. Discretely confronting the halflings with a wink and nod, he walks away with a few extra coins in his pocket as the price for his silence. 

While the halflings tell tales around the fire, Shar whores herself out to several of the merchants present (as well as to Cavemouth), declaring her body the temple of the Sacred Whore, the Sword Emperor’s wife. 

The night drags on. Not long before the various folk put their heads down for the night, one of them relates one last tale- apparently, a city on the coast has declared itself independent and established its own demesnes.

_Very interesting,_ thinks the party’s gnome. 

***

In the morning, as the party walks off the road north towards the rift opened by the recent earthquake, they discuss this latest piece of news.

“I wonder how long it has been,” says Cavemouth, “since they saw _their_ governor?”

“This is perfect, though,” Shifty opines. “It seems to me that real authority around here is gone. We _are_ the local authorities, and nobody is there to contradict us.”

“What about the Empire?” asks Karl.

“When is the last time we saw an official, Imperial representative?” counters the gnome. “I have _never_ seen one. Have you?”

His question fills the air like the smell of an over-ripe melon, sweet and ready to burst with possibility. Especially because none of them have ever seen Imperial men either. Until now, they have always put it down to their location- Overland, Grumbleford, all of the small towns in the area, are certainly in a backwater borderland. But now... it seems quite possible that the reason they have never seen Imperial men might be quite different, after all.

***

The group reaches the rift a little bit before noon, and this time they elect to descend to the topmost ledge, rather than the second one down. This leads them to another goblin warren. 

The party attacks without warning, striking down goblins with furious abandon. A pair of the humanoids fall back, pelting the heroes with arrows, but soon enough Karl blasts the intervening goblins and the group is able to spring on archers. Sepia’s brass knuckles knock both consciousness and teeth from one of them. 

A quick, subsequent look around finds a large group of goblin females cowering in a cave in the rear of the area, as well as many goblin young. Another cave in the back holds a number of quivering, frightened kobold slaves. For the moment, the party keeps all of them in sight and covered with weapons, but doesn’t slay them.

A few minutes later, the sharpshooter revives groggily, coughing and spitting blood out of his smashed face. He groans as his vision clears, then cringes in fear as the tiefling raises her brass knuckles threateningly again. 

“We had a deal!” the goblin cries. “You were supposed to leave us alone!”

“You’re still raiding the merchant caravans east of here,” Shifty snaps. “We warned you.”

“It wasn’t us!”

“Then why are they offering two gold for a goblin scalp?” demands Karl. 

“There are lots of _other_ goblins in the area,” whines the party’s captive. “Many live in the Black Brambles, and raid from there!”

The party draws back to discuss this intelligence, debating whether or not the goblin is lying, as well as what the best course of action might be. Finally, Shifty shakes a finger in the goblin sharpshooter’s face and tells him, “We’re going to investigate further. If what you say is true, we’ll leave you alone. If you’re still raiding, we will return and kill every last one of you.”

The sharpshooter gasps in terror.

”For now,” the gnome continues, “to ensure your good behavior, we’re going to take your females with us and put them to work. We won’t mistreat them, don’t worry- but if you want them back, you had better not mess with us!”

***

Back to the Governor’s Tower. The female goblins are frightened, behaving more like cattle than like goblins. 

“There really isn’t much damage they can do,” Karl points out. “There’s no reason why we can’t leave them here, doing some of the cleanup work that needs to be done.”

“Without supervision?” 

“What are they going to do, pee in the corner? This place is already a wreck.”

“Good point,” agrees the rest of the party.

“But then, what are we going to do?” wonders Cavemouth.

“There is at least one more level in the rift that we haven’t checked out,” replies Shar. “We might as well finish exploring it. But this time, let’s not kill goblins unless they attack us first.”

Everyone seems to agree with this is principle, but it will soon become apparent that this agreement is the flimsiest of things. 

***

On the road headed west, a huge, dangerous-looking bird bigger than a horse, backed with a rich-looking purple howdah and driven by a well-dressed halfling, is given a wide berth by all the other travelers on the road. No trouble with goblin bandits for this one! 

“Your pardon, sir,” calls the halfling to a nearby merchant.

Warily, the merchant looks over the huge terror bird that the tiny figure is mounted on. “Yes?” he calls back.

“Can you tell me the name of the biggest city in these parts? Would it still be Thrushton?”

“Thrushton’s a ruin, these days,” the merchant replies. “Grumbleford is probably the biggest town around these days.”

“Is it the seat of the government?” 

“No, that’d be the Governor’s Tower. It’s off the road somewhat, from what I understand.”

“The Imperial Governor, then... Is he active much? Does he hold court?”

Nervously, the merchant answers, “Haven’t heard anything about him doing that sort of thing, no.”

“Ah. And which way to Grumbleford? Are there signs?”

“There’s an old sign at the crossroads, but it’s south from there, if you don’t have your letters.” He glances at the halfling’s garb. “Though I’m sure you do,” he amends. “No disrespect intended.”

“And none taken. Thank you, you have been most helpful.” The halfling tosses a silver piece to the merchant, who- surprised- snatches it from the air.

_Huh,_ he thinks, _looks new._ He squints at it: the standard head he doesn’t know on one face, and a hand holding a rose on the other. _It is new- it hasn’t even been shaved yet._ He glances across at the halfling. _Well, none of my business, and I probably don’t need to know anything more about this anyhow._

The merchant will find out how wrong he is in time.

***

On ropes and harnesses, the party descends past the first ledge and down to the third (the second, of course, is on the opposite side of the rift). Cavemouth leads the way in. Squeaking ahead of them announces the presence of many rats. The entryway rapidly opens into a large chamber with many different exits- and rats everywhere. 

“Filthy vermin,” growls Cavemouth.

“You’re one to talk,” quips Sepia. 

The goliath shoots her an amused glance, then stomps into the room. The others are not far behind him. Rats- some of the size of a large cat- start to move to investigate them.

“I don’t know about this,” says Shar. Her voice betrays her unease. “There are a lot of them...”

“A few _scorching bursts_ would probably clear them away,” offers Karl.

“Ow!” exclaims Cavemouth, as one of the rats nibbles experimentally at him. “All right, let’s get rid of these damned pests!” He cuts one in half with his axe, and Karl follows his attack up with one of the bursts he mentioned, cooking a couple more of the rodents.

Unfortunately, this doesn’t really help. Instead of intimidating the other rats, it enrages them.

Naked-tailed vermin of all sizes start pouring at the party from everywhere, coming from the side passages, smaller holes in the walls, ceiling ledges- everywhere. Soon our heroes are facing a horde of giant rats, as well as a pair seething swarms of rats. A few of the rats are even larger than cats, reaching up to about 3’ in length (not counting their long tails, of course). 

The party fights with aplomb, and soon they drive off or slay the onrushing furry mass of rodents. Karl proves adept at dealing with the swarms with his _scorching bursts,_ while Cavemouth and the others keep the individual larger specimens from coming too close- at least, in one piece. Slowly, grimly, our heroes cut and blast their way through the rats, until they are surrounded by a bloody, smoldering carpet. 

Then they start to explore, mindful of the squeaks of the remaining rats (_There must be thousands of them,_ thinks Cavemouth). The first direction they check out is riddled with areas of unsafe ceiling, just waiting to drop down on them. They manage to “map out” the unsafe areas, and carefully skirt around them. Strange scuttling noises come from all directions. 

“I hope there is something other than just rats down here,” comments Shifty. “Something with treasure.”

“Me too!” agrees Sepia, and agreement murmurs up from the others.

The party looks around. Cavemouth notices the glow of lanterns coming from one direction; this is more interesting than a bunch of rats, so the party heads in that direction. The lanterns are set along a ledge above a 20’ drop-off; a canyon ranging from 15’ to 25’ wide separates the ledge that they are on from the other side. A pair of ropes have been stretched across the gap in such a way as to allow a person to walk upon one while holding the second, higher, rope with his hands.

“Look!” Sepia says, gesturing. 

Trying to be sneaky on the other side are a pair of creatures that strongly resemble skunks, excepting their size: they are about 4’ long, with huge tails and white stripes down their otherwise-black backs. 

“I hate skunks,” Cavemouth declares. 

Sepia nods. “Me, too. I don’t want to stink.”

The party fans out and draws ranged weapons. “I bet we can kill them from here,” says Shifty.

Then, even as Cavemouth hurls a javelin into one of the skunk-things, a dagger flips out of the shadows, hitting Sepia in the temple. She squawks, stumbles- and pitches towards the cliff.

She catches herself on the edge, managing to barely hang on.

From where the dagger came from in the shadows in the canyon below, a goblin in a climbing harness glares at them. A pick hangs at his side.

Shar fires an arrow but misses, and then Shifty sinks a shuriken into the wounded skunk’s eye. It squeals and collapses.* The goblin gives a cry of rage... and slips away back into the shadows. 

_*Next Time:*_ The goblin spelunker!

*This is the first time in 4e that I can recall a non-minion being slain before it had a chance to act. Hurray!


----------



## the Jester (Jan 9, 2010)

Shar points down at the bottom of the lower section. “There he is!” 

Cavemouth and Sepia leap down after the goblin spelunker, who snarls and draws his pick. He swings it at the goliath, but Cavemouth parries the blow, and Sepia rushes around behind the goblin. The three of them engage in a furious series of blows and parries, and when the goblin hits Cavemouth with his pick, he cries, “FLAME ON!”

*WHOOMPH!* The pick bursts into flame. Cavemouth cries out as he starts to burn. 

“Nya!” the goblin chortles, and knees the hulking fighter in the groin. With a groan, Cavemouth staggers, holding his aching crotch. 

Up top, Shifty and Shar send arrows and shuriken at the other skunk-beast, wounding it badly. It chitters and clambers down the wall, moving to aid its goblin master. Cavemouth, seeing it coming, gives a nasty snarl and whips his axe into it, slicing through both of its forelimbs. Blood gushes out in a massive flood, and the creature sprawls on the ground dead. 

“MY PETS!” the goblin howls, and slams his pick into Cavemouth’s thigh. 

“Aargh!” cries the goliath, and the goblin yanks him from his feet. He crashes to the ground and the little spelunker stomps his groin again. “Oooohhh,” he groans.

Shifty leaps to the bottom of the room, tumbling to absorb the fall. But the spelunker darts around the corner- there is a smaller alcove in the back of the room, behind the elevated area in the back of the room- and vanishes back out of view. Shar, atop the eastern elevated area, curses. “Where did he go?” she cries. 

“We’ll find him,” Shifty promises, fading into the shadows.

Cavemouth clambers to his feet, his balls aching like never before, and staggers around the corner. “Where are you, you little bastard?” he cries. 

Sepia edges around the corner as well, scanning the shadows for him. “Come out, we can negotiate,” she calls. “We have gold!” She pulls a few gold pieces out of her belt pouch and tosses them into the dark back corner of the room.

The spelunker emerges from cover, his pick held before him warily. 

“GOTCHA, YOU LITTLE BASTARD!” screams Shifty, leaping out of hiding and hurling a shuriken. It sinks deep into the goblin’s cheek. The spelunker cries out in pain and staggers. Shifty leaps forward, and the two of them exchange another series of blows and parries even as Cavemouth roars and staggers bow-legged to the fight. 

Only to have another kick to the groin land solidly right between his legs. 

“Your testes belong on my neck,” he groans, and cuts at the goblin with his axe. 

The goblin, for his part, swings his flaming pick at Cavemouth and catches him in the ribs. Bone cracks and Cavemouth crumples into unconsciousness. Shar, still unable to see what is happening, curses and starts to climb down.

Meanwhile, Sepia says, “Wait, let’s talk about this!”

The goblin’s response is to groin stomp the unconscious goliath and then dart back around the corner. Shifty thrusts with his shortsword, pricking the goblin in the armpit, and then pursues. The goblin reaches the eastern wall and starts to climb up towards the ledge that holds his escape- the passage back out to the level’s egress. Unfortunately for him, in his frantic haste, he attempts to climb up a crumbling part of the wall, and it simply slides out from underneath him, leaving him right where he started. He whirls around as Shifty springs forward and pokes him again. 

“We have gold!” Sepia tries again, even as Shar reaches the bottom and hurries to where she can see her fallen friend. 

“Why would I trust you? You already offered a parlay once, and then attacked me again when I tried to accept!” The goblin whirls his pick and swings towards Shifty’s pate, but the gnome ducks the worst of the blow. The small wound he takes is enough, however; he farts and vanishes.*

Sepia steps in, her brass knuckles on her hands, and throws another couple of coins at the goblin. “Shifty, knock it off! That was him, not me!” She moves to stand right in front of the bleeding goblin. “Come on, we can be reasonable,” she says. “Here, have some coins.”

The goblin hesitates, but is clearly ready to strike. “Put your weapons down and I’m willing to talk,” he growls. 

Shifty reappears. “Put your weapon down, or we’ll kill you.”

The goblin snarls and sneers at him... but neither one attacks. After a long moment (and a hard look from Sepia), the gnome steps back. “Fine,” he says. “We’ll talk.”

From around the corner, Cavemouth comes staggering, clearly still aching between his legs. He is shaking with anger. “You owe me balls!” he roars. 

“What’s your name?” asks Sepia, trying to be reasonable. 

“I am called Mulcoyle,” the goblin replies. “My folk had a deal with you. You were to leave us alone. Why have you attacked me?”

“Uh, we didn’t realize that you were part of that same group of goblins,” Shifty says. (While not technically a lie, the truth is more like the party didn’t stop to think about it, nor did they care.) 

“And there are still goblin bandits on the road near here,” Cavemouth adds. He shakes a finger at Mulcoyle.

“If those don’t stop, we’re coming back and wiping you all out!” Shifty declares.

“My people have not raided since you came,” the goblin retorts. “They must be other tribes. You should take it up with the goblins in the Black Brambles, not us- we have honored our agreement! Unlike you!”

Shar shrugs eloquently. Weapon arms tense again. 

“Well, how do we know that it isn’t you? Does your tribe have an identifying mark or anything?” Sepia asks, trying to keep things reasonable. 

“Of course! We are the Broken Nose tribe! Our sigil is obvious.”

“All right, listen,” says Shifty. “We’re the authority in this area now. If we see _a single one_ of your tribesmen on a bandit raid, we’re going to come back and wipe you all out. So you had better tell your people to keep their noses clean if they want to live.”

“I already told you, we are honoring our half of the agreement. It is you that has transgressed.”

“We’re sorry,” Sepia replies. “We didn’t realize you were part of the same tribe.”

“I am an explorer,” he huffs.

“You mean you don’t know what is on this level?” demands Shifty. It is clear from his tone that he doesn’t believe the spelunker.

“Of course I do- now that I have explored it. But we only came to this rift when it opened in the recent earthquake. Before that, we had no knowledge of it at all.”

“Well, what else is here?” asks Shar. “Tell us what you know and we’ll show mercy to you.”

“We are already showing mercy,” Sepia points out. “But here are another couple of coins.”

With her kinder words and a few gold pieces, Sepia gradually manages to win Mulcoyle over. The party agrees not to try to take his magic pick, but only after it becomes clear that doing so will lead to renewed combat. A glance at Cavemouth, still holding his groin, is enough to convince the party that picking the fight up where they left off will no doubt cause them severe pain, even if it doesn’t kill or seriously injure any of them. 

But it’s not a one-sided deal. Mulcoyle shows the party a wall in the very back of the room where fancy crystals are growing from the wet native rock. Although it would take hours to mine them out, the party and the goblin come to an accommodation that satisfies both sides: Mulcoyle will get his fellow goblins to mine the crystals, and the party will get half of them. Moreover, Mulcoyle will effectively act as the party’s representative with the Broken Nose goblins, keeping them out of trouble. As for what the goblin gets out of the deal, it soon becomes obvious to our heroes that he plans to capitalize on both the earnings from the crystal mining and the implied threat of their return and reprisals to make a power play in his tribe.

As for information, the goblin tells the party, “This level is mostly rats, with one area inhabited by- I don’t know your word for them. We call them _kruthiks._ They are like... like insects, but also like reptiles. They are very dangerous scavenging beasts.”

“It’s probably not worth messing with them,” opines Shar. 

The goblin goes on to tell them, “The fourth level, at the bottom of the shaft, is mostly a pool of water. I looked at it from a rope, and there are ledges and boats down there.”

”Boats?” repeats Shar.

“Yes. I didn’t get close enough to see much more.”

“Very interesting,” says Sepia. 

A little more posturing and discussion, and the goblin prepares to depart. But before he does, Cavemouth looms over him. “You owe me balls!” the warrior snarls at the goblin. “Don’t forget, or I will take yours!”

“With any luck,” the goblin replies, “I will bring you my chieftain’s balls.” And he grins.

_*Next Time:*_ Our heroes head down further- and meet their first dragon!


*Shifty’s player always says that he farts invisibility when he uses his gnomish racial reactive invisibility power.


----------



## the Jester (Jan 11, 2010)

Back at the crossroads, our heroes take the night off, enjoying the company of merchants and travelers again, sharing their fire and food with friendly strangers. “Some day,” predicts Shar, “a town will spring up here.” 

The next morning, they trudge back to the earthquake rift, intending to descend to the watery level and investigate the boats that Mulcoyle the goblin told them about. They tie together several coils of rope and begin the long descent, dropping 60’ to the ledge that leads into the third level. From there, they rig a harness from another series of ropes and tie Cavemouth in, then lower him slowly and quietly down to take a look. 

The shaft of the rift opens at the bottom, revealing a wide, roughly oval pool of water a couple of hundred feet across. A pair of narrow ledges of dry land are visible clinging to the edge of the pool; a few small boats are tied off to one of these. Cavemouth clambers back up and reports his findings to the party. “Unfortunately, there’s a long climb along slick rock to get to either of the ledges.” 

“Do we have enough rope to rig a pathway over?” wonders Sepia.

“I have about 200’ myself,” Shar replies. “Is that enough?” 

“Almost,” says Cavemouth, “and I’m pretty sure that between the bunch of us, we have enough.”

The party pulls out their rope collection and hands it to the goliath.

***

In the crude shelter, the miserable crippled figure lay huddled on a mass of filthy, soiled straw. Fleas and ticks crawled all over his body. Even if he were not horribly scarred and maimed, even had shackles not been closed around his ankles for decades, he was now too old to even attempt to escape. His bones ached, and all he truly wished for was death- as he had wished for over thirty years, now. 

The air outside the rude lean-to stank of smoke, sweat and rot. The remains of the buildings, given over to the cruel embrace of mold and mildew, were untended and collapsing. Even one of those fouled structures would have offered him more cover from the wind, more surcease from the cold. But no- using those buildings would be a violation of the weird code that his prisoners held to. 

Eyes crusted with yellow snot eased closed. His teeth were long-gone, rotted from his mouth. He was half-starved. Yet the damned humans and their strange allies would not let him die. 

Lerrmurr had long ago told them all the information that he had; but it was not enough, not specific enough, not dangerous enough for them. They believed that he knew more. They believed that, somehow, despite the horrible torments that they had subjected him to, he somehow still held something back. 

The fools. Trapping him was bad enough; leaving him unable to move freely, feeding him the fetid swill that he had been forced to live on rather than fresh prey, the beatings and torture- all of that simply added to his misery without drawing more information out of him. He had always been weak-willed; his greatest moment of strength had been when he forced his captain to leave him behind as their ship had crashed. 

Surely, though, if she had escaped, she would have returned to save him by now. Except, of course, that she thought him dead- and, no doubt, burned to ashes by the radioactive fires caused by overloaded and exposed radiocrystal. 

Old- he was old, now. He had lost count of how many miserable winters he had lived through; more than half of them, he was convinced, had occurred in this shackled hell hole. Even if he were to be freed, he doubted whether he could walk, let alone run. Escape were impossible now, and the increasing neglect of his captors was bound to kill him at last before long.

Even with his eyes closed, his keen ears detected someone entering the crude lean-to that was his only shelter from the elements. Then a voice, faintly mocking, speaking in the crude human language that he had learned over the years: “You are in luck, my friend. We are moving you. You will see a change of scenery.” 

It was a struggle to open his rheumy eyes. The silhouette of one of his tormenters loomed above him, and he could hear a key being placed in the shackle binding his ankle to the thick root nearby. Then his emaciated body was being half-lifted, half-dragged clear of the structure. He couldn’t feel his formerly-shackled leg, and the smell arising from the suppurating sores where the metal band had fastened to him told him that he was in for another long, agonizing ritual to keep him alive. _Just let me die,_ he thought hazily. _I have nothing for you. I..._

A scent caught his attention and made his blood run cold. It was far off; he had not been able to detect it at all in the smoky haze of his tiny shelter. But now it reached him, a hint of something from his old life- and not something favorable to him. 

_Canus,_ he thought. Trembling from weakness, he realized that there might be worse things than this human captivity after all. They were far off, but why would they be here at all? 

_Unless they are looking for me. Or other tabaxi. Or, worst of all, unless they are seeking the radiocrystals._ As the laboring human dragged his mangy frame to the fire to warm him, Lerrmurr closed his eyes again. _Let them not find it. And please, let them not have anything that can _use_ it.

Oh please._

***

Time and effort always pay off. Cavemouth braids the ropes together, spiking them to the wall of the cavernous area above the water in place after place. Slowly he works his way over to the ledge with the boats on it, then drops down and shouts back at the entrance, “Ready! Come on in!”

***

Cavemouth’s voice echoes deeper into the caves. Rats squeal at the sound. 

“Did you hear that?” asks Dranko, his high voice like nails on a chalkboard.

Corellian hisses, “Quietly, brother! Let us ambush them while they are still making their descent. Surely, anyone entering our cave will have valuables worth stealing.”

Hissing laughter, the two wererats draw their blades. But when they move, it is not first towards the entry to their chambers, but rather to the rear, where their “ally” lurks, her eyes on the figure trapped in the icy pool. 

“I heard,” it says laconically. And, spreading purple wings, the wyrmling- its body the size of a large dog- takes to the air, banks around and begins flying towards the entryway. The wererats and their menagerie of rat pets of all sizes follow quickly in the dragon’s wake, claws scuttling on the cave floor. 

***

Cavemouth reaches a hand up to help Sepia down off the long series of ropes and onto the ledge. She alights graciously, her tail swishing back and forth.

And the dragon emerges from the cave behind them, belching forth a radiant purple froth that catches both of them. 

“DRAGON!!” screams Cavemouth, even as his head fills with pain. He howls in agony, staggering, and then draws his axe out and tries to stand firm, ready to attack. Sepia pulls out her dagger.

“There are more rats coming, too!” she warns. 

Shifty hurls a shuriken at the dragon, but it just bounces off of its thick scales. Hanging from the ropes, the gnome grimaces. _Are they worth it?_ he wonders. _Can we take this thing?_ 

Rats pour out from the cave en masse, including a couple of rather large ones- and followed by a pair of things that look like half-man, half-rat. “Wererats!” he cries. “Filthy wererats!”

The party is at a substantial disadvantage as the enemy pours in at them. Shar is still above, in the ropes; but she pulls out her bow and starts firing arrows at the rts. Sepia and Cavemouth start trying to fight, cutting down more of the rats, but the vermin swarm over them while their (presumed) leaders, the wererats, move in to flank. 

The dragon flies by and tears at Shifty with its claws, tearing scarlet furrows in his chest. The gnome cries out- and vanishes, invisible. 

Then he starts to scramble away, up the ropes, hoping to achieve safety. 

Unfortunately, the dragon is smart enough to perceive the possibility of flight- and with powerful wings beating the air, it rises up- and with a snap of its jaws, it tears through the ropes about halfway back to the party’s egress!

_Uh-oh,_ thinks Shifty. 

Cavemouth and Sepia, meanwhile, are being sorely pressed. Sepia leaps into one of the boats and yells, “Cavemouth, to the boat! Let’s get out of here!” With a sweep of her dagger, she cuts through one of the ropes that ties the boat to shore.

The goliath turns and leaps, clearing a giant rat and landing with a hard thump in Sepia’s chosen boat. “Cast off, quick!” he cries, and the tiefling rogue swiftly saws through the other rope.

But then the first wererat- Corellian- leaps into the boat after them and thrusts its shortsword into Sepia’s midsection. Blood gushes out, flowing over his arm. With a gasp, Sepia collapses. 

Meanwhile, the wererat named Dranko climbs into the other boat. “No you don’t,” he chortles. “You cannot escape us!” Rats pour into his boat after him, and he starts untying the mooring ropes on his own vessel. 

Cavemouth yells and gives a great push at the wererat in his boat. With a surprised cry and a great pinwheeling of arms, Corellian goes over the side. The goliath pushes off, hoping to gain some distance- and the dragon swoops in, its claws ripping trails of blood into his back. Cavemouth screams in pain and swings his axe with all his strength, scoring a blow on the purple wyrmling.

Shifty, hanging invisibly from the ropes, groans to himself. _I have to try to save them,_ he thinks. A glum thought, given the consequences of failure- and yet, the dragon has already made plain that escape will be difficult at best. 

He is near a piton that has been hammered into the wall; with the pommel of his shortsword, he knocks it free and swings on the rope, held still to the wall by another piton further above him. His trajectory arcs out and past the boats, then back around- and he stabs the dragon in the side to great effect.* 

It roars and slices him with its claws, wounding him badly. Shifty screams in pain, then stabs again- but this time he is visible. Unable to take the dragon by surprise, he cannot manage to slip the tip of his blade through its thick scales. 

“Why did I do it?” he wails. “You weren’t worth it!” 

Then, the second boat glides up behind him and Dranko the wererat, flanking him with the dragon, stabs him from behind. Shifty gasps in pain, and the dragon bites down on his shoulder with devastating force. 

Shifty collapses, suspended over the water by the ropes, his blood dribbling into the pool below him.

Desperately, Cavemouth slices at the wererat in the other boat in front of him. He deals a fair cut to its arm, but Dranko just laughs. 

The wound starts to close with appalling speed.

“Fool!” Dranko taunts, leaping nimbly into his boat. “You cannot defeat us! With our dragon at our side, we are invincible!” 

The two exchange a few feints and parries- and, to Cavemouth’s horror, the wererat reaches out and snatches his bag of gold from him! “HEY!!” he cries.

The dragon rips a hunk of his arm away, and the goliath collapses. 

Shar, who has been firing arrows the whole time, suddenly finds herself the only one standing. “Wait!” she says, and cuts herself out of the rope harness that she is suspended in. She lands lithely on the boat. “Please, you’ve won!” She drops her bow and raises her hands. “Just let me save my friends!”

“You must pay for your intrusion,” sneers Dranko, even as Corellion pulls himself into the boat behind her. The smell of wet rat fills her nose.

“What do you want?” she asks desperately, and kneels down to bind Sepia’s wounds. The wererats don’t cut her down, and she manages to stop the worst of the tiefling’s bleeding. 

The two wererats exchange a glance. “Are you worth a ransom?” demands Corellion. 

“You wear uniforms,” Dranko says. “Who do you serve?”

“We- we’re the governor’s men,” she replies. “Yes, we’re worth ransoming.”

“Fortunate for you,” Dranko sneers. “Sixty gold pieces for your lives.”

“All right! Whatever you say, just let me save my friends!”

***

The wererats prove to be surprisingly merciful, allowing Shar to keep her allies alive. The priestess, soaked in the sweat of fear, turns over the requisite gold to the pair of lycanthropes while the dragon perches on a nearby rock, glaring at her. Clearly, treachery is not a good option here- a fact that the wererats keep reminding her of. 

Once her friends are stable, the wererats even allow her to bring them around. Chastened by their defeat, nobody makes a hostile move. The dragon watching over the scene is a grim reminder of the odds that they would face if they tried anything.

Instead of just leaving, however, the party talks to the lycanthropes, hoping to draw out some information about what else might lurk down here. The wererats, surprisingly forthcoming, claim that the entire fourth level is theirs.

“But there is something interesting here,” Corellion says. “We will show it to you for ten gold, so long as you agree that, each time you wish to see it again, you will pay us another ten gold without causing any trouble.”

“Fair enough,” Shar replies. “After all, if we don’t want to see it again, we can just stay away.”

With a nasty laugh, the wererat gestures deeper into their tunnels. “Right this way.”

The party follows the lycanthropes despite their misgivings, and soon find themselves in a dead-end chamber with an icy pool in there. “I predict that you will be very interested in what she has to say,” one of the wererats says. The dragon flaps over to a large boulder and sets down, watching the proceedings languidly.

“The money first,” the other wererat says. 

“What?” 

“Ten more gold.”

The party pays up. Cavemouth points at the money bag that Dranko snatched during the fight. “That’s mine.”

Dranko just laughs. “Not anymore. Don’t push your luck, big man. You’re lucky to be alive.” 

Paid off, the two wererats withdraw, smirking, to the edge of the chamber. Cavemouth mutters angrily about his lost gold; he still has a few silver pieces, but now he is pretty well completely broke.

The party approaches the iced-over pool and gazes within it. 

Someone is there- someone _beautiful._ Green-skinned, garbed only in pearls and shells, with long hair floating in the water, she swims easily beneath the layer of ice. When she sees our heroes, she floats up to the underside of the ice layer and presses her hands against it. 

“Whoa,” says Shar. “What is that?”

“Hello,” the green-skinned woman calls. “I am Katimah, and I need your help.”

Cavemouth hefts his axe. “Are you trapped?”

“Yes, but your axe will not free me. There is an enchantment laid upon the waters here, keeping me in.”

“Did the wererats do this to you?” asks Shifty. 

“No. I was imprisoned... long ago, by the duergar that dwelt beneath this level of the dungeon.”

“There is more to this place, then?”

She nods. “Yes, the duergar, in their heyday, used my powers to help control the flow of water in their demesnes.”

“Your power? What are you? What did they make you do?”

“I am a marid. As I said, I helped channel the flow of water in their underground city. They used me to help control their irrigation needs, to prevent flooding and the like. I have great power over water, which is why they bound me to their service. I am sure you can imagine that changing water levels can be a great danger to an underground settlement.”

“How can we free you?” asks Shar.

“And what’s in it for us?” Shifty adds.

“I will give you my magic items,” Katimah replies. “And you can free me by obtaining the _Bell of Salash_ and sounding it here.”

“Where is this bell?” asks Cavemouth.

“Below, somewhere in the duergar levels. There is a canal, now submerged, that leads to the fifth level of this place, and it is through that that you must go.”

“Underwater?” exclaims Sepia.

“We aren’t really equipped for underwater exploration,” Shifty says.

“I can bestow the ability to breathe water upon you,” the marid says. “It will last for 24 hours. All you must do is touch the surface of the ice.”

Our heroes draw back to discuss this. “I think we should rest up first,” states Shar. “And we can always come back for a mere ten gold pieces.”

At this, Cavemouth growls deep in his throat. 

“Let’s go back to the tower first and think this over,” suggests Shifty.

“Yeah, I need to get more alchemist’s fire anyhow,” says Sepia. 

The party turns back to Katimah. “With respect,” Shifty says, “we have a few other things to take care of first, but we will be back to take you up on your offer at a later date. If that’s all right with you.”

“I am not going anywhere. I have waited a long time for my freedom- a few days, weeks or even years more is nothing to me.”

With a nod, Shar says, “Until later, then.”

_*Next Time:*_ For the first time, our heroes meet the authorities!


*I gave him an extra W damage for using such a cool stunt, and with his sneak attack and all, he ended up doing 35 points of damage to said dragon! “Still not bloodied,” I said.


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## Mathew_Freeman (Jan 11, 2010)

New Jester story hour! How did I miss this before?

Great stuff as usual - I love your players. Just goes to show that not all D&D is about valorous Knights & Paladins; there's plenty of room for the ale'n'whores school of adventuring too.

I caught that one of your wererats is called Dranko, BTW - have you told Piratecat?


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## the Jester (Jan 11, 2010)

Mathew_Freeman said:


> New Jester story hour! How did I miss this before?
> 
> Great stuff as usual - I love your players. Just goes to show that not all D&D is about valorous Knights & Paladins; there's plenty of room for the ale'n'whores school of adventuring too.
> 
> I caught that one of your wererats is called Dranko, BTW - have you told Piratecat?




Glad to have you on board!

This is a different group of players than the previous ones- with a few exceptions:

*Shar's player*  (and Hammhokk's) is Seance, who played Hkatha in my 4e campaign in Davis, Lillamere in my 3.5 epic game, Naomi in the halfling campaign, Jerakai in the 2e days, etc...

*Shifty's player* was the guy who played Rajah in Cydra: the Early Years. He played a lot of other pcs through the years, but Rajah is about the only one to appear in one of my story hours so far.

*Sepia's player* played Maybell Nontrophia, a tabaxi jester in an era of my game that has barely been touched on by story hours at all- prolly in a flashback or two, or perhaps in the thread about Delilah's adventures- I think they crossed paths once.

*Kane's player* (who has missed several sessions, unfortunately) played Lochenvare in the Early Years and many pcs in my old campaign world (which has no story hours at all, but a few flashbacks referring to it).

*Cavemouth's player* played Grumpy Fluffbottom, as well as the most chaos-addicted pcs in my campaign, including Veil.

Edit: As for Dranko, I stole his name from PC without asking or pointing, but maybe I should mention it...

Edit 2: As for what this Dranko conversation is all about, Dranko is Piratecat's excellent half-orc cleric/rogue/lasher in Sagiro's excellent story hour thread.


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## the Jester (Jan 13, 2010)

At this point, the party roster is as follows;

*Shifty,* gnome rogue 3
*Shar,* elf cleric 2
*Sepia,* tiefling rogue 3
*Cavemouth,* half-orc fighter 3
*Kane,* human barbarian 1
*Karlinden,* eladrin wizard 2

Kane has missed a couple of sessions, but I’m hoping to run an hour or two solo for him before the next time we play in order to give him a catch-up encounter or two. (He also has some xp coming to him already, too).

Anyway, update!

***

The party exits the dungeon, clambering back up and out of the Earthquake Rift and starting the march back to the Governor’s Tower. The place is pretty run-down, but inhabitable, and the female goblins (vanished now) that were briefly assigned as housekeepers seem to have done some work.

There is no sign of violence or trouble; the females are just gone. Our heroes collectively shrug their shoulders. They have probably gone back to their tribe, and with any luck, news of their merciful treatment will help Mulcoyle cement the deal they made with him. 

The tower is comfortable enough to sleep in, that’s for sure. After a hard day of climbing up and down rocks and fighting (and being defeated!), all of our heroes are ready for a good night’s rest. Of course, they still set watches- who knows what might come out at night here, near the tempting target of the crossroads, waiting to spring on a lone merchant or two?

But their night is uneventful, and in the morning, after a leisurely breakfast, they set out for Grumbleford, first heading to the crossroads and then strolling down the southern fork of the T. As they walk along, at first they pass the standard motley assortment of merchants and farmers, but after about an hour, they come upon a fascinating sight.

A well-dressed halfling, fine silk sleeves and fine leather gloves and a hat and everything, mounted atop a vicious-looking bird bigger than a horse. Behind the halfling driver, an enclosed howdah of rich purple silks rises like a tower from the bird’s back. 

Cavemouth, filthy and bloodstained, with holes and cuts all through his armor, walks over to this fine-looking fellow. “I beg your pardon, fine halfling, he says.”

The halfling, atop his bird, is above eye level for the goliath. He looks down at the hard-bitten warrior and says, “Yes?”

“I’m a seeker after a recipe of fine goliath wheat ale, and I was hoping that you might have some.”*

“Do I look like a brewer?”

“Well, no... uh, maybe, uh...”

“Good day to you sir.”

“Perhaps I can speak to your master?”

“He is not receiving visitors.”

Cavemouth slinks back to the party. “I just wanted to see who it was and maybe talk to them.”

“What did you do?” asks Shifty.

”I tried to talk to those guys over there.”

“Why?”

“Uh, I don’t know. I just... well, it doesn’t matter, they weren’t interested.”

The party picks up their pace and gradually opens about a quarter mile of distance between themselves and the terror bird with the howdah. Shortly after noon, they come to a spot where a halfling family has set up a wagon selling tacos on the side of the road. 

It _is_ about lunchtime, so our heroes stop at the halfling taco stand. _Halfling-_ like the halfling on the bird! Cavemouth orders two tacos with extra everything and then starts marching back towards the halfling on the bird.

Shifty is aghast. “What are you doing? Didn’t you already piss them off enough? You probably don’t need that guy as an enemy. We might want to talk to him later. Don’t ruin it. Just stop, shut up! Crap, he’s still going!” The rest of the party get their tacos, and then they hurry after their huge friend. 

Cavemouth reaches the bird first. He says, “I brought you a taco with extra everything from the halfling taco stand down the road a ways- as well as one for your master. But I must deliver it personally.”

“I am afraid not,” the halfling says firmly. “My master has no desire to see you. But give me the tacos, and I shall deliver one of them to my master for you.”

_Dare I trust a halfling with a taco with extra everything?_ wonders Cavemouth.

Meanwhile, the others are catching up. Shifty groans, “He’s ruining it, isn’t he?” 

Cavemouth finally replies to the halfling. “I guess that would be okay. Tell him that Tall-Oh-Gee sends his greetings.”

Shifty interrupts. “Pardon my friend, his facility with words does not always match his intent.” He nods politely to the halfling, who returns the nod. 

“You are wearing uniforms,” notes the halfling. “May I ask, whom do you represent?”

“We are the governor’s men,” Shifty says immediately. _We have to claim it whenever we can to make it true.

From within the howdah, a man’s voice speaks. “I will speak with them, Goodwheel.”

The halfling responds immediately. “Yes, master.” He directs the enormous bird to the roadside, and it kneels down. A man emerges from the howdah- a human aged around 40, with salt-and-pepper hair. He is as well-dressed as the halfling, if not moreso, and wears the raiment of some kind of religious prelate. 

“Greetings,” he says. “I am Bishop Ulric.” He studies the party for a moment, examining their uniforms. “You say that you work for the Governor?”

“That’s correct,” Shifty says with a big grin. 

“That makes our task easier. I am here to speak to the governor. You can help me reach him.”

Whoops!

“Uh, we can handle whatever you need,” Cavemouth says. “That is, we can tell him what you want.”

“Cavemouth-“ Shifty groans.

“What is your business with the governor?” asks Shar.

“Where is the governor? I come to speak to him on behalf of the Count of Aara. For too long this area has been unattended. The Count wishes to ensure that he has the allegiance of the local... governor.” 

“Perhaps he’s at his tower, where you shouldn’t go without important official business,” Shifty says. 

Bishop Ulric gives him a steady look. “When was the last time you actually saw the governor?” 

Silence. 

“All right,” says Shifty, “look, here’s how it is: thirty-five years ago, the governor went to deal with a crisis, and he never came back. We’re the people that keep the peace now.”

“I understand,” nods the bishop. “Then nobody is really in charge, are they?”

“Well,” says Shar.

“Someone must be- otherwise, how will the Count know that he has Southwest Aara’s allegiance? Someone must speak for this area, and take responsibility for it.”

“We’re kind of collectively,” Sepia starts, but Bishop Ulric cuts her off. 

“Decide amongst yourselves, but decide. So long as you are willing to swear allegiance and pay your taxes, I shall invest one of you with the governorship.”

“What kind of taxes?”

“I am taking a census. For every 10 people, your annual head tax will be one copper piece. 

The party huddles together for a few minutes, talking this startling offer over. Not everyone thinks it is a good idea or is interested, but the taxes certainly won’t be too much! After a few moments they break their huddle to tell Bishop Ulric their decision. Shar and Shifty step forward: “The two of us are going to share the governorship,” she tells the prelate.

“Very well,” Ulric says, “and in order to cement the bond even more strongly, I shall marry you.”

“Okay,” says Shar without hesitation. 

“Well- all right,” Shifty mutters, nonplussed. 

Right then and there, in the middle of the road, they have the ceremony, Bishop Ulric presiding. It is quick and efficient, lasting less than a minute, and suddenly Shifty and Shar are husband and wife.

A second ritual, nearly as quick, and the two of them are invested with official authority. 

“Now then, how far is it to Grumbleford?” the bishop asks.

“A couple more hours,” answers Cavemouth. “We’re heading that way- we could accompany you.”

“That would be appropriate. Grumbleford is the largest town in your district, is it not?”

“Yes,” says Sepia. “If you need alchemist’s fire, you have to go there.”

The look on the halfling driver’s face says, Do I look like I need alchemist’s fire?

“Excellent. Then it is there that we shall announce your investiture- we shall have a public ceremony for both your marriage and investiture for appearance’s sake. I suggest that you begin considering your heraldry.”

“Who do you worship?” asks Shar. 

“I follow Dexter,” replies Ulric. “But I serve Count D’Aara.”

“Where is the count to be found?” 

“To the east, usually on the coast. He moves his court around, and is often on the road.”

***

At Grumbleford they do just that, performing the ceremony with much drama in the town center where the market meets in a chaotic mess of stalls and tents. Quite a crowd gathers; the party is dressed up, and Shar and Shifty are re-married and publicly announced as the new co-governors. They then appoint Cavemouth as sheriff, Sepia as treasurer, Karl as “magus incarna”, and Kane as “the governor’s fist”. There is a good amount of celebration. It appears that their tenure in command of the area is off to a good start. 

***

They hauled him in a basket. His age alone made him frail; his health added to the journey a terrible weight. He could not sustain himself through it. He grew ill and reeled with fever. 

It seemed to him that an army was marshalling not far away. They turned back to the north. 

Towards the scent of the canus. 

Over the decades in captivity Lerrmurr’s skills had grown soft. He had once had a highly acute nose, capable of reading everything in that hint of scent: how many of them, how aggressive, their breed. 

Once, the aged tabaxi thought, their kind served us. Long ago, in our day of glory. 

Now he could only tell that there were a handful of them, still about a mile away.

His thoughts are disconnected; he seems to be floating. In the background, he can hear talking: someone from the nearby army, talking to one of his captors. Negotiations, the tabaxi thinks dimly. My captors didn’t expect them to be here. They are press ganging whoever they find in preparation for something. They are trying to press my captors into service!

Raised voices now, as things grow heated. Lerrmurr tries to focus on what they are saying. 

“...you’re able-bodied, we need you. Come on, there will be plenty of booty. Come willingly and you might even be able to leave in a few months, once we’ve done what we’re doing.”

“I suggest that we pay you instead,” replies one of the milder of his captors. “A handsome sum, and a long tradition- the nobles often paid the king in gold rather than men.”

“But we need the men,” the soldier says. “And we can just take your gold if you don’t cooperate.”

They’re trying to keep me secret, the tabaxi realizes. They’ll desert as soon as possible, or manage to get away without being pressed, and somehow take me with them unseen. 

Unless...

Struggling with all his feeble strength, Lerrmurr rocks his weight back and forth as hard as he can. He feels the basket he is crammed inside of tip slightly, and he does it again, rocking with the momentum. 

Already, he is getting tired. 

But one more oscillation is enough: the basket tips over sideways, the lid falls off and the tabaxi spills forth, blinking in the sun.

“What’s this, then?” the man from the army asks.

“Help,” croaks the tabaxi, squinting in the sudden sunlight.

“Never mind that,” says one of his captors. “Let us just pay you, and you go on your way-“

“No, I don’t think so.” The sound of a weapon being drawn is unmistakable. “You can run off or get pressed, but the cat stays with us.” 

Finally able to see, Lerrmurr is surprised to find a squadron of five men from the army, weapons ready. Two in the rear have javelins held ready to throw. The other three have spears out. The spokesman is a foul-looking half-elf. 

Of his captors there are only three. 

“Kill them,” he croaks. 

His captors- his former captors- hesitate for a long moment, then begin to back away. Then turn and run.

“Free,” whispers Lerrmurr.

”Well, about that,” says the half-elf.

*Next Time:* Our heroes tour the area announcing their new positions!


*Thus begins Cavemouth’s series of crappy Diplomacy checks for the night. In all fairness, he isn’t trained in it and he isn’t very charismatic._


----------



## the Jester (Apr 14, 2010)

Our heroes are moving up in the world!

Co-Governors Shifty and Shar, now married by Bishop Ulric, unite the families of the Ynarlslands and the Swaysacks into the Ynarlsacks. Cavemouth becomes Sheriff Cavemouth; Karl is appointed Magus Incarna, and Kane is made the Governor’s Fist. For the most part, they are making up titles as they go, but that’s okay; you gotta start somewhere!

The party has a large ceremony in the market square of Grumbleford, ensuring that the locals know their names and recognize their authority. Then they depart, marching overland and stopping briefly in the ruined city of Thrushton to poke around on the way to first Woodcut and then Overland, where they plan to again announce their new positions. Since they have agreed to pay taxes to Count D’Aara- one copper piece per ten people, as well as three men-at-arms that they will send to the count- they figure they might as well see if they can find any treasure on the way.

In the ruins, they fight off a pack of wolves, deal with a cloud of stirges and put most of a small group of bandits to the sword. They spare one- Farlo- and tell him that he is the new leader of the rest of his men, wherever they are, and that he had best lead them to a straight and proper lifestyle, one that does not involve banditry, theft or abuse of peasants. Farlo departs straight away with assurances that he will do so, and our heroes continue along their way. 

On the way out of the city, they are ambushed by a group of spiders and a strange beast that seems to mix the worst qualities of spider and man (Karl later identifies it as an _ettercap_). Our heroes find the leaping spiders difficult to pin down, but soon enough they triumph, and in their search of the monsters’ lair, they find a pair of magical items: a spear that drips poison and a holy symbol.*

Not bad, for a side trek. 

They keep walking, and eventually reach Woodcut, a small lumber town. They announce themselves and then spend the night in the Hayfork Inn. They stick around and spend some of the money they acquired in the ruins of Thrushton, partying with their subjects for three days. 

While they are there, Cavemouth deputizes a man called Big Turly and the party appoints a group of four representatives who can come to their tower with concerns or problems: two human men named Bradford and Mane, a dwarf named Tunnek and a woman, Cawdri. 

Their initial round of rulership done here, the party then hits the road, heading north and east towards their original home, Overland- although none of them are sure whether they will reside there much longer, as the Governor’s Tower is now theirs to do with as they will. But it needs work, and so, as they travel, they start to plan on hiring masons, carpenters and other skilled workers to make repairs. 

In Overland, they recruit a mason and a pair of men-at-arms. 

***

Within a few days, the party has returned to the Governor’s Tower. At one point, Shifty finds his shoes have been tied together, and they decide that they had best start leaving snacks and drinks out for the local fey. 

Shar carves a dueling circle in the courtyard. _Now we need more warriors,_ she thinks. _Praise the Sword Emperor._

***

Having declared their authority everywhere important in their territory, the party decides that their next move will be to return to the bottom of the Earthquake Rift, where the wererats lair with their dragon- ally? pet? master?- and take the strange entity in the ice pool’s quest. 

Travel to the Earthquake Rift only takes a few hours, and the group has become practiced at making their descent. Before long, they reach the bottom. The wererats are delighted to see our heroes again, and to take ten gold pieces for the right to see Katimah, the strange green-haired woman who swims below the ice sheet. 

“You have returned!” she exclaims upon seeing them.

“As we said we would,” declares Shifty pompously. “We are willing to attempt to help you, if you can impart the ability to breathe water upon us.”

“Come closer,” she replies. “Touch the surface of the ice.”

Cavemouth steps forward and kneels, putting one hand upon the chill surface. Katimah swims closer, beneath the ice, and reaches out until her fingers are below his, separated only by the glassy layer that imprisons her. An aquamarine glow seems to emanate upwards from her hand, and she says, “You are ready.”

Since no harm came to Cavemouth- being a burly goliath, he’s kind of like the party’s canary- the rest of the group files up and, one by one, receives Katimah’s touch. “Good luck,” she offers; then the party troops out to the central pool of water at the bottom of the rift. According to her, their path lies through a mostly- submerged canal that will lead them deeper into an old duergar city. Once they have entered the canal, they find themselves able to breathe as easily as if they were above the surface. It’s a very interesting experience, albeit a little cold in the chest. Fish dart by them periodically, and dead rats are virtually omnipresent. 

“What exactly are duergar?” asks Shar. 

“They’re also known as gray dwarves,” Karl informs her. “They’re an offshoot of the dwarven race given to deviltry and evil. They were driven below the ground long ago by their kinfolk, and now they toil in the depths.”

“So they are probably not really friendly, is what you’re saying.”

“Who knows?” quips Cavemouth. “We seem able to negotiate with anyone.”

Shifty grumbles under his breath and Shar adds, “As long as my esteemed husband doesn’t act first.” He shoots her an amused grin. 

The party travels for about fifteen minutes before the canal enters the duergar works.

_*Next Time:*_ Into the duergar works!


*In Cydra, a magical holy symbol is actually a device with a face that can be detached and replaced with one’s own deity’s symbol. The actual symbol isn’t magical, it’s the device carrying it. Otherwise, when you loot the Orcus priest’s body and get his _+2 holy symbol of stuff and things_, your own god would get pissed at you!


----------



## the Jester (Apr 15, 2010)

All around our heroes, dead rats float in the water. Many of them are partially eaten. Colorless fish, many eyeless, swim through the water. Karl recognizes some of them as a dangerous species related to the piranha called quippers. He warns his companions; all of them stay wary as they trudge along the bottom of the submerged canal. This is the first time breathing water for any of them, and the experience is both unnerving and exhilarating. The environment is almost completely alien. The water makes their movements sluggish, and Cavemouth cannot help wondering how well they could fight under the circumstances.

Above the canal, the cave ceiling gives way. To the heroes’ left extends a long flooded plaza that vanishes in the darkness outside of the party’s light. The canal is recessed about 10’ deep along one edge; it continues past the plaza into some kind of basin, but the party decides to examine the duergar plaza first. They swim-clamber up and over it; now their light illuminates the whole thing. Several passages extend from it.

Shar glances down one: a hallway leading as far as she can see. Sepia looks down the two passages on the other side of the room. “These both lead into the same giant chamber,” she informs the others. “It looks interesting- there’s some kind of, I don’t know, machinery in there.”

This piques the interest of the others, who all come and crowd around the two paths that lead into the chamber. There is no immediate sign of movement save for the slowing floating rat corpses, nor does any sound emerge. With a shrug, Cavemouth enters the chamber. 

A row of large metal crucibles stands beneath some kind of automated crane mechanism. Beyond it is some kind of beltway leading into a squat metal thing.

“It’s a smelter,” Karl tells the party.

Behind the smelter, a large pile of tailings is mounded high on the floor. Three doors lead out of the room; one of them is ajar. Shifty moves over and peers within, then pushes the door open wide. The chamber seems to be an old office of some kind. Two desks sit in the chamber, and a pair of inanimate skeletons lie on the ground.

No exits. The party opens the next door to the right and looks into an antechamber. A large pair of stone double doors exits from the left side of the chamber; to the right a row of stools is mounted into the floor. The walls are graven with images of internecine dwarf warfare. The party pauses to look them over.

The wars seem to have clear sides, and one side wins a clear victory. The gravings show the losers being driven out by their triumphant kinfolk- out, and deep into the ground. The next images show this group growing strong through their subterranean toils, eventually re-emerging in a mountain with a storm of fire at its peak. 

Shifty brushes a dead rat out of the way and says, “Those double doors look inviting.”

Cavemouth nods and moves to stand before them. He pushes upon them, and though they are large and heavy, they slowly swing open.*

A huge great hall stretches out before our heroes. Four rows of thick pillars give it support; a large throne of stone sits at one end, flanked by a pair of strange statues that seem to be almost like humanoid crossbows. Another set of double doors, larger and thicker than the ones that Cavemouth pushed open, is in the center of the wall opposite the throne. 

The water in here seems thick with grease and foulness, and our heroes spy the reason immediately. A pair of foul, undead dwarves with matted hair floating in tangled ropes from their beards snarls at the party’s approach. Their tongues are long and black; their teeth are strong and sharp, as if for cracking bones and sucking marrow. And the greasy stench that fills that water around them threatens to make our heroes gag.

“Lacedons!” cries Karl.

Cavemouth starts swimming towards them, whipping out the poisoned longspear that the party found in Thrushton. But as the goliath enters the chamber, the two crossbow-man statues near the throne animate. 

“Watch out!” Karl warns. “Those are dangerous! They’re called arbalesters, and they-”

*TWANG!*

Cavemouth howls in pain as the bolt hits him in the shoulder, but he grits his teeth and continues his headlong advance on the ghouls. They swim to meet him. Sepia, Shar and Shifty pour after him, while Karl turns his attention on the arbalesters. 

As the combatants close, blood starts to cloud the water. The aquatic ghouls smack their lips and suck it out of the water even as they try to bite chunks of flesh from their foes; meanwhile, Karl unleashes _magic missiles_ at the arbalesters while they begin a punishing barrage of fire at the others. 

Although they are taking plenty of damage, our heroes seem to generally have the upper hand. But then things grow complicated, as the blood in the water attracts a swarm of quippers** which quickly move in and start biting at everything around them. Karl _fey steps_ away from them, but they fall upon Sepia with a vengeance. She has already been bloodied by the aquatic ghouls, so the fish are attracted to her. She barely makes it away from them.

But she’s not the only one that is leaking tasty-smelling blood. When Cavemouth’s magic spear opens the belly of the first ghoul, the gory remains of its last meal are exposed. Suddenly the quippers are helping our heroes as much as they are hindering them!

Cavemouth and the quippers take a ghoul down in short order. Shifty and Sepia dart over to flank one of the arbalesters and quickly cut it down, leaving Karl free to focus his magical attacks on the swarm of fish and Shar and Cavemouth in battle against the remaining lacedon. With the right attackers on each enemy, the fight is soon over. 

The party takes a moment or two to catch their breath, bind wounds and employ Shar’s magical healing. Then all of them turn their eyes to those large, inviting-looking double doors. 

“More double doors? Something good has to be behind them,” Shar opines.

“Loot,” Shifty elaborates, making sure that his comb-over is in place.*** 

The party draws weapons and takes their positions near the door and then Cavemouth throws it open. 

A set of wide stairs leads upwards. 

“Interesting,” says Sepia. “Stay here. I’ll sneak forward and check it out.” 

“Be careful,” replies Shar. 

The tiefling creeps slowly up the stairs, slinking along one wall. After about 20’, the stairs break the surface of the water! _I wonder how much of what is ahead is dry,_ she thinks. The stairs seems to end about another 15’ up, but Sepia can see flickering firelight coming from somewhere ahead. 

More telling, there is a barrier at the top of the stairs. 

Holding her breath, she listens carefully. There are voices, speaking in a language that sounds like Dwarven. _A guard post,_ she thinks. _Duergar? Maybe. I’d best get the others._ 

Sepia retreats below the water and reports what she saw and heard. 

“I think you’re right,” says Shar. “It sounds like a group of guards. But if they’re duergar, maybe we can negotiate.”

Shifty snorts. “Parlay! We parlay with _everything!_ We should just go kill them.”

“If we can get the _Bell of Salash_ without bloodshed, shouldn’t we?” she counters.

“No. If these duergar are devil worshipers, we should kill them so they don’t cause us further problems.”

They argue for a moment before Cavemouth sighs and says, “Why don’t we go see what happens?”

“All right,” the governors say together.

_*Next Time:*_ Battle or parlay? Or both?


*These are “standard action to open” doors, rather than your standard “minor action to open” doors.

**Here are some stats for your amusement.

*QUIPPER SWARM--- Level 3 Brute*
Medium natural beast (fish)--- XP 150
---
Initiative +5; Senses Perception +3
Swarm Attack aura 1; any enemy that starts its turn in the aura that is not bloodied takes 5 points of damage; any bloodied creature that starts its turn in the aura instead takes 7 points of damage
HP 53; Bloodied 26
AC 15; Fortitude 15; Reflex 16; Will 15
Resist half damage from melee and ranged attacks; Vulnerable 10 to close and area attacks
Speed swim 8
---
[Melee basic] Swarm of Bites (standard; at will): +6 vs. AC; 1d12+3 damage. 

Blood Crazy: If one or more bloodied creatures are within 10 squares of it, the quipper swarm must attack the closest one. The quipper swarm gets +1 to attack rolls and +3 to damage against bloodied creatures with its swarm of bites. 
---
Alignment unaligned; Languages -
Str 8; Dex 18; Wis 14
Con 13; Int 2; Cha 10

***Just a quick reminder- Shifty looks pretty much like an older Herb Tarlick from WKRP in Cincinnati.


----------



## the Jester (May 3, 2010)

Note: I added the map of the starting area of the campaign to the first post. 

I'm finally starting to unpack my gaming stuff after months and months of having it boxed up. At last!!! I expect I'll start doing more regular story hour updates soon.


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## the Jester (May 11, 2010)

Our heroes sneak up to the barricade at the top of the stairs. They are noticed before they can climb over, and four of the five duergar in the chamber beyond rush to repel their advance. The final gray dwarf hangs back. He wears robes that have a religious look to them, and immediately begins incanting diabolically.

Karl fires a _magic missile_ at the theurge, but the duergar cackles maniacally as _vile fumes_ burst around our heroes, blinding several of them. 

From behind the barricade, the duergars guarding the entrance laugh as they swing their weapons. Cavemouth reels under the assault, but Shar's _healing words_ keep her standing- and fighting. Sepia, uncaught by the fumes, darts up and hurls a dagger into the theurge's chest with a _sly flourish_, leaving him grunting in pain. 

Shifty and Karl, blinded, hang back long enough for their eyes to clear. By then, Cavemouth has managed to clamber over the barricade, suffering two severe blows from duergar hammers as he does so. He lays about himself, swinging his axe in a wide arc, while Shar continues to feed him strength. 

Shifty, Sepia and Karl focus their attacks on the theurge in the back. Shifty hurls a shuriken, Sepia a dagger and Karl a volley of _magic missiles_. The theurge crumples. 

The other duergar blanch, suddenly caught between Cavemouth on one side and the barrier- and Shifty and Sepia- on the other. “It doesn't have to end this way for you!” calls Shar. “We don't want to fight you. We're here to talk! But if you keep attacking us, we will show you no mercy.”

The duergar, already demoralized, stand down- although they don't surrender. Shifty sighs. “God damn it. Why can't we just kill anything?”

***

Negotiations ensue, as is usual for this band of adventurers. Privately, even Shifty has to admit that Shar has a point. If they can achieve their goal and get the _Bell of Salash_ for the marid without violence, she will reward them all the same. Sure, there is potential loot from the duergar that the party will miss, but they also will miss a lot of potential trouble. _Evil, devil-worshiping dwarves are bound to have tunnels full of guardians, traps and probably even devils,_ he thinks. _Maybe it isn't such a terrible thing that we are missing that._

Shar explains to the duergar, “We're looking for a bell.”

“The _Bell of Salash_,” one of the duergar says immediately.

“You're a bright one,” the governess replies. “What's your name?”

“Tincup.” The duergar eyes her speculatively. “And what do we get in return?”

“Well, Tincup, if you can help us get the bell, we can avoid a lot of unpleasantness. 
As you can imagine, we are about to attack your home and lay waste to many of your people, but we'd prefer to avoid that. Why don't you take us to someone that can negotiate for your folk?”

The guard shakes his head. “We don't like outsiders,” he growls, “and we won't suffer them in our city.”

“If you're useless to us, we'll just kill you,” Shifty interjects (almost eagerly, one might think).

One of the other guards scowls and starts to heft his warhammer again. “Wait a minute,” Shar urges. “We can get back to fighting if you want, but it's still possible that we can talk this out. Can you bring someone to talk to us?”

Tincup and the guard that started to lift his hammer exchange a glance. They withdraw a few paces and have a quick conversation, then Tincup swaggers back towards the party. “I'll talk to you,” he declares. “What do you need the bell for, anyway?”

“There is a creature that your kind imprisoned. We want it to free her.”

“No,” says a third guard. The others are shaking their heads.

“If you free her,” Tincup states, “she will destroy my people. She will raise the water level to flood our tunnels and drown us like rats.”

“Maybe you deserve it for enslaving her,” Sepia retorts.

The duergar are scowling more direly again. Shar once more tries to smooth the negotiations. “My husband,” indicating Shifty, “and I are the new governors of the lands above this area. We can ensure that she leaves you in peace- we can extract an oath from her before we release her.”

“And if she refuses your oath?”

“Then we will not release her,” Shar pronounces. Cavemouth groans quietly. 

Again, the dour looks on the gray dwarves retreat until they show mere displeasure. “We must discuss your offer,” Tincup announces, and pulls his men back a few dozen feet to mutter amongst themselves in Dwarven.

“Think about it, brothers,” Tincup mutters. “If we steal the bell for these outsiders, we will undermine the authority of the Darkchain clan so much that we may be able to take the Thanedom from them!”

Another scowls back at him. “But think of the risks. If she were to flood the tunnels, we would all die.”

“Yet, if these surfacers can keep their word and force her to leave...”

“Just imagine,” his eldest brother Zelthug says, “our father on the throne!” _And then before long, it would be my turn!_

“A bold scheme,” Gravel, the youngest of the four of them, nods. “Can we secure the bell?”

“You are young,” Tincup drawls. “You do not yet know of the Gray Ways. We shall show you, brother.” _And we will make an offering of Zelthug to Lucifer, that he may bless our undertaking- and that I will be the oldest left alive to succeed our father._

The duergar return to our heroes. “You still have not told us what you offer us.”

“We'll leave you in peace,” Shifty replies.

“You don't understand our power,” Cavemouth says. “We tore up your theurge very quickly. Just imagine what we could do to the rest of you!” The goliath glowers fiercely at the gray dwarves.

A long-suffering look on her face, Shar adds, “We're the governors of the lands above you. We can open up many possibilities with trade for you. Failing that, we can also help insure your privacy.”

The duergar guards mutter amongst themselves again for a moment. Finally, Tincup nods. “Very well. We will gain the _Bell of Salash_ for you, but only if you can obtain an oath from the marid that she will leave us in peace.”

“Fair enough,” agrees Shar. 

“But if you cross us, or fail to deliver,” Shifty threatens, “we'll finish you like we did your friend.”

Tincup shows his gritty teeth again.

***

The marid is easy enough to persuade. Though she freely admits that she would prefer to gain her vengeance against the duergar that used her for so long, she is rather philosophical about the whole thing. Better freedom and writing off her revenge than continued imprisonment, she agrees.

The wererats happily take the party's “entrance fee” each time they go to see her. Their purple dragon companion (? pet? master?) perches on high rocks and keeps a lofty, arrogant eye on the party.

Back down to the duergar, where Shar announces that the marid has agreed to their terms. Tincup nods decisively and says, “We'll have the bell for you in a day.”

“We'll just camp here, then,” replies Shifty.

“Out of the question!” barks another of the duergar guards.

“Leave,” Tincup demands. “Leave and come back.”

“We'll keep an eye on things here,” insists Shifty.

“Then the deal is off.” Tincup and his men reach for their weapons.

“Hold on!” protests Shar. “Wait, wait- we can live with this.” She draws Shifty away. “I think they want to get rid of us because there is a secret door to their home in this room,” she murmurs.  “They don't want outsiders in, so we have to leave or else they have to reveal the way in to their home to us.”

“Which, practically speaking, they just did,” adds Karl.

Shar returns to the duergar. “All right,” she says. “We'll be back in twelve hours.”

Tincup grins a nasty, gray-toothed grin. “We'll see you then.”

As the party leaves, Cavemouth quietly points out, “We could have just given them time to set a trap for us, to gather reinforcements and stuff.”

“Sure,” agrees Shifty, “but if they try anything, we'll kill them.”

***

But Tincup and his men are true to their words. Twelve hours later, when the party goes to see them, they have the _Bell of Salash._ Our heroes depart without any further violence, although each side is ready for treachery from the other, and return to the pool imprisoning Katimah the marid above.

She swims to just below the icy surface of her prison. Her eyes widen as she takes in the sight of the bell that promises her freedom. “You did it!” she exclaims.

“Yes,” says Shifty. “But before we free you, you must swear to do no harm to the duergar below.”

Katimah does not hesitate for even an instant. “I so swear,” she cries. “Free me, I beg of you!”

Despite her reservations, Shar rings the bell.

Immediately, the layer of ice at the top of the pool begins to crack. Jagged edge and blue, a web of ruptures begins to tear the layer apart. In the water below, Katimah gives a great cry and rushes upward, slamming into the ice.

In an explosion of water and slush, the marid breaks free.

Laughing, she swirls around the chamber in a rush of water. Our heroes are staggered by the force of it, and several are almost swept away; then there is a sound like a great wave roaring, and Katimah is gone, leaving behind only an echoing, fading “Thank you...”

The floor is wet and a few flecks of sea foam cling here and there, to the rocks or to our heroes. But the pool is now empty save for a remnant of water a few inches deep. The marid, it seems, has gone- somewhere. Home? 

Home. What a great idea. And for now, at least, home is the Governor's Tower.

Our heroes begin their ascent, heading back towards home.

_*Next Time:*_ The invasion of Woodcut! Ambushed by druids! A daring rescue! Who will our heroes negotiate with next??


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## the Jester (May 12, 2010)

Back at the Governor's Tower- which is still in quite the state of disrepair- our heroes take stock of their wealth (considerable, for a group of peasants, but less so for a government) and the magic items that they have. This list is actually more impressive:


Shar has an _amulet of health +2_ and a _potion of healing_.
Cavemouth has a _+1 poisoned longspear_ and an _amulet of defense +1_, as well as a longspear made of glass as hard as steel that the group picked up from one of the duergar rooms they explored.
Shifty has a _fire beetle potion_, a _+1 subtle shortsword_ and a suit of leather armor that the group has been as yet unable to identify.
Karlinden has the party's _bag of holding_.
Kane has a _+1 quick greataxe_, a _potion of healing_ and _bracers of the blinding strike._

Poor Sepia, it appears, has been shorted on magic items so far. The party resolves to fix this at the first available opportunity, further noting that Karl's only magic item is really a party item. 

The afternoon is pleasant. Though not quite summer yet (it is early May), the weather is getting warm and muggy. As the shadows grow long some clouds roll in, making the evening cool and pleasant.

Until the messenger arrives.

He is tired and haggard from a hard day and a half on the road. He has come from Woodcut with word of an invasion.

***

“A band of mercenaries,” the man says after our heroes have given him water and refreshments. “I don't know why they came, but they rode in and took over Woodcut. They...” He hesitates briefly, swallowing through a throat suddenly thick. “They made examples out of a couple of people who spoke up.”

“Who are they?” demands Shifty. “What do they want? How many of them are there?”

The messenger shrugs helplessly. “I- I am sorry, my lord, but I really don't know. I'm no military man- there were many of them, too many for us to fight. Several dozen, at least, armed with a variety of weapons- swords, javelins, spears...”

“Did they have a banner or sign?” Kane asks. 

“They did, sir. They rode under the sign of two crossed javelins.”

Kane rubs his chin. Shar coughs. 

“It's the Double Javelins,” she sighs. “Not good.”

“The Double Javelins?” asks Cavemouth.

Kane grimaces. Shar says, “I wonder what he's after.”

“He who?” asks Shifty.

“Thannix,” she answers.

“He's the leader of the Double Javelins,” Kane explains. “A fierce fighter. He's got orcish blood. I wouldn't want to fight him one on one.”

If _Kane_ wouldn't want to cross swords with this man... Shifty frowns in thought. 

“We can't let this stand,” Cavemouth says. “We can take a couple of dozen mercenaries...”

“If it's the Double Javelins,” Kane states, “there are probably more like a hundred of them.”

“Why would they make a move like this?” wonders Cavemouth. “What is in Woodcut?”

“Not much,” Karl replies. “Lots of lumberjacks and foresters. A few trappers. No sites of real interest, no real wealth...”

“I don't get it,” mutters Kane. 

“It could be a staging area,” Sepia suggests.

“If he's not after Woodcut,” Kane says slowly, “then he's after something else. Something _bigger._ But what?”

“Whatever it is, I just realized something else,” says Shar. “Bishop Ulric is supposed to be taking a census of our towns.”

“That might complicate things,” admits Sepia. “Especially if he gets captured.”

“Or,” adds Karl, “decides that we're too weak to hold onto the governorship.”

“Well,” Shifty sighs, “we aren't going to get answers out here in the middle of nowhere. In the morning, we should head back towards Overland. We'll be closer to Woodcut and we can establish some defenses there, in case this Thannix is crazy enough to take us on.”

“Yeah,” Kane says, “he would have to be crazy to take the six of us on with a trained mercenary army.”

“I wish you hadn't put it that way,” grumbles Sepia.

***

In Overland, our heroes set to building what defensive force they can. They hire a veteran soldier named Lentor as their recruiter and leave him with a bag of 240 copper pieces to use as bait. 

“I'll get you your recruits, my lord, my lady,” he assures the governors. 

“Tell them we'll pay triple the standard rate,” Shifty proclaims grandiosely.

Leaving Overland in the care of Cavemouth's dwarven deputy, Dugan, our heroes set out towards Woodcut to scout out the situation and, hopefully, gain some more solid information. Nothing against the farmer that brought them word of the invasion, but they definitely need to know what kind of numbers they are up against in order to plan their defense. “We should go to the ruins of Thrushton afterwards,” Shifty says. “We don't really have the money to pay an army yet, but we need to get it together quickly. And thanks to your negotiations, we aren't supposed to go back into the duergar area.”

“Sounds fine,” Shar says, pointedly ignoring her husband's pointed statements.

The afternoon presses its moist heat on them like a wet washcloth. Not summer yet? Well, it's starting to feel like summer. Sepia hums cheerfully as the group moves along; of them all, only her tiefling heritage allows her to be undisturbed by the heat. Before long they elect to leave the road at Kane's urging, sticking to the concealment of the undergrowth nearby. As he points out, the Double Javelins are bound to have scouts and watchers out.

And then, suddenly, elves are all around them, bows at the ready, faces grim and silent.

Our heroes come to a rather sudden halt. 

A voice calls out from somewhere in the brush. “Halt! Go no further!”

“Who are you?” calls Shar.

“You see?” Shifty says. “_This_ is when we negotiate- when elves come out to attack us. Not devil-worshiping dwarves.”

“Where are the crystals?” the voice calls back.

Our heroes heave a collective groan.

“We've already told you people,” Shar yells, “we gave it to a dwarf that claimed to be a druid named Nom.”

After a moment of silence, “We know no Nom.”

“Of course not!” exclaims Cavemouth. “That might not be his name, and he might not be a druid- he might have lied to us all along. We don't know. We didn't know who he was, we just knew that the crystals were bad news getting worse and he offered to take them off of our hands.”

“We may have been deceived,” Shar says.

After another hesitation, the hidden speaker replies, “You have cost the lives of several of my friends.”

“Unfortunately, your friends attacked us,” snaps Shifty. “We haven't picked any fights with any of you. First that guy Novak tricked us into helping him retrieve the crystals, then he turned on us and tried to kill us. After we took him out, it's been one thing after another. But the main thing is this: we were tricked all along. We're sorry if we killed your good fairy friends or whatever, but we were just defending ourselves.”

For a dozen heartbeats the only sound is the singing of the birds and the rustling of the leaves. Finally, the voice speaks again. “I believe you. Very well. We shall attempt to find this Nom. I shall bother you no more.” The elves begin to fade back into the woods. 

“Wait,” Shar urges. “Before you go, tell us- who was Novak?”

“Seek your answers in Dasserc,” the voice says, as the branches close behind the last of the elves.

***

Dasserc is a tiny village on neither a road nor a river. It is isolated and backwards- even moreso than everything else in the area. It is also somewhere around 30 miles out of the way from Woodcut.

“There's probably no money there anyway,” Shifty opines. “I say we stick to the plan. We need some loot to pay troops with. We need to go to the ruins of Thrushton.”

Karl nods. “I agree that the odds of getting meaningful treasure are much higher in Thrushton.”

“But we're still scouting out the situation in Woodcut first, right?” asks Cavemouth.

“Definitely,” replies Shifty.

***

Shifty is sneaky enough that he manages to creep up close enough to the outlying farms to observe the situation, which amounts to 'the Double Javelins have seized Woodcut and are forcing the peasants to work the fields'. He pretty much already knew that, though. 

Shifty observes carefully, picking both the right place- a series of bushes and trees adjacent to the farm furthest from town that is still being directly overseen- and the right moment- when the overseer in question in at his most helpless, squatting to answer nature's call with his pants around his ankles. A quick draw of a knife across the throat and he isn't calling a warning to anyone. Swiftly, Shifty gestures to the farmer in the fields.

“Psst!” he calls. The farmer looks up, surprised. 

“My lord!” he exclaims in surprise. Shifty realizes that the fellow is one of the representatives that Woodcut had appointed to talk to the party previously, and after a moment, he comes up with a name.

“Bradford,” the gnome says gravely, “come with me. I've slain the overseer here- you need to get out of there, and we need information.”

Bradford gives a fierce grin. “Yes, my lord!” he cries.

_*Next Time:*_ What will happen to poor Bradford when our heroes (and he) are ambushed in the night?


----------



## the Jester (May 13, 2010)

Bradford frowns as he walks with our heroes. His farm is lost- he knows that leaving it behind will end with his fields burnt by the Double Javelins- but he is free! 

His frown turns to a grin. He made the right decision when he decided to support the new governors. For his trouble, he has been made Imperial Foreman- but far more importantly, _they came for him when there was trouble._ Loyalty, never before felt for the “government” (what government?), burns hot in his chest. _As long as I live, my lord and my lady, I am your man._

That night he is awoken from a sound sleep by a horrible yipping, barking noise. Fear paralyzes him for a moment. Then the sound of fighting reaches him.

Struggling to his feet in the darkness, he can see a group of tall, hyena-headed humanoids slashing and clubbing all around them. A lump crawls up his throat. His friends- his lord and lady and their companions- are they being slaughtered??

Then hot blood splashes him as a gnoll's head, severed from the rest of the gnoll by a mighty blow from Kane, flies past him, bouncing into the darkness, and Bradford grips his courage in both hands. As they came through for him- and far more directly, far more immediately, than he could have ever expected- he will come through for them. 

Bradford stoops down and gropes in the darkness until he finds a rock about the size of an orange. He waits until the smaller silhouettes around one of the gnolls are out of the way- and he throws. 

*CRACK!*

The gnoll staggers. Bradford hears Shifty cry out, “What the hell? Was that _Bradford??_”

“Go Bradford!” cheers Shar, before unleashing a _daunting light_ that sears the gnoll. It staggers, off-balance, and Shifty slides the tip of his _subtle shortsword_ into the back of its knee. The gnoll falls with a howl.

Amazed at his success- the only rocks that he's thrown before were to skip them across Fan's Pond- Bradford pulls another rock. Then cocks an eye as Kane hurls his battle axe into a gnoll's chest.

***

“Can you believe it?” exclaims Cavemouth. The goliath claps Bradford on the back. “He's practically a fighter himself!”

“I don't know about that,” the foreman demurs, clearly embarrassed.

“You were a great help,” Shifty beams at him, shaking his hand. “But next time, maybe we can make sure that you have a weapon to use.”

“...next time?”*

***

As our heroes continue their journey towards the ruined city of Thrushton, they find some interesting tracks. 

“These are from some kind of bird,” Cavemouth says as he studies them, squatting on his haunches. “A _big_ bird.”

“As big as the one that Bishop Ulric was riding?”

Cavemouth nods. Karl says, “I think it's possible that this is him. He may have seen signs of the trouble in Woodcut and decided to avoid it.”

“It's probably the wiser course of action,” nods Shifty. “All right. Let's follow him. Maybe the Count D'Aara can provide us with some troops to take back Woodcut with.”

The trail heads towards Thrushton's ruins, meaning that following it doesn't slow our heroes' progress towards the remains of the city. As they approach the outlying rubble, Karl points at the sky. “Look at that!” he exclaims. In the sky is some sort of large winged creature. The wizard squints at it. “It looks kind of leonine,” he mutters. 

“What do you think it is?” asks Cavemouth. “You're our monster expert.”

“It's hard to tell at this distance,” the wizard responds. “It could be any number of things- a griffon, a manticore, a sphinx... in any case, we probably want to avoid it for now.”

“It has a spiky tail,” Shar says, peering at the flying figure with her keen elven eyes.

“It's probably a manticore, then,” Karl nods. And he repeats, “We probably want to avoid it.”

The party tries to stay near cover as they move further into Thrushton. Soon enough the manticore swoops down on something elsewhere in the ruins and is out of sight. It does not reappear any time soon, but our heroes keep a nervous eye on the sky.

With their attention distracted from the ground, they are easily ambushed.

First a pair of giant black centipedes crawl from a pile of rotting wood and attack. Each is the size of a full-grown man's leg. As our heroes focus their attention on this new threat, forming lines to defend the less melee-inclined of their number, the _true_ ambush springs: a pair of bandits, apparently thinking our heroes to be easy money, attack from the flanks. 

Once again Bradford proves his worth, firing the short bow our heroes gave him and giving a good account of himself. Even when one of the bandits runs him through, Shar manages to save his life with an almost immediate _healing word._

Kane hews the giant centipedes in half, and soon the party has dispatched one of the bandits and taken the other prisoner. 

“Are there more of you?” demands Shifty.

The party's captive groans her answer out. “There are, elsewhere in the ruins. About a dozen altogether. And there are other groups of bandits, too.”

“What else is in here?” asks Cavemouth. 

“I don't know... all kinds of monsters, I guess...”

“Where are the other bandit groups?” 

“I don't know about the other ones, just ours...”

“You're going to talk,” the goliath sneers, glowering at the elf. He slaps  her. She gasps.

“I'm telling you all I know,” she answers, shaken. “Ask me anything, just let me go!”

“We'll see about that,” Shifty declares. “You've engaged in banditry. No doubt you have robbed and perhaps killed many people here.”

“Not many as such,” she prevaricates.

Cavemouth knocks her to the ground, and the prisoner cries out. Bradford shifts his feet uncomfortably. 

And then things get _really_ ugly, as Cavemouth shows his true colors.

***

The elf curls up in a ball after it's over. Everyone is staring at Cavemouth. In the heat of the moment, the sheriff had ignored Shifty's commands to stop, but nobody had actually interfered. Still... 

“You're a terrible sheriff,” snaps the gnome angrily. “She already told us what she knew.  What were you hoping to accomplish?”

Cavemouth shrugs. “I don't know... I didn't really believe her.”

“You idiot,” growls Shifty, staring up at Cavemouth's half-glazed eyes. He turns to the elf, who is crying softly. “Go,” he barks. “Get out of here. Find a real living, one that doesn't prey on other people. If we find you doing this again, we'll kill you.”

Cavemouth says, “Wait a second, we should-”

“Shut. Up. Go, girl.”

Cavemouth shuts up and the elf pulls herself up on shaky legs. As quickly as she is able, she staggers away. 

Shifty glares at Cavemouth again.

***

The tracks of Bishop Ulric's terror bird lead into an old warehouse in the ruin. Even a cursory search quickly turns up a teleport circle and no signs of any tracks leaving the area. 

“Well, it looks like we know what happened to him, if not where he went,” Karl comments.

“Sorcery,” says Kane direly.

“Yep, sorcery,” agrees Shar. “He must have used a teleportation ritual to flee, probably back towards the coast or wherever it is that the Count D'Aara is.”

“Well, we can't follow him, so let's do what we're here for in the first place,” suggests Shifty. Which, of course, is looking for loot. This task amounts to searching through ruined buildings in the hopes of finding something of worth or interest. Unfortunately, this is not a quick process, as the majority of the ruined buildings are empty or have already been looted of anything of real value.

However, after a few hours, the party finds a large building that is still reasonably intact, and when they venture downstairs into the basement they find a group of small humanoids wrapped in black rags. Karl immediately recognizes them as dark creepers, but before he can as much as announce that they are probably hostile, the clash has already begun. The dark creepers have a pet beetle that spits masses of sticky goo, entangling several of our heroes for a good part of the fight. But Karl is perfectly able to fire off _scorching bursts_ from the bank ranks, catching two or more of the bad guys at a time, while Shar and Bradford fire arrows and Shifty, Cavemouth and Kane close to melee and use impressive teamwork to slice down the enemies quickly and efficiently.

After the fight is over, our heroes find that a crude staircase has been dug out of the floor, heading yet further into the ground. “This looks better than anything we've seen so far,” Shifty says with a satisfied nod. 

The party descends. After about 20', they come into a central chamber with three passages heading out of it. One has the look of a new excavation, perhaps some kind of mine. Another ends in a door swollen shut by moisture. The final one leads into a chamber with several tables and stools- and another pair of dark creepers. 

But this time, when our heroes rush to the attack, things don't go so well. 

_*Next Time:*_ Death of a pc!


*You might be thinking to yourself, “Hey, is this Bradford guy a new pc?” No, but he has turned into a fairly important npc and sometimes traveling companion for our heroes. At first I just assumed that he was dead meat and treated him as a minion, but eventually I upgraded him to a level 1 skirmisher. And then he started leveling up. I thought about using companion character rules, but his combat style demanded a more unique treatment.


----------



## the Jester (May 17, 2010)

The problem lies in killing them.

Each time one of the dark creepers is slain, it explodes into a cloud of inky blackness. Earlier, there was room to fight the creepers from a distance, but now the explosions of darkness leave our heroes blind and helpless, flailing about with their hands as if clutching the air might somehow help defeat their enemies.

Of course, it doesn't.

For all intents and purposes, Cavemouth and Shifty stand alone*, fighting back to back as another dark creeper emerges from a shadowy passage in the back of the chamber. This figure pauses to study the situation before drawing a pair of wicked knives and beginning a _dark dance_ through the party, slicing them with vicious efficiency. 

But Cavemouth's huge axe quickly carves the head from one of the creepers, and Shifty duels the other to a standstill. Even so, the newcomer is clearly more dangerous than the other two, able to twist and dodge away from our heroes' attacks with deadly skill. In seconds, both Cavemouth and Shifty have several small wounds open and bleeding, and the dark creeper sneers at them soundlessly. 

Then, with a gesture, it summons a quartet of crawling gauntlets.

“Uh-oh,” says Shifty.

The gauntlets race towards our heroes on stiff fingers, leaping up to punch at them. Shifty impales one on his sword as it closes; Cavemouth manages to hew a second one in half, but the final gauntlets latch onto the goliath's knee and starts twisting and crushing. Cavemouth tries to move, but it yanks his leg down, leaving him unable to catch his balance. 

The dark creeper necromancer, meanwhile, dances to cut off any possible retreat, then lunges forward with a _dark step,_ thrusting his knives into Cavemouth's thigh and side! The goliath bellows in agony, weakening as the creeper withdraws the knives and then brings them both slashing across his belly.

The goliath collapses, his innards billowing forth like a cloud of steam.

_Oh sh*t,_ thinks the gnome governor. 

The claws scuttle towards him and the two dark creepers start edging around to flank him. He keeps a close eye on the dancing one that just dropped Cavemouth.

_They're between me and Cavemouth,_ thinks Shifty. _I can't get to him without them catching me pretty well between them._ He backs away towards the passage that the dark creeper necromancer emerged from. _Hopefully he would have brought any friends he had with him,_ he thinks. _Maybe there's an escape route or something..._ 

As the necromancer takes another step forward, Shifty wheels about and bursts into a run, darting down the passage that leads- he presumes- into the necromancer's lair.

His guess is incorrect. The very short hallway opens after only about 10' into a block of cells. 

There is no other way out. Shifty's heart sinks.

He turns as his foes come into view, and he lunges forward, running one of the gauntlets through. It spasms, impaled on his sword, and even as the gnome withdraws his blade, the other gauntlet hurls itself through the air at him.

Shifty throws himself down, rolls, comes up on his feet. The crawling gauntlet scuttles around and begins heading towards him again. 

The dark creeper, followed by the dark creeper necromancer, comes into view. 

“Hey!” cries a voice from the cells. “Who are you?” 

“Free us!” cries another. “Please, help us!”

Shifty's eyes widen in surprise. There is no mistaking those voices for anything else. 

There are _gnomes_ imprisoned here!

Shifty is desperate. He is alone, outnumbered, with the dark creeper necromancer proving extremely dangerous. He realizes that, unless something changes immediately, he is as good as dead.

Instead of attacking, he swiftly draws out his thieves' tools and sets to work on the first gnome's cell. Behind him, the two dark creepers gnash their teeth silently and move forward.

_Click!_ The cell door unlocks. _That's one,_ he thinks with satisfaction. There is only one other occupied cell, but before he can reach it, the gauntlet leaps for him again and the first dark creeper rushes him. The governor is forced to defend himself with all his might, fending off a series of blows from his attackers with a series of parries that leaves his wrist aching and results in another knife wound from the dark creeper necromancer's damned _dark dance._

_Wham!!_ The cell door crashes into the creeper and the gnome within leaps out, wrestling with him over his dagger. Shifty thrusts at the necromancer, scoring a wound- not quite first blood on him, but he's still not significantly hurt- and then leaping to the other inhabited cell. A glance back reveals that the gnome has overpowered the dark creeper, but the crawling gauntlet springs onto his face, gouging for his eyes! The necromancer closes in too, his daggers a blur.

_Don't think about that,_ Shifty thinks. _Focus on the lock._ He works his tools, trying to trick the tumblers within the lock.

_Click._

“Excellent, my friend!” cries the gnome within. “And I have no need for weapons!” 

The necromancer dances between all three of them, wounding them all; but both Shifty and the first gnome fart invisibility at the cut and reappear a moment later, striking for the vitals. The last gnome- the one that claims no need of weapons- begins to mutter and chant, making strange arcane passes in the air, and creates an area of _illusory terrain_ that moves and shakes, slowing the necromancer.

Shifty allows himself a moment of satisfaction as he impales the last gauntlet. Suddenly the dark creeper necromancer is the one that is alone, and it doesn't seem to like it. Shifty and the knife fighting gnome press it, and in another moment, the necromancer breaks and flees. 

Both Shifty and the gnome with the dagger are badly wounded, and the arcanist is bleeding from a bad slice across the arm and shoulder. Rather than attempting to pursue, Shifty groans and says, “Follow me this way, to the surface. I have friends there. We'll be safe.”

They file out of the cell block warily. Cavemouth lies unmoving and bone-white in a huge pool of blood. Shifty checks for a pulse; there is nothing. He purses his lips. _Strange,_ he thinks. _I'm sad to see him go, even after what he did to that elf. Yet on the other hand, I'm relieved that it will save us the trouble of deciding what to do with him._ The gnome shuts his dead companion's eyes and then leads his freed folk to the party's camp. 

***

The gnomes are named Lymock (the arcanist) and Mendore (the self-described “skulk”). They are profoundly grateful for their freedom. As they are gnomes, there is a lot of communication that passes between them and Shifty 'below the surface', so to speak, leaving the rest of our heroes somewhat baffled and out of context. 

That's okay by the gnomes, of course. 

Everybody knows that gnomes pull the unseen strings behind the scenes in areas such as finance and trade. Everybody knows that there are vast gnomish conspiracies that spread unseen over incredible distances. Everyone else is sure that Shifty, Mendore and Lymock are conspiring. Yet nothing is said on the surface; no obvious signs of the gnomish conspiracy are evident. 

Which, of course, is all the more evidence that it is there.

“After we rest,” says Shifty, “we'll escort you to safety.”

“We know there are some dangerous beasts, such as a manticore, in the city ruins,” adds Karl. “We'd hate to rescue you only to have you get killed before you get out of Thrushton!”

“Thank you,” replies Lymock. He beams at them. “If not for your help, I don't know what would have happened!”

“We would've gotten away,” opines Mendore.

He and Shifty share a grin.

“Where do you need to go?” asks the governor gnome.

“Well, if you can get us to the place where the Goldwash and the Troll River branch, we should be fine.” Lymock winks at Shifty. “We don't even actually need to leave the ruins.”

“Do you live there or something?” asks Karl.

“We'll be fine there,” repeats the gnome arcanist opaquely, and Shifty nods brusquely. 

“Of course,” he says, cutting off Karl. “We'll be happy to escort you.”

Damn gnomish conspiracies.

***

They set up camp in an overgrown park. Their fire is small enough to avoid drawing attention from anyone far away.

Despite that, as they sit around the fire eating stew and nursing mugs of small beer, a voice comes out of the night. “Your pardon, kind sirs. May I join you?”

A figure follows the voice, resolving into a shadowy figure clad in shadowy clothes. A spiked chain is hung at her belt. She looks human at a glance, although in the poor lighting, it is hard to tell for certain.

“Who are you?” demands Shifty. “What are you doing here?”

“My name is Lithieln Silvercord,” the stranger replies. “I am after a group of bandits here in the ruins- there is a bounty on their leader, you see.”

“Really,” replies Shifty. “How much of a bounty?” 

“Twenty-five gold pieces,” the shadowy woman replies gravely. 

“Well, you're welcome to share our fire tonight,” Karl says. “We're actually looking for treasure here too. Maybe we can help each other out.”

“We did just lose a... meat shield,” Shifty adds.

Lithieln laughs and moves up next to the fire, giving a cat-like stretch as she takes in the warmth. “I am not that,” she says. “I prefer to fight in a more... subtle fashion.” As she speaks, the shadows seem to flow around her like a cloak. “Nonetheless, I believe that I can be of assistance to you- and these ruins are more dangerous than I had anticipated. So far I have remained unseen, and I have tracked my targets down; but to do the rest of my work, I cannot simply hide.”

“Fair enough,” Shifty declares. “We'll try you out and see how you do.”

***

The escort to the river's branching takes several hours of tromping through the ruin, during which the party is attacked by a flight of giant wasps whose bodies are the size of a large dog's. Karl knows all too well how these things operate: sting and paralyze you, then implant eggs inside your body. When they hatch, the grubs eat you from within. An ugly fate that none of our heroes (nor either of their gnomish allies) wishes to face. Fortunately, the wizard's fire magic proves able to burn their wings away, and the gnomish trio slices and bedazzles the giant insects to death without any serious tragedies striking.

Their newfound companion shows some interesting abilities. She seems to be able to form shadows into a noose and yank enemies around with it. She also can hurls darts of shadow. It's a very interesting set of tricks, and Karl recognizes it as the signature of an assassin- trained by the secretive Grey Brothers, the assassins are masters of powers drawn from the Shadowfell, the dark mirror of the world and a home of the dead.

_I suppose it's better to have her where we can watch her rather than wandering around on her own,_ the wizard thinks. _Still, such powers aren't entirely... wholesome._ 

Soon enough the party and their gnomish friends part ways. To all appearances, the gnomes are simply hanging out in a rubble-choked area overgrown with creepers and large bushes. Shifty leads the party away, whistling as he does so. 

“Where were those guys going?” asks Karl.

“Home,” replies Shifty. “A gnomish community usually passes unseen by other folk.”

“But where...”

“Don't worry about it,” Shifty says. “It passes unseen on purpose.”

“But the ruins are very dangerous,” Karl objects.

“We got them to safety,” Shifty declares. “Don't worry about the rest.”

***

The party goes towards the area that the manticore seems to like to fly around in, then finds a fairly intact building big enough for Bradford, Shifty's mule and Kane's horse. Then they creep a little closer- close enough to confirm that the beast in question is, in fact, a manticore. 

“I don't think we want to fight this thing at this stage in our careers,” Karl opines. “It will tear us to pieces. And what if it has a mate or something?”

“Good point,” agrees Shifty.

“Why don't we take out the bandit I'm here for?” suggests Lithieln.** The others agree: 25 gp isn't much of a reward (and who is offering said reward, anyway?), but the bandits might have some loot, too. Very quickly the party agrees on the typical adventurers' contract (equal shares all around), and then Lithieln leads them towards her targets. 

“There are about half a dozen bandits,” she tells the party. “I could sneak in and assassinate their leader, but the odds are very good that I would then be discovered, and if I couldn't escape, I don't think I could fight my way through that many foes at once.”

“Thus you need our help,” states Kane. 

“Exactly.”

The bandits have taken over a two-storey building not far from a section of street clogged with ruined wagons- probably robbed and abandoned there. Two javelineers are on the roof; the rest, presumably, are within the building.

Our heroes storm it, Kane leading the way. They have a few moments of surprise before the javelins start to rain down from above, which they put to good use; Kane smashes through the front door completely. 

The fight is quick and brutal. The bandits don't have a chance, between the savagery of Kane, the slyness and subtlety of Shifty and Lithieln and the spells of Karl and Shar. In only a few short moments, our heroes have overwhelmed their foes. They take one captive and Lithieln removes the head of their captain and puts it in a bag. (*25 gold pieces,* man!)

“I couldn't help but notice that they were using javelins,” Shifty observes.

“Yeah,” says Kane. “I recognize one of them.”

“What are you talking about?” the assassin asks.

“These men,” Kane explains, “work for the Double Javelins, a band of free companions that both Shar and I used to work with. They have recently seized one of the towns under the governors' protection.”

“But what would they be doing here?” wonders Kane. 

“That's why we took one alive,” Kane replies. “And we don't need Cavemouth to rape him to get information out of him. I'll take care of it.”

“Not only that,” Shifty adds, “he probably actually _has_ some information this time.”

_*Next Time:*_ What are the Double Javelins after? Longtime Cydra readers, enjoy the return of the clockwork horrors!


*This session we started with only the two of the pcs present and playing. Normally we have a quorum of three players, but we were itchin' to get started and everyone else was behind schedule (or unavailable), so...

**...who almost immediately gained the nickname “Lithium” because it wasn't inconveniently difficult to pronounce. Much like Cavemouth's real name was difficult to pronounce.


----------



## the Jester (May 19, 2010)

There is a story that some of the Double Javelins tell at times- a story about the time that a captured brigand outrider tried not to tell the warriors that caught him where his fellow brigands were.

The story relates some of the brutal techniques that the team of Double Javelins, led by a young, proud, violent man named Kane used. By the time their captive gave up the information that they wanted, it was too late for him to ever recover without supernatural help. The grim enthusiasm that young Kane had shown had gone a long way towards establishing his reputation as a man that should not be crossed. Later indiscretions in the local taverns had further cemented that reputation with a thick mortar of blood and gore.

Is it any wonder, then, that when he sees Kane cracking his knuckles and smiling darkly, the Double Javelin prisoner that our heroes have obtained doesn't even try to hold out? 

After all, why wait until he doesn't have any fingers left?

He tells the party everything that they want to hear- or rather, what they _need_ to hear.

“Thannix sent us to find something,” he explains. “A... a weapon.”

“What kind of weapon?” demands Kane. 

“I don't exactly know. He said we would know it when we see it. We were to look for crystals on it. But it's... ancient.” 

_Crystals,_ thinks Shifty. _Those damn crystals again._

“What do you mean, ancient?” asks Karl.

The Double Javelins shrugs helplessly, then blanches as Kane starts to move towards him. “I can show you as far as we got looking for it,” he says quickly. “We- we had directions. There's a... a metal road. Underground.”

Our heroes exchange glances.

“I can take you there. We hadn't found the weapon yet... but it's down that roadway somewhere, off a side passage. Are... are you going to let me go?”

“If you are cooperative enough,” says Shar, “we'll spare you.”

“But you aren't going back to the Double Javelins,” adds Shifty. “Try that, and we'll kill you for sure.”

The heroes draw off to the side to talk about this new intelligence. It is plain that the weapon, whatever it may be, is a direct danger to their dominion. Thannix has already proven that his intentions are hostile by seizing Woodcut; with an ancient weapon powered by those strange crystals, who knows what kind of danger he would present? Clearly, the party must stop him from obtaining it.

“And what about you?” Shar asks their newest companion, Lithieln. “If you'd care to join us on this mission, we'd be happy to have you, continuing our arrangement.”

“I have to admit, you have aroused my curiosity with all this talk of metal roads and ancient weapons,” the assassin responds. “I'll come, at least for the moment.”

***

Their captive, true to his word, leads them through the ruins until they reach a passage from an old basement that descends into the earth. Clearly artificial, it is supported by rotting timbers. It is just wide enough for two of them to walk abreast. Karl and one of Shar's sunrods light their way. After less than an eighth of a mile, the passage abruptly spills into a much wider, perpendicular passage, also clearly artificial. And, yes, the ground is lined in metal.

Shifty turns to the Double Javelin. “All right, you've played it straight so far,” he says. “Which way is the weapon?”

“We were told to head to the right once we reached it. But the side passage is some ways distant, and the tunnel may be stalked by monsters.”

Shar nods. “Very well. You have done all that we asked, and so we will honor our words as well. You may go. But if you return to the Double Javelins, we will show you no mercy.”

“Neither will Thannix,” adds Kane with a smirk, “since you have failed him.”

The mercenary's face goes pale. “As you say,” he mumbles at last, and then turns and hurries away, back towards the surface.

“All right,” says Shar then, “everyone be on guard. Let's go.”

They begin to progress down the metal roadway. It is clearly a roadway, with strange tracks in the ground in places. The sides have raised railings, although in places falling rocks or other events over the millenia have knocked parts of the railing away. Nonetheless, in many area near the railing there are series of hieroglyphics or pictographs of some kind. They seem to depict a society run by cat-folk of some kind.

“This might be a relic of the Miloxi Empire,” Karl says. “A very old empire of a race called the tabaxi- basically cat people. The crystals imply that, too.”

The move along for hours. The roadway does indeed prove to have creatures haunting it; at one point, the party is attacked by a diseased, garotte-wielding humanoid. As they battle, a collection of weird, incorporeal things that look like floating, tentacled pancakes moves in to feed off of the energy of the fight, attempting to eat the thoughts of our heroes as well. But the party has learned to work together by now; they quickly cut their enemies down and move on, although Shar comes down with a mild case of the meazels from the fight. 

Finally, after another hour and a half, they come to a metal door to the side.

“This is probably it,” says Shar. 

“Let's find out,” says Kane, pushing the door open. It swings open soundlessly, and the ceiling of the dark chamber before them starts to glow, dimly at first and then brightening. 

The room revealed has two doors leading from it; but far more interesting, there is a panel covered with switches, buttons and levers. Little lights on it are flickering to life. Unfortunately our heroes have no time to take the scene in- for a pair of mechanical beasts, shaped like pumas, rush forward to attack. 

Immediately, Kane strides to meet them, his axe whistling as he swings it into one of the leaping clockwork constructs with a metallic clang, knocking it back. Then he advances towards the other while the first scrambles back to its feet. 

Karl zaps both of the cat-things with a _scorching burst_ while Shar, Lithieln and Shifty follow hot on Kane's heels. A sudden racheting sound catches Shar's ears, and she watches in horror as four hatches in the ceiling sphincter open, releasing long metal tentacles crackling with electricity. “Look out!” she cries.

_*WHAM!*_ Shifty is smacked hard and flies back into the wall with a yelp. He struggles back to his feet even as the cat-constructs bound towards him. Fortunately, Kane is there, and he swings his axe at the already wounded thing, dealing severe damage to it. Shifty follows this up with an expert thrust that transfixes the machine. Oil and smoke pour out of it and a strange burning smell* wafts up.

The other clockwork puma gathers itself to spring, but Lithieln grabs its shadow and jerks it off its feet. It struggles to right itself, but Karl blasts it with a _magic missile_ and Shar hacks at it, denting and finally shearing through its metal plating. The cat-thing spasms and goes still, sending up a cloud of blue sparks. 

Then a metal tentacle wraps around her feet and yanks her up, dangling her above the ground. Shar gives a startled cry that quickly turns into an agonized howl as electricity courses through the tentacle, delivering a punishing jolt to her.

“Husband!” she cries. “Help me!”

Shifty and Kane both spring to her aid, cutting at the tentacle gripping her; but before they can make much progress, another of the metal limbs smashes into Kane, knocking him away. He falls to the ground with a crash, then springs right back up and wrestles with the tentacle holding him. He grunts as the cords of his muscles go taut, standing out like steel cables as he struggles with the inhuman strength of the defensive trap.

Lithieln hurls _shadow darts_ at the tentacle holding Shar, and they impact just like they were made of metal or wood, leaving small smoking dimples in the tentacle. With a grunt, Shar hews the tentacle holding her with her sword, and Karl goes into a _wizard's fury,_ firing multiple _magic missiles_ at it in a volley. The little darts of force blast the tentacle in the spot where Lithieln has already weakened it, and the first tentacle is blasted free of the ceiling. Shar throws herself free of it and comes up on her feet in time to take a blow to the head from another of the tentacles. She staggers back, groaning in pain, and pronounces a _healing word_ on herself.

The tentacle holding Kane thrashes around as he goes into a rage and breaks free of its grip, then aims a mighty swing of his greataxe at it. It comes in, snake-like, for another strike at him, but he bats it away- and Shifty springs in, thrusting his _subtle shortsword_ in through a rent in its metal housing. Sparks rise up and the strange burning smell comes again as the second tentacle goes limp.

Now there are only two. Karl keeps up a steady barrage of _magic missiles_ while the others engage at closer range. Kane and Shifty beat at one of them while Shar and Lithieln fend off the other. Soon only the last tentacle remains, and although it manages to send another jolt of electricity through Kane before the battle is won, won it is. 

A quick fight- but an intense one. Our heroes are worn and wounded. They take a few moments to rest, then examine their surroundings more thoroughly. There are two doors out of the chamber. The control panel proves to have a bewildering array of buttons, levers and switches on it, as well as several dials and indicators. For now, the party decides to leave it alone. 

The two doors, then. The first one- the one in the back left corner of the chamber- leads to a short, metal-lined hallway that extends about 20' before ending in another metal door. Behind this are more controls. The other door out of the first room is locked, and for the moment, the party decides to leave it that way. 

“Let's camp here,” suggests Karl. “I've expended a number of my big spells, and I'd like to recover them before we fight anything else.”

“Sure,” agrees Shar. “Sounds good.”

However, there is one small complication: they cannot figure out how to close the outer door to the metal roadway. They debate messing around with the controls, but decide against it for now. Instead, they set their camp up in the inner chamber, since they are able to open and close the door to the entry chamber with ease. Then they set up camp and watches and settle in for the night.

***

Grouff poured over the sheet of crystal, carefully translating it a word at a time. She was transcribing it into the thick tome next to her. Carefully scriven in the ink of a kraken, sealed in scent and blood, the meaning of the ancient Miloxi words would be taken from the degenerate tabaxi that survived and given to the Great Pack.

Had she had lips, Grouff might have smiled at the irony. She was damn sure that the ancient Miloxi had smiled when they had made dog-folk to serve them- raising up the canus from common dogs, manipulating the formerly far more lizard-like kobolds, discarding the gnolls as failed experiments. _Who knows how many other cousin species we have?_ the canus thought bitterly. _How many went extinct because the Miloxi Empire considered them unfit? Oh, it was hubris that led you to attempt to twist the natural order by turning your predators into servants. And how did that work out for you in the end? Nobody remembers what really destroyed your empire, do they? But I'll bet we had a hand in it- just as we have a hand, now, in ensuring that your kind remains hunted and driven. The day will come when the last tabaxi lies before us, and we tear out its throat; I only hope that day comes in my lifetime._

Grouff became aware of the technician nearby fidgeting. She smiled mentally, but outwardly she merely fixed him with a hard stare. He quelled immediately. While she couldn't help but applaud his eagerness to get started, she still had to ensure that he knew who the alpha bitch was. So she rose and stalked towards him. His ears flattened against his skull and he lowered his head. His tail tucked between his legs. His manner told her all that she needed to know: he knew his place. She need do nothing more; she returned to her work. 

After a few more moments, she said, “I have nearly completed your copy of the ritual.”

“Thank you, Alpha,” he whined. He was still afraid; good. 

“You will leave immediately when it is ready,” she continued. “It is possible that the weapon cannot be moved; you may need to master the ritual and perform it there. If so, you will need to send one of the omegas back for components. If the weapon can be moved back here first, that is preferable and will allow us to check it for traps laid against our kind.”

“Yes, Alpha.”

“Under no circumstances are you to bind the weapon to any non-canus.”

“Yes, Alpha.” 

Grouff nodded. “The final characters,” she pronounced with satisfaction as she carefully transcribed the last of the ancient ritual. Then she sprinkled fine black sand on the ink to help it set. Together, she and the technician waited patiently as the ink dried. He could hardly contain himself again; his tail was wagging spastically back and forth.

Finally she closed the book and handed it to him. “Go,” she said. “Do not fail.”

“Of course,” the technician replied.

“Take Lur, his dog and several lackeys. Leave immediately. Waste no time. Go!” she barked.

The technician hurried off to gather his allies. Lur would ensure there were no mistakes, Grouff knew; that technician was too weak to lead. He belonged in the third rank, but there weren't enough of the Pack present to spare a better second for Lur. 

Well, it shouldn't take more than a few hours for the team to reach the weapon. It would be long before dawn.

Time to play with the tabaxi some more. Grouff smiled viciously.

_*Next Time:*_ Ambushed by canus! What is the weapon?


*Most pcs in my world are unfamiliar with the smell of an electrical fire.


----------



## the Jester (Jun 1, 2010)

Lithieln, on watch as the others rest, hears noise from the outer room. They have sealed themselves in behind the door that they could figure out how to close, and most of our heroes are deep asleep.

Well, not for long. The assassin quietly wakes the others, moving as quickly as she can while maintaining a suitable silence herself. After all, they might be able to surprise whoever is in the outer room, if they stay quiet and move fast. She shakes the others while pressing a hand to her lips. 

The others get the message. The last few months of hard travel and adventure have taught them to wake fully in a bare instant, to be prepared to fight at a moment's notice. Now those skills serve them well. Very shortly they are ready; and they open the door and spring out.

The intruders are- dogs.

One is a large hunting dog of some kind, which immediately starts barking loudly as the party rushes forth. The others, though- the others are dog-_people._ Neither kobolds (which are both dog- and lizard-like) nor gnolls (which are hyena-like), these things are... something else. Humanoid, wielding weapons, one with a harness that reminds Shifty of the one that the one of the cat-people that the party fought in the center of Burnt Field. 

_That's where all this crystal mess started,_ he realizes. _These things must be connected to the catfolk, and I'll bet they're here to try to get this same weapon._ Then his eyes widen as he realizes that they have somehow opened the other door. 

Even as the thoughts flash through his mind, his wrist snaps and a shuriken spins through the air and sinks into the eye of the first canus. It yelps, sounding for all the world like a kicked dog, and tumbles back to lie unmoving on the ground.

The party has a moment of surprise and they use it, rushing to the attack. Quickly, they dispatch several of the dog-folk. However, one of the canus maneuvers atop the control panel during the fighting, and several levers and switches are pressed and, in a couple of cases, damaged.

Our heroes easily finish off the remaining canus, but several indicators on the panel are starting to creep upwards towards a red zone. The party can't read the strange markings on the panel, but red surely cannot be good.

“Well, before it gets out of hand, let's look through that door.” So saying, Shifty looks through- and makes a choked exclamation.

Beyond the door is some kind of translucent, semi-gelatinous... membrane. It looks very organic and somewhat slimy. Beyond that is a large vaguely humanoid shadow.

“I bet that's the weapon,” says Lithieln.

The party pokes at the membrane a few times. It gives, but not easily. After some consideration, Shifty decides to try to squirm through it, and he wiggles his way into the membrane and eventually through it. Where he passed through it, he left a hole that the others can pass through as well. 

“We shouldn't all go through at once,” the gnome governor says, “but you guys should see this.”

Beyond the barrier is a hugely oversized suit of armor. It is obvious that the central area is sized for a human-sized creature; and yet the armor itself is as large as an ogre, with huge gripping appendages in place of fingers. 

Yet as strange as the armor is, a profound sense of unease strikes our heroes immediately upon entering the small room beyond the membrane- for the ceiling glows with rows of violet crystal.

Worse yet, when they emerge, they find that several of the indicators on the control panel have reached their red zones- and the door out has sealed itself. 

_*Next Time:*_ Whoops! What now?


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## the Jester (Jun 11, 2010)

Alkor scans the horizon, his sharp eyes taking in every feature of the ruined cityscape ahead. “Whatever that flying thing was, it's out of the sky now,” he tells his companions. 

“Good,” grunts Lupark. Orza shoulders her spear and the three companions proceed towards the ruined city. Before long the ruined shells of buildings are to either side as they walk down the decaying avenue. 

“That's the building,” says Orza. “I can _sense_ him.” She hesitates for a moment, then adds, “He's still a ways off, though.”

Alkor shrugs. “Whatever you say,” he tells the deva. “It's your mission. I'm just here to help.”

Lupark snorts. The three companions head into the ruined building, and within it they find a series of passages that lead downward to a strange metal roadway.

_Karlinden,_ Orza thinks, _I'm coming._

***

_CRASH!_

Kane rebounds from the sealed door, landing on his butt with a loud “Oof!” With a grunt, he gets up and brushes himself off. 

“Nope,” he says, “we aren't going to be able to force it.”

Shifty pulls out his thieves' picks. “I guess it's my turn, then.” He moves over to the door and sets to work, but there is no visible lock to work with, nor does the door have any obvious mechanisms that he can attack.

Karl, meanwhile, examines the damaged control panel. _I suspect that when Shifty and the dog-man fought atop the control panel, something got tweaked or broken. Unfortunately, there's no way to tell what happened or how to reverse it. Those gauges... the indicators are in the red, and they weren't when we entered this place. And there are no labels for me to try to interpret._

“I can't get this,” Shifty says, frustrated. He stands up and puts his tools away, paces around the room.

Shar sighs. “Well, if there's danger from something here, I bet it's that armor or the chamber that it's in. It's full of that weird crystal. We can at least get back into the inner chamber; that way there is another wall between us and that room.”

“Good idea,” Shifty nods. 

The party retreats to the inner chamber and closes the door. 

“What now?” asks Lithieln.

There is no other way out of the place, so the party comes to the uncomfortable decision that they have to wait. “Well, we were in the middle of sleeping when those dogs attacked us,” Kane says with a shrug.

“If you can go to sleep at a time like this, go right ahead,” retorts Sepia.

The barbarian is already laying down with his head on his backpack. He chuckles. “When you have been a mercenary, you can sleep through anything.” He closes his eyes. “Even with a demon like you watching.”

“So we just wait,” Karl sighs.

It really isn't a question, and there really isn't much else to say. 

Eventually, most of the party does drop off into sleep. They are tired; they need it. With their rest interrupted by the canus, every hour of sleep that they can get now is precious. There is always at least one person awake to keep watch, but for the most part, the party sleeps for four or five more hours. 

Once they have woken, the party readies for combat and throws the door to the outer chamber open again. Fearing a radioactive hell, the party instead finds the outer door open and the indicators back down out of the red.

“It would seem,” Shar says, “that we have successfully waited it out. What are we going to do now? That's the weapon that the Double Javelins want- I'd bet on it. We know where it is; they have a good idea of where it is.”

“One of those canus had a ritual book,” Karl declares. “The ritual in it will bind someone to that armor, but I think it's permanent.”

“That's not so bad,” Lithieln comments.

“I mean you wouldn't be able to get out of it, ever.”

“Oh,” she says, “that's not so cool after all.”

“My point is,” the Magus Incarnum continues, “we could use that ritual to bind someone to the armor before they do, if we had a volunteer.”

“Why do we need a volunteer?” Shifty asks ironically. “We can always conscript.”

“I don't think we want a resentful conscript in that thing,” Karl replies. “That could lead to some ugly situations.”

“We'll have to think about it,” the gnome says. “Do you think those canus were connected to the Double Javelins?”

“It seems like an awfully big coincidence if they aren't,” Shar muses.

***

The metal road continues on past the small complex of rooms that holds the armor. “I wonder what is at the end,” mutters Karl. 

“That's a very good question.” With that, Shar leads the way further down the road, its weird hieroglyphs graven everywhere. They follow the road along. It is elevated on great pylons, and for several miles more they continue down the path before breaking for a meal. While the others set up the food, Lithieln and Shifty scout ahead.

They come back almost an hour later, shaken and covered in translucent goop. “What happened?” exclaims Shar. 

“Gelatinous cube,” answers Lithieln with a shiver.

***

The echoes of the party's footsteps ring around them as they continue down the roadway. It is eerie, empty; there is a sense of vastness in the tunnels all around them. The passage goes on for several more miles before, finally, there is a change.

And what a change it is. 

Ahead, the roadway is twisted and broken. Illuminated by the party's sunrods, the scene looks almost like some great giant twisted and pulled on either end of the roadway until the metal stretched and broke. Viciously sharp scalloped edges and spear-like strands of cabling, revealed where the interior structure of the road has been opened to view, poke out of the warped ends. The far side of the road no longer stands- it has bent and collapsed, and- strangest of all- something is... _harvesting_ the metal.

Small, insect-like machines the size of small dogs swarm over the portion of the road that has fallen to the floor of the vast chamber, gleaming copper in the light of the sunrod, their mandibles cutting sheets of metal free. An ant-like line of the strange constructs is carrying the metal away, but the party's light doesn't reveal where to.

“What the hell are those things?” wonders Lithieln aloud.

“Clockwork horrors,” says Karl.

_*Next Time:*_ Our heroes delve into the realm of the horrors!


----------



## the Jester (Jul 22, 2010)

The clockwork horrors act for all the world like leafcutter ants harvesting slivers of vegetation- but it isn't vegetation at all. It is metal- sliced from the great underground roadway that our heroes have been traversing.

“Why?” wonders Sepia aloud.

“To make more,” Shifty opines grimly. “To reproduce.”

The party stares at the horrors for a while, observing them. Each small insectoid construct has a jewel set in its head- a gem of a by-now familiar violet hue. “More of those damn things!” exclaims the gnome governor. “Those are nothing but trouble!”

An underground waterway, about 30' across, separates the horrors from our heroes. “Whatever they are after can't be good,” Karl says. “With that water between them and us, we might be able to pick them off, at least the ones near it.”

“You don't think they can cross the water?” inquires Lithieln.

“Well, it's moving reasonably quickly and they're pretty small. I wouldn't doubt that they can cross- but I would be really surprised if they can do it quickly.”

“All right, we'll try it,” decides Shifty.

The party hangs back and Karl, who has a considerably greater range than the others, begins picking horrors off with _magic missiles._ Each time one of his spells finds its target, the horror is blown to smithereens, and better yet, at first the others don't respond. However, the situation changes quickly once the mage has destroyed three of the metal bugs. The others hurry to the edge of the waterway and start to build a bridge across it with their own bodies!

“Crap,” Lithieln mutters.

But Karl's superior intellect easily pinpoints the weakness in this stratagem, and he _magic missiles_ the horrors trying to form the “base” of the bridge, sending the rest toppling into the water. Unfortunately, although he is correct- they cannot move too fast in the current- they start crawling steadily along the bottom towards the far side. 

So our heroes beat a retreat, moving back until the horrors give up their pursuit.

“At least they don't seem too smart,” Karl remarks. “Perhaps they are limited to simple basic programs.”

“Maybe,” replies Lithieln. “Do you suppose there is someone in charge of them?”

Shifty frowns at the suggestion. “Let's hope not,” he says fervently.

The group moves forward again, and this time when they approach the horrors they refrain from any kind of attack, limiting themselves to observation only. After a few minutes, they pinpoint a large side tunnel that seems to have a great number of the copper horrors moving in and out of it, those heading in bearing scraps of metal shorn from the collapsed roadway while those emerging are empty-mandibled. A little bold experimentation proves that they can approach without attracting the attention of the horrors, at least if they don't attack.

With a collective deep breath, they head down the passage. 

Like the roadway, the passage is lined with metal. However, there are no signs of the hieroglyphic characters that adorned the road. Seams and rivets are haphazard, and the reason is clear: this hall was paneled by fragments of the roadway. 

After perhaps a thousand feet, the hall splits into four passages. The clockwork horrors split, too, seemingly heading in- and coming from- all directions. Each passage looks about as good as the next; before proceeding, Shifty scratches a mark in their chosen direction with a dagger. 

They continue along, with the passage periodically branching and our heroes marking their way most carefully. The number of horrors thins, but then our heroes begin to pass silent, immobile specimens with no 'glow' coming from within their crystal. Spooky- and even spookier, they grow in number the deeper the party goes.

“I wonder if we can just destroy these inactive ones,” muses Lithieln. “Get them while they won't fight back.” She draws her blade and approaches one.

“Careful!” Karl warns sharply. 

But the copper horror doesn't respond, even when she smashes its crystal with the hilt of her dagger. With a shrug, she turns to the next one and smashes its crystal as well.

“No problem,” she says.

And then all the other immobile horrors flicker to life and start to move in a huge, inexorable tide towards our heroes.

“Whoops!” she cries.

The party begins to fight. These copper horrors seem to be almost fragile; they are easily destroyed, and after a few moments it appears that things will be just fine as our heroes whittle the numbers around them to nothing. 

“That wasn't so bad,” Lithieln remarks.

“Not yet,” replies Shifty. “But there are a whole lot more of these things. Be careful- try not to get any of us killed.”

“Right.”

The party continues, and shortly they come to more inactive horrors. _Many_ more. They practically litter the metal-lined hall; there are hardly any active ones in sight. 

But this time things are different. When they get close, all the inactive horrors come to life. At first things look to go the same as before; the copper horrors aren't sturdy enough to take a blow, and one by one our heroes cut them to bits.

But more are coming from the depths of the halls, and two of them are silver, not copper. More formidable than their copper brethren, these two prove to be armed not merely with the vicious cutting mandibles of their lesser kin, but also with steam-powered, spring-loaded dart throwing weapons! They are significantly more formidable, but once again Lithieln uses her adversary's shadow like a noose while Shifty hacks and stabs. This time, they are pressed much harder, and after cutting the silver horrors down they beat a hasty retreat, following their marks back to the entrance and then retreating to the metal roadway to recuperate.

“Maybe we should just move on,” Karl suggests. “You don't think they have any loot in there, do you?”

“Loot?” exclaims Shifty. “They _are_ loot! Loot on legs! How many pounds of silver do you think are in one of those silver bugs?”

“I see your point.”

“And what if there are even more valuable types?”

“Well,” Karl admits, “the stories do tell of clockwork horrors made of gold, electrum- even platinum.”

“That settles it. After we rest, we're going back in.”

***

The party creeps back in towards where they fought the silver horrors, but this time the constructs attack them first. Waves of copper bugs 3' long pour out at the party, who fight with aplomb and verve.

Then two silver horrors, followed by an electrum one, pour in. The electrum horror proves to be armed with a weapon even more dangerous than the steam darts of the silver ones: a rod that shoots a bolt of lightning!

Things fall apart very quickly. “There are too many of them!” cries Karl, falling back and trying to keep the mass of horrors from reaching him. Shifty and Lithieln have both sprung ahead and cleared a path forward- but there are more coming from side passages that threaten to cut them off from their retreat. “Watch out!” the wizard shouts.

Trying to cut their way back, the governor and the assassin work desperately. Lithieln springs from shadow to shadow, but a bolt of lightning transfixes her in a screaming ball of blue electricity. She falls to the ground, unconscious, and the horrors near her seize her!

“Lithium!”* cries Shifty.

“We've got to fall back,” Karl moans, hurling _scorching bursts_ down the hall. At last the number of copper horrors is thinning, but the others- 

Shifty hesitates for a moment. _She's not worth it,_ he groans silently, and springs forward to engage the electrum horror, which is between him and his fallen companion. 

Things do not go so well with that. Almost immediately, Shifty finds himself bleeding and nearly electrocuted. He can barely stand, but in turn he has badly damaged the electrum horror. A strange smell, like something very weird burning**, is now coming from the thing; foul, odoriferous liquids are draining from it. Its movements have become jerky, hesitant. 

Karl, meanwhile, focuses desperately on picking off the horrors dragging his unconscious ally away, entering a _wizard's fury_ and blasting horror after horror. 

But more are coming out- many more; another whole wave. 

Shifty thrusts again, and his dagger skitters from the electrum horror's armor. Then it blasts him with another stroke of lightning, and Governor Shifty collapses.

“NOOOO!!” cries Karl.

The silver horrors fire their steam darts at him, wounding him. More copper horrors are pouring out all over; some seize Lithieln again and drag her away. Others take hold of Shifty's unmoving form and pull it away.

_Scorching bursts_ and _magic missiles;_ the wizard knows it will not be enough. But still, he keeps fighting beyond any sense, far past the moment when a lesser man would flee.

But in the end, flee he does.

_*Next Time:*_ Will Lithieln or Shifty survive? 


*Lithieln got the nickname 'Lithium' possibly even before introducing the character in game.

**Think electrical fire.


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## the Jester (Aug 6, 2018)

The party is out of breath, gasping, when they again exit the tunnel. 

“We can't leave them behind,” Kane groans.

“Of course not,” Karlinden replies, “but we need a minute to catch our breaths first.”

“They could be dying in there!”

“If they were dying, they are dead already. If they are not already dead, they are not dying.” Kane folds his arms in front of his chest as the wizard speaks. He doesn't like it, but he sees the elf's point. 

“If only we had some more help,” Karlinden starts, and three figures come around the corner of the trail. Surprised, the newcomers halt, hands dropping toward their weapons. Karl raises a hand and cries, “Peace, friends!”

The strangers hesitate, then the first, a heavily armored man, speaks. “Who are you folks?”

The second, who is dressed in a more feral way, with furs and hides, adds, “You've the look of adventurers to you.”

“We are, indeed,” Karl replies gravely. “And so do you.”

“Well, we have that in common, then.”

“Listen, we have some friends in trouble, and we could use some help rescuing them.”

“Is there any treasure involved?”

“Bugs the size of dogs,” Kane says, “made of copper and silver, and a few we saw were electrum.” He smiles. “Deeper in, who knows?” 

“We've heard rumors of gold ones, and even platinum,” Karl declares.

“Hmm,” say the two strangers together.

The third, staring at Karl, asks, “Is your name Karlinden, by any chance?”

Startled, the mage says, “That is me.”

“I'm glad to have found you!” he exclaims. “My name is Alkar. I'm a ranger. My companions are Orzza and Lupark.” The two (who turn out to be a paladin and warden, respectively) nod greetings.

“And why are you looking for our friend?” rumbles Kane, hand near the hilt of his sword. 

“My mistress sends a warning,” the ranger replies.

***

Alkar's tracking skills allow him to lead the party back in. The lack of impressions in the metal of the tunnel floor is made up by its tendency to hold smudges and bloody prints. He uses his nose, too, allowing the scent of blood and sweat to guide him along. There are a few copper horrors here and there along the way, but they ignore the party, so the party ignores them right back. 

When they come to the scene of the battle, among the shattered clockwork horrors, they find but a single corpse: Lithieln. 

“Shifty's not here.” Karlinden states the obvious. 

“We're going after a guy named Shifty?” exclaims the more civilized-looking newcomer, Orzza. “Are you sure he's worth it?”

“Not really,” mutters Alkar, but Kane speaks over him: “We do not leave our own behind.”

The less civilzed-looking new member of the party, Lupark, shrugs. “I'll take point.” 

***

When they burst into the room holding Shifty, it's like staring at a nightmare. The unconscious gnome is strapped to a table, all four limbs shackled separately to ings along its edges. The table is built onto a moving conveyer belt that winds its way through several stations in the chamber. Buzzing saws and razor-sharp scalpels wave and hover over each station, moving on the end of metal arms as if alive. A conspicuously large waste container full of limbs and other body parts is near one of the stations. A much larger dumpster full of bodies with metal addendums seemingly grafted onto them lies near the final station. 

Banks of strange machinery, much of which includes blinking lights and strange blooping sounds, line the walls of the chamber. At the far end, a large ceramic jar full of bubbling brine holds a large jar. 

_Oh dear!_ The thought comes clearly to everyone in the chamber (except for the unconscious Shifty). _I didn't expect you quite so soon. Well, leave now, and you shan't share your friend's fate. That's the only offer I will make._

“It-it's that brain!” exclaims Karlinden in horror. 

“A demon!” cries Kane.

_I'm no demon, you idiot,_ the brain in the jar exclaims, and sudden pain shoots into Kane's head. The warrior cries in pain, then drags his sword out of its sheath.

Clockwork horrors begin to pour into the room. The conveyer belt moves swiftly, bringing Shifty into the first station. Amongst the copper horrors, Shifty sees a few silver ones, and a trio of strange-looking humanoids. It seems large parts of their bodies have been replaced by machinery...

“I don't think so,” cries Orzza, and rushes forward, using his paladin abilities to strike down a horror even as he unleashes a flood of healing power into the captive gnome.

Shifty's eyes flutter, and open, and he cries out in terror. 

A scalpel circles above him, then slices down, cutting into his right shoulder.

Gritting his teeth, he dislocates his thumbs. He slips one hand free of its bond, then the other, then slaps his hands together. His thumbs pop back into place, and he rolls his body aside as a spinning metal saw slices for his cranium. 

Then the conveyer belt draws him onward, toward the next station. 

Kane, meanwhile, brutally destroys one of the half-machine, half-humans, then rushes toward the brain in the jar. Karl hurls spells at it and Alkar fires arrow after arrow into its glass casing, defended by Orzza and Lupark.

Cracks start to form in the jar. 

Shifty rolls his body to the side, dodging another waving surgical tool, and manages to pick the lock keeping his left ankle attached to the table. _Almost free!_ he thinks. 

He eyes the brain in the jar. The belt is almost at its closest approach... Fingers moving furiously, he frees his other foot, then leaps off the table just before it reaches the next station. 

His hand is a blur. His dagger pierces the jar, and it shatters. 

_No! Why would you do this!_ the brain thinks. Already its voice is fading. _No fair! I'm smarter than any of you! No... no fair. I should have lived foreverrrr...._ Then it goes silent. The reek of the fluids preserving it reach the party, nearly gagging them. The group retreats. 

“Thank you, guys,” Shifty exclaims. “I don't know what would have happened if you hadn't come to rescue me!”

“You would probably have ended up as one of those clockwork servitor, half-machine things that the brain was commanding,” Orzza says. 

“If you survived the process,” Karl adds. “There were a lot more corpses in the dumpster than there were machine men down there.”

Shifty shivers. 

“You're welcome,” Kane growls, giving Shifty the sort of smile that looks like a threat.

Karl goes on. “In any event, we need to get out of here and back to Overland. Alkar's mistress, a ranger lord, has sent word that the goblins of the Black Brambles have joined the Double Javelins, and they're marshalling for an attack.”

“The who? What now?” Shifty shakes his head. 

“The Double Javelins are the... free company that I used to run with. Mercenaries. Survivors.” Kane laughs. “Time to lead, governor.”

***

Once the party returns to Overland, they begin to muster and train defenders. Alkar immediately starts archery drills, while the others evacuate the tiny community of Woodcut to the relative safety of Overland, which at least is the point of concentration of resistance. 

Before long, the first raiding parties begin to harass the farmers and peasants in the outlying fields. Bradford, Orzza, Shifty, and Alkar lead a team that scatters them and sends the survivors flying back to the main force, which still lurks in the brambles. Bradford acquits himself with honor during this battle. (He officially graduates from being a minion to being a level 1 skirmisher.)

Afterward, the heroes discuss the strategic situation. “We might be able to prevent some loss of life if we can head off the attack before it comes,” argues Orzza. “Take the fight to them, and it won't be our fields and houses that burn. Any collateral damage will be on their territory.”

“We do weaken Overland's defenses by leaving it, though,” Karlinded points out. “We risk an attack while we're gone.”

“We risk an attack if we stay,” Kane points out. “To attack is always better. Besides, I know the Double Javelins. Better to fight them in the brambles, where their movements are restricted.”

The debate goes well into the night, but in the end, Kane and Orzza carry the day. The group agrees: they will attack. 

***

Into the Black Brambles. The goblins that live inside the place know its tangled paths. They know the best ways to get around in the thickets. The party does not. In their favor, neither do the Double Javelins. 

The group manages to talk their way past a swarm of cavorting sprites accompanied by a pseudodragon named Nom, who proves friendly enough after an offering of wine and honey. 

Though Nom only chirps and burbles, the sprites translate, and he offers to help the party find the Double Javelins and their allies. It seems that he and his allies don't like them or approve of their effect on the surrounding terrain, trampling flowers and smashing toadstools and the like (not to mention all the hunting!). 

This leads to a campaign of several exhausting days of guerilla attacks on Double Javelin and goblin forces. Our heroes have several skirmishes, coming out on top each time, all of which leave at least a handful of dead enemies behind. At least one results in the loss of significant food stores. 

The party must deal with other dangers of the swamp, as well. Krenshar and stranger things assail them, but the party triumphs against them all.

“We've been doing well,” remarks Alkar. “But we're about to run into a significant problem.” 

“What's that?” asks Kane.

“I'm down to my last two arrows.”

“How are our supplies?” wonders Karl. 

It is time to return to Overland to resupply. And more than that: they have a valuable piece of intelligence that they have gathered during this mission to follow up on. It seems that there are already Double Javelins hidden in the town.

_*Next Time:*_ The attack on Overland!


----------



## the Jester (Sep 14, 2018)

In the Tower of Deryndradin- Karlinden's master- our heroes talk over the situation with the Double Javelins. 

The Double Javelins are a so-called free company- a group of mercenaries, bandits, and thugs who have banded together, offering to employ their skills for coin. They have developed a specialization involving launching volleys of javelins, with each soldier hurling one while holding a second in his or her other hand, then swiftly transfering it to hurl a second volley almost immediately after the first. It's an effective and terrifying tactic, and one that both Shar and Kane are familiar with, for they both ran with the Double Javelins before starting to adventure with the party. 

Of course, there isn't much of anyone left to hire the free company any more. Since the fall of civilization, there have been small battles of a few dozen or hundred people against orcs or goblins, but no wars. After all, who would one make war on? 

Looking at a map of the area, Karlinden thrusts a finger down, indicating the largest community in the area. “Goldwash is the real prize.” He looks up at Shar and Kane for confirmation. “It's the richest place in the area. It's where the gold is. Do they have the numbers to take it?”

Kane gives a feral grin. “There are, what, maybe two thousand people in Goldwash? So make that, at most, a couple of hundred amateur fighters... They don't stand a chance.”

Shar says, “According to those goblins in the brambles, the javelinsare going to move on Woodcut first. I assume that's to give themselves a good staging ground. If they can do that, they gain supplies, as well as a defensible place that they can rest at, just a quick jog away from their real target.”

Bradford speaks up. “We need to start training as many defenders as we can.”

“There's no reason we, as governors, can't form a bigger militia,” Shifty declares. “Let's do it.”

“Those goblins said that the Double Javelins already have people here, watching,” Alkor reminds them. “We should try to track them down.”

“And take them out,” Bradford says. 

“Hold on,” Karlinden protests. “If we take them out, then the rest of the Double Javelins will know we're on to them. Is that what we want? Or do we want to try to surprise them?”

“It's going to be hard both recruiting and training people and keeping it secret,” Shifty points out. 

“And if we eliminate some of them now, there are less to deal with in the future,” agrees Shar. “But we can at least try to find out more about their plans first. Both Kane and I might even know the guys who are here.” 

“Best I talk to them alone,” growls Kane. “They might have heard you're one of the powers that be now.”

***

Sepia and Shifty put their figurative ears to the ground. It doesn't take them long to track the Double Javelins down. Naturally, they're in the hardest tavern in town- the Silver Fish. Alkor, Bradford, and Ozzra position themselves outside, out of sight but where they can see the doors that lead in and out of the place. 

Kane enters the tavern, sniffing at the smell of pipe smoke, fish stew, and beer within. He stalks over to the bar and orders a beer before glancing around. At a table in the room's darkest corner, he recognizes most of the people playing dice. They are his old compatriots. He pushes himself from the bar and makes his way to the table, pulling up a stool. 

“Kane!” says a man whose face, but not name, he knows. “It's been a while!”

“Aye,” Kane answers.

“Where've you been?”

“Hunting treasure.” 

That gets the rest of the table's attention. “You have any luck?”

“Some.” He curls his upper lip. “I'm sure I've had enough luck to join your game.” He draws a gold piece from his pouch and tosses it into the center of the table. 

“Be welcome,” grins the other. 

For a few minutes Kane gambles carelessly, letting the others win a few gold pieces to put them at ease. He listens carefully, as does a cloaked and hooded Sepia, each of them picking up a few pieces of information: the numbers of the Double Javelins, when they will attack Woodcut (soon, soon), what allies they have (a few ogres)... where they are encamped (near the damned Black Brambles still and again!). 

The two of them also learn something else: the identity of the leader of the Double Javelins. _Thannox,_ Kane thinks grimly. _Of course it's Thannox._

After about an hour, Kane finishes his final beer and excuses himself. He exits the Silver Fish and rendezvous with his friends. After he reports what he learned, Alkor says, “All right. We let them leave, then ambush them. Let one escape, then track him to the rest.”

But their plan goes awry. When they engage the Double Javelins, none retreat; all fight to the death. Between Alkor's feathered shafts and the mighty thews of Kane, that doesn't take long.  

“Well, we still learned a lot,” Shar sighs.

Orzza rubs his chin. “Tell us about this Thannox guy.”

“He's bad news,” Kane replies. “He's as tough as any of the Double Javelins.” 

“He's not one to fool around with,” Shar agrees. “He's got a sharp mind for military matters. And he's got a streak of cruelty that runs pretty wide and deep. So we definitely don't want him in charge of things around here.”

“Hey, _we're_ in charge of things around here,” Shifty declares. 

***

Over the next week, the party starts recruiting volunteers. Soon they've gotten 25 citizens from Overland and a dozen dwarves, gotten them some degree or arms and armor, and begun training them to fight. 

Reports begin to come in of an ogre lurking around the outskirts of Woodcut. Clearly, the Double Javelins are getting ready to make their move. Just as clearly, our heroes need to move fast to intercept them and prevent them from gaining a foothold. 

“Our guys aren't ready yet,” Shifty complains. “They need weeks or months of training before they're really ready for a fight. Not to mention how few of us there are compared to the javelins.”

“We can't just do nothing,” Shar counters. “We're the governors now. We're responsible for this area, _husband._ ” 

“Gods damn it!” Shifty swears, running his hands through his combover. 

One of the recruits, a woman as wiry and tough as a strip of jerky, shows both more natural talent for battle and more charisma than the others, and our heroes grant her the rank of Corporal. Once they are sure that she can handle running the basic training programs for the rest, they leave her in charge and strike out toward Woodcut. 

***

A day up the creek toward Woodcut, our heroes meet up with a man named Whiz who is driving a hay wagon. He is also going toward Woodcut. Bradford suggests that they ride under the hay to hide their presence as they approach the little village. Whiz is happy to help, especially after Orzza slips him a handful of gold coins. Whiz' eyes fairly bulge from their sockets; he's never received so much money at once in his life. Ah, adventurers. 

Unseen, the party reaches Woodcut. Unseen within a barn, they emerge from the hay. Unnoticed, Sepia, Shifty, and Alkor slip out into the dusk and begin to search around, while the others prepare for battle and wrap themselves in dark cloaks or rub soot on their faces to aid their attempts and stealth. 

Soon Alkor espies one farm house whose fields look as though they've not been tended in a couple of weeks, yet one that is lit up from within. Scanning the ground near it for tracks, he finds signs of the ogre. _This is it,_ he thinks with satisfaction. The scouts return to the barn where the others await. 

Soon, the entire party moves as stealthily as possible back to the suspect farm house. Sepia sneaks forward and manages to peek inside, then returns to report, “I saw the ogre and three javelineers. There could be more deeper inside, though.”

“They haven't taken the village yet,” Karl states. “This is probably as good of an opportunity to take the ogre out of the picture as we're going to get.” 

“We could light the house on fire,” Orzza suggests eagerly. 

“There might still be a farmer around that owns this place,” Shar objects. 

“Bah,” says Kane. “I'll show you how we do this.” He draws his sword and marches up to the door of the house. 

“That's one approach,” admits Karl, “although perhaps not the one I would have elected.”

Kane tries to open the door, but it's locked, so he pounds his fist on it instead. “Hey!” he calls. “Come out here!” The door doesn't open at his call, so with a snarl, he throws his shoulder into it, smashing it open.

A surpised-lookikng Double Javelin stands just about two feet from him, frozen in mid-reach for the door. Before he can move, _magic missiles_ shoot into him from Karl, and Shifty hurls a dagger into him, as well. 

The ogre roars and shoulders past the wounded man, pushing Kane back as it barrels through the door. But that only opens it to the rest of the party, and it gives a squeal of pain as Sepia's whip cracks across its face. 

Tough and strong as it is, the ogre can't withstand the focused attacks of the whole party. It swings its club in a great arc, clipping Bradford across the shoulder, and delivers a pair of terrific blows to Kane and Orzza; but between the steady increase in the number of arrows sticking in its body, the deadly precision of Sepia and Shifty,  and the enraged strength of Kane, the ogre is soon defeated. Meanwhile, Karl and Shar have used their spells and prayers to finish the three Double Javelins in the house. 

“Quick and deadly,” Alkor says, plucking arrows from the corpse and discarding those no longer suitable for use. 

***

The party finds the corpses of the farming family and buries them, Shar performing the appropriate rituals. “I guess we could have burned the place after all,” says Orzza.

Shar still demurs. “The town can use these fields, harvest those fields, put someone else in the house... We didn't need to burn it down.”

“Still!” he says.

***

Back to Overland. The party knows that they need to be ready to defend it alongside their soldiers. Otherwise, the untrained, unblooded, inexperienced defenders that they're trying to form into a militia will simply break and run at the first sniff of misfortune. So they turn around and march back downstream. 

They are both surprised and gratified to find that, upon their return, they are intercepted by their own soldiers. On the other hand, the news isn't good. 

“There's a group of Double Javelins not far from town,” Corporal Coral reports. “A large group. I think their main force. They just arrived yesterday.” She pauses, then admits, “I'm really glad you made it back when you did.”

“So much for Woodcut first,” grumbles Sepia. 

“Maybe they figured out we were on to them,” Karl says.

Shiftly rubs at his chin. “Whatever the case, we need to figure out what to do about them.”

“We're not ready to take them on, my lord. Especially not when they outnumber us.”

“You may have to.” 

“Husband,” Shar says, “I think you may need to make a speech.”

***

While Shifty shores up the morale of the troops, Kane and Shar discuss the situation. As the two members of the group most familiar with the Double Javelins, it falls on them to tailor a strategy to oppose them. For several hours they turn various options over. If there were more time, they could build defenses- dig a ditch, force the javelins to fight their way up a berm, construct a wall around the town, something. If there were time, but there isn't. If they had more troops, they could try a frontal assault while the party itself struck for Thannox. But they don't have more troops. 

Still-

“Cut off the head,” says Shar, “and the whole problem goes away.”

“Thannox.” Kane cracks a knuckle, then another and another. 

“Thannox,” Shar agrees. “If we can kill him-”

“The whole problem goes away,” Kane nods.

“So how do we get him away from the rest of them?”

A sly grin begins to spread across Kane's face. 

***

Just outside of Overland, the Double Javelins strut like cocks crowing at the morning, laughing, drinking, eating, showing no fear. They sometimes form up as if for battle, march a few hundred yards, then break apart laughing and singing, all under the watchful eyes of the scouts who are keeping track of them. They seem to be mocking the town, as if they were saying, _You belong to us as soon as we want to take you, and there's nothing you can do about it. Just wait. At out leisure, we're going to take you._ 

Already, the javelins have impacted the amount of game available for the town. Already, they have stolen fruit from the town's trees, vegetables from the fields, grain from the mill. They are already acting like they own the place, their hunting parties roaming at will, their foragers dancing just out of reach of the town's meager defense force. Always a little closer, though- every day, infringing a little deeper toward the town's core. 

“And that's the key,” Kane says with a feral grin. “I know just what to do.”

_*Next Time:*_ The return of Dolorous Pete!


----------



## the Jester (Sep 16, 2018)

Day by day, the Double Javelins grow bolder. They venture further afield in search of game or forage, and are less and less restrained when raiding outlying farms and fields. Thannox himself leads a hunting party most evenings, bold and fearless, skewering deer or hare or boar with his javelins. Others steal sheep, goats, or chickens from the locals. 

But one thing that the Double Javelins can't find in large quantities this way- and one which Kane correctly surmises that the free company will need in order to keep itself together- is alcohol. It's something that requires at least one of the javelins to come in and spend coin in order to maintain a reliable supply. 

So, when Dolorous Pete enters the tavern, discrete as he is, both Shar and Kane recognize him. They know him as a Double Javelin from their own days as members of the mercenary group, and they know that he doesn't live in Overland. No, it's apparent to them that Dolorous Pete is here to pick up the booze. 

They let him reach the bar before they emerge from their corner, casting their cloaks aside to reveal themselves. “Hello, Pete,” Kane growls, and the man turns to face them, surprise twisting his features for a moment. The rest of the party stands behind the two former javelins. 

“Well, well,” he says. “Kane. Shar. It's been a while. What have you been up to?” 

“You know,” Shar snaps. “You know exactly what we've been up to. We've been taking charge around here.” Shifty, not wanting his authority to be overlooked, quickly steps up beside her. 

Pete's eyes flick from the two co-governors to Kane. “You're working for them, now, huh?” 

“I don't work _for_ anyone. I'm working _with_ them.”

Eyes still on Kane, Dolorous Pete says, “Well, it looks like you've got me. What are you going to do with me?”

A smile touches Kane's face, but not his eyes. But it's Shar who speaks. “That's up to you.”

Shifty spreads his hands. “Let us make you an offer you can't refuse.”

***

The party is very persuasive, especially when Karl adds a magical “curse” to ensure compliance. This, of course, is nothing more than bluster and a magical light show to cow Dolorous Pete; but the Double Javelin has little enough experience with the arcane that he believes the lie unreservedly. 

“It will be best if you can hand pick the other members of the hunting party,” Karl says, “to help minimize bloodshed. Choose people who will be reasonable.”

Dolorous Pete looks from one of them to another. He licks his lips nervously.

“Do well, and we will let you live.” Kane glares at him.

“And even reward you!” adds Shifty. 

“What will you do with the rest of the javelins?”

Shar says, “They will have to be integrated into our forces.”

“I will lead them.” Kane's eyes remain fixed on Dolorous Pete. “If you wish to stay with the Double Javelins, you'd best consider who is going to be in charge of them.”

Shifty beams. “Just think! This may be your chance to rise in rank!”

Dolorous Pete shifts from one foot to the other uncomfortably. “And if I refuse?” 

Kane shows his teeth.

“You know the answer to that,” states Alkor, thumbing the tip of an arrow.

“I suppose I do.”

“Don't try any treachery,” warns Shar. “You won't like what happens.”

“Remember the curse.” Karlinden's eyes bulge and he shakes a long finger at the mercenary.

“And remember, I'll be right beside you, just out of view, the whole time.” Dolorous Pete starts, for suddenly Sepia is right behind him. “I will kill you if you betray us.” Then she slips back into the shadows. 

“All right, all right, point taken.” Pete spreads his hands. “I can do what you want.”

“Tonight,” orders Kane.

***

The hunting part leaves the main camp of the Double Javelins about an hour before dark. They are well-equipped with wine from Dolorous Pete's trip into town. Thannox rides at the head of a rough V, leading his followers- including Pete- into the nearby woods. Pete is just to his left, and he takes a large drink of wine and then points. “It was that way. I swear to the gods, Thannox, it was the biggest boar I've seen all year. I wasn't in any mood to try to take it down before I got the wine back, but I damn well do now!”

“Lead on,” Thannox says eagerly, fondling the shaft of one of his javelins. 

Dolorous Pete does, taking the group deeper into the woods until they reach the clearing that Kane had specified. There, our heroes emerge from the thickets on all sides and descend upon Thannox while the others hang back at Pete's command. 

Thannox is no slouch with a javelin. He fights hard, hurling shafts with uncanny speed and precision; but our heroes outnumber him, and he has been betrayed. While Dolorous Pete and his other men watch, Kane strikes Thannox down. 

_I guess I chose the right side,_ Pete thinks. 

_*Next Time:*_ Back to the Earthquake Rift!


----------



## the Jester (Oct 1, 2018)

When Dolorous Pete and the party arrive at the Double Javelins' main encampment, Kane announces their arrival by hurling Thannox' decapitated head into the midst of the guards at the gate. 

“The gig is up, gentlemen,” announces Karlinden.

“Everybody listen up!” roars Kane. “Thannox is dead, and you're now under my command!” 

“Best listen, everyone,” Dolorous Pete says.

There are a few tense moments, and Kane knocks one man down with a mailed fist, but no real violence is required to secure the new order. The Double Javelins, after all, will be happy enough to get paid to be the local military. And if our heroes never have to call upon them, even better- better for everyone. Because while the Double Javelins are sitting around guarding the local area, they aren't a threat. 

***

Upon the party's return to Overland, Kane nails the head of Thannox over the town's main gate.

“Let there be no doubt that your governors will defend you,” Shifty cries to the growing crowd. “The Double Javelin threat is over.”

***

Our heroes spend a few days resting and celebrating. Over a mug of ale, Shifty says, “We should get back to the earthquake rift. We need to collect our taxes from the goblins.”

“And maybe go back to those dwarves,” Sepia adds. “Whaddaya call 'em? Duergar.”

“Aye!” Kane snarls into his beer. “Blood and treasure!” And he belches.

***

A few days later, they return to the earthquake rift, and find themselves in the middle of an internecine clash taking place between different factions of goblins. Our heroes settle the matter with some violence before descending past the once-flooded canal and returning to the duergar works. 

This time, the duergar they encounter don't include Tincup, and they find themselves fighting hard against doughty grey dwarven warriors with strange powers. Some enlarge themselves to nearly ogre size; others vanish into invisibility. 

Swiftly, our heroes take countermeasures. Shifty takes advantage of his gnomish stature to slip between the legs of the duergar that grow; Sepia hurls bags of flour at those who turn invisible. Karl casts _wizard's fury_ and hails magical darts at them all. Alkor fires arrows nearly as fast, and Bradford and Kane take the front line.

They retreat to the goblin levels above to rest. Due to their earlier intervention in the local politics, they are welcomes (perhaps a bit reluctantly) and given the best places  to sleep. 

Several more expeditions take them deeper into the duergar areas and further into conflict with the gray dwarves. They even encounter a few undead duergar, who the party collectively find to be extremely creepy. Then, they find a captive- a tiefling named Maltos. 

“What are you doing here?” asks Shar. 

“I was exploring this rift,” the fellow replies. “I found it after the earthquake, and wanted to see if I could find any treasure inside.”

“How'd you do?”

“Not so well,” he admits.

“Well,” she says, indiicating herself and Shifty, “my husband and I are the governors   of the local lands. We're down here making sure that there's nothing that is a real threat to the world above. Have you seen anything down here that we should be aware of?”

“There are a few goblins up above, but that's about all I saw. I got hit from behind and fell into some water, then something knocked me out. Next thing I knew, I woke up in the clutches of these dwarves.”

“We should let him go,” Sepia says. “He's a tiefling, like me! How bad can he be?”

The party guides him back to the goblins, by which point Maltos can see the sunlight filtering down from above and the series of ropes descending into the rift. “My thanks,” he says. “If we meet again, I won't forget that you helped me when I was in need.”

“Be well,” Sepia answers, and the former captive clasps the rope with both hands and begins to climb. 

***

After getting another night's rest in the goblins' territory, Shar and Shifty confer, then turn to the others. “We should probably go back and make sure things are okay at home before we spend much more time down here,” she says. “After all, we don't know how well the Double Javelins' loyalty will hold.”

“And even if it does, who knows how good their discipline will be?” Orzza nods. “Even if they're loyal, they might beat up farmers or something, just because they're...” He glances at Kane. “No offense, but they're kind of rough characters.”

Kane shows a toothy grin. 

“Also,” Shard continues, “we need to check on the progress Captain Lentor has made whipping our people into shape.” 

Everyone agrees, and the party heads back toward Grumbleford. They stop at the Governor's Tower on the way and find a note from Bishop Ulric. It reads: _Governors- I understand you've had some political trouble. If you need help, send us a message. Your tax assessments will be forthcoming._

***

They spend a couple of days in Grumbleford, because Karl ends up with a date. It doesn't go well, so he is as happy as anyone to head back to Overland. There, they pay their soldiers with treasure found in the rift. They confer with Captain Lentor, who tells them that he needs another two months to whip the troops into any kind of real shape. 

“Well, the Double Javelins aren't a threat anymore,” Karl tells him. The party explains the last few weeks' frenzy of activity to him.

But Lentor disagrees. “They don't look like a threat right now, but who's to say that they won't turn on you again? I think you'll be well-served to have an alternative force- one that can stand against them if need be.”

Kane shrugs. “He's right. They'll stay in line as long as they see our faces regular enough. But if they have a little time to forget who's in charge, or if too much time passes without them seeing pay...”

“We could consider disbanding them,” Bradford says, but Shar shakes her head. 

“Then what? They'll all be running loose, unemployed, and as soon as they get hungry, they'll be up to their old tricks. No, we're better off keeping them under our command, so that we at least know what they're up to.”

“Now what?” asks Karlinden, still moody from his failed romantic encounter. “Back to the rift?” 

“Are the duergar even a threat to us?” Alkar muses. “They don't seem to be really doing anything much down there.”

“We do need treasure, if for nothing else, then to pay our troops,” Shar points out. 

“Also, remember, they took a prisoner who was one of our citizens.” Shifty pats his comb-over. “I'd say that makes them a threat, at least to some degree.” 

“He's right,” Shar says. “We can't have anyone kidnapping our citizens.”

Orzza stands up and pulls on his backpack. “Then let's go.”

_*Next Time:*_ Back into the duergar works we go!


----------



## the Jester (Oct 1, 2018)

“It appears,” Karlinden remarks, “that our presence has destabilized the duergar, as well as the goblins.”

Shifty smirks and pats his comb-over back into place. “Well, we restabilized the goblins. We can do it to these dwarves, as well!”

Back up a step. Our heroes have returned, once more, to the dim depths of the earthquake rift. Once more they have cheerfully paid the wererats and their purple dragon ally the demanded “entrance fee” into the lower levels, and once more, they found a small group of duergar guards- this time with a pair of hell hounds- awaiting them. And once more, our heroes put the enemy to the sword- although this time, they took a prisoner. 

Just moments ago, Alkar demanded, “Where's Tincup? I thought we had an arrangement with you guys!”

And the captured duergar sneered. “You may have had an arrnagement with Tincup, but not with us.”

Neither Kane's nor Orzza's interrogation techniques are gentle. The captive soon gives them a rough sketch of the situation with the duergar. According to him, tensions have been rising for decades between the followers of the traditional duergar pantheon, led by Ladaguer, and those grey dwarves who have begun to follow a more diabolical path- the worship of the Arch-Devils. 

Tincup was one of the traditionalists. And it seems as though the first incursion by our heroes kicked off a new stage of the conflict. Previously, there had been a few instances of violence or assassination. Now, the tension has snapped into open warfare between the factions. 

“Who's the leader of the devil-worshipers?” Kane demands, hot breath right in the face of their battered captive. 

“We call him Darkchain,” the duergar responds, spitting out a mouthful of blood and half a tooth with a grimace. “He uses spiked chains in battle.”

“I guess we know who we're after, then,” Sepia says brightly. 

The group steps away from the duergar to discuss his fate. Kane advocates for a quick death, but Orzza points out, “If we let him go, he's going to spread the word that we're coming. That will make the devil-duergar nervous, and it might prod Tincup's faction into taking some kind of action that helps us.” 

Shifty nods. “Or at least they might be ready to join in the fight when we arrive. I like it.”

Kane scowls. “And we might have to defeat him all over again. We'll save time if we slit his throat now.”

“Will we?” Shar puts her hands on her hips and raises her voice enough for the duergar to hear her. “We beat him once. If he tries to fight us again, we'll kill him. And then we can hunt down his family. No, I think he'll stay out of our way.” She glances at the prisoner. “Isn't that right?”

Sullenly, the fellow nods. “Aye, I'll give my word not to interfere with you again if you let me go.”

“And everyone knows that devils, and their worshipers, are creatures of their word.” Sepia smiles at the grey dwarf. 

“Aye, and dwarves,” the captive says. 

Shar nods. “All right. In that case, we're going to let you go- once you tell us where to find this Darkchain.”

***

Unfortunately, while the dwarf doesn't outright lie to them in giving directions, he does commit some omissions. 

He fails to mention the aquatic, slime-draped gargoyles on the way, and the haunted spirits that flit about their chamber. Nor does he mention the pair of spined devils guarding the antechamber before Darkchain's throne room. Both encounters are unexpected, and drain some of the group's resources, but neither taxes them to the point of turning back or forcing a rest longer than a few minutes. 

But when our heroes breach Darkchain's throne room, they find themselves facing a formidable group of duergar. Over half a dozen warriors are in attendance, either guarding or fawning over Darkchain. 

Darkchain himself is unusually tall for a duergar (at least, one that hasn't yet enlarged himself). He wears armor enameled in black and crimson, with epaulets curled to resemble flames dancing upward. He constantly fingers and fondles his spiked chain, which is also blackened. Next to him stands a berobed, bespectacled, wizened duergar with bright yellow eyes and beard dyed scarlet. The wizened fellow is festooned with pouches, and a pair of belts cross over his chest like bandoliers, but in place of daggers, they have small loops holding phials containing a variety of suspicious-looking vapors and fluids. 

The enemy engages the party quickly, with some of the duergar growing to well over 8' in height to do so. One of these hurls a harpoon at Alkar, sinking it into his arm and forcing him to discard his bow in favor of his sword. Meanwhile the robed duergar begins hurling phials, unleashing clouds of foul, toxic smoke, creating explosions of flame, and attempting to incapacitate our heroes with vile poisons.

Darkchain himself is a nightmare. 

Black energy erupts along the length of his chain as he grows to ogre size and begins to lash out. He smashes Kane so hard that the barbarian is almost dropped immediately. He whips the end of the chain around Shifty and yanks him from his feet. He hurls exploding, poisonous quills from his beard. 

Our heroes find themselves hard-pressed. 

Sepia cracks her whip back at Darkchain, relieving the pressure on Shifty long enough for the little gnome to roll away and regain his feet, then hurl a few darts at the duergar. But they deflect off his thick armor. Karlinden, hanging back, unleashes his _wizard's fury_ and begins casting _magic missile_ after _magic missile,_ trying to thin the enemy numbers.

Orzza rushes in, hoping to engage Darkchain directly, but is intercepted by several of the guards, who provide cover to their leader and press the paladin back. But this creates a gap. Shar speaks a _healing word_ to restore Kane to the fight, and the barbarian roars and enters a rage, ducks his head, and charges straight for the enemy commander. 

The duergar alchemist tries to stop him by throwing another exploding phial at him, but Kane just barrels through the flames and smashes into Darkchain. 

Then Shar casts _iron to glass_ on Darkchain, and his weapon grows weak and frail. His blows are suddenly far less effective than they should be. Kane grins, frothing at the mouth as he unleashes _howling strike_ after _howling strike_ at his foe. 

Meanwhile, Sepia and Shifty, also kept at bay by the guards, turn to double-team the one with the harpoon. Alkar has already fallen to his knees, barely standing, as the duergar jerks on the lead rope, pulling him this way and that. But suddenly that changes as Shifty's dagger severs the rope, then plunges into the duergar's knee. The dwarf screams in pain, and Sepia cracks her whip, letting it wrap around his neck before giving it a mighty yank. The duergar staggers away, and Alkar stabs him. He falls. 

But before the ranger can regain his feet, one of the other grey dwarves- this one invisible- clocks him from behind with a massive hammer, and Alkar sprawls senseless to the ground. 

Karl has turned his attention to the duergar alchemist, and is spraying volley after volley of furious missiles at him. Now, the hammer-wielding duergar interrupts him, rushing at him with a roar. The wizard yelps, finding himself cornered. A few more rough blows, and Karl, too, falls. 

Orzza leaps to his aid, scaled arms bulging as he swings his blade to parry the deathblow, saving Karl's life. He belches forth a blast of acid, forcing the deurgar back. His dragonborn heritage serves him well.

The battle teeters on the edge. Sepia falls victim to the alchemist's infernal devices just before Shifty thrusts his blade into the dwarf's kidneys, taking him down in turn. Several more of the guards have fallen, but so does Shar. Darkchain himself is wounded badly, but so is Kane. The howling berserker hacks wildly at the armored duergar leader, who parries twice, then turns to flee. 

Kane tries to pursue, but one of the remaining guards intercepts him, cracking him across the chest with a battle axe. Gibbering wordlessly, Kane hews him down, but by then, Darkchain has slipped out an exit. Kane throws himself against the door, only to find it locked and too heavy to smash down. Roaring, he tries again and again, but stops, panting, rage fading, as he realizes that the foe are all down.

“We almost had him,” Shifty groans, pressing a hand to one of his many wounds. “Damn it! So close!”

The party spends a few minutes gathering themselves, healing the wounded- especially the unconscious- and recovering their breath. A short discussion reveals that they are too taxed to pursue Darkchain immediately.

“Well,” says Shar, “we can try to rest in here, rather than retreating. There's that elevator we took to get onto this level. It was defensible, and we haven't seen any other way up from here. We'll be cutting off one avenue of retreat for them.”

“Aye!” Kane barks. “And then we can finish Darkchain off tomorrow!”

“If we can find him.” Shifty shakes his head. “They might be able to retreat further downward. We don't know how many levels this place has.”

Alkar shrugs. “Let them. If they run, our old buddy Tincup will be in a better position to take this level back.”

Thus decided, our heroes retreat to the aforementioned elevator chamber. It's easy enough to secure it- the door has a lock- and they unroll their bedding and settle in to rest, setting up watches. 

“You know,” Orzza says as he removes his boots, “they say I was born from a special egg.”

“Really?” asks Sepia, looking the dragonborn over.

“Yeah, there's a prophecy that my life has special meaning. That I have a special destiny to fulfill.”

“Like what? Are you supposed to save the world or something?”

Orzza shrugs. “I don't know. Nobody does. But that's why I was raised to be a paladin. I was always taught to uphold the highest standards. I have to, if I'm going to be worthy of my fate.”

“The highest standards?” Alkar snorts. “Like how you tortured that dwarf?”

“He gave us no choice,” Orzza objects. 

“You and Kane were beating his face in before you even started questioning him.” The elf shakes his head. “You should be better than that, if you really do want to stand for something.” And he rolls over, turning away from Orzza, to seek the restfulness of trance.

_Huh,_ thinks the paladin. _Maybe Alkar's right. Maybe I could do better. Sure, I'm trying to help the people, but maybe these... these hard people I've fallen in with are a bad influence on me. Maybe my worthiness isn't a foregone conclusion. Maybe the prophecy is relying on me to be... to be better. Special egg or not, I have a lot to think about._ 

Haunted by disquieting thoughts, the dragonborn drifts off. 

***

“Hey! Wake up!” 

Orzza starts and opens his eyes. Alkar is leaning over him, shaking him. He has a finger to his lips. 

“What's going on?” whispers Orzza. 

“Listen.”

The dragonborn cocks his head. 

There's a quiet scratching at the lock. 

“Someone is trying to get in,” hisses Alkar. He moves to prod the others awake, as silently as he can manage. 

Sepia slips up to the doorway and pulls out a lockpick. She inserts it into the lock. “I think I can keep them from getting the lock open,” she whispers, fiddling with the pick. The next few moments are a tense contest of tiny probes, dancing around each other within the confines of the locks. Sepia manages to rake the tumblers such that those that her opponent has managed to get open slip closed again, and after a few minutes, whoever is on the other side withdraws his or her tools. 

Still, it's enough to make the group nervous. “Let's take the elevator up a level,” suggests Shifty, stifling a yawn. “After all, unless there's another way up, they won't be able to come after us. We'll be more secure, and they still won't be able to get the drop on us.”

“Sounds good to me.” Alkar nods. 

***

The rest of their night's rest is undisturbed, if not exactly comfortable. After they wake, break their fasts, and re-gird themselves for combat, the party descends again. But this time, when they open the elevator doors, they are beset immediately. 

Darkchain is waiting for them. 

This time he has only a pair of guards with him. The party has no way of knowing it, but yesterday's battle turned the tide of the conflict within the duergar ranks. Darkchain's followers have almost entirely abandoned him, and his devilish patrons are displeased at his failure. They, too, have turned away. 

Darkchain's only hope is to redeem himself through the art of revenge. 

But the party is at full strength, and Darkchain and his lackeys are not enough. This time, the battle is short and, until the final moment, one-sided. The guards fall rapidly, and Darkchain himself is pressed hard by the group. He is faltering when he gets his revenge.

His chain whips out, the end curling around Alkar's right elbow. Darkchain gives a tremendous yank.

And Alkar's arm comes off at the elbow. 

Blood sprays everywhere. The elf's screams echo through the stone chamber. 

While Kane runs the duergar leader through, Shar desperately seeks to staunch the bleeding. She calls upon the holy power of the Sword Cult and heals Alkar as best she can. But the elf was primarily an archer. 

Now...

“Now it's time to retreat,” states Karl. 

_*Next Time:*_ Our heroes seek a way to help their archer pal! Meanwhile, a mystery begins at the Tower of Deryndradin, Karl's master!


----------



## the Jester (Oct 2, 2018)

“I won't be able to fire my bow,” says Alkor. He groans, rubbing the stump of his right arm. 

“There must be something we can do. Some magic we can employ.” Sepia looks at Karl hopefully.

“There is a ritual,” the wizard replies. “_Regenerate._ We don't have it, but Spender- the ritualist in Grumbleford- might.”

“All right,” Shar declares, “that's our next move. Let's get out of the rift and get to Grumbleford.”

“I might have a little trouble climbing the rope,” Alkor says glumly. 

***

When it's time for the ranger to ascend, Sepia and Kane rig a harness at the end of the rope and drop it down. Alkor clambers into it, aided by Karl and Shifty, who are still below with him. Then orzza and Kane haul him up.

After that, it's back to the governor's tower. This time, they find three of their soldiers awaiting them. 

“What's up?” Shifty asks. “You guys are obviously here for some reason.”

“Yes, sir. The tower of Deryndradin- it has been attacked, sir.”

“The what, now?”

“My master's tower,” Karl exclaims. “What happened? Attacked by whom?”

“We don't really know,” the guard replies. “But something happened. Some kind of, I don't know, a magic field formed around the tower. And the front door has been bashed in.”

Shar glances at Karl. “Do you know anything about that field?”

“I know the tower has magical defenses against intrusion, but I've never seen them in action. It could very well be. When did this happen?”

“A couple of days ago.”

“So either whoever did this is gone, or they're trapped inside.” Karl rests his chin in his hand thoughtfully. 

“Does your master have any enemies?” asks Shifty. “Or do you?”

“Not that I know of.”

Alkor asks, “Isn't your tower in Overland?”

“Yes.”

“So does that mean that we put off going to Grumbleford?”

“Maybe we should,” Karl says. “After all, who knows what could be happening with the tower?” 

“As you pointed out yourself, it's already been several days,” Orzza says. “I think restoring our archer's arm is important enough to delay another couple. Whoever did this is probably long gone.”

The party agrees. To Grumbleford. 

***

After a night at the Governor's Inn, they go to see Spender, and after some hard bargaining, trade 300 gold pieces and Orzza's magical glasses, which allow the user to read any language for a scroll of _regenerate._

Soon enough, Alkor is marveling at his new arm. “I am whole again!” he cries. 

“But look,” Sepia says with a giggle. “It's pale. You're tan, except for your new arm.” 

The group takes two days in the town, during which Karl learns the rituals _brew potion_ and _identify._ Then they start the trip back to Overland, making camp at the crossroads as they often do.

But that midnight, as most of them are asleep and only Karl is awake on watch, they find themselves assailed. 

Out of nowhere, a group of wights erupts from the night.

Karl shouts a warning and casts a _flame burst_, catching the wights, who stagger as they close the distance. The rest of our heroes scramble to rise, but the wights fall upon them before they can fully bestir themselves. 

From behind the wights, another flame slithers into view, this one clinging to a crimson snake like a halo. And following _that,_ come two people that look human- at least, at a glance. 

Alkar springs up and scrambles back away from the wights, new hand shooting out to grab up his bow. The string thrums under his hand and arrows whistle as they fly into the foe. _Ah, that feels good._ He can't help but grin. 

Radiance blazes as Orzza lays about himself, smiting one wight after another. Sepia leaps past him, whip cracking as she attacks the flame snake. Shifty throws a handful of darts and retreats to the opposite side of their campfire. 

Suddenly a wight topples as a tremendous howl announces that Kane is in the fight. A desiccated arm spins through the air as the barbarian strides to the next foe. 

“That one's for me, right?” Alkor chortles, sending more arrows into the foe.

One of the two humans draws his cloak around himself, and suddenly vanishes in a puff of smoke, only to reappear next to Kane. He strikes, his blade coated with poison. 

Kane responds with a devastating strike and enters a rage. 

Shifty and Sepia flank the flame snake and cut it to pieces in mere moments. But the other human meets Alkor's eyes, and the elf finds his world spinning. He tries to look away, but he can't- there is something _wrong_ with those eyes. 

Those eyes....

They're the eyes of serpents.

And then the spell breaks as Orzza smashes the weird-eyed man's head in. 

Alkor looks around, feeling as though he is emerging from a fog. The enemy is down. Shar is healing Kane and Karl, who took the lion's share of the damage. All seems well. And yet....

He walks over to the man's corpse and wipes blood from the eyes. 

Opens the body's mouth and examines his tongue. 

Turns to his friends, and says, “This guy has the tongue and eyes of a snake. What about the other one.”

Shifty peers close. “Yep... What the hell were they?”

“And were they connected with whatever happened at my master's tower?” Karl wonders. 

***

They are not disturbed any further that night, except by their own thoughts. Even in the depths of his trance, Alkor can't stop seeing those serpentine eyes. Shifty has a terrifying nightmare of Gnomehome, the hidden community from which he came, and the oozes and slimes that overcame it in a single terrible night. 

Orzza can't help but feel that his destiny is drawing near. Since connecting with the rest of the party, he has sensed that they are doing important things- things that may ultimately change the world. 

***

Just after noon the next day, they reach Overland. They take pride in seeing that it is now surrounded by a low berm, and a pallisade is under construction. The town's central square is en route to Deryndradin's Tower; when they reach it, they are shocked to see a gallows with three bodies swinging from nooses, signs labeling them deserters around their necks. 

“Uh-oh,” mutters Shifty.

Kane stares, mouth set in a grim line. “Those were Double Javelins.” 

“Over there.” Shifty points toward the Silver Fish, where the party can see a crowd has gathered. 

The group approaches. There, a red-faced Sheriff Dugan is waving his hands and talking to one of the Double Javelin soldiers. Their conversation halts as the party approaches. The mood of the crowd is ugly; rumbling curses and angry looks are everywhere. 

“What's going on?” demands Shar. 

“Your Honors! Thank the gods you're back!” Dugan disengages from the other man and hurries over to them. “We should talk.”

“Apparently so,” Shar says. They step outside, but about a score of people follow them. 

“They beat up my boy!”

“They _hanged_ mine! That's my son up there!”

“Put it right, Governor!”

“Ain't right!”

Shifty turns and raises his hands. “Friends, friends,” he cries, “we don't know exactly what has happened here, but I assure you, we will, well, we'll see that justice is done! But first, you have to give us some time to look into things and figure out what's what. Please, give us that time!” 

Meanwhile, Dugan tells Shar, “Those Double Javelins are a rowdy bunch. They've stirred up quite a bit of trouble.” 

“Enough to hang three of them?” demands Kane.

Dugan's face reddens once more. “As to that, well, you'd need to talk to Lentor.” He shakes his head. “They have beat several people up, and maybe burned up a bunch of grain and stolen some kocho. But there's more. There was an attack on the wizard's tower. Now it's all a-glow, and one of the Brender kids touched it and got hurt real bad.” He glances at Karl. “The tower is probably more your area than mine. I couldn't figure out...”

“We'll look into it,” Karl promises. 

“Who attacked it?” asks Shifty, rejoining them now that he has at least temporarily mollified the crowd.

“Well, we don't know exactly. Different folks saw different stuff. Some say the dead were walking, others that there were giants. Seems like some kind of dark sorcery clouded people's eyes or something.” 

*** 

There's a lot going on, all right. A lot for our heroes to check out and look into. And they do so. 

Kane demands Lentor explain the hangings. 

“I was running patrols. Three days ago, one of them patrols was ambushed by a group of Double Javelin skirmishers and they were pretty well decimated. Two men died; the others were lucky to escape with their lives. Immediately, I took a group of my best troops to punish them. We found them quickly, and the engagement that ensued left several of them wounded and one dead, with my people suffering only a few superficial wounds. Since we had the advantage, I elected to pursue the enemy.”

He shakes his head. “I shouldn't have. We found... something unlike anything I've ever seen. A dog-man of some kind, strapped into a huge suit of metal armor with weird purple crystals set into it. A single blow from its claw tore a man in half. And there were more Double Javelins with it.” He passes a hand before his eyes. “I knew we were in trouble. Things went south fast. I rallied the troops, and we managed to scoop up several badly wounded men and make a quick travois, and then we retreated.”

He takes a deep breath and continues. “After about an hour, we thought we were clear. But then they came out of nowhere. This time the dog-man wasn't with them, but there were plenty of Javelins.” He winces at the memory. 

“That's when those men deserted. Each of them was helping to carry men too wounded to walk, but they broke and ran. Not only that, if they _hadn't,_ we could have won that fight. As it was, two more men died and we had to run off with our tails between our legs. We found the three of 'em later- they'd ditched their uniforms and we even overheard them talking about how better all the rest of us died than they did. So I made an example of them.”

After a moment of silence, Shar says, “Good job.”

***

“Clearly, there are more renegade Double Javelins still out there.” Shar glances at Kane. “We're going to have to go after them.”

“Agreed. We can't let them stand against us. It will just encourage the others to desert and join them.” 

The group approaches the farm where Dalma, the kocho farmer, must be compensated for his lost stock. But when they go to talk to him, it turns out that it may not have been the Double Javelins who stole the kochos after all.

“Look at these footprints.” Alkor gestures at the ground. “These weren't feet like ours. These were skeletal.” He looks at Dalma. “Your kocho got rustled by undead.”

_Whoever attacked the tower,_ Karl thinks. _But was this on their way in, or on their way out?_

“I think I'm gonna have to raise my prices,” Dalma complains. “But not for you.”

***

It takes a full day of study and work to break into the tower. When they finally do breach the field surrounding it, Karl is shocked to find that the whole place has been rudely searched. Scrolls and tomes are scattered carelessly on the floor, alchemical apparati are upset or broken, dressers and closets have had their contents strewn about. 

“Before you get all heartbroken,” says Orzza, “we'd better make sure that whoever did this isn't still here.”

Nobody is there but them. Whoever the intruder was, he or she is gone. 

“It's obvious that they were searching for something,” Sepia muses. “But what?”

“Any ideas?” Shifty asks Karl. 

He shakes his head. “It could have been anything. A spell, a book... it's hard to tell with things like this.”

So the group does an investigation of their own, cleaning up the mess and looking for signs of the intruder's intent or identity. It's an arduous, exacting task, especially since they don't know exactly what they are looking for, or even where within the tower to look. 

And with every hour, the trail- what trail there might be- grows colder.

***

The clue is a bloody thumbprint, significantly larger than a normal human's.

“That's it,” Karl exclaims. “That book didn't have anything like that in it before.” 

“What book is it?” asks Orzza. 

“_Reflections on the Eternal,_ by Witterfine. It's almost 1500 years old.”

“What's the section with the thumbprint about?” demands Shifty. 

Karl begins to read aloud: “Permanent disposal of artifacts and relics is very difficult. Usually each has but a single method of destruction that will permanently undo its existence, and the method is always obscure and difficult. This is the answer to the ignorant question: Why are so many artifacts of evil and destructive nature hidden in vaults, secured by wards or otherwise locked away when they will inevitably surface again? The answer is plain: destruction is not always an option. 

“It is possible to take steps to ensure that an artifact or relic remains hidden, but since they often have their own sentience, it is very difficult- some say impossible- to work out a permanent solution. Guardians age and die or can be destroyed; traps can be disarmed or wear down over centuries or millennia of time; spells fade or are triggered. Even burying an artifact is no guarantee of long-term prevention of its recovery and/or misuse.

“Some extremely creative methods have been devised over the aeons to secret artifacts and relics away, from the merely dangerous (the Mace of Saint John is said to have been fed to the Chromatic Dragon) to the outrageous and expensive (the Delphinate was said to have hired itself out for an incredible annual sum to contain a pair of dangerous Miloxi artifacts, the Electron Harness and the Radiation Claw). Others have been contained at the center of a large sequence of epic warding magic (the Staff of Sekolah), while still more are simply wielded (Cluma and the Rod of Seven Parts, the Deleter, etc).

“A few artifacts and relics can be rendered powerless or destroyed if the Power involved in its forging (if any) can be slain. Deep in the Astral Sea, the floating petrified corpses of dead gods sometimes rest next to the shattered remains of the tools they once invested. However, this is a very dangerous proposition in and of itself, and it is equally likely that destroying the artifact or relic is a necessary precursor to the destruction of the Power. Moreover, some artifacts and relics survive the destruction of their related Power and serve to transform a later wielder, restoring the Power to life and puissance. 

“Perhaps the most creative and, perhaps, effective method ever used to conceal an artifact or relic was the River Lethe. Using a powerful ritual, the ancient eldritch liege Lillamere banished all memory of an artifact, leaving it hidden deep in the Hells. What artifact? Nobody remembers, of course! The beauty of this method is that not only is any memory of the artifact's existence forgotten; even the artifact itself, if it has any lingering sentience, cannot recall its intention to free itself. Indeed, only some comments made by Lillamere himself allow this author to even mention this! One wonders if His Majesty had indeed stumbled upon the perfect method to hide an artifact forever. Alas, without reaching the impossible heights of arcane mastery that he had attained, it is impossible for anyone to replicate his ritual.”

“Huh,” says Shifty. “That's not at all ominous.”

“Well, good news, guys. I have a lead on our thief.” Alkor grins. “Even though nobody can remember much about him, there is one detail that seems to be pretty common in peoples' accounts. He had a wagon. And this morning, I went back to the kocho farmer's place and took a look around.”

“Maybe the trail isn't so cold, after all!” Sepia exclaims. 

“We'll see, because I found the wagon's tracks.”

_*Next Time:*_ Not-so-hot pursuit!


----------



## the Jester (Oct 6, 2018)

Light rain patters down on the fields as our heroes move, Alkor in the lead, tracking the ruts left by their foe's wagon. It has been a few days since it passed; in this fertile land, with this weather, the grasses are already springing up and starting to obscure the trail. 

Alkor's skills are great enough to meet the challenge.

The group follows the wagon trail first to the east. Once it is out of town, it turns to the south, passing west of the ruins of Thrushton. The ground is uneven and irregular; Alkor says, “We have to be moving faster than him. We've got to be closing the distance. There's no way that a wagon can move too quickly across this terrain. It would throw a wheel or break a spoke if he tried.”

So it seems inevitable that our heroes will catch up with their adversary- whoever it is. But alas, the trail is not unguarded.

The group moves under the canopy of a group of trees, and that is when the figures shamble out from behind cover and attack. Until they do, the reek of death is covered by the scent of petrichor, the sweet smell of the summer flowers blooming.

Shifty reacts first, hurling his dagger at an advancing undead warrior. “Watch out!” he cries, springing sideways away from the oncoming figures. 

The others start to draw weapons, to prepare themselves to meet the enemy, but then, with a skittering, clattering sound, something else bursts free from the underbrush. It moves like a centipede, but instead of flesh covered in chitin, it is all bone- a mix of ribs, thigh bones, skulls, vertebrae, everything. It moves sinuously, rushing forward on grotesque, mis-matched legs.

Before anyone else can move, it is among the party, ripping its way through, scoring terrific wounds on our heroes. With incredible swiftness, it slashes and scrabbles at them, winding its way through the group and back out again. Blood sprays in one direction, two, three.  

Kane roars and enters a rage. 

The battle is rough. The osteopede is deadly and tough; the party first tries to focus on it, but it's too fast, and the zombies closing on them prevent them from turning their full attention on it. Things look up for a second when the zombies start to fall, but grow more desperate when those same zombies rise up again after being seemingly defeated, terrifying the heroes.*

The fight keeps growing more and more desperate, as first Orzza and then Alkor and Sepia drop unconscious. 

“Oh no!” Shifty cries. “We have to get out of here! They're not worth it!”

But Shar uses _healing words_ to bring them back around, and despite being pressed hard, the party finally overcomes their foes- albeit barely.**

“That,” Karl gasps, “was no coincidence. Remember the bone footprints at the kocho farm? I think we've just found evidence that whoever invaded my master's tower was involved.”

***

The trail leads onward to a lonely farm. It's clear to Alkor that our heroes are catching up; they are making good time. 

The farm has a small house, door open wide. Scorch marks scar the threshold. Flies are swarming, and as the party approaches, a fat vulture waddles out of the door and takes to the air. 

“That's not a good sign,” says Sepia. 

Their quarry is not in the building. All that they find within is a dead, half-eaten dog and blood spattered everywhere. Footprints lead to the barn; when they investigate it, they find a horror show. To one side, a pile of tools has fallen over on itself. To the other, the bodies of the family (husband, wife, son and two daughters) lie strangled. Before them is a dead goat; its head has been spiked to the wall and much of the flesh torn from it. Hay bales fill much of the back of the barn under the loft. 

It's another trap. 

Once our heroes are deep inside, more undead reveal themselves- some kind of terrifying wraith and two flaming skeletons, as well as a mass of bloated demons and _something else.[/ij Something ragged, its form blurring, a white ceramic mask covering its face. Tattered robes trail on the ground. 

Things go horribly wrong.

The masked creature blurs, shifting its form. It looks like a human, like a skeleton, like a terrible, beautiful, frightful, awesome mix of- of everyone our heroes have ever known. Their friends. Their families. The party finds their minds warping, twisting. They can't trust their senses. 

The burning skeletons hurl flames, and the barn erupts into a conflagration. Suddenly the entire party is being cooked alive. In mere seconds, the whole place is ablaze. Only by smashing their way through a wall do our heroes survive. Only the greatest stroke of luck keeps them from all dying. 

But the flames wreak havoc on them and their foes alike. Perhaps it's a miscalculation on the part of whoever it is that they are really pursuing; more likely, their prey does not care about his servants or allies. Whichever it is, the fire grows swiftly as all the hay in the barn catches.

Coughing, burning, bleeding from their foes, the party manages to break free of the barn and slam the doors shut behind them. Kane presses up against them, head swimming from the smoke, wincing from the heat. But he will not let their enemies out.

“Fools!” The voice floats our from within, gloating. “You cannot stop Quah-Nomag! He will destroy you all!” 

Even as it dies, the strange, masked figure laughs at them. 

***

“What was that thing?” wonders Shar. 

“I have no idea,” Karl says glumly. “I've never seen anything like it. And I'm not even sure we saw its true face. It seemed able to control its form.”

“And to read our minds,” Shifty adds. “It turned into people we knew.”

“It was like it could control our senses. It seemed to change the way the barn looked, too.”

“It felt almost like one of those dreams where you know you're dreaming,” Sepia says. 

“At least we know the name of the person we're after now.” Karl frowns. “Assuming that it was telling the truth.”

“Quah-Nomag.” Shifty frowns. “Does anyone recognize that name?” Nobody does. “Or even what kind of name it is? Where it's from?” 

Again, nobody does.

“I found the wagon's trail,” Alkor calls from the other side of the field. 

“This Quah-Nomag has been killing people,” Shar says. “We can't abandon the pursuit until we catch him.”

“Are we sure they're worth it?” Shifty moans.

***

A small arm of the Goldwash runs through the farm. The wagon's trail parallels it, running further south. Finally, at a ruined fort, little more than an old foundation with a few crumbling partial walls, they catch up to it. The bodokod that hauled it are dead, slaughtered; a dead goat is impaled on a stake, set upright beside it. 

“Here,” says Alkor. He has found a trap door. 

The party clusters around as he pulls it open. From below, they can hear chanting. Someone is down there. Karl holds up a hand, silently telling the others to pause for a moment, and cocks his head, listening. After a moment, he whispers, “He's performing a ritual.”

“Can you tell what?” asks Sepia. 

“Yes,” the wizard answers quietly, face going pale. “It's called Abyssal fall. He is trying to shift himself to the very bottom of the Elemental Chaos.”

“Let's go,” says Orzza, and jumps down into the room below.

*Next Time:* Orzza's special destiny is revealed as our heroes confront Quah-Nomag!

*These were my conversion of coffer corpses. 

**Between them, the party spent *21 healing surges* in this encounter. This cemented the osteopede (from Open Grave, listed under “deathtritus”, IIRC, as one of my favorite types of undead and ensured that I would convert it for use it future editions. And it also ensured that, when future pcs encounter one, the players will remember it and dread the fight._


----------



## the Jester (Dec 2, 2018)

Blasphemous words drip from Quah-Nomag's tongue as he chants the words of the ritual, nearing completion. The half-ogre is focused on his task, anathema to all living things. Long has he worked toward his goal, but now, for the first time, he feels as though he has found a clue. The name Lillamere, found at Deryndradin's tower, connects. Tenebrous reacts to it... seems to thrum like the string on an instrument. Quah-Nomag's dark master knows that name.  

***

The heroes creep forward. Ahead of them, the underground passage opens up into what appears to be a large wine cellar, crowded with racks. The chanting is coming from somewhere within, reverberating through the space despite the intervening wine racks. 

“We probably don't want to let him finish that,” Karl whispers.

The party surges forward into the room, which, it appears, is not a mere wine cellar after all. The ceiling domes to a height of 20' overhead, braced by rotten wooden beams. The far end of the chamber has a raised dais, upon which are five sarcophagi, four of which are open. Four skeletons stand next to them, and three reddish-pink humanoids prowl around the perimeter. At the center is a hulking man with brutal, bestial features. His arms and legs are heavily muscled, and he stands well over 7' high. His broad body is draped in thick hides, sewn into crude but serviceable armor. A greatclub hangs at his side, but he holds a humanoid skull in each hand. It is from his foul mouth that the chanting is coming.*

Before anyone else can move, Alkor launches a pair of arrows, which sink into the half-ogre's chest. He grunts, and, without interrupting his chanting, motions at the skeletons, which stride forward to engage the party. The demons leap to the attack as well.

“Focus fire!” Karl shouts. “Take out the big guy!”

The party makes every effort to do just that. Alkor finds himself beset by the skeletons, and the evistro move to attack Orzza, while Quah-Nomag responds to the attacks of our heroes by throwing elbows and silently invoking the favor of his dark lord to punish nearby attackers with lightning and the energies of decay. 

However, by (mostly) ignoring the other enemies, our heroes soon press Quah-Nomag hard. Orzza shouts, “I was born of a special egg, and I have found my true purpose! To slay _you!!!_”

Meanwhile, Alkor finds himself pressed hard and forced to retreat around the room to avoid being overwhelmed by the skeletons, while Orzza is wounded multiple times by the demons, which seem to grow more ferocious near others of their kind. Shar is reeling from an elbow to the temple, and Karl has managed to draw the attention of one of the skeletons to himself by continuosly throwing _magic missiles_ through his _wizard's fury_. 

Still, things are looking good for our heroes- except for one thing: Quah-Nomag's ritual is nearly finished. He locks eyes with Orzza, who is now severely wounded 

“You miscalculate, little dragonborn,” the half-ogre rumbles. “You have indeed found your true purpose, but it is not what you think.” 

He throws another elbow, knocking Orzza prone. The dragonborn groans, head hitting the ground hard, and lies senseless. 

Quah-Nomag's lips curve into an ugly grin. “Your purpose is to serve as the sacrifice to complete this ritual.” 

“No!” cries Karl, but their foe throws a second elbow into the back of Orzza's neck. There is a sickening crunch, and then the ritual finishes. With a hollow boom and a bloom of blackness, Quah-Nomag and his allies fall away into the Abyss, leaving behind only a lingering stench and a dragonborn corpse. 

_*Next Time:*_ On the heels of a terrific loss, our heroes must deal with another Double Javelin threat!


*To complete the ritual, Quah-Nomag needed to spend five standard actions within the next minute. But as a solo monster, he also had minor action and immediate reaction attacks. So he could fight and ritualize simultaneously. I will post his stats below.


----------



## the Jester (Dec 2, 2018)

Here is Quah-Nomag's stat block as it was in this encounter. Over time, as the pcs encounter him again, it will change. For those of you who recognize him, yes, I am weaving a heavily tweaked version of the 2e adventure _Dead Gods_ into my campaign, once again proving my dedication to using material from every edition in my game no matter what edition it actually is. 

*Quah-Nomag, Half-Ogre Servant of Tenebrous*
Level 10 Solo Controller --- XP 2,500
Large natural humanoid

*Initiative* +5 --- *Senses* Perception +10
*Threshold of Death* (aura 3): Each living creature other than Quah-Nomag that starts its turn in the aura gains vulnerable 2 all until the start of its next turn. Death saves made within the aura suffer a -2 penalty, and a creature that dies within the aura has its soul consumed by Tenebrous.

*HP* 416; *Bloodied* 208
*AC* 23; *Fort* 23; *Ref* 17; *Will* 18
*Resist* 5 necrotic; *Vulnerable* 10 radiant
*Saves* +5
*Speed* 8
*Action Points* 2

*Greatclub* (standard, at will; Melee Basic Attack, Weapon): Reach 2, one target; +15 vs. AC; Hit: 2d10+5 damage. While bloodied, a hit also pushes the target 4 or knocks it prone (Quah-Nomag's choice).

*Greatclub Sweep* (standard, at will; Close, Weapon): Burst 2, targets enemies. +13 vs. AC; Hit: 2d10+5 damage. While bloodied, a hit also pushes the target 4 or knocks it prone (Quah-Nomag's choice).

*Vitality Siphon*  (standard, at will; Ranged, Necrotic): Ranged 10, one target; +14 vs. Fortitude; Hit: 2d6+5 necrotic damage, the target is slowed (save ends), and Quah-Nomag gains a +2 bonus on attack rolls until the end of his next turn.

*Fearsome Invocation of the Undead God* (standard, recharge 5 6; Close, Fear, Psychic): Burst 5, targets each enemy in burst; +12 vs. Will; Hit: 2d6+5 psychic damage, and the target moves its speed away from Quah-Nomag, triggering opportunity attacks. 

*Throw an Elbow* (minor, at will, 1/round until bloodied; Melee): one target; +15 vs. AC; Hit: 2d6+6 damage, and the target is dazed until the end of its next turn. While bloodied, a hit also knocks the target prone.

*Favor of Tenebrous* (immediate reaction when hit by a melee or close attack, at will; Close, Lightning, Necrotic): Burst 3, targets the triggering creature; +14 vs. Reflex; Hit: 3d6+5 lightning and necrotic damage, and Quah-Nomag slides the target 2 squares.


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## Baron Opal II (Dec 8, 2018)

the Jester said:


> However, by (mostly) ignoring the other enemies, our heroes soon press Quah-Nomag hard. Orzza shouts, “I was born of a special egg, and I have found my true purpose! To slay you!!!”
> 
> ...
> 
> ...




Damn, that's cold. Yet, excellent timing; there are few better ways to make a memorable recurring villain.


----------



## the Jester (Mar 23, 2019)

_*Tens of Thousands of Years Ago*_

“The horrors will be here any day,” says the first technician to the second. “We're too late. All our work...”

The second regards her companion. Her large yellow eyes catch the light, her vertical pupils seeming to blaze and scintillate. “It is too late for our people. The Miloxi Empire is fallen. The Yi-Chrechtor and his people- and his horrors- have already won. Have you not heard? He has opened Death's Eye.” 

The first technician stares at her, aghast.

“Yes,” she says. “Our home continent- destroyed. All around it, being destroyed. All the world, destroyed eventually.”

“Perhaps our creations...” 

“They are too few, and have not had enough time to grow in power.” Her tail flicks from side to side and she lets out a soft growl. “No, they cannot save us.” 

Whiskers quivering, the first technician passes a paw before his face. He lets out a despairing yowl. 

“But maybe,” the second murmurs.

The first stares at her. 

“Maybe,” she repeats, “someday, they can avenge us. Maybe we can send them to a future where they have a chance to live on after us. We cannot let the only legacy of the Miloxi Empire be a collection of mongrel species upraised from animals and birds. If they even survive without us.”

“The Yi-Chrechtor will show them no more mercy than he shows us.”

“The tubes,” she says. “The tubes.”

He stares at her. “But who will release them?”

“Time will release them. Perhaps they will be found by a friendly or curious race.”

“It might take centuries!”

“Yes. Perhaps even a thousand years or more. Longer, if the horrors overrun everything and no life returns. Maybe even forever.”

“But...”

“What choice do we have?” she demands. “We have to save _something._”

Reluctantly, he nods. “All right. I concur. Summon the shardminds.”

There are not many of them, these new, strange, inorganic creations. This new form of life. Like a collection of crystals, clumped rather than fused, upright and with a semblance of humanoid form, they are one of the latest wonders produced by the Miloxi Empire's psientists. Yet their race, only a few years old, might now be ended. Their moment might be past already. 

One by one, the shardminds file past the two technicians, each entering a seperate tube of hardened crystal. The process takes nearly four hours, as many of the shardminds are several hours away at one location or another. When every member of the race has arrived and entered its tube, the two technicians activate a sequence of psionic machines, charging a central u-shaped generator. The generator begins to hum and glow with an eerie silver-green radiance, and slowly the tubes all frost over, losing their transparency as the shardminds enter a state of temporal stasis.

“Let us hope for the best.” Grim-faced, the male technician presses a button, and complex machines begin moving the tubes. Banks of a few of them will be placed in different hidden locations throughout the Empire in the hopes that at least a few survive to be revived one day.

***

The Miloxi Empire falls. The two technicians, along with well over 95% of all the other tabaxi who make up the Miloxi citizenry, die, slain by the horrors they feared.

Time passes. First years, then decades, then centuries. 

Now and again, a shardmind bank is found. If the horrors find it, the shardminds are revived and slain one by one with mechanical efficiency. On three occasions, other creatures find the banks, and on two of them, they revive the shardminds. 

None of these survive more than two decades. 

More centuries pass. Then millenia. Things change. Islands sink and rise. Landscapes change. The era of the ascendancy of one type of creature passes into that of another, and then another. Still the remaining few shardminds remain buried in hidden places, far from the eyes of sentient beings. 

Now and again, a shardmind cache is found, and they are either destroyed or revived and then perish. Over the next 12,000 years, all the remaining shardmind banks are found and dealt with, one way or another, except two. 

Much later, a chance encounter with green slime leads to the failure of the penultimate bank. 

Slightly more than two thousand more years pass, and then a colony of hungry xorn eat a hollow in the earth that leads to a collapse that leads to an earthquake. 

***

_*Today*_

There is a loud crack, and suddenly shardmind designate PHUQ-69 becomes aware again. It knows that there was a gap in its consciousness, but has no idea how long that gap was. It has no way of knowing that everything it knew is long gone.

But it can see the spiderwebbing cracks on the tube it is enclosed in. 

_Something has gone wrong,_ it thinks. It pushes on the inside of the tube, but it doesn't open or even shift, so the shardmind draws out its _resounding morningstar_ and smashes its way free. Only as the noise of the shattering tube fades does it realize how dark and silent it is. Only a tiny bit of illumination reaches it from a distant crack. 

PHUQ-69 is highly disoriented, but it can faintly see the row of other tubes next to his. Half are still standing, but cracked, bent, and twisted. The others have been crushed by collapsing rocks. It focuses on the remaining intact tubes, but a thorough examination soon leads it to the gloomy conclusion that it is the sole survivor of this group of shardminds. 

Grief washes over it.

***

Meanwhile, our surviving heroes despondantly trudge away from the farm. They have lost a friend, met an enemy, and uncovered the first threads of some sort of terrible plot. It is not the best day that they have ever had. 

“What next?” asks Shar. “What do we do? How do we find this guy when we don't even know what he's after?”

Nobody has a good answer. At least, not now- not in the aftermath of the battle with Quah-Nomag, with the death of Orzza so fresh.

They plod along, heading back in the direction of Overland. Some forty minutes into the journey, Alkor squints and points. “What is that?” he exclaims.

Something in the distance is glittering in the sunlight. It is reddish-purple in hue, and it seems to be moving.

Sepia pulls out her whip, but Karl says, “Hold on. It might be friendly.”

“Hail!” cries Alkor. 

The figure changes direction to come directly toward them. “Is that a humanoid?” Shar wonders.

“It looks like it's composed of crystal of some sort,” Karl muses. 

Sepia paces. 

The figure halts when it is about 20' from the group. They hear a voice in their head: _Hello. I am PHUQ-60. Please direct me to the nearest Miloxi authority._

Baffled, Shar and Alkor exchange a glance. “The what?”

_The nearest authorities of the Miloxi Empire._

“I've heard of the Miloxi Empire in my studies,” says Karl, “but it's long gone. It has probably been extinct for more than fifty thousand years.”

_But- but that's impossible. It seems as though it was just a few moments..._ The strange figure goes still, lights swirling within the crystals that make it up. 

“Is it just me,” Alkor murmurs, “or does it seem... distressed?”

“I think you're right.” Shar steps toward the thing, moving slowly, hands held open and empty before her. “P-69... can I call you P-69?... I'm not sure what you are, but I am the governor of this area. Why don't you come with us for now? You can tell us your story, and we can bring you up to date on the local, er, situation.”

_All right. Thank you._

***

The journey home is uneventful, but word is out. The Double Javelins are on the move. 

“It's time we finished with them,” Kane growls.

Shar nods. “I agree. We need to bring them to heel or destroy them once and for all.”

“What about our new friend?”

She glances over at the shardmind. “So far it seems friendly enough.”

“Yes, but you'll notice it's armed. So it has all it needs to cause trouble if it wants to.”

“Don't you think we could take it?”

“Of course!” Kane snarls. 

“Well, then. We'll see if it wants to come with us.”

***

P-69 does indeed join the group for their mission, and the party strikes at the Double Javelins' camp while most of them are out raiding. 

They catch more than they bargained for when an ogre-sized suit of armor with a human fused into a cavity within it steps out of a tent and into view. Weird purple crystals are inset in the armor's shoulders and calves, pulsing with sickly radiance. It is the weapon that they saw some time ago- saw, and got sidetracked from. And clearly, someone volunteered to undergo the ritual for the Double Javelins. 

It's another of those dog-folk.

There are still half a dozen Double Javelins in the camp, as well as a worg. But by using the partially-constructed palisade as cover, the party forces the mercenaries to close to melee, where Kane ruthlessly cuts them down. 

P-69 proves his mettle here. He's fairly strong, but he is immensely tough and durable. He swings his morningstar into one foe after another. 

The armor-bound juggernaut is another matter.

_Be careful!_ the shardmind warns his allies telepathically. _That suit doesn't look well-built at all. Those radiocrystals are dangerous._

“What? You know what those things are?” Sepia demands.

_Yes, of course. Don't you?_ 

“Save it for later,” Shar barks. “We're fighting!”

_Yes. Let's destroy that canus!_

“Wait,” Sepia says. “You know what the dog folk are, too?”

“Later!” Kane roars, stabbing the canus. 

***

It takes a tremendous amount of effort to bring the canus down. Before they do, he triggers a radioactive burst that leaves all of them feeling as if something bad has happened to them- as if they have been, in some way, tainted by the energy.*

After they search the camp- taking some 1200 gold pieces in loot, along with what proves to be an _orb or reversed polarities_- they discuss destroying the armor. It is certain that none of them want to be bound to it; the canus and the armor are interwoven by metal cables and rods, and it looks really unpleasant. 

_Destroying the radiocrystals could have severe consequences,_ P-69 tells them. _You guys really don't know anything about radiocrystals here, do you?_

The group agrees that no, they don't. 

_In my time, they powered the wonders of the Miloxi Empire. But if used improperly-_ it gestures at the armor- _it can have disastrous consequences. It can cause sickness or death. It can deform any young you have later or render you sterile._

“Why would you even use it, then?” asks Sepia, shaking her head. 

“Power,” Shar guesses. 

_I don't know,_ P-69 admits. _I've never really thought about it before._

“But you've been around for a long time, right?” Karl asks. “You're ancient.”

_No, I'm six._

“You're what?”

_Six. Six years old. The rest of the time, I was in stasis._

Nobody is quite sure what to say to that.

_*Next Time:*_ An easy answer to what to do with the armor!

*Everyone gained 1 RAD, which stays with you forever. Accumulate too many RADs and... well, you could sicken and die... or maybe even mutate, old school Gamma World style.


----------



## the Jester (Mar 24, 2019)

The question of what to do with the armor (which, according to P-69, is a poorly and dangerously modified Miloxi artifact) is a tough one. Karl puts the idea of keeping it for study forward; but P-69 warns them that it might sicken those nearby, so even keeping it is risky. And the shardmind already explained that destroying it was likely to spread sickness around... so what?

The answer steps forward from the brush surrounding the camp: a familiar face, dwarven, garbed in leather armor colored green and brown in strange patterns that help him blend into the surrounding vegetation.  

“Nom!” says Shar with relief. 

“Greetings.” He spreads his hands, then stares at P-69. “I see you have a... new friend.”

_I am PHUQ-69, shardmind of the Miloxi empire._

The dwarf gives a respectful bow. “I am Nom. I must admit that I have never seen anything quite like you. Our... instruments... indicate that you are not composed of radiocrystal yourself...”

_Of course not!_ P-69's telepathic broadcast carries a hint of surprise at the notion. _Although my kind were originally created using radiocrystalline energies, the Miloxi were capable of manipulating many types of lattice and lattice-like structures, some of which were merely the inorganic seed for a life-spark to later-_

“What the rock man means,” Karl growls, “is that he's with us.”

“Of course,” Nom answers, “and I mean it no harm. Him?”

_I have no inherent gender. Yet calling me 'it' seems to devalue my existence._ After a moment's consideration, P-69 states, _I think I shall identify as male._

“Him, then,” Nom says. “In any event, though I am quite intrigued by him, your new friend isn't why I have come.” He gestures at the armor. 

_That is very dangerous,_ P-69 starts to explain, but Nom interrupts him.

“I know. I work with a group that is dedicated to removing the dangers such things present. We are the Crystal Breakers. Perhaps you have encountered us before?”

“He's pretty fresh out of the bottle, so to speak,” Shar states. “From what our friend told us, he was in some sort of stasis for... well, since the Miloxi era.”

“Long ago.” Nom stares speculatively at P-69 again. “Very interesting. Nonetheless, it's not what I am here for.” He gestures at the armor again. “Do you have any objection to my group taking charge of this thing?”

Kane barks a laugh. “I damn well don't want to get fused into it. None of us are planning to use it, and leaving it here just means another enemy might find it and use it against us. I care not- take it.”

Shar nods. “I think we can all agree that Kane's right. We don't want to keep it or to leave it lying around.” Nobody disagrees; she continues, “Take it. Be rid of it.”

Nom bows to them. “This is twice, now, that you have assisted my group. We shan't forget it. My superiors are already considering how to thank you properly.”

***

The next few weeks are peaceful compared to the last few. The threat of the Double Javelins has been severely reduced, though not completely eliminated. The lands claimed by Shar and Shifty are safe for the moment, or at least as safe as at any time during this troubled era. 

But peaceful and safe are not the same as trouble-free. 

Upon returning to Overland, our heroes find a gallows, with two of their soldiers hanging dead from it. It seems that their lieutenant, Lentor, felt the need to instill harsh discipline, and this has riled up the citizenry. After investigating the situation- according to Lentor, the hangings were justified and necessary given the behavior of the two, who endangered some of the locals with cowardice during a clash with the Javelins- the party decides that, while hanging them might have been extreme, it sent a signal that prevented any more trouble. Lentor was justified, and despite the rumblings of the crowd, he won't be punished. 

The one place the Double Javelins seem to continue to harass and harry the inhabitants is Woodcut. Cleaning up a group of orc raiders that they encounter along the way, the party heads there, finding many of the fields burnt. Famine is a real threat. But the Javelins have melted away; the loss of their camp and the armor-bound juggernaut may have finally broken them. 

The party recruits more soldiers, arranges for food relief to be sent from Grumbleford and Goldwash to help the citizens of Woodcut. All in all, things are looking fairly good.

But as they travel back toward Goldwash one day, they stumble upon a group of what they first take to be humans, who immediately attack them. The battle proves surprisingly difficult, and when our heroes examine the bodies, they find that the “humans” are not human at all, but rather, some sort of serpent-human blend. Scales, forked tongues, serpentine eyes... The signs vary from individual to individual, but it's clear enough for Karl to pronounce, “These guys are yuan-ti.”

“What's a yuan-ti?” asks Sepia.

Kane prods one of the bodies with a toe.

“They're an ancient race of humans who are tainted by contact with serpent gods,” the wizard explains. “Their presence is a threat.”

***

The party dispatches Bradford with a few other scouts to try to follow the trail of the yuan-ti back and find any lair or outpost they might have nearby. When he reports back, Bradford tells them that he did find something- a small group of lizardfolk being led by the strange snake-men. “It looked to me like they're fortifying the area. They were digging out a ditch and building a palisade. I don't think they plan on leaving anytime soon.”

“Maybe we can negotiate with them,” Shar muses.

Kane grins and caresses the hilt of his sword. “I will be happy to negotiate with them.”

“You bust down the doors,” she replies, “and I'll do the talking.”

***

The place resembles a tiny village, with only a few huts as yet. Boggy areas are almost everywhere within the encampment, and a huge mess of sticks, mud, and woven swamp grass forms a hump of mud about 10' high along one side. An empty stockade of thick wood has been built, but lies empty. The palisade around the camp has been finished since Bradford's scouting expedition, and a moat surrounds the whole place, swarming with water moccasins. 

Watching from cover outside the camp, Alkor comments, “Looks like about half a dozen yuan-ti and a handful of lizardfolk.”

“Look there,” Sepia says, pointing. “Something's moving close to the ground... is that a snake?”

Silence for a moment, then Shar gives out a low whistle.

“That,” Kane rumbles, “is one big snake.”

“It could probably eat a horse,” Karl states. 

“Not once I remove its head.” Kane loosens his blade in its sheath. 

Shar frowns. “Remember, let's try to talk to them first.” 

“Aye, but once they show they've no interest in talking, I'll kill their pet first.”

***

Shar's attempt at negotiation is an utter failure. Even before they reach the camp, they are attacked by the swimming snakes in the moat; and once that happens, the yuan-ti and their lackeys join the battle. There is never a chance to talk to them. Shar tries, once or twice, demanding their surrender; but the serpent cultists jus throw themselves at the party's weapons, willingly giving their lives in a fanatical frenzy. They fan out, giving their leader cover. He licks his dagger, leaving a slimy residue on it that proves poisonous when he sinks it into Kane's arm. The barbarian replies with a _howling strike_ that is punctuated with two arrows from Alkor's bow.

Once the enemy has been dispatched, with none allowing themselves to be taken prisoner, the party searches the bodies and the encampment, trying to ascertain whether there might be more of the yuan-ti that are absent. 

“Hey guys, look at this.” Sepia pulls an amulet from the neck of the leader. It is made of serpentine and designed to resemble a twisting snake. “I bet it's magic.”

“I've got an idol over here,” calls Alkor. “A snake. Looks valuable.”

Karl emerges from another hut clutching a handful of papers. “Look what I found,” he says. “Letters!”

The group clusters around as he reads aloud.

“Here's the first one. 'Survik, I am pleased to hear of your success. Now that you have located the Ziggurat of a Thousand Serpents, begin excavating at once. The central sacrifice chamber within should serve as a sufficient focus for the plague. Send a map of the location to our agent in Grumbleford at once; if you are found and destroyed by the warmbloods, we must retain the knowledge of it. Never again will the three glories of Zehir be hidden from us! We shall uncover the hidden secrets in all three of them with time. For now, we must prepare to make great sacrifices to the Slithering One that he shall continue to bless our endeavors. Once you have uncovered the snake pit in the Ziggurat, reconsecrate it and fill it with honored ones. Then we shall be able to perform the ritual!' 

“It's signed, 'Your Master of Coils, Shethfass.' So now we have a name for their leader.”

“I shall remove the head of this Shethfass,” Kane declares. “As I did the head of this Survik.” He kicks the body of the yuan-ti leader. 

“There's more,” Karl continues. “Here's the second letter:

“'Dear Survik, as we have discussed, I will be happy to remain at your service as long as you are in the area. Be warned that there is a new Government in the area, which seems competent at rooting out their enemies, so you may wish to look further afield for sacrifices in future.

“'Regarding the ziggurat of which you speak, I do not know of it. The local historian is an eladrin in Overland named Karlinden, but if you speak to him you may as well be informing the new Government of your intentions. I recommend looking the old fashioned way, if you have the manpower and a place to start. Please remember that any contact with me risks revealing my presence, and act accordingly.'” Karlinden frowns. “This one is just signed with an initial- K.”

There are three more letters. One by one, Karl reads them aloud:

“'Survik,

“'The green is made from the brain of a carrion crawler and has paralytic effects. Beware; it will harm serpents and other chosen folk as readily as it will a warmblood.

“'If you succeed with the Plague of Serpents, you will be given access to the histachi ritual. Consider this your true test. If you unleash the plague, there will be so many vectors spreading the histachi vulnerability that you should have no trouble remaking enough to hold off whatever pitiful resistance the locals can muster. Once you have created sufficient histachi you can seize control of the area and force the local populace to work and drain the swampland around the step pyramid. (Histachi will unfortunately not be able to work as regularly as required for such a task; they are stupid, prone to distraction and violence and much better suited to guard duty or hunting sacrifices.)

“'We will begin making a sacrifices every day when the sun is highest, that Zehir might bless your undertaking.

“'Your Master of Coils, Shethfass.'”

“Do you know anything about this pyramid, Karl?” asks Shar. 

“I'm afraid not. Nor do I know about this referenced plague of serpents... but I don't like the sounds of it.”

The next letter reads simply: _Survik, Where is the map? 

Your Master of Coils, Shethfass_

“Huh,” says Alkor. “Did anyone see any sign of a map?” It feels almost taboo to ask; for the last several centuries of the Sword Empire, maps were considered state secrets. Most people have never actually seen one- and none of our heroes found anything like a map in the encampment. 

The final letter is addressed to a different recipient. “Interesting,” murmurs Karl. Then he reads aloud: 

“'Ahrthass,

“'While I am at the excavation site, I leave you in charge. Should any of the others doubt you, show them this letter. With any luck, we shall have the Snake Pit excavated by the end of summer, and then we can perform the Plague of Serpents.

“'We do have a growing problem, however. The copy of the map that I sent to our local agent never arrived, which doubtless means that someone intercepted it. Be cautious! We do not need interference at this stage when we are so close! If anyone pries, sacrifice them. But DO IT QUIETLY! Attract attention, and we could be delayed or stopped at the moment of our triumph. Worst of all would be if our agent was uncovered. If he is forced to run, he will come to you. At that point he will be a liability- he will know too much to be allowed to survive useless. Feed him to the snake.

“'Survik' -so I guess,” Karl finishes, “this one was written by the guy the others were written to.”

“I wonder what this excavation site they reference is.” Shar frowns. “And this Snake Pit.”

“I wonder who their agent is,” Sepia says. 

“There's a lot to unpack here,” Shar admits.

“The end of summer isn't far off,” Alkor points out. “It's July 20th today.”

“Whatever they're doing, they're doing it soon,” Karl agrees with a nod. 

Kane sneers. “Then we shall have to kill them quickly.”

_*Next Time:*_ Our heroes struggle to prevent... A Plague of Serpents!


----------



## the Jester (Mar 25, 2019)

Our heroes continue to dig around the yuan-ti camp. Soon, Karl finds a map. “Look at this.” He points to a scrawled label on the parchment. “'Excavation site.' I think that's what we're after.”

“Or at least, it's where they are,” quips Bradford.

“Seriously,” says Shar, “we need to stop them. This plague of serpents, whatever it is, can't be good for us.”

Kane nods. “Agreed.” Before he can say more, there is a call from the gate set in the palisade. 

Several hours earlier, the yuan-ti had sent out a group to search for potential sacrifices. Now they have returned. 

The yuan-ti realize that there is trouble awaiting them from the subtlest signs, such as dead bodies lying in plain view, so when they meet our heroes it is weapons in hand. They, along with several servants- a pair of ghasts and an ironstone gargoyle- fight hard, but the party is ready for a fight, too. Though the yuan-ti and their lackeys are tough and dangerous foes, Kane enters a rage and gets their attention with a bellowing charge, backed up by Sepia's brass knuckles and PHUQ-69's morning star. The others strike from afar with arrow and spell.

It is during this fight that our heroes realize just how durable their new shardmind friend is, for P-69 is able to throw off lingering effects (such as the yuan-tis' ongoing poison effects) far more quickly than anyone else.*

Once the party has dispatched these new foes, Sepia says, “Maybe we should get out of here in case there are more groups that are gonna come back.”

“I'd like to burn this camp,” Kane growls, “but it's all too wet.”

“And from this map, it looks to be fairly swampy the whole way.” Karl frowns and glances around. “Here, we at least have dry ground. Perhaps we should avail ourselves of it and rest the night. I'm sure we can deal with any other groups that return before dawn.”

The others agree. 

***

The group ends up spending several days at the camp, using the time to harvest a great deal of meat from the giant snake they slew. Shar dedicates the first meal of “this god we're eating” to the Sword Emperor. No more foes arrive. 

Then they set out for the Ziggurat of a Thousand Serpents.

Traveling through the swamp is arduous. The party is harassed by insects, occasionally including giant varieties. Movement is slow, landmarks are hard to find, and swamp gas severely limits visibility.

They get lost, find their way then lose it again. They are confronted with impassable tangles of trees and brush that turns them around and costs them whole days' worth of progress. Several of them catch blinding sickness; the party has to use _remove affliction_ rituals more than once as they journey along. And they are attacked several times by rancid horrors made of rotting vegetation. 

But finally, after almost a month, they pass through a screen of trees and large leafy bushes and their destination comes into view. They draw back and spend a few minutes watching.

About 60' away is a large step pyramid that rises about 30' above the surface of the swamp. It is covered by swamp growth and muck; although its outline is clear, it is impossible to actually see the surface at all. An encampment of crude wooden shelters has been constructed at the base of the pyramid, which has at least three visible levels. Steps ascend each side of the pyramid. At the apex is a huge slab of stone with a 10'x10' opening through which a group of human-looking cultists are excavating copious amount of mud via buckets. At any given time, anywhere up to three working people are visible, hauling mud outside the top and dumping it off to the side, onto a mud pile now about 10' high. A number of huts are scattered around the base of the pyramid. Two more of the yuan-ti, these ones obviously overseers or guards, keep watch from the top of the pyramid. Long hoses extend out of the pyramid, water draining sluggishly from them. 

“We can take 'em,” Kane says. Sepia nods agreement. 

Shar purses her lips. “All right, let's do it before any more of them arrive.”

The party scrambles forward to attack. 

At first things look good; Sepia and Karl shoot the cultists down while Kane and P-69 rush forward to engage the overseers. Unfortunately, the noise of Kane's _howling strike_ awakens the additionally cultists in the huts. And more of the workers pour out of the top of the pyramid, buckets discarded in favor of daggers or scimitars. 

Suddenly, instead of somewhere around five enemies, the party is facing 20 foes (well, more like 18, given that two are already down). 

Then snakes start to emerge from the entrance- first, three rattlesnakes; then a huge constrictor; and finally, half a dozen water moccasins. 

Karl enters a _wizard's fury,_ recognizing that this is no time to hold back. He begins dropping cultists left and right with massive volleys of _magic missiles._ Meanwhile, Kane and P-69 seem to turn into living snake sausage grinders, brutally laying about themselves and surrounding themselves with sprays of blood. 

The snake cultists fall one by one, but not without dealing their fair share of damage to our heroes. Likewise, the snakes themselves wound, poison, and crush Kane and P-69, but both of them are too tough to quit. 

Soon, the pyramid exterior and entrance have been secured. 

Coming down from his rage, Kane realizes, “I could use some healing.”

***

There's no point in waiting. If they don't move fast, our heroes know that any yuan-ti still in the pyramid will figure out that they are under attack. So, after a quick breather to heal, the party advances to the top of the pyramid and in through the entrance.  

A bunch of buckets, shovels of various makes, casks of water and pumps, long coils of hose and similar material are in the chamber below the 10' x 10' opening. The stuff is very organized but still takes up a great deal of the space available. Mud still covers most surfaces, but the surface of the green serpentine stairs with their bannister formed to resemble a series of intertwined cobras running downward have been washed clean.

“Look,” says Sepia. She points at several places where spikes are sticking up from the banisters like fangs. The hoses they noticed outside run down the stairs.

“All right,” Shar declares, “let's finish these guys.”

_*Next Time:*_ Our heroes descend into the Ziggurat of a Thousand Serpents!


*This is because P-69 is a warden. Wardens get to make “save ends” saves at the start of their turn, as well as the end of it. Come to think of it, it might be only one at the start of your turn- IDHMBIFOM- but whatever, it was an awesome ability.


----------



## the Jester (Mar 28, 2019)

The second level down consists of three rooms. To the the southwest is a chamber with several inches of mud still on the floor. There are piles of rotten old robes on the ground, but they are in such bad shape that no details can be discerned. The door is jammed shut by mud piled against the far side, but Kane manages to shove it open with a little work. This leads the party to a empty chamber with a faint smell of snake in it. 

The largest room on the level holds an altar graven with images of snakes with fangs that drop venom, set upon a dais. The thick pillars bracing the ceiling are shaped to resemble great masses of snakes coiling together. The pump hoses run from the chamber above down another set of stairs. 

“This is devoted to Zehir,” Karl says of the altar, “a god of serpents, poison, and assassination.”

“That seems to fit these guys,” Shar comments.

The party searches the room. They find that the pillar in the northeast has a small hollow section. Sepia manages to trick a hidden panel open; within the secret compartment is another serpent amulet, similar to the one that they found previously. Sepia listens for noise coming from below. 

“I can hear the sounds of work going on somewhere down there,” she reports. “And distant voices.”

Shar nods. “We must have drawn everyone who was near the top outside.”

“Hopefully,” Kane says, “the rest of them aren’t expecting us.”

Down they go. Each level that they descend is larger than the last. Mud has been cleared from fewer surfaces below than above, but where the walls are visible, the motif of the serpent continues, often depicted devouring or poisoning mammals. The hoses continue along. The party creeps forward, finding an old chamber with shelves still holding stale incense, a partially-excavated garbage pit (complete with the withered corpse of an otyugh), before abruptly finding themselves in a chamber full of snakes.

Battle!

Kane leaps forward to attack, blade singing as it slashes serpents in half. The other rush to back him up. The snakes can’t withstand their fury, but a group of yuan-ti and cultists rush in to defend them from another chamber.

“Watch out!” Karl cries, blasting them with a _fireball._ Sepia cracks her whip at a cultist while P-69 slams his Morningstar down on the largest snake. Even Bradford manages to cut down a few serpents. Soon, the battle is over, and the adventurers stand triumphant. 

 “I guess we didn’t draw out all of the yuan-ti near the surface after all.” Shar uses a _healing word_ to restore some of the damage Sepia took.

***

There are no other yuan-ti or snakes on the level, though there are several more chambers. When they find a giant snake skeleton, it is perched at the top of a wide ramp that descends into the next level of the pyramid. Crushed bones lies all around it, but it proves inanimate despite the misgivings of the party.

The bottom of the ramp has more yuan-ti guarding it, waiting in 2’ of water and muck. The party attacks. The guards defend themselves, but our heroes force them back with the strength of their initial assault. Karl’s _fire burst_ opens the battle, and Kane leaps forward in a rage. The cracking of Sepia’s whip sounds over the shrieks of the cultists.

But then Kane gives a cry of his own. Hidden beneath the mud and water, the room is trapped with pungi sticks. 

But in his rage, Kane cares little. Bleeding from his left foot, the barbarian ignores his pain, ignores the filth threatening to taint the wound, the stabbing daggers of the yuan-ti. His attention is focused solely on one thing: _kill._

The yuan-ti fall back, pressed by Kane, with the others right behind him. But the noise has drawn more trouble. As Bradford drops another cultist, a pair of gray chickens come chicken-walking into view.

“Bawk bawk!”

The chickens rush forward. “Watch out!” Karl shouts. “Those are cockatrices! They can turn you to stone!”

Kane snarls and hacks at the first cockatrice. P-69 explodes into his constituent crystals, then reforms near Kane and joins the melee.

Behind the cockatrices, another yuan-ti appears. He wears a wide-brimmed sable fedora and has a whip coiled at his waist. “Wait!” he cries. “There is no need for this!”

Kane drops one of the cockatrices and turns roars.

Shar, however, never one to turn down the chance to negotiate, calls back, “Call off your minions! If they stop attacking us, we’ll stop attacking them!”

“Will we, though?” mutters Bradford.

But indeed, despite Kane’s tooth-gritting rancor, the fighting between the party and the remaining yuan-ti and cockatrice halts. There is only one yuan-ti other than the fellow with the hat. Karl strains to hear any sign of others nearby, but he can’t hear anything over the heaving breaths and movements in the room. 

“There’s no need for this!” the hat-wearing yuan-ti says. “Why are you attacking us?”

Shar answers, “We’re not going to let you perform your ritual here.”

“I take it that you’ve already cut your way through the others above?”

“That’s right.” Kane grins.

“Then you have nothing to worry about. It wasn’t _my_ ritual at all. It sounds like you’ve already slain the cultists who were planning the ritual.”

“Then what are you doing here?” demands Karlinden.

“I am an archeologist. You might think of that as being somewhat like an adventurer, exploring old tombs and suchlike. My name is Survik. I’m here because this is a sacred place to my people. Long ago, these lands were ours.”

P-69 speaks. “What was the cult’s plan? We know there was a ritual. What would it do?” 

“Ah, that. That’s why they were here- it can only be performed at one of a few select holy sites. They wanted to create a _plague of serpents._ The ritual causes snakes within the affected area to grow a second head and split into two snakes, doubling the population every few weeks. Of course, many of those snakes would move outward, seeking less crowded conditions.”

“How long,” Karl asks, “would the effects of this ritual last?”

“A year.”

“Then it’s a good thing we stopped them,” says Shar.

“From your perspective, certainly.” Survik shrugs. “It makes little difference to me.”

“You don’t care that we stopped them?”

“As I said, they were pursuing their goals, and I was pursuing my own.”

“Which are?” Shar asks.

“I am exploring a lost site created by my people.” Survik makes a gesture to indicate the ziggurat around them. “I’m not really interested in doing anything threatening to you. I want to _learn._ I’m a scholar.”

The party confers. It’s obvious that, should they decide to, they can lay the remaining snake-folk low along with their cockatrice, but there is a danger that one of our heroes could be petrified before the fight is over. 

“And I believe this guy that he’s not a threat,” adds Shar. 

“You think we should let him go?” Kane frowns. “He could bring more of his people here so that they can try to perform the ritual again.”

“And we know where they are. We can stop them again.”

After some debate, Shar makes the decision: they will allow Survik to live, and periodically send scouts to check the situation at the ziggurat to ensure that the yuan-ti don’t attempt to cause more trouble there.

“We’re going to regret this,” Kane grumbles.

***

The party returns home and has a nice stretch of downtime. For almost two months, they are confronted with no major threats. As winter nears, things are looking pretty good for them and their lands- food stores are set aside, damaged buildings are largely repaired, and so forth.

One day, late in September, a stranger arrives in Goldwash, seeking an audience with the Governors. This is Rualiss, an eladrin- and he comes to beg for aid. 

“There’s something wrong in the Feywild,” he tells Shar and Shifty. “There is something… something corrupting fey folk.”

“What do you mean?” asks Shifty. “Corrupting how?”

“It’s like they fall under some sort of malign influence. The become filled with rage and aggression, and eventually vanish.”

“Any idea where they’re going?”

“Yes. The Garden of Graves.”

“That sounds… ominous.”

Rualiss winces. “Normally, it’s beautiful. Honored heroes of the Feywild are laid to rest there. It’s a place of peace and harmony. But lately… well… we don’t know why it’s happening. But it seems likely that the source is in the Garden of Graves.”

“And you want us to find it and destroy it,” Shar says.

“Yes. We’ve already sent two expeditions on our own, but…” He shrugs. “We presume that they succumbed to the power behind this.”

“And what do we get in return?” Shifty asks.

“We can give you a number of minor magic items.”

“Sold!”

_*Next Time:*_ Our heroes travel to the Feywild and the city of Moonstair!


----------



## the Jester (Mar 29, 2019)

Rualiss leads the party into the forest for several days. As they cross over a trickling creek bed along a well-shaded hillside, the eladrin tells them, “Here. This is the place.”

They look around. The brush is thick, there are many flowers blooming, the birds are singing, the trees are large and healthy- but it looks fundamentally like the rest of the surrounding woods.

“Is there some kind of portal?” Karl asks.

“No. This is a crossing. Once each day, when the sun is halfway past its zenith and the shadows are growing long, if one walks through this area, she can simply walk from the World into the Feywild or back.”

Sepia scrambles up a tree to gauge the sun’s position. “So we just have to wait a couple of hours?”

Rualiss nods. “And then we can pass through.”

The group has a small meal and relaxes while they wait. Shar takes off her boots and Shifty grabs a quick nap. Bradford stays attention, keeping guard. 

When the time is nigh, the air seems to fill with an almost electric charge. Rualiss leads our heroes through the fey crossing, and they can all feel the moment when, suddenly, they are in another world, for the air seems sweeter, the birdsong more melodic, the scents on the air more primal, verdant and fecund both.

For most of them, it is a first visit to the Feywild. As an eladrin himself, Karl has spent some time there, and Shifty had visited the faerie realm a few times as a youth. Still, even for both of them, it has been years. 

***

Moonstair is a small village that straddles the two worlds. When a moon is in the sky- something that happens a few times in a typical human lifetime- it falls back and forth between the two worlds. It is not what it once was; it is home to a meager two hundred people, as the outlying abandoned buildings and overgrown farms attest. 

This is Rualiss’ home. 

Here, the party rests a night, put up by fey folk both grateful and hopeful that they might be able to resolve the situation.

The next day they make for the Garden of Graves, which is less than a day from Moonstair. They follow a trail through thick woods until it opens on a huge ridge of dark stone that looms over the surrounding area. Based on the directions and descriptions that they were given by Rualiss, they have arrived. 

Shifty says, “Before we go in there, I’ll check it out.” He activates his _armor of rat form_ and transforms into a fat gray rat, then scampers ahead on the path while the others withdraw into the cover of the trees. 

The path leads the rodentified gnome to an entrance in the face of the ridge. _Maybe it passes all the way through,_ he thinks. He moves another few steps forward- then freezes. 

Something is chiseled into the face of the rock beneath him. 

_I’m standing on writing,_ he realizes. 

He can’t read it, but there is a lot of it. He scuttles back to the party, then returns to his normal form. Patting his comb-over, he tells the others what he saw. 

“No guards?” Kane asks. 

“Not that I saw.”

“Bah.” 

Karlinden rubs his hands together. “Let’s check it out.”

***

The writing is in the Elvish script, but transliterates Common words. And there is quite a lot of it.

It reads:

_Count you the shadows, watch the sun. 
The wise know where they stand:
While knowing not the time to shun, 
The fools must find themselves undone.

Like lustful swain or panicked child
Who beg another’s gentle hand,
The fool delves heedless through the wild.
The wise are not so soon beguiled. 

When darkness falls and dreams portend
The rising of a fearsome foe,
The fool, swift-striking, meets his end,
The wise know froe from friend.

Let art and image point the way,
Abandon all you think you know.
For common sense leads fools astray. 
The key is simply this: Obey.

The wise must ever strategize;
They never play, unless to win.
They see the harm in comfort’s lies, 
And seek to open weary eyes.

You’ve fought your way, you’ve risked demise,
To view the ivy heart within.
Now as the soul within you dies,
This knowledge is your only prize:
You’d never have come, were you truly wise._

“Huh,” says Shar.

Karl studies the text. “That’s… something, that’s for sure.”

“Come on,” Sepia urges, “let’s go inside.”

“Wait a minute.” Shifty unslings his backpack. “I’m going to copy this down first. It sounds like a bunch of hints.”

“Who did this, though?” PHUQ-69 wonders. 

***

The cave has a trio of statues in it, blocking off access to the far side, where a tunnel leads out. The three statues depict a maiden, a mother, and a crone, each with a hand out. Shifty immediately pulls out his copy of the doggerel. “Here,” he says, jabbing a finger at the second stanza. “The crone’s the one we want. The lustful swain is the mother, and the panicked child is the maiden.” He tries putting a coin in the crone statue’s hand.

It grinds into motion, stepping out of the party’s way.

“That wasn’t so hard,” the gnome declares. 

Beyond the cave, the path emerges on the far side of the stone ridge. A cliff rises above the party; from here, they can’t see what’s atop it. Not far to their left, the ridge cuts off further passage; to their right, trails wind along through the trees below the cliff face. Some distance that way is a building on stilts, perched about 50’ above a rushing river. Rope bridges connect it with the top of the cliff face, and a spiral staircase ascends from the river’s bank to the building.

P-69 gestures. “I think we should go that way.”

The party starts down a trail leading toward the building. It winds through the woods, then abruptly opens on a clearing containing an abandoned-looking camp. Two tents, tattered and collapsed, lie among scattered firewood and old rusted tools. 

“What’s that?” Sepia indicates a strange dark stone obelisk. Atop it is a globe of iron.

“It looks kind of like a weary eye,” Shifty says.

The party starts to move over to it. 

And the whole campsite comes to life and attacks.

_*Next Time:*_ Our heroes move into the Garden of Graves proper!


----------



## the Jester (Mar 31, 2019)

“Is this in your rhyme, too?” PHUQ-69 cries, as the decrepit canvas tents try to wrap themselves around our heroes while the firewood bursts alight and sends flaming sparks at them. 

“No!” Shifty replies, then corrects himself. “Well, yes- not these, but that!” He points at the obelisk.

The tools, too, spring to life, and a ghostly light flickers into being before starting to drain the life from those near enough. Our heroes find themselves suddenly pressed from all sides. 

While the others engage the attacking campsite furnishings, Shifty springs forward, tumbling past the animated objects, and rushes to the obelisk. _'Seek to open weary eyes',_ he thinks, recalling the verse, and scrambles up to the top of the thing, where he espies a hinge. He pulls out his thieves' tools and works at it. 

He feels a great lethargy fall over him. He feels, in fact, very sleepy. 

Blinking, he bites his cheek to help himself focus, and keeps working on the hinge. 

_There!_ 

He tricks it open, and the lethargy ends. 

He leaps to the ground and returns to his friends, who are finishing disposing of the will-o'-wisp and camp gear. “Well done, people!” he beams at them. “Great job!”

“What's that thing you were messing with?” Shar asks. 

“Come see, I disabled it. It's the 'weary eye' mentioned in the rhyme we found.”

P-69 and Sepia search the campsite for treasure while the others check out the obelisk. “Nothing,” the rogue reports, the two joining the others at the obelisk after a few moments. 

“To yonder staircase, then,” says Kane, and the group turns back to their destination. 

As they approach, the building's odd shape, irregular and curved, strikes them. It stands as high as the cliffs themselves, with thick wooden stilts as supports. The stairs that rise to it are made of wood, too, but the building itself seems to be composed of slabs of ill-fitting stone sealed with vines and other growth. It's very weird-looking.

Kane leads the way up the stairs, naked sword pointing ahead of him, a low growl rising from his deep in his chest. They spiral up through the floor of the suspended building. Within, a table holds a miniature landscape that includes the building. Most of the table depicts the top of the cliff- a complex systems of paths running between stone cairns.

“This must depict this place,” Bradford states.

The only other exit out of the building ends at a rope bridge that leads to the north, where another building, this one constructed from bright marble, stands. Rougher stone structures- a whole complex of them- stand to the northwest. 

“Those aren't on the map,” Karl exclaims. 

Sepia points at the rougher buildings. “And look. The stones making those up- they don't fit together well, but they're obviously not natural. Those are the gravestones. Somebody has repurposed them.”

Silence falls over the group for a moment. Karl finally breaks it. “Well, at least we know that whatever is happening to the fey folk around here is intentional. And that means that we can undo it.”

***

The marble building is another irregular one, though less curvy than the first. Inside, the walls, floor, and ceiling are completely covered in runes that seem to squirm and change when observed. The interior walls of the building curve weirdly and end in pillars, apparently part of the pattern of runes. 

“Whatever is going on here, it's very complex,” Karl declares. “I think that the entire Garden of Graves has been reworked into some kind of rune magic to support... something.”

“Hello? Oh gods, help me!” 

The woman's voice comes from a part of the room that is hidden behind one of the curving walls. Shifty whips out his dagger.

“Hello?” says P-69.

“Please, help! They've already sacrificed my family, and I'm sure that I don't have long! Please, free me!” 

“I don't know...” Shifty mutters suspiciously, but the shardmind is already moving around the wall. There is the sound of rattling chains- 

Then there are beetles everywhere, tearing at the party, emerging from tiny holes in the room's surfaces. 

P-69 shrieks, and the woman's voice comes again- laughter, full of malice. 

P-69 backs into view, scarabs scratching at him, biting and burrowing into his rocky skin. They scramble all over everyone. Blood is everywhere.

*Kaboom!* A _fireball_ detonates, and for a moment, the group can see what's happening well enough to realize that the woman and the scarabs- or at least, many of them- are one and the same. She shifts from the form of a beautiful eladrin to a swarm of ravenous beetles and back again, flowing around the chamber in a chewing frenzy. 

Badly wounded, Shifty tumbles around the corner, hoping to gain cover, retreating forward. For a moment he's away from them. Gasping, he glances around. 

There is a stone-rimmed pool, within which lays a key of bright metal. The rippling water makes it hard to tell exactly where it is, but... He hurries over and reaches for it. 

The key isn't where it appears to be. He misses when he grabs for it, and as he does so, a serpent of water rises up in the pool. 

_Uh-oh,_ he thinks.

Meanwhile, the others are struggling with the beetle situation. Karlinden's magic seems more effective than anything else, but Kane, Bradford, Sepia, and Shar are all badly wounded. 

“Over here!” Shifty's voice comes from around the corner. The others fall back- forward, rather- toward him.

With a wail, the beetle-woman and her little friends follow, hesitating as Karl blasts them with a _flame burst_. 

Shifty gropes for the key, and after a moment, his hand closes on it- but not before the serpent smashes into him.

He vanishes. 

Sepia and Bradford both fall to the relentless beetle-woman. But finally, Kane and Karl bring her down in turn. When they finally do, she collapses into a shower of beetles, most dead- but some scuttle away, out the tiny holes in the walls and floor. 

The water serpent keeps lashing out at anyone near it. Sepia calls, “Get away from it! We don't need to mess with it. Shifty already grabbed whatever was in the water.”

“Speaking of whom,” Shar says, “we need to find him.”

“There's only one way!” P-69 steps up to the serpent, which lashes out.

The shardmind, too, vanishes. 

“I'm not so sure that's true,” Karl sighs.

***

Shifty appears with a yelp. He's in cold, fast-flowing water. Not far downstream, the water disappears with a roar: it's a waterfall. 

He swims to shore without too much trouble, but then realizes that P-69 has appeared behind him in the water, and seems to be having a bit less luck with the swimming.

“Watch out!” the gnome cries. 

P-69 gives a loud yell as he is swept over the edge of the fall.

***

The others heard P-69's yell. The waterfall he fell down was the same one they saw descending from above the cliff when they first passed through the stone ridge blocking access to the Garden of Graves. He's banged up by the fall, but still conscious.

However, the whole group is pretty battered from the last few encounters. “I think,” says Karl, “we should move an hour or so away and try to get a long rest.”

This seems wise. The party heads off into the Feywild to make camp. 

_*Next Time:*_ Death strikes one of our heroes!


----------



## the Jester (Mar 31, 2019)

While the group rests, Shifty and Karl pour over their copy of the verse, looking for clues. The gnome points to the paper. “I saw a sundial in that area with all the beetles. This bit- 'Count you the shadows, watch the sun/The wise know where they stand;/While knowing not the time to shun'- could be a reference to it.”

“Maybe we stepped in the wrong spot or something and drew the beetles,” the wizard muses. 

“I don't think so- that woman was there, disguised as a prisoner, when we showed up.”

“Perhaps we should examine it more closely.”

Shifty nods. “Agreed.”

***

Beetles still crawl in and out of the small holes in the beruned building. The sundial, which the party barely made note of during their battle in the marble building, sits in an cul-de-sac in the place. Though it is under a roof, a flaming brazier hangs on a chain from the ceiling. Obviously under the influence of some kind of magic, it isn't hanging straight down, but rather extends down at an angle, causing the sundial's gnomon to cast a shadow. 

“It looks like the right time to me,” says P-69. 

Karl squats down to look at it a bit more closely. “Agreed, at least as far as I can tell.” He closes his eyes and uses his arcane senses to feel the magic surrounding it, but can't discern anything more.

For the moment, there is nothing obvious to do with or to the sundial, so the party leaves the marble building. They cross the river that P-69 and Shifty had been teleported into along a dilapidated wooden bridge, which leads them to the main plateau above the cliffs, where a collection of weirdly-shaped buildings constructed from the old grave markers stands. Two large black obelisks stand before a building to the group's left; they elect to continue their investigation there.

The building beyond the obelisks is even more haphazard than the rest. “It almost looks like someone was trying to build an artificial cave,” Sepia remarks. 

The group steps in- and the world seems to spin away beneath them. There is a shock of cold and nausea, and the inherent brightness of the Feywild is replaced with a sudden somberness.

“We've shifted into another plane,” Karl says. 

“Which one?” asks Shar. 

The wizard shakes his head. “I can't be sure, but... a sinister one.”

Kane leads the group into a bone-strewn chamber. An ominous-looking statue, robed and crowned but with its face chiseled away, stands near the back; many of the bones seem to be pointing at it.

“I don't trust it,” says PHUQ-69.

“I'll check it out.” Before anyone can stop her, Sepia skips forward toward the statue. 

Which lashes out, a scythe appearing in its hands from nowhere. The tiefling yelps and flips backward, but still takes a nasty cut. 

Kane growls, “Foul sorcery!”, then rushes the statue. 

But another one comes from behind. 

Both unleash pulses of necrotic energy, ripping life energy from our heroes, then lash out, moving quickly through the party ranks and cutting left and right. Kane responds by entering a rage and unleashing a series of devastating blows, while Shar, Sepia, and P-69 focus on the other statue and Karl fires _magic missiles_ from the center of the party. Bradford darts in and stabs the thing that Kane is fighting, and the party begins to wear their foes down.

But the creatures are very dangerous, striking with frightful precision, and the very air in the place reeks with death. Just being too close to the walls causes the bones of the heroes to ache. Combined with the terrible gray angels' attacks, the power of decay that runs through the very fabric of the local reality begins to wear the adventurers down.

Then, in the flash of a blade, Sepia falls to the ground unconscious. Before anyone can help her, a scythe slashes into her back, and then the pull of the plane itself finishes her off.

“Sepia!” cries P-69. “Noooo!!”

“It's not too late!” Karl exclaims. “Grab her and let's get out of here!” 

The shardmind scoops Sepia's corpse up into his arms and the party retreats. As soon as they leave the building, they can feel themselves transition back into the Feywild. The glum, oppressive feeling that death is just around the corner is replaced with the burgeoning sense that life is everywhere. 

Shifty gasps, clutching at his wounds. “Those things were nasty!”

Karl ignores him, checking Sepia for signs of life. There are none. “It will be all right,” he mutters. “I recently learned the _raise dead_ ritual. We just need some time.” But then he frowns. “Time, and ritual components. Damn.”

“You don't have enough?” asks Shifty.

“Not of the correct type. We'll have to return to Goldwash. Unless... perhaps the folk of Moonstair will have what we need, and since we're aiding them, if they do, hopefully, they will be willing to surrender it to us.”

Plan made, the party departs for the fey crossing.

***

Alas, Moonstair does not have the ritual components that Karl needs, necessitating that the party return home for a few days. When they do, they find a stranger waiting for them. Strangely garbed in what is plainly some kind of uniform, with tanned skin, a hawk nose, and long fingers, the stranger introduces himself as Moab ak-Atel. 

“I am an emissary,” he tells them, “from the Delphinate.”

Karl is thunderstruck. The Delphinate was a society of mages based upon an island, but he had assumed that it was destroyed in the fall of civilization. _If it survived, who knows what kinds of magical secrets I might find there?_ His pulse quickens.

“My people have heard of your community,” Moab says. “As you are probably aware, there are very few surviving towns or cities- of which the Delphinate is naturally the greatest. When we discovered your communities were still extant, we felt it wise to reach out and make contact with you. Thus, I have come with an invitation for you- you being the local authorities- to either send emissaries or to come visit yourselves.”

“Where is this Delphinate?” Shar asks.

“South of here, past the desert. Assuming you wish to come see our glorious civilization, I am to guide you.”

“Well, that's very interesting, and we might take you up on it in the future. But we have other obligations to fulfill first.”

“Oh?” Moab says politely. “Contact between our people is a very high priority for us. After all, those few points of light that have survived the extinguishing of civilization must stick together, or we'll all fall separately. Perhaps I could help you in order to expedite matters?”

Karl says, “I take it you're a wizard, given your origin?”

“Of course. I specialize in the school of enchantment.”

_Specialization! Another lost art!_ thinks Karl. “I would love to compare notes with you.”

“Oh? You are a wizard, too?”

“Indeed, although I am not a specialist like you. Instead, I focus on my implement of choice- the tome.”

“Ah.” Moab seems unimpressed, which makes Karl feel even more rustic than he normally does. Nonetheless, the stranger allows, “I suppose it couldn't hurt anything.”

***

Sepia's resurrection goes as planned once the components are acquired. She is shaken by the experience, but her commitment to helping the fey folk seems to have redoubled. 

That night, the party has dinner with Moab. They are shocked to see him pull out a pouch of residuum and sprinkle some on his food.

“What are you doing?” yelps Karl. 

“Oh, you're not familiar with residuum,” Moab says condescendingly.

“No, I am- we are- but you're putting it on your food??”

“Of course. It vastly improves the flavor.” He dumps a small pile of it onto the back of one hand, leans over it, and snorts it. “Ah, refreshing.”

“But-” Karl stops. _Do they have so much magic in the Delphinate that they can treat residuum so casually? Eating it? Snorting it??_

“Care to try?” asks Moab, offering the pouch. 

“Uh...”

“I'll try it,” P-69 declares. 

“You don't have a nose.”

The crystals making up the shardmind's body shift around, forming an orifice in his face. 

“I'm not sure it will have any effect on you,” Moab shrugs, “but give it a try.”

Sepia and Shifty try snorting some residuum, too. All of them- even P-69- find that it gives them a sort of floating head feeling, along with a charge of energy. Karl refrains and merely observes. _There eyes are bright, almost feverish,_ he notes. “Is it addictive?”

“What? Addictive?” Moab ponders for a moment, then answers, “It depends. Do you consider food and drink addictive?”

***

Reinforced by their new ally- who, while stuffy and arrogant, seems willing to help in whatever way he can contribute to their cause- the party returns to the fey crossing. Moab finds the experience of passing over into another world fascinating, admitting that he hasn't had the chance to do so before. Karl contains his smirk, but can't help thinking, _Who's the bumpkin now, eh?_

The party moves through the bright foliage and sweet perfumes of the fey plane until they once again reach the Garden of Graves. On the way, Shifty shows Moab the doggerel that they copied down, and the newcomer spends some time familiarizing himself with it. “It's already proved useful several times,” Shifty comments, “and I'm hoping that unraveling what the rest of it means will help us deal with whatever other threats are here.”

The party once again ascends to the building atop the stilts. Indicating the diorama, Karl says, “I'm pretty sure that's what this place used to look like. But now, the graves have been dismantled and used as building materials.”

“I wonder who's behind it,” Sepia says to herself.

The party again crosses the rope bridges to the building where they fought the beetle-woman. The runes within still glow, still twist when observed closely. “That's the sundial we told you about.” Shifty gestures. “And... waitaminute-”

The beetles are swarming together. Forming a familiar. An all-too-familiar figure. 

Laughing maniacally, the woman's face appears in the mass for a moment. 

Then the beetles wash over them again.

It is the first time that they have had the opportunity to see Moab in battle. While Karl is the sort of wizard who is like a catapult, Moab proves to be more like a bag full of ball bearings. His _beguiling strands_ confuse the enemy, move them around, pushing them away from the party and preventing them from swarming over them.

This time, the battle goes better for our heroes. 

Their new ally has more than just magical might; he also proves to be tactically savvy. He may be a wizard, but he thinks like a soldier. 

The beetle woman tears deep wounds in our heroes, but she can't stay consistently close enough to maximize her effectiveness with Moab's enchantments constantly forcing her back. This time, the party defeats her with far less cost to themselves. Even so, she almost kills Bradford and Shifty before Karl's arcane flames finish her off. 

Once more, the remaining beetles scatter, withdrawing through the holes in the building. 

“She's gonna be back again,” Shifty declares. “I can feel it.” 

“But hopefully not today,” says Shar.

Kane snorts. “Bah. Let her come. We will lay her low again. Put her to the sword enough times and she will die for good.”

“Maybe.” Karl sounds unconvinced.

_*Next Time:*_ Our heroes continue their exploration of the Garden of Graves!


----------



## the Jester (Apr 1, 2019)

The party returns to the Garden of Graves again, choosing a different building this time. The room they enter is hung with about a dozen tapestries, one of which depictss an almost life-sized double door, with a figure being hurled back from it by a bolt of lightning. Lockpicks are flying from his fingers. Another figure holds a key in his hand, and is leaning forward as if to stop him. 

Shifty studies it. _Something about it looks off. The lock- it's too big._ Frowning, he draws out the key that he had etrieved from the pool with the water serpent in it and touches it to the lock on the tapestry. Nothing obvious happens, but he decides to keep an eye out for a set of double doors like the ones it depicts. _If we find them, I bet they're already open._

There are no other obvious exits at first, but some investigation discovers that one of the tapiestries is hanging in front of a doorway that leads to another chamber. 

That chamber holds a tall staff with a flame atop it. On the wall past it, a line of numbers, 1 through 12, is repeated twice, once in brass and once in black-wrought iron.

Shifty is pretty sure that the rhyme they found refers to this somehow- there was the bit about knowing which hour to shun, or something- but before he can pull out his scribbled copy, PHUQ-69 steps between the flame and the wall with the numbers. “Look,” the shardmind says. “My shadow is darker than it should be.” 

“Be careful,” Shifty starts, but the warden is already deliberating casting his shadow across the numbers. 

Sudden shrieks rise as mad wraiths appear from nowhere, babbling insanity. They're all around the party, their touches driving our heroes near to madness. Before they can even respond, our heroes find their heads throbbing with pain. They can barely see or think. 

There is one wraith for each member of the party. And the wraiths strike with terrible speed.

The party starts to fight back, almost too late. This time, Moab's spells are less effective, for the wraiths have strong wills. Karl's spells and the weapons of the others are also less than effective, for the wraiths are barely there. Flame and steel alike passes through them as if they aren't there.

The fight is terrifying. Kane, Bradford, and Moab all fall during the fight, and when it is over, the Delphinite lies dead on the ground.

Shifty quips, “I hope you have enough components this time.” 

***

Once again safely removed from the Garden of Graves, the party discusses the torch and numbers. “It has to be there for a reason,” P-69 says. He insists that he cast his shadow on the hour corresponding to the correct time.

Shifty smacks himself in the forehead. “Of course! The sundial. We need to match the time that the sundial reads, not the real time of day.”

A night's rest, and then Karl performs the _raise dead_ ritual. Moab returns from the beyond shaken and impressed by the rest of the party; if they survived a fight that slew him, there is clearly more to them than he had previously given them credit for. 

***

Upon returning, P-69 makes another deadly mistake. In the cave with the three statues, he places a chip of his own body rather than a coin, and the crone statue animates and tries to kill them. Once defeated, rather than crumbling or falling, it returns to its original position and magically repairs itself. 

“Just give it a damn coin,” Kane snarls. 

***

The party heads toward the room with the sundial, but they don't relish yet another encounter with Madame Beetles. So instead of just rushing in, Shifty says, “Let me try going in as a rat. Maybe they won't realize that I'm a threat.”

His plan works like a charm. As a fat brown rat, he waddles into the chamber, takes note of the time indicated by it, and then meanders on out with no problem.

The party heads back to the flaming staff. This time, P-69 casts his shadow on the number corresponding to the sundial's indicated time, and there is an audible click from the room with the tapestries in it. 

“Hey, a secret door just opened up back here,” calls Bradford. 

Beyond the secret door, they find first a room with a succession of strange game machines, which the party plays and beats handily, and then a chamber where fey enemies cloaked by illusions to appear like duplicates of the party appear. However, the heroes are more than a match for them, and once Karl disrupts the illusion, the battle is quickly ended.

Beyond that is a third room, but this one proves harmless. A search finds a secret trap door leading to a series of tunnels that wind underneath the Garden of Graves proper; though our heroes expect them to be full of undead or similar threats, they prove empty. 

“It looks like they provide a shortcut into the main building, though,” Sepia points out.

Karl looks at his friends. “I don't know about you guys, but I'm getting low on spells. I say we go retreat to a safe place and rest again.”

Shifty shrugs. “I don't see any reason to press on; it's not like we have a particular time limit.”   

“The longer we wait, the more fey might get ensnared,” Shar points out.

“I'm sure one more day won't really matter.”

***

Meanwhile, Sepia's death and subsequent resurrection have triggered unexpected consequences. Though the tiefling doesn't remember it- the living can't usually recall their afterlife, if they have been dead before- her soul did not reach its normal destination. 

Instead, it had been captured. Caged by a cackling hag, Esmelda by name.

Esmelda is a pact hag that is working for Quah-Nomag. Her job is to capture the souls of those that have opposed him so that he may burn them as fuel as a part of his dark rituals. Now, as a part of her agreement, she must retrieve the soul that she lost. 

Thus Esmelda has come to the Feywild, where she has set up a temporary base not far from the Garden of Graves, from which to ambush the party.

In the morning, her howlers will begin the harrying.

***

And indeed, with the morn come the first eerie, unearthly cries.

“That's a howler,” says Moab in surprise. “They aren't native to the Feywild.”

More howls come. The party finds themselves being pursued. 

“Let us slay these beasts,” Kane snaps in irritation after the first half hour. 

“They're pretty dangerous,” Karl cautions. “They're covered in spines like a porcupine.”

“But with the disposition of a demon,” Moab adds. 

“They often serve powerful evil masters, such as undead, demons, or devils.”

“Or evil mortals.”

“Are you two competing or something?” Sepia asks. “Sheesh!”

Kane just growls wordlessly.

The howlers chase the party into a boggy area where Esmelda springs her trap. She, along with another pair of howlers and a quartet of hired canoloth mercenaries, lay in wait near a _rune of containment_ that she has scribed on a tree nearby. The rune sets up a zone tha damages each creature within it whenenever one of them leaves it. It is tremendously effective at preventing the party from escaping. 

However, it isn't enough to win the battle. 

When the rune triggers, our heroes are momentarily contained by it. The howlers that have been harrying them choose this moment to move in for the kill, and Esmelda and her contingent of fiendish creatures reveals themselves as well. 

But the hag has miscalculated. She has underestimated our heroes. From Kane's rage that seems to channel the powers of his ancestors to P-69's ability to shrug off the magic she tries to lay upon him, from Shifty and Sepia working together to slice the canoloths to ribbons to Moab's devasting use of _beguiling strands_ to set the enemy up for Karl's more explosive magic spell, the party applies themselves to the task of ensuring that the howlers and their masters break off their pursuit.

Soon Esmelda is forced to surrender to save her life. Our heroes are not at first inclined to accept her surrender- but she threatens the vengeance of all six of her sisters if they slay her, and after some negotiation, the party agrees. 

“Provided,” Shar says, “that you tell us who you are and why you came after us.” She indicates the _rune of containment_. “This is no accident. You were lying in wait for us. I'd bet those howlers were doing your bidding, too.”

“Also, you have to surrender your treasure,” Shifty interjects.

“Talk!” snaps Kane. “Before I remove your head from your shoulders!”

“Of course I'll tell you what you wish to know.” Esmelda titters. “I'm just hired help. I mean you no harm, personally. And I'll be happy to surrender my treasure. Why, I'd be glad to bake you some cookies, if you wish!” She smiles, looking for all the world like a withered evil grandma.

Shar answers, “No thanks. Just tell us everything.” 

“Of course, of course! Your real problem is a fellow named Quah-Nomag, a half-ogre.”

“We're familiar with him,” Karl says. 

The hag explains her role as a soul snatcher, and that Quah-Nomag seeks to burn the souls as part of some ritual. When Sepia died, Esmelda's _hag cage_ snagged her soul and Quah-Nomag paid the hag for it. However, before she could be properly bound in a more permanet fashion, someone raised her from the dead. Quah-Nomag was enraged, and since Esmelda had already eaten part of her payment she was obliged to go after Sepia one way or the other. 

“Wait a second,” Sepia says. “Eaten?”

“What are you paid in?” asks Shar.

“Larva, of course.” 

Karl fills the others in: “Larva are like worms with the heads of humanoids. Many of the souls of evil dead creatures end up as larva.”

“Correct, my boy!” She beams at him, proud as a parent. “The binding ritual takes twelve hours to cast. I had had time to complete it, but I had gotten greedy and gone on a bit of a binge.”

“You mean you were binge eating souls?” demands P-69.

“Just so!” She smacks her lips. 

“That's repulsive.” Sepia makes a face. 

“Oh, surely _you_ have tried a larva once or twice...? No? I figured, you _are_ a tiefling...”

Shar speaks up again. “If we let you go, how do we know you won't come after us again?”

“I'm a pact hag, dearie,” Esmelda says cheerfully. “We'll make a deal.”


Esmelda doesn't know exactly what Quah-Nomag is after, but she inferred that he is looking for some sort of weapon sacred to his god. She knows little more of him or of his deity Tenebrous- though she is aware that its is a rising cult, especially in the Shadowfell, and she has heard claims that Tenebrous is an undead god. 

But she doesn't think the Garden of Graves has anything to do with Tenebrous or Quah-Nomag; she struck here because Sepia was here. “I would have moved on her wherever she was,” the hag admits. “Since you defeated poor old Esmelda, I'll have to go into hiding to escape Quah-Nomag's vengeance. I'll probably go to some forgotten astral rock or another, or perhaps assume a new name and sell my services to the devils or a demon prince. I'll certainly never cross paths with the mighty heroes who have so cast me down again, oh no!”

She pauses and gives them a rotten smile. “Are you dearies sure you wouldn't like some cookies?”

_*Next Time:*_ Our heroes reach the heart of the mystery at the Garden of Graves!


----------



## the Jester (Apr 2, 2019)

As our heroes cross the rope bridges on their way back onto the plateau atop which the Garden of Graves is built, Karl notes, “It looks as though we've explored most of the buildings.” He points. “But not that section in the middle.”

“Remember that door hidden behind a tapestry?” Sepia says.

Shar snaps her fingers. “That's right. We haven't explored past that yet. We got distracted by the secret door.”

“And it looks like it's in the right area,” Shifty adds. 

The party returns to the room with the tapestries and heads down the passage they found previously, Kane and PHUQ-69 in the lead. It ends in a door. Kane throws it open. The chamber beyond is semicurcular and covered in runes. The far end contains a raised dais topped with a huge pile of stones, resembling a cairn made from grave markers. Three smaller cairns lie on the dais in front of the gigantic one.

“Those are more of the stones from outside,” Shar mutters. 

Moab sniffs. “Obviously.”

A door leads out opposite the dais. P-69 throws it open, revealing another chamber. Two walls intersect in the middle of it, forming a cross; they don't seem to serve any architectural purpose. Greenery somehow flourishes in here, despite the lack of significant natural light. Large patches of ivy cover substantial areas. 

“Look!” The shardmind points. 

An enormous set of rune-covered double doors leads out of the right hand wall. It looks like the doors depicted in the tapestry two rooms back. 

The party moves into the chamber, but as they do, Sepia hisses a warning. “Behind us!”

There is a clattering noise, the clank of shifting stones. Our heroes turn. Behind them, the markers making up the cairns are moving, being pushed outward as things emerge from underneath. From the three smaller cairns, undead knights rise, garbed in chain mail armor and armed with longswords. But the horror that emerges from the larger pile of stones is far more gruesome: the flayed skin of a giant, bloody on the inside. 

The party rushes back to face their foes. But as they do, something happens behind them. A stretch of the ivy begins writhing, twisting together to form something- first what likes like an eyestalk, and then a huge shambling body made of twining ivy and branches. Tendrils of thorns whip around it, slashing through the air; questing roots wind around everything near it.

Assailed from both sides, our heroes find themselves pressed hard once again. Everyone close to the ivy monster finds themselves constantly entangled by the roots, and the thorns irritate wounds taken near it. Its vines lash out, squeezing with terrific strength and grabbing at our heroes. 

Shifty tumbles past them all, rushing to the double doors. He whips out the key. _Hopefully, I disarmed whatever lightning trap is on this thing when I touched the lock on the tapestry,_ he thinks, _but I'd best be ready in case I need to do something else._

But the doors push open easily. A hall stretches away.

_Whatever is going on here, this is the key. This is the center of it all._

Shifty runs forward. At the end of the hallway, there is a door to the right. He throws it open.

“What the hell is that?” he exclaims. 

Decorated in runes, some sort of strange device stands in the room, a mess of iron and wooden struts interconnecting beneath a pyramidal peak topped with a glowing emerald. Whatever it is, the thing looks delicate. More runes adorn the walls, floor, and ceiling, forming a pattern that centers on the eldritch machine. 

_Whatever it is, I think it's responsible for the trouble here._

Outside, Kane cuts down one zombie knight while P-69 demolishes another. The two wizards and Sepia focus on the ivy monster, while Bradford makes a valiant stand against the flayed skin. 

Things aren't going so well.

The third undead knight cleaves Sepia with his sword, badly wounding her. The giant skin attempts to rip Bradford's skin from his body; the poor fellow drops, unable to withstand the pain of the attack. And the ivy monster proves to be a tremendous threat, capable of reaching a full 40' with its vines. It clobbers Kane and P-69 hard.

Things are looking fairly dire. Sepia goes down; then Kane. P-69 manages to take out the third undead warrior, but the skin monster slaps Moab hard enough that he sees stars and grabs him.  

Then Karl unleashes a lucky _fireball_ that catches the skin perfectly*. It drops, burning and smoking. But unfortunately, it also catches Bradford. Already unconscious, he is killed instantly. 

But the ivy monster remains, and it rampages through the party, dealing telling wounds.

Shar manages to get Kane back in the fight with a _healing word,_ but then the ivy monster delivers another terrific blow to P-69 and the shardmind falls. Things are looking dire.

At the same moment, Shifty makes his move, smashing the delicate-looking machine with his crowbar. Struts snap and one whole side of it sags inward. Immediately there is a flash of brilliant light, emanating from the emerald on top of the device, almost blinding Shifty. From an unimaginable distance, the gnome thinks he can almost hear a shriek of frustration. 

_Who the hell was behind this?_ he wonders.

Meanwhile, just as Shar is about to retreat to save herself, the ivy monster abruptly rears back and collapses inward on itself, moldering away to brown sludge in only a few seconds. 

_Saved! Bless you, Shifty!_ she thinks. Wherever he went, he must have done something that stopped the monster. 

Speaking of whom- Shifty returns a moment later, and together, the two of them, Moab, and Karl bind everyone else's wounds and bring them around. 

After the group takes a few minutes to rest, Shifty shows them the eldritch engine that he destroyed. There are a number of gems, including the emerald, built into it; the party takes those gems as booty.  

“Do you think that fixed whatever the problem here was?” Shar asks. 

Both Moab and Karl confirm that the rune-work around the place is no longer functioning. And after poking around a bit more, the group verifies that there isn't anywhere else that they haven't explored. 

“All right,” Karl says, “back to our resting place so that we can try to raise Bradford.”

***

The Garden of Graves cost them dearly, but thanks to Karl's ritual, not permanently. Bradford's eyes flutter and open with a groan. “What happened?”

“We kicked ass is what happened,” Sepia says proudly.

***

Their return to Moonstair is marred by a horrible slip up. 

They are attacked by shambling mounds. Though the party easily defeats them, during the fight, P-69 accidentally hurls his morningstar away into the thickets on a steep slope. Afterward, try though they might, the party can't find it.

PHUQ-69 utters a string of inventive curses in ancient Miloxi. 

***

Our heroes return home as a cold and hungry winter sets in. They decide not to head south to the Delphinate until spring. While they wait out the winter, they handle administrative tasks, mediate disputes, and do their best to ensure that food is distributed so that nobody starves. 

They can't quite pull it off. Starting in January, there is a long stretch of time where there simply isn't enough to eat. People grow thin. The weakest die, unable to survive the deprivation.

“Being Governor kind of sucks sometimes,” Shifty tells Shar, who agrees whole heartedly. 

During the winter, Karl can't stop speculating about what Quah-Nomag is up to. More importantly, his master, Deryndradin, is long overdue; and though Karl issues several _sendings to him, he receives no response. He fears the worst. 

Shifty, meanwhile, spends more time pondering the party's most recent adventure. He doubts whether Quah-Nomag was behind it; it doesn't seem to fit with anything else he's done. Therefore, it was probably someone else. But who?

***

On January 23rd, the party strikes out, leaving Bradford in charge of their lands. Though appreciative of their trust, the young man is apprehensive about being left in charge. “You'll do fine,” Shifty assures him, and Shar nods. 

“If in doubt, just ask yourself what we'd do.”

***

As the party sits around their campfire on their first night of the journey, a voice comes out of the dark. “Hello, friends.”

Kane whips his sword from its sheath. “Show yourself!” he barks. 

“No need to worry. It is only I.” A squat figure steps from the darkness: Nom, the dwarf who the party has met on several occasions when radiocrystals were involved.

“Hello again,” says Karl. 

The party offers Nom some dinner. He politely accepts, offering a skin of fine dwarven ale in return. After a pleasant meal, he wipes his beard, then says, “I have come with an offer from my friends.”

“The ones who have helped us with those crystals?” asks Shifty.

Nom nods. “You have done the world a great service each time you've turned those devices over to us. We truly appreciate your actions. And we'd like to offer you the opportunity to join us.”

Shar speaks up. “Who are you, exactly?”

“We're called the Crystal Breakers. We're dedicated to finding and safely disposing of as many radiocrystal artifacts as possible, as well as sites tainted with radiation.”

“And just what would be expected of us?”

“Only that, should you encounter more radiocrystal devices or areas or things related to them, you inform the group and help fulfill our primary mission. We won't demand that you carry out our bidding or anything like that. Although, before you join, there is an initiation.”

Moab speaks up. “What's all this, then?”

Nom notes the wizard for the first time. “I'm sorry, I didn't notice you. I don't believe we've met... and I'm afraid my offer doesn't include you.” He spreads his hands apologetically. “Although perhaps, in the future...”

“That's fine,” Moab sniffs. “Besides, I don't need to join any primitive secret society anyway. Destroying what you don't understand! Hmph!”

“What's the nature of the initiation?” asks Karl. 

“There is a monster- a radioactive hydra. It's south of here, along the edge of the desert. Kill it, and you're in.” He stands up. “And if you do, you'll all be rewarded. Again, except for you- sorry. Nothing personal.”

Moab sniffs again.

***

En route to the hydra- and then the Delphinate- our heroes run into a hunting party of goliaths. Most of them remember Cavemouth with mixed emotions. Klucktim, the burly female leading the party, turns out to be his sister. Relations deteriorate between the heroes and the goliaths when this comes out, and the fact that they failed to save Cavemouth from dying almost leads to violence. Moab's enchantments come in handy here, helping to prevent a fight from breaking out, and the party leaves the goliaths bristling and hostile. They won't be friendly to the group's burgeoning state. 

***

Following Nom's directions, the party comes to a bone-strewn box canyon set into an area of badlands. A stinking cave serves as the hydra's lair; when the party makes enough noise outside, they draw it out. 

It is terrifying. Bigger than an elephant, its four heads spewing radioactive clouds, the monster lays into the party immediately. They defend themselves, and at first, things go well. Strangely, it doesn't grow any new heads. But once it is sufficiently wounded, it splits into four single-headed serpentine monsters. 

Kane shouts, “Foul demons! We will put each of you to the sword!”

In the end, he's right.

***

After their victory over the hydra, Nom reappears. He congratulates them. “You're Crystal Breakers now.”

He gives each of them- again, except Moab- an item crafted by a member of the society. “If we had known about you,” he says to the desert wizard.

Moab just scowls. 

Shifty receives a gnomeblade. It looks like an ornamental knife made of pewter, completely unfunctional. The hilt is fashioned to look like a rabbit, with rhinestones in its eyes. 

Shar receives a leaden symbol- a holy symbol made of unpainted and unadorned lead. 

Karl is given leaden bracers set with jet and diamonds. They glow with a faint orange light. “These are bracers of the crystal breaker,” Nom tells him.

Sepia gets a pair of brass knuckles- well, lead knuckles, really. Each knuckle is worked into the shape of a dog. Despite being made of lead, they are harder than steel.

Kane receives a set of hide armor made from owlbear hide, complete with claws and beak. It is bloodstained and patched. “This is called Unceasing Violence.”

Finally, P-69 is given a morning star called Meteor. When swung through the air, a momentary trail of scarlet light follows it.

*Next Time:* To the Delphinate!


*Crit with a fireball! How satisfying. One of the beautiful things about 4e- you can crit with a fireball.


The stats on the items the party received are as follows: 

*GNOMEBLADE --- Level 15 Rare* 
This little dagger looks as though it is purely ornamental, with a blade that looks like some kind of weak, decorative metal rather than functional steel.  The hilt is fashioned to look like a rabbit, with rhinestones in its eyes.  
	Lvl 15 --- +3 --- 25,000 gp
*Weapon:* Dagger 
*Enhancement:* Attack rolls and damage rolls.
*Critical:* +3d6 damage and you are invisible to the target until the start of its next turn.
*Property:*  You can use the gnomeblade as an implement with arcane or shadow powers.  You do not apply the dagger's proficiency bonus when you use it as an implement, but you do apply its enhancement bonus.
*Property:*  While you are wielding the gnomeblade, you gain a +1 item bonus to Reflex.
*Power (Encounter):*  Minor action.  Make a saving throw. 
*Power (Daily):*  Move action.	 You teleport 5 squares and your fade away racial power recharges.

*LEADEN SYMBOL --- Level 15 Rare* 
This symbol is heavy and is composed of unpainted and unadorned lead.
	Lvl 15 --- +3 --- 25,000 gp
*Implement (Holy Symbol)*
*Enhancement:* Attack rolls and damage rolls.
*Critical:* +3d6 damage.
*Property: *You and adjacent creatures gain resist 1 radiation.
*Property:* You and adjacent creatures gain resist 5 radiant.
*Property: *You and allies within 10 squares get a +3 bonus on death saves. 
*Power (Encounter):* Immediate reaction.  Trigger: You or an ally that you can see within 10 squares is slowed, immobilized or restrained.  Effect: The condition ends.
*Power (Daily):* Free action.  Trigger: You hit with an implement power using this symbol.  Effect: One target that you hit with the power is also immobilized (save ends).

*BRACERS OF THE CRYSTAL BREAKER --- Level 15 Rare* 
These leaden bracers are set with jet and diamonds and glow with a faint orange light.
	Lvl 15 --- 25,000 gp
*Item Slot:* Arms
*Property:* You gain resist 1 radiation.
*Property:* You gain resist 5 poison and 5 radiant.
*Property:* You feel a warning tingle if there is radiation within 10 squares strong enough to inflict RADs.  You can get a basic feel for its strength (whether it inflicts RADs per round, minute, hour or day) and can determine the location of the radiation.  You may sometimes be able to detect even fainter background radiation with a Perception check, depending on its strength.
*Property:* When you score a critical hit with an implement power, you deal an extra 1d10 fire and radiant damage.
*Property: *You get a +1 item bonus to attack rolls with implement powers with the fire, radiant or zone keywords. 
*Power (Daily): *Free action.  Trigger: You create a zone with an arcane implement power.  Effect: In addition to its other effects, the zone deals 5 points of radiant and fire damage to each creature within it in when it appears.
*Power (Daily): *No action.  You use your Intelligence for a skill check instead of the ability normally associated with that skill. 

*LEAD KNUCKLES --- Level 15 Rare* 
These brass knuckles are actually made of lead.  Each knuckle is fashioned to resemble the head of a dog.  Despite being lead, the knuckles are not at all soft. 
	Lvl 15 --- +3 --- 25,000 gp
*Weapon: *Brass knuckles 
*Enhancement:* Attack rolls and damage rolls.
*Critical:* +3d10 damage and the target is stunned until the end of your next turn.
*Property: *You get a +3 item bonus to damage.
*Property:* Whenever you are pushed, pulled or slid, you reduce the number of squares that you move by 3.
*Power (Encounter):* Free action.  Trigger: You hit an enemy with the lead knuckles.  Effect: The target is dazed (save ends). 

*UNCEASING VIOLENCE  --- Level 15 Rare* 
This armor is made from the hides of owlbears, with claws and beak inset to increase its menacing appearance.  It is well-stained and shows the signs of having been repaired after many battles. 
	Lvl 15 --- +3 --- 25,000 gp
*Armor: *Hide armor.
*Enhancement:* AC.
*Property:* Whenever you spend a healing surge, you may make a basic attack as a free action.
*Property:* Whenever you bloody or drop an enemy, you regain hit points equal to your Strength bonus.
*Power (Daily * Healing):* Minor action.  You spend a healing surge.

*METEOR --- Level 15 Rare* 
This morning star, forged of starmetal, is worked to resemble a flaming meteor.  When you swing it through the air, a momentary trail of red light follows it in the air.
	Lvl 15 --- +3 --- 25,000 gp
*Weapon:* Morning star
*Enhancement:* Attack rolls and damage rolls.
*Critical: *+3d8 fire damage and the target falls prone.
*Property:* If you hit a prone enemy with a melee attack with Meteor, you deal an extra 1d8 damage.
*Property:* When you charge you can move your speed +3 squares.
*Power (Encounter):* Free action.  Trigger: You hit an enemy with a melee attack.  Effect: After all other effects of the hit are resolved, the target falls prone.
*Power (Daily):* Minor action.  An adjacent prone enemy cannot stand up (save ends)._


----------



## the Jester (Apr 7, 2019)

Once out of their lands, our heroes, according to Moab, have a journey of around 200 miles ahead of them. But the enchanter promises that it will be worth it. He tells them that the Delphinate is a magical place where the arcane arts have been harnessed for the good of society. “Our streets are lit at night,” he claims, “by magic. Everywhere, the influence of the intelligentsia is clear.”

The ruling class, he continues, is wizards. In fact, if you aren't a wizard, you can't become a citizen. 

“What about sorcerers?” asks Karl. 

Moab sniffs. “Someone who can blindly tap into arcane energies is hardly worthy of the same consideration as someone who spends years of study to learn precise control over those energies. If you give a baby a set of cymbals, it will certainly make noise. But a trained player can create _music._”

“What about clerics?” asks Shar. 

Moab sniffs again. “You mean warlocks?” Glancing at her, he adds, “No offense.”

***

They skirt the Pale Woods, having heard rumors that they are haunted and having no desire to deal with such things unnecessarily. They'd rather have an easy, uneventful journey across the rolling plains, even if they must sometimes fight through grasses taller than Shifty's head. Finally, the desert comes into view. Surrounding it are large stone monuments, spaced a mile apart, forming a visible boundary. Each monument shows a male eladrin wizard, a rogueish looking halfling and a dwarven monk with an inscription reading, “LET THIS BE A GRIM REMINDER OF THE COST OF DEFYING THE SWORD EMPEROR.” 

“I'm pretty sure that those are three of the Sword Emperor's old companions,” Karl states. “The elf was Baron Lillamere. The halfing was Gerontius, called the Invisible Blade. And the dwarf was the Perfect Master Chakar.”

“It's called the Grim Reminder,” says Moab. He gestures to the desert beyond. “The desert is called the Warning. It's the result of magical conflict. The Sword Emperor and his allies unleashed tremendous energies here to quash a rebellion.”

As they move into the Warning, they find that the ground is composed of gritty particles larger and rougher than sand. Moab continues to narrate as they travel. “The peculiar material underfoot formed when the former soil melted and was blasted by epic magic. Over the subsequent centuries, dust and other particles blew in on the wind and stabilized the underlayer.” 

Some hardy succulents and cacti grow in the desiccated ground, but a lot of the desert looks relatively lifeless. Periodically, the party passes the skeletal remains of great war machines or structures.

***

The desert is not as lifeless as it first appears. Giant yellow scorpions, tail stingers dripping venom, emerge from behind shifting dunes to attack the travelers, seeking an easy meal. Some are the size of goats; the larger specimens are more like the size of an elephant. 

They find the meal more difficult to obtain than expected, and are soon slain or driven back. The party is somewhat battered, but nobody is badly wounded, and after some tending from Shar, they continue their journey.

_Warlock indeed,_ she thinks.

***

Far more dangerous than the scorpions, the desert's self-proclaimed master arrives from the sky. Sparks burst from its claws as it walks toward the group; when if flexes its great wings, the grit around it dances, raising a haze in the air.

A dragon. Huge, dark blue, with gleaming intelligent eyes and a large horn on the end of its snout.

Kane draws his sword, but Shar restrains him. “That thing looks too big for us to handle,” she murmurs.

“Yes!” Shifty proclaims. “Let's parlay!”

***

The dragon is, fortunately, not hungry. Yet it claims ownership of the desert, and demands tribute to allow the group to walk across its lands. 

“How did you handle this before?” Karl mutters to Moab. 

The wizard looks back at him. “I paid it.”

Shar, Sepia, and Karl flatter the dragon, and the group unloads a substantial amount of money and residuum as tribute. 

“Unsatisfactory,” it booms.

They add a collection of minor magic items in their collective possession, the kinds of things that are bound for disenchantment and recycling into more residuum. Instead, they become part of the group's offering.

“Hmm,” the dragon rumbles. It measures them with its eyes, inhales their scent. 

Finally, it announces, “This is a very light tribute. Nonetheless, I will accept it. But should you cross my territory again, you must bring a _proper_ offering, or I will devour you!”

“Yes, Your Mightiness!” cries Shifty, cutting Kane off before he can bark back at the dragon. “We would not dare defy you!”

***

Four days into the Warning, the group's path winds past a leveled sandstone building. Large drifts of sand cover much of it, and both its walls and ceiling have fallen. Huge piles of sandstone blocks are scattered near it. Large cacti, bristling with needles, grow here and there in the area.

It seems like a good place to stop for lunch, but this proves to be incorrect. As the group settles in, something huge stirs beneath the sands. It erupts forth, covered in sand, wrapped in tattered bandages, with a cephalopod head and long tentacles wrenching its way free of the sands. 

“Run!” cries Karl. “I recognize that thing!”

The party stands and begins to flee. “What is it?” asks P-69.

“It's an ancient war weapon called a crawling apocalypse! We had better hope that it isn't able to move for long...”

There is a sudden howl of winds, rushing away from the crawling apocalypse. They are so strong that they knock half of the party prone. 

The monster rushes forward, its tentacles lashing all around it.

Seeing that half of their number can't escape it, Shifty, Sepia, and P-69 stop their flight and turn to face the monster. But as they approach it, apocalyptic terror grips them, and they can feel their life draining as they come closer to it. Those struck by its tentacles also find their life force ebbing, dwindling away moment by moment.

On the bright side, Shar immediately finds that it is fairly vulnerable to radiant damage, and her _iron to glass_ prayer shifts the odds in the group's favor. And with both P-69 and Kane standing toe to toe with the monster, the party is finally able to prevail after a long, hard battle.

After the fight is won, our panting heroes slump down in the sand. With a groan, Shifty says, “I could barely hurt that thing!” 

Kane grins. “You should have come closer.”

“No thanks!”

***

The grit underfoot is easier to trudge through than sand would be, but it gives and crumbles underfoot far more than the ground the party is used to. The journey is more taxing and slower than anyone other than Moab (a desert native) could have expected. 

Though they do find occasional life- mostly lizards and desert insects- most of the time, their only company is each other. They continue to get to know Moab, whose excitement at nearing his home is palpable. He isn't trying to be insulting, but the way he refers to the Delphinate makes it clear that he views it as the last bastion of civilization, and sees their lands as savage and primitive. 

_Perhaps he is right,_ Karl thinks. _We'll see soon enough, I guess._ 

***

As they struggle to get a fire to burn with the limited fuel available that night, they meet a group of strange creatures- insects, but humanoid, and taller than a human. These strange mantis-warriors call themselves thri-kreen. The contact is peaceful, with the insect folk informing the group that a small enclave of elven griffon-riders called the Kree are ahead, at the far edge of the Warning. 

“Perhaps we can make an alliance with them,” Shifty says.

Moab nods. “Or at least get them to ferry us across the Ravaged Belt.”

“What's that?”

“Another region devastated by magical attack. It's a series of old mountains that is now just malformed rock twisted into jagged spires, deep gulleys and the like. It's full of a variety of monsters. It is best to avoid it if possible, so a ride across would be exactly what we need.”

***

Several days later, the adventurers finally reach the far edge of the Warning, where the Ravaged Belt lies. It is more foreboding than Moab's description could have prepared them for. Many of the twisted peaks look like they were melted by the fury of the magic unleashed upon them. Strange streamers of stone look almost like strands of molten taffy frozen mid-drip. Deep clefts and strange pock marks mar the ground. 

Fortunately, the Kree elves soon arrive, wheeling overhead on their griffons. After a few moments of observing from above, two of them descend. These prove to be a pair of blue-skinned sisters named Tarr-Kal and Nima-Kal. They inquire as to the party's business, goals, and destination; though polite, they are cool. 

“We're going back to my homeland,” Moab tells them. “To the Delphinate.”

“Your folk are not known for being especailly welcoming to outsiders,” Tarr-Kal observes.

“True, but I am a citizen on a mission.”

“Any chance you'd be willing to ferry us across the Ravaged Belt?” Shar asks.

“Since your alternative is to deal with the twisted monsters within,” the Kree responds, “we will help you- for a small fee.”

***

Riding on the back of a griffon is exhilirating. The wind buffets Shifty's face, makes his eyes tear up. It's colder than he expected, especially given the heat of the desert. The thrill alone is worth the twenty gold the Kree demanded for each of the party's members, not to mention the fact that they are coming closer to their destination.

When the elves deposit the party back on the ground on the far side of the Ravaged Belt, our heroes thank them profusely. Shifty, in particular, can't get over how much _fun_ the ride was.

“You've only got about sixty miles to go,” one of the Kree tells them. “Good luck.” And with that, the griffons take the air again, banking away back to the north. 

***

They keep their distance from the foul smoke that rises from the Basin of Fire and its lava pools. Karl ponders the enormity of the magical destruction unleashed on and around the Warning. _Perhaps the golden age of magic had its drawbacks, but I'd still rather that we had access to the kinds of arcane powers that were available during the empire's height._ He sighs. _Maybe when we reach the Delphinate..._

It takes a few more days of travel, and they finally reach it- a far more humble sight than they had expected. The buildings are largely of white sandstone, and there are few people milling about.

“Our leader is called the Delphin,” Moab explains. “He or she is the most powerful wizard in the Delphinate. His or her true identity is unknown- there's a magical artifact that he or she wears to ensure that. But you probably won't meet him or her.” A slight smile traces over his lips. “I will be taking you to meet General Habrael, though- my father.”

The first sign that the Delphinate is unusual comes when the group approaches the gate and finds it flanked by two large stone statues. As the party moves toward the entrance, the statues animate. 

Moab strides forward and holds up a hand. He speaks a series of letters and numbers, and the golems move back into place. He turns and gestures the others forward. “It's okay. They won't attack you now.”

“Impressive,” mutters Shar. 

Once on the streets, it becomes more obvious that this place is unlike any other. 

First, the people walking along, while largely garbed in desert-appropriate clothing, often carry wands, staves, orbs, or other implements. Some of their clothing is obviously magical, too; one woman hurrying along wears a robe with many eyes sewn in it. These eyes move, watching everything around the woman suspiciously. A gnomish man is surrounded by a cloud of orbiting stones and spheres. A pair of eladrin wear matching glowing tiaras. Some of these people are accompanied by obvious familiars or strange constructs, too. 

But there are more signs than just the people that this place is replete with magic. Several businesses have animated images dancing out front, advertising their wares. Others glow or change color as the party watches. 

And there is another thing, which doesn't become apparent for some time, but is present as soon as they enter the city: all the streets run very slightly downhill. Even if one reverses direction, he or she is always walking very slightly downhill, no matter which direction he or she travels. 

***

General Habrael is a severe-looking older man with a squared off beard and a hawk nose. Upon Moab's arrival with the group, a proud smile walks out onto his face for an instant before hesitating, getting stage fright, and retreating.

“Excellent work, Captain,” he says. 

Moab introduces the party to his father, who offers to give them some time to rest and refresh themselves before they discuss matters or diplomacy. Though he refrains from wrinkling his nose, his meaning is clear: _Take a bath, you filthy savages._ But our heroes don't take offense. After all, General Habrael is correct- with the exceptions of Moab, Karl, and Shifty, who used cantrips to assist their hygiene, the party is a stinky, dirty mess.

***

After the others depart to refersh themselves, Moab lingers. Once they are alone, his father states, “I'm proud of you, son.” 

Moab stands at attention.

Habrael proceeds to debrief Moab, listening intently as the enchanter explains his journey north and back, including describing the events at the Garden of Graves and the party's quest to find and stop Quah-Nomag. “That's part of why they came south with me, sir- to see what they can find out about the cult of Tenebrous.”

“Interesting. There is some evidence that the Tenebrous cult has been responsible for a few missing people. It would do us good to know more about them, and if they're dangerous, to be rid of them.”

He opens a drawer in his desk and pulls out a packet wrapped in silk. 

“I have three things for you here,” General Habrael continues, unwrapping the bundle. “First, for successfully establishing diplomatic relations with one of the only bastions of civilization to survive the Six-Fingered Hand, I am promoting you to Major.”

From the bundle, he hands Moab his new uniform and rank insignia. Moab doesn't say anything, but he stands just a little straighter and his eyes burn a touch brighter. 

“Second, there's this.” He hands Moab a book. “This is an _agent's journal._ I have its mate. What you write in it will also appear in my copy. The effect is one-sided, however; you won't see what appears in my copy, so I can't reply to you.”

“Understood, sir!”

“Finally, on a more personal note, now that you've proven yourself to me, I have this for you.” General Habrael passes Moab an intricately worked electrum ring. The band is traced with arcane glyphs. The dominant rune is their family mark. “This was crafted by your grandfather Moab, for whom you're named. Use it well.”

“Yes, sir!”

“Now go get some rest,” Moab's father orders. “Tomorrow, you start your search for Tscire Nobi.”

*Next Time:* Our heroes begin looking for the hideout of the Cult of Tenebrous!


*MOAB'S RING (Level 15 Rare)*
_This intricately worked ring of electrum is traced with arcane glyphs, but the dominant rune is the family mark of Moab's line. _
	Lvl 15 --- 25,000 gp
*Property:* You gain a +1 item bonus to all defenses.
*Property:* You reduce the severity of critical hits on you by 1d6.  (If the severity is reduced to 0 or below, the critical hit still occurs.)
*Power (Encounter * Healing, Teleportation):* Minor action.  You teleport 5 squares and spend a healing surge.
*Power (Daily):* Immediate interrupt.  Trigger: You are hit by an attack.  Effect: You gain resist all 10 until the end of your next turn.


----------



## the Jester (Apr 8, 2019)

General Habrael says, “We view religion as primitive and unnecessary. It's a relic of the past, of an era before we understood the cosmos. So while we don't endorse it, we don't regulate faiths any more than we regulate any other kind of pact-making with powerful outsiders.”

Shar sniffs.

“No offense intended. If I might ask, since you're a cleric, what faith do you follow?”

She answers, “I'm a priest of the Sword Cult.”

“Ah, so you don't even have a god- unless you're one of those who has deified the Sword Emperor?”

“Thrush was just a man, but he is a great example of the quest for perfection in one's chosen area. He didn't become the greatest swordsman of his age by accident. He devoted himself to seeking the pinnacle of his skills, and he achieved it.”

Habrael nods. “Indeed. He was just a man. I'm glad you are one of the more rational types, rather than- well, anyway. As you can see, a cleric doesn't need a god to channel magic. You are akin to a sorcerer- a natural talent, using faith as a prop to aid you. Think of your religion as being like the wand or staff a wizard might use to direct his powers.”

“Uh huh,” Shar says. She is clearly unconvinced.

“And what is a god anyway?” the general continues. “Yes, gods are very powerful- but so are demon princes and arch-devils. Indeed, such a being might be more powerful than some gods! You can go to a god's home, if you know where it is. They aren't some kind of luminous entity that is somehow different from other creatures. They're just ultra-powerful outsiders. And what is the difference between beseeching a god for magic and making a deal with some other ultra-powerful entity? Clerics really are nothing more than warlocks who are largely ignorant of the fact that they're warlocks.”

“What does all this have to do with this cult of Tenebrous?” Kane demands. 

General Habrael sighs. “I am trying to illustrate why we haven't taken any action against them up until now. We don't regulate religions, we regulate behavior. If a faith's followers act in an... antisocial manner, we prosecute those followers for the actions that they have taken, not for what they believe.”

“But surely you have some limits,” Karl says. “Surely you don't allow, for instance, a cult devoted to a demon or devil to flourish.”

“Oh, please,” Habrael retorts, disdain plain in his voice. “We are an enlightened civilization. Belief is belief, and a supposed good deity is fundamentally no different than the darkest demon prince. They are all powers to be drawn upon. Yes, some of those powers are more prone to provoke people to behave improperly, but so what? It is ultimately the choice of the person whether to accede to the demands of such a provocation. Just as not all followers of a good deity will be good themselves, not all followers of a demon prince will act out in destructive ways.”

“I guess you can't really control what people believe anyway,” Sepia puts in.

“Certainly we could! Make no mistake about that! Controlling thoughts and beliefs is well within the purview of enchantment magic. But we prefer not to do such things. It's an unnecessary expenditure of effort in most cases; it's usually far preferable to regulate the behavior in question.”

“Getting back to the Tenebrous cult,” Shifty says, “what can you tell us about them?”

“Very little.” Habrael steeples his fingers in front of him. “We do know that they have a headquarters of sorts, apparently called Tscire Nobi. According to our intelligence, it's on an island somewhere on White Lake.”

Moab speaks up. “To be clear, that's the lake that we abut.” 

Habrael continues, “But unfortunately, the lake is choked with mist. This may be a magical effect, but it has been in place for years, so if it is, it's very powerful. You can probably find a boat to hire if you want to try to seek it out, but it's very easy to get lost in the mist.”

“I'm sure we can manage,” Karl replies. 

***

But before seeking Tscire Nobi, there is a residuum tasting held in the group's honor. They participate, somewhat warily. To their surprise, they find that there are different flavors and qualities to the different types of residuum on offer.

“How do you have so much residuum here?” asks Karl. “Are there that many magic items around that you don't need?”

“Oh, no!” Moab replies with a chuckle. “The vast majority of it comes from the mines.”

“The what?” Shifty asks.

“The residuum mines.”

Well, that's a strange statement. As far as the others know, residuum isn't mined at all- it's the result of breaking down magic. They ask for more details about these mines, but Moab is cagey about them, claiming that their location is a state secret. He also seems puzzled by the fact that they aren't aware of the existence of such mines. “Where do you get yours from, then?” he asks.

“By disenchanting magic items,” Karl tells him.

But though they don't get any further on that particular puzzle during the tasting, they do manage to secure a boat and a pilot named Timon. 

***

As he isn't a wizard, Timon is a resident but not a citizen of the Delphinate. He makes his living through a combination of fishing, piloting on the rare occasions when someone needs to go out on the lake, and scavenging from the massive ruined metropolis of Makon, which lies spread to the south and west of the Delphinate proper. “Before the end, it completely surrounded White Lake,” he tells our heroes, then shrugs. “Lots of it was burnt during the war, and then the Delphinate relocated here.” Though he's happy to ramble on about such matters, it soon becomes clear that his tales are a mixture of his faulty memory, hearsay, and rumor; how reliable they are is uncertain.

Timon is a skilled pilot. He claims to know the lake as well as anyone, but swears up and down that there is no isle large enough to hold a shrine or temple anywhere far from shore. He admits to having heard rumors of Tscire Nobi, but says, “I've been all over this lake and I've never seen it.”

“Well, let's try and find it anyway,” answers Shar. “Think of this as a leisurely day of getting paid to row us around.”

“As you say.”

But the thick fog seems truly impenetrable. By the time they are a hundred yards from shore, almost all they can see is the boat, surrounded by a sea of white. Even the surface of the water is a light gray color, seen fuzzily through the vapors rising from it. 

Karl closes his eyes. “I can feel the magic here.” He lifts a hand. “Flowing... a combination of illusion and weather magic.”

“Can you follow it to its source?” asks Shifty.

“I'll try.”

“As for you,” Shar tells Timon, “try to find the center of the lake.”

“As you say,” the pilot replies.

***

The search is fruitless and frustrating. They return to shore well after full dark with no idea whether they went anywhere near the alleged island they're looking for.

“It could have been fifty feet from us,” Shifty complains, “and we never would have seen it.”

Timon taps his ear. “There's more than sight.” He sighs. “But I didn't hear any sign of it, either.”

Shar disembarks and places her hands on her hips. “Just because we didn't find it in one day doesn't mean it isn't there. We'll try again tomorrow.”

“Aye,” rumbles Kane, “and with luck, this time we'll find something to wet my blade.”

***

But the lake is huge, and the magic concealing the island- for Karl is now convinced that is what he is sensing- is powerful indeed. Try though he might, he can't unravel it. And though he has explored White Lake for decades, Timon's senses are baffled by the mists.

_We just have to be persistent._ PHUQ-69 communicates with the others through telepathy, enjoying the quiet of the water as dusk settles in on a second day of failed searching.

The shardmind is right. A few more long days of searching ensue; and finally, the party finds some evidence that they are on the right track. 

They are attacked. 

A trio of ghouls rises up from the water, trying to pull Timon into the water. Kane and P-69 intervene with decisive violence, killing two of the ghouls and driving the third back into the water, where it swims rapidly away.

“Follow that ghoul!” yells Shifty.

Indeed, that seems to be the break the party needs, and in short order, they draw another attack. Again, the party manages to drive the swimming ghouls back, after which Sepia comments, “You know, if you were a Kree, we'd have to call you Kar-El.” She grins at Karl.

“Hmph,” he replies.

Timon pursues the lacedons as best he can. Moab and Karl try to guide him by tracing the magic to its source, theorizing that it's probably centered on the isle that it is designed to conceal, while Shifty and Sepia listen intently, helping to guide Timon's pursuit of the receding undead. 

And at last, their efforts are rewarded!

Within the thickest part of the fog, a lumpy isle slowly resolves. Timon hisses and pushes away from it, almost scraping the hull of his boat against sharp rocks, so sudden is the island's appearance. 

“Quietly,” mutters Shifty. 

Slowly they paddle all around the tiny islet. They can't see much of it, due to the thick fog, but they find a rickety wooden pier with three small rowboats tied up. 

“All right,” Shifty whispers. “This is the place.”

The party disembarks. 

“Well, good luck to you all,” Timon says.

“Wait a minute! Where are you going? You can't just leave us here!” protests P-69.

“Surely you don't think I'm going to stay here waiting for some crazy cultists to come grab me! I'm not deaf, I've been listening to you people!”

Shar presses a large gem into Timon's hand. “Just wait for us for a little while.”

He hesitates, then nods. “I'll wait 'til dark. That should give you a few hours.”

“Good enough,” she replies.

Kane grins, baring his teeth. “That should be plenty of time to put anything here to the sword.”

***

Bone Isle, as it is called by the cult, is a huge pile of discarded stones and rocks formed over the course of seven centuries. During the glory days of the Sword Empire, the quarry used a teleport circle to throw away unusable and inferior bits of stone. The circle deposited the discarded material on the bottom of White Lake, and the pile grew and grew until it eventually jutted above the relatively shallow section of the lake.  In the centuries since, the wind brought a substantial accumulation of dirt, now covering much of the rocks. At the top of the island is a cluster of crude huts and a pen full of zombies which surround a creepy-looking hall of worship constructed from pieces of rock mortared together.

“I think this is the place,” Shifty murmurs. “They have zombie livestock!”

The party advances up the slope. As they reach the plateau where the huts and pen are, the zombies remain quiescent, shuffling about in their pen without any seeming purpose.

“I think our destination is obvious.” Karl gestures at the stone shrine. A large skull is painted across the door.

Kane strides forward, but the door swings wide before he reaches it. 

An undead child stands there- a boy of perhaps ten years at the time of death.

Our heroes are stunned by its appearance for an instant. Likewise, it seems surprised. But it recovers first, and emits a piercing shriek.

The zombies find sudden purpose. 

Worse yet, people start to emerge from the huts: chain armored, with maces whose heads are fashioned to resemble skulls. In moments, overwhelming numbers pour out around our heroes. 

Which is just what Kane has been waiting for.

He bellows a battle cry and begins hacking around himself, cutting a swath through the lackeys of Tenebrous. Then a _fireball_ explodes, and suddenly most of the cultists are down. It is followed a moment later by a well-placed _beguiling strands_ that slays many of the zombies.

Shar, Sepia, Shifty, and P-69 surround the undead child and mercilessly take it apart. 

In a shockingly short amount of time, the party cuts their foes down.

“We're good at this!” Sepia giggles.

“It's not over yet,” P-69 replies, kicking the temple door back open.

It's small enough to be a single chamber. Pews take up much of the interior, with a large altar made of stacked bones at the far end. Columns support the unsteady-looking ceiling. Two large charnel pits, 50' deep, hold jagged bones that cover their floors.

Another corrupted offspring is within, this one made from the cadaver a girl of around six years. It falls even quicker than the first, put down as an act of mercy.

“Look,” Sepia says. She points into one of the charnel pits. At the bottom, a door is set into the pit's side. A quick look confirms that the other pit has a matching door.

“It certainly doesn't look like there's any information up here,” Karl comments. “Hopefully, there's something more illuminating through there.”

***

As soon as the doors open, the fat demon beyond rips a chunk from its belly and hurls it at the party.

“Look out!” cries Moab. 

The flesh explodes, spraying flesh, blood, and flame everywhere. The heroes are all blasted by it, staggering and shouting in pain. 

Kane doesn't hesitate a moment. He rushes forward, jamming his sword into the monster.
He roars, throwing a shoulder into the demon and ripping his blade free in a shower of gore.

Something else bounds in- another cultist. This one, unlike his fellows above, is filthy. He stinks of rotten flesh, and as he arrives, he is chewing on what appears to be a human ear. He is an eater of the dead. 

“I bring you the blessing of death!” he shrieks, lurching forward and trying to bite Kane. The barbarian jerks back, and the eater of the dead keeps moving, rushing into the middle of the party, biting at everyone who tries to hurt it. “Prepare to feel the caress of oblivion! Only dying can save you from life!!” 

Then, suddenly, Karl and Shifty, who are in the rear of the party, feel a strong pull as the charnel pits behind them begin to pull at them, sucking a massive amount of air.
Both throw themselves forward, putting enough distance from the pits to be out of their range.

P-69 and Sepia flank the fat demon, which pulls more gobs of flesh from itself. Each one explodes when the monster hurls them, and it seems to be fearless, even throwing a glob of its side at its feet in order to harm all of its attackers at once. Sepia wobbles and falls to one knee.

Shifty cries, “You can do it!”, and Sepia clenches her fists, her jaw; rises to her feet; and cracks her whip again.*

Things begin to turn in our heroes' favor. But just then, the vampire arrives, flanked by more cultists. It isn't obvious that he is anything more than a cultist leader until his eyes catch those of Kane, momentarily captivating the barbarian.

Shar focuses her powers on the vampire, and the others soon finish with the demon. The eater of the dead finds itself pushed into the middle of the vampire's formation by Moab's _beguiling strands,_ where Karl blasts the mass of villains. 

“Fools!” cries the vampire. “Tenebrous will devour your souls!”

Not yet. Not today.

Another _flame burst,_ another _beguiling strands,_ and a flurry of attacks by everyone else- and the followers of Tenebrous fall.

***

The dungeon beneath the small temple is now empty of inhabitants, as the party ascertains as they explore. They drew everything to them during the battle. 

The hall that the fight took place in is crudely painted with scenes of demons and the undead overrunning and devouring civilized folk. The overarching theme seems to be that giving oneself up to become undead is the only salvation. Beyond the doors leading deeper into the place is a ritual room, painted with more scenes of undead and demonkind slaughtering humans, dwarves, elves and their ilk, etc. The floor has several summoning diagrams inscribed upon it to aid in the summoning of demons, as well as various runes, sigils and glyphs of evil portent and vile nature.

Passages out lead to a number of large rooms holding a bed and small dresser, as well as a pyramid of bones with candles and incense burning upon it. Clearly, these are the chambers of some of the adepts of Tenebrous. 

A door leads to a cell block, the cells in which are unlocked. Three of them have recently-dead corpses in them. It is apparent that something has gnawed on them. One of the corpses is a naked dwarf; the second is a well-dressed Delphinite half-elf; and the third was a smartly-dressed hobgoblin.

Prodding the half-elf body with his toe, Moab remarks, “Looks like we now have evidence that this cult is dangerous.”

Another chamber is almost bare. Its sole feature is a coffin, well-padded, with some dirt inside it. “I think we know what this is.” Shar spits on it. 

“There's no reason to leave the vampire a possible home if it ever comes back,” Moab says, and Karl and he blast it to pieces with their spells. 

They also find an ossuary, lined with bones and skulls taken from humanoids of all kinds. A comfortable majority are goblinoid, but there are plenty of elven, human, dwarf, halfling, orc and kobold skulls, a number of other reptilian humanoids such as dragonborn and lizardfolk, gnoll, goliath, gnome and even a single tabaxi skull. 

“Charming,” mutters P-69.

From off the side of the ossuary, a steep slope (about thirty degrees) drops down into a shaft of filthy water about 60' deep; from the smell, it seems that this is where the cultists dispose of their waste and trash.

Shar nudges Shifty. “You should climb down there and see if there's any treasure.”

“Hell no,” the gnome retorts. “How about we drop a rope and let you down to check it out?”

“That's okay. I'll pass.”

Nobody else is interested in volunteering, so they leave the pissery behind.

But now it seems as though they have explored the entire subterranean level without finding any information. “Maybe we should have taken a prisoner,” Karl sighs.

“They were demon worshipers,” Kane replies. “Such foul people deserve life not.”

“Yeah, but we need information.”

Shifty says, “Maybe there's a secret door or something.”

The party investigates the place, and after a time, Sepia finds a secret door leading out of the ritual chamber. The party forms up and opens the passage warily, but there is no trouble behind it- just a library. 

“Eureka,” says Karl. 

They move in eagerly. There are dozens of books to pour through. The party starts examining them. 

Kane scowls. “Books! I like it not.”

***

There is only so much time available before Timon leaves. They return to the boat; the mist is thinning substantially. 

“Think we can find our way back tomorrow?” P-69 asks. 

“Yes,” Moab states unequivocally. 

By the time they reach him, Timon's terror has grown beyond all reason. “There are still ghouls in the water,” he claims. As they push away from the island, moving into the darkening gloom, he tells them that he won't return on the morrow. 

“We'll find another pilot,” Shifty says.

“Fine by me. Good luck.”

***

The party returns in the morning, and this time it's far easier to find Bone Island. It is as if the presence of the cultists somehow reinforced the magic concealing the place. 

Kane stands guard, not being interested in reading. With a few hours' work, the others gleans much. First, that the library is part of a research project. The research information seems to focus on things that were deemed lost forever but then recovered. The basic gist is that whoever did this research was looking for ways to find that which cannot be found.

This much merely confirms what our heroes had already learned. But there is more- far more. 

A new “exarch” of Tenebrous is rising in the Underdark, whatever that means. 

“An exarch,” Karl lectures, “is a powerful entity in service to a god or being of godlike powers. Basically, it's like a deity's right-hand-man.”

From the tone, Quah-Nomag- whose writings these seem to be- finds this troubling. In order to fully attain the rank of exarch, the fellow who is rising-“Zirithian”- must assault the Drow city of Phaervorul in order to sacrifice enough soul energy to Tenebrous, and he then plans to unleash a horde of undead on the surface in order to distract “those backwater meddlers from Overland”.  

“What the hell is a Drow?” asks Shar.

Nobody has an answer. 

“Look at this,” says Moab. He has found the coordinates to a teleport circle in the Underdark that is, according to the notes on the same page, “not far above Phaervorul, which lies past the Mushroom Forest.”

Shifty looks up from another set of writings. “It says here that Quah-Nomag brought information back from the Tower of Deryndradin here. It looks like he confirmed that whatever he is searching for was obscured by extremely powerful ritual magic that wiped all memory of it from existence. That's some trick!”

“Are you done yet?” demands Kane. “I grow bored.”

“Just hold tight, big guy,” Sepia replies. 

More reading finds that Quah-Nomag may have found a solution to the problem of how to find what he seeks. It seems that there is a place called the Mountain of Ultimate Winter, deep in the Elemental Chaos. This place is so cold that everything, even thought, freezes there. Quah-Nomag believes that it is possible that memory of that which he seeks exists as one or more ice crystals guarded by strange beings called immoths, described as icy giants with incredible mastery of runic magic.

“I think,” says Shar, “this little escapade has paid off big time.”

_*Next Time:*_ Our heroes must answer a desperate plea for help! Return to Moonstair!


*Shifty has multiclassed into warlord.


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## the Jester (Apr 8, 2019)

I know that a lot of people have trouble with, and enjoy examples of, skill challenges. This is the one I used when the pcs tried to find the island. Note that finding the island was only a matter of time. This is one way that I like to use SCs- if success is bound to happen, how long will it take? To me, the notion of spending months or years searching for a site has appeal (though in this case, each run of the SC was one day long). Anyhoo:


*FINDING THE ISLAND* (Level 11 Skill Challenge and one or more EL 9 encounters; total xp 3800 or more)
	The pcs should be able to hire a boat to take them out on White Lake for a couple of gold pieces, but the island itself is cloaked by a combination of illusions and weather magic (cloaking it in fog).  In order to find it, the pcs must defeat this magic by completing a skill challenge. 

*RUNNING THE SKILL CHALLENGE*
Finding the island is a level 11, complexity 3 skill challenge.  To successfully complete it, the pcs must achieve 8 successes before 3 failures.  Once the pcs get close (after they have achieved 5 successes), see Complications, below.

Since a combination of illusion and weather hide it, the pcs' possible approaches to finding the illusion include the following:

*	Search Grid:* The lake is truly too large to divide and search without immense manpower, but the pcs can spend six hours to eliminate everything within a few miles of the Delphinate proper.  Doing this doesn't require any skill checks or gain a success or failure for the party, but gives all further checks in the skill challenge a +2 bonus. 

*Pierce Illusions:* A character that expresses the belief that illusions are involved may attempt to see through them with an Insight check (DC 27).  Success means that the character earns a success; though they cannot see through the veils of mist, they can make out which ones are illusory. Failure ensnares the characters further in the misty magic; they gain a failure. 

*Countermagic or Follow the Flow:* A character trained in Arcana may attempt to sense the presence and direction of flow of the magical energy that cloak the island (DC 19); doing this earns one success for the party, while failing earns the party a failure.  Once the presence of the magic has been sensed, a trained character may attempt to countermand the cloaking spells here in order to eliminate them, but doing so is very difficult (DC 29).  A character that makes this check earns two successes, while failing it gains only a single failure.  A character that uses dispel magic against the fog earns an automatic success for the party.

*True Navigation: *The characters may attempt to simply use their Perception (DC 23) or knowledge of Nature (DC 19) to navigate.  Using such a skill earns either a success or failure for the party.  Alternatively, a character could make a History check (DC 19) to remember details on the locations of the lake's islands; the party can earn only one success this way (although they could conceivably earn multiple failures!). 

*Watch the Ghouls:* During and after the attack of the sodden ghouls (see Complications), a pc could try to discern the direction of the island by watching their behavior using either Insight (DC 19) or Religion (DC 19).  A daring character might also swim in pursuit, using Athletics (DC 20).  The characters earn successes or failures for any of these instances.

*Rituals:*  Using a divination or weather control ritual earns the pcs one to three successes, depending on the ritual, its level and how cleverly the party uses it.

*Complications:* As the pcs get closer to the island, they enter a more active layer of the island's defenses.  After their 5th success, the party is ambushed by a trio of sodden ghoul wailers (OG 154; level 9 soldiers), who attack from the water, attempting to pull the boat's pilot into the water before dealing with the pcs themselves.  The round after they attack, two more sodden ghoul wailers grab the boat from under the water and attempt to tow the vessel away.  Each round until that the ghouls tow the boat, the pcs lose one success.  

As soon as the pcs defeat the three sodden ghoul wailers above the water, the other two retreat into the depths unless any pcs are in the water, in which case they attempt to drag them under and slay them.  If the pcs want to attack the two ghouls under the water, they must enter the water or hole the deck of the boat. 

Each time the pcs achieve a 5th success, they are attacked by another group of ghouls unless they are still dealing with the first group.  In practice, this means that they must continue to work on the skill challenge while fighting the ghouls, or they will end up fighting group after group of them without ever making headway. 

*Success:* When the pcs achieve their 8th success, read the following:

In the mist ahead, a rocky island starts to resolve itself.  A short pier, inexpertly constructed of wood, bobs above the waves, with three small rowing craft attached.  You can see the suggestion of a steep upward slope, but the thick vapor in the air makes it impossible to tell more. 

*Failure:* The pcs become hopelessly lost.  It is full dark by the time they finally find the shore of the lake, and it takes until almost 2 a.m. to return to the Delphinate.  The pilot who took the pcs on this journey, if still alive, must be impressively compensated or he swears off the party thereafter.


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## the Jester (Apr 16, 2019)

With the information our heroes uncovered at Tscire Nobi, the Delphinite authorities finally have the evidence to shut down the local Tenebrous cult. After all, they have been sacrificing citizens. Unfortunately, neither Quah-Nomag nor anyone of real importance to the cult are caught in the wizards' net; it may even be that Quah-Nomag was the sole authority in the organization, for the rest seem to be mere fanatic thralls. 

Afterward, General Habrael invites the party to enjoy a residuum tasting before they return home. This proves to be an enjoyable event, albeit one that is bizarre; the notion of adding raw magic to one's food and drink seems to treat the residuum with unreasonably frivolity, as if it could simply be harvested like any other resource. Indeed, that seems to be exactly wha the Delphinite citizens think happens. Over the course of the tasting, there are several more references to the residuum mines, though nobody is willing to tell our heroes where these alleged mines are.

_I just can't figure it,_ Karlinden thinks. _Surely there can't actually be a way to mine residuum... can there?_

***

Moab stands at attention before his father. 

“You've done very well, indeed,” the general declares. “Thanks to you, we've made contact with another group of survivors of the Six-Fingered Hand. And thanks to them, we now know about the dangers that the Tenebrous cult represents.”

“Thank you, sir!”

“It is necessary to follow up on that cult,” Habrael continues. “To continue to investigate them. And since these people intend on doing that, I am going to send you with them.”

“Yes, sir!”

“You will serve two purposes: first, you will act as our ambassador and agent among them. As such, you will advance our interests in any and all ways that you deem appropriate while you are with them. Second, you will aid them in seeking out this Quah-Nomag and preventing him from achieving his goals, as those seem likely to impact our society. Indeed, he has already cost the lives of a number of our citizens, and as such, I am empowering you to carry out a death sentence against him.”

“Yes, sir!”

“Excellent.” The two shake hands. “I look forward to your reports.”

***

The Delphinate proves an excellent source of rituals. Our heroes linger a few more days in order to learn several. 

“I grow bored,” Kane grumbles. 

But before they can depart for home, Shar receives a _sending._

She gathers her companions. “We're being called on for help. Moonstair is under attack by a kingdom of trolls.”

“A what, now?” P-69 cocks his head.

“I'm not aware of any such kingdom,” Karl objects. 

Several back-and-forth _sendings_ clears up the situation a little. It appears as though there is a self-declared troll king named Skalmad who is attempting to carve out a new troll realm, calling it Vardar in reference to such a kingdom that existed long ago. He has been gathering his kind for months, perhaps longer, but has only recently begun probing Moonstair's defenses. A group of local heroes had recently forayed out to attempt to dissuade the trolls, but nobody has heard anything from them since. And, as the party has seen, without some kind of heroes, there aren't enough people there to hold off a sustained troll attack.

“Sounds risky,” Shifty says. “They're not worth it.”

“They're asking us for help,” Shar replies. “Think about it. We can bring them into our own territory if we save them. We can have an outpost on the Feywild.”

“That does sound promising...”

“Also,” Kane points out, “we can slay many trolls, which is a reward in its own right.”

“So we're agreed?” Shar surveys the group. “We'll help?” 

There is a general murmur of agreement.

“In that case,” Karl says, “I can speed our journey up. Unlike when we made our trip south, I now have access to the _phantom steed_ ritual. It will conjure up magical mounts for us, which will allow us to travel much faster.”

***

Moonstair has entered a siege mentality. People are harvesting what crops they can, bringing livestock into the town proper, erecting defensive works, stockpiling ammuntion and oil for the town's defenders- whatever they can do to prepare.

Rualiss, the eladrin attorney the party met previously, thanks them effusively for coming to the town's aid. “I don't know what we would have done without you,” he says. “We don't have any real war leaders or the like.”

“It's okay.” Shifty grins. “We're quite experienced in battle. Why, our man Kane has even led a mercenary company!” It's an exaggeration, but one that heartens the town's defenders. 

***

The party rests for two days and nights. For most of them, it's nice to eat and drink stuff that is free of the tang of residuum. For Moab, it's just a reminder that he is away from home again, living for who knows how long with people barely better than savages.

Scouts report troll sign less than two miles out of the town. It's clear the attack is coming; the only question is, when?

***

When it does come, it's a sudden mass of airborn enemies wyverns and a manticore ridden by a troglodyte wearing fancy armor made of shells and stones netted together.

Our heroes speed to meet them where they land and begin to wreak havoc even as another group, this one including strangely pale trolls, an ogre, and several weird monsters with but a single huge eye, attacks the town's walls. Yet more monsters attempt to storm Moonstair's docks, and another band attacks from the far side- a troll leading a pack of worgs.

The party brings their full force against the aerial assault. The monsters are deadly; the poison on the tails of the wyverns is severe, and the manticore and its rider work together as a deadly team. Pinioned between the manticore's spikes, the troglodyte's javelins, and the stings of the wyverns, Kane is taken out of the fight for a few moments before Shar and Shifty can restore him, but then Moab manages to force the enemies into a perfect formation for Karl's _fireball_ and _flame burst._

Meanwhile, the folk of Moonstair do their best to defend themselves against the other attacks. Columns of smoke begin to rise where the fire necessary to combat trolls spills onto buildings, barrels, wagons.

Once the aerial assualt is dealt with, the party dashes to the attack on the wall, arriving too late to prevent one of the trolls from scaling it. But Kane and PHUQ-69 smash into it and soon drive it back, and the group manages to prevail against these attackers, too. 

But it isn't over yet. At the docks, a pair of great lobster-monsters led by kuo-toa have come out of the water and are tearing apart the townsfolk trying to stop them from advancing toward the center of town. The party rushes to this fight, aided by a nearby ballista. Tentacles splash up from the water, grabbing at the retreating 0defenders and pulling them back toward the water. 

It's a mad scene, but one that is put in order by our heroes' valiant efforts. 

When the monsters lie slain, our heroes are gasping. “I'm out all of my most powerful spells,” Karl warns. 

“Me too,” says Shar, “but we're not done yet.” 

The baying of worgs echoes across the field of battle. 

Kane clutches at a wound on his thigh, panting for breath. “Aye, let's go. We've dogs to put down.”

***

When the Battle of Moonstair is finally over, our heroes have been pushed to their utmost, used up all their resources. They have driven themselves to exhaustion, found their limits- and exceeded them. They are victorious. 

Though not without cause. 

A number of buildings are gone or burned so badly that they can no longer be used. Worse, nearly thirty of the town's citizens have been killed in the attack. Several others are missing.

“But we won,” says P-69. “That's what matters.”

Shar shakes her head. “It's not over. I'm pretty sure we didn't kill the troll king, and he doesn't sound like the type to give up easily.”

Sepia says, “We need to take the fight to him.”

“If only we knew where he was,” Shifty laments. 

“Well...” Karl smiles. “I think we can find out, as long as we keep at least one troll head. I recently learned the _speak with dead_ ritual...”

_*Next Time:*_ Our heroes attack Skalmad's troll warren!


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## the Jester (Apr 16, 2019)

At this point, our heroes have taken their paragon paths. We now have:


Kane- barbarian/frenzied berserker
Sepia- rogue/cat burgler
Shar- cleric/governator*
Moab- wizard/enigmatic enchanter
Karl- wizard/tome adept
Shifty- rogue/gnomish illuminatus*
PHUQ-69- warden/shard disciple

Alas, Alkor has left the party at this point.

*These are custom.


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## the Jester (Apr 16, 2019)

Questioning the dead troll reveals a fair amount about Skalmad. For one, the troll refers to him as “Skalmad the Undying”, but as Karl points out, that might be a reference to the trolls' ability to regenerate from most damage. 

“But what if it's not?” Shifty moans, wringing his hands.

“Bah!” Kane snorts derisively. “We will lay this Skalmad low, no matter how many times we must kill him!”

The resurgant kingdom of Vardar, it turns out, is centered on a place called the Great Warren, a nest of caves within the swamp known for obvious reasons as the Trollhaunt. The troll gives confusing, rambling, incoherent directions; Shar remarks, “I hope it's easier to find this warren than it was to find Tscire Nobi!”

***

Although there is a strong consensus that the party needs to bring the fight to the troll king in his lair, the folk of Moonstair and not pleased at the notion of their greatest defenders leaving them to the tender mercies of further troll assaults.

So it is that Karl and Sepia decide to stay behind, to lend their might to the town's defenders while the others advance into the Trollhaunt.*

The Trollhaunt is a mess of thickets and marshland, with wiry, twisted trees and great screens of moss hanging down. Insects buzz and bite, constantly harrassing the warm-blooded creatures within. Birds call; frogs sing. The spongy ground is dotted with fungus. Oozes harmless to creatures larger than a butterfly pulsate and swim through the water, consuming water bugs. The rich, fecund odor of the swamp fills the air, forming a strange fug.

The trudge through it takes time, and the party quickly finds evidence that they are on the right track, for a troll war party stumbles on them the first night. The fight is furious and brutal; our heroes win.

“You should learn to cast _fireball,_” P-69 tells Moab. “This would be a lot easier with a _fireball._”

Moab sniffs. “I'll be sure to take your advice on matters arcane just as soon as you have finished up years of study and earned a degree in spellcasting.”

The deeper into the Trollhaunt the party goes, the more difficult the terrain becomes. But they remain on the right track, for they keep seeing troll claw marks on trees, troll droppings, and half-eaten, mostly-rotten, discarded carcasses. After several days of grueling travel, they finally find a muddy track. Troll footprints are abundant.

Finally, the trail ends at a sturdy wooden gate anchored to the wall of a cave. A sluggish stream flows into the side of the mound that the warren is apparently built into. A narrow window looks out to the left of the entrance. The party keeps watch for several hours, noting the presence of trolls and more troglodytes.

“It doesn't look like there's much of an easy way in,” Shar mutters.

“Then we must cut our way in.” Kane grins and unsheathes his sword.

“Let's try to keep them from sounding an alarm,” P-69 says. “The last thing we need is to have everything in the warren come crawling out at us.”

“Let them come,” Kane rumbles disdainfully.

***

The party pushes into the warren, hacking through the guards at the entrance, then burning the troll bodies to make sure that they stay dead. Fortunately, the cave is already foul-smelling and smoky, so it seems unlikely that the added smoke will alert the inhabitants. 

The party stays left, going deeper into the warren and crossing a stone bridge over the river. They soon find an underground lake, full of black water. A few stretches of dry ground run alongside it, and two small islets poke up from near its center.

“This would be a crappy place to fight trolls,” Shar murmurs. “It would be too easy for them to put out any fires we start...”

“LOOK OUT!” Shifty shrieks.

A dark draconian head rises from the water, as long as a man's torso. Wicked eyes focus on the party.

Shifty hurls his _gnomeblade,_ then dives to the side as the dragon breathes out a stream of acid. Moab, P-69, and Kane are all caught in the caustic fluid. Screaming in pain, Moab hurls himself into the water to wash the acid off.

Kane gives a tremendous battle cry and leaps at the dragon, striking a mighty blow against it. 

It laughs and dives under the water.

“This isn't what I expected!” shouts Shar. 

Moab surfaces and staggers out onto dry land again, water streaming from his sodden robes. “Try to lure it close and I'll use my _beguiling strands_ to force it out of the water,” he says. “As long as it stays deep in the lake, we can't fight it!”

There is an eruption of water as the  dragon breaches the surface again. It rushes in to batter Kane with its claws and bite, then slashes at P-69 with its tail before rushing away again. Our heroes land a few blows, but they don't seem to have much impact on it.

“Watch the water for it!” Shifty cries. “Where did it go?”

Again, the dragon rises, this time spewing more acid all over Kane and Shifty, only to submerge again after a few quick spells and missiles from our heroes.

Kane groans. “Cursed dragon!” he shouts. “Stand and fight, you coward!”

There is no answer. A few short moments pass-

The dragon rises again, breathes again. P-69, Shifty, and Shar are all coated in the acid this time, and when the dragon retreats into the murky water, Shifty says, “We should get out of here! We can't fight like this! We need to figure out a strategy!”

“We can't just let the trolls attack Moonstair!” Shar snaps.

“They're not worth it!”

“We'll come back,” P-69 says. “But Shifty's right. We're going to get killed by this thing if we let it set the terms of the battle.”

Reluctantly, the party retreats. They leave the Great Warren and hurry away into the surrounding wilderness, trying to head uphill as much as possible to find a place to camp on dry land. 

_We'll be back,_ Shar silently promises the dragon.

***

The party makes another daring raid into the Great Warren the next day, this time taking the right-hand passage leading deeper into the place. They cut through more troglodytes and more of the humanoid creatures with single massive eyes dominating their heads.

When the battle has been one, Shifty prods one of them with a toe. “These aren't cyclopes. I don't know what they are.” 

But in short order, a trollish counterattack deals significant damage to the heroes, and they are forced to retreat again. They return to their campsite, but this time are attacked as they try to rest.

“We need to keep our distance from them,” P-69 opines. 

“Or hide better!” Shifty suggests.

***

While seeking a better place to camp, our heroes stumble into a single person campsite. A blue dragonborn is whittling on a stick as they enter. Her eyes are wary. She is wearing plate armor and a greataxe is propped against a tree next to her.

“Hello,” she says, continuing to carve.

“Uh, hello,” Shifty replies. “Who are you?”

She puts her stick down and rises to her feet, gripping the axe. “My name is Sabine. I'm a paladin of Garnet. And you...” She grins. “Are you the so-called Heroes of Moonstair?”

Shar and Kane share a glance.

“Yes we are!” Shifty beams at her. “So, you've heard of us?”

“Yes. I helped with the defense of the town.”

“You did? Ah, excellent! So I can only assume you are here to fight the trolls!”

“Well... sort of. One of my relatives was a member of a party of adventurers who went to confront the trolls before the attack.”

“Oh, I believe we heard about them.”

“They didn't come back. So I'm trying to save them. Save them... or avenge them.”

“I see, I see... Well, it seems as though our courses are aligned, at least for the moment! Perhaps we should join forces?”

“It sounds good to me. To be honest, I was hoping to find you while I was out here. Some of those trolls are pretty tough, and Garnet only knows how many I'll have to fight before I find my cousin. Or his remains.”

“What if the trolls have eaten him?” P-69 asks.

“I'll know if we find his gear,” she replies. 

“All right,” Shar says, “I think we can agree that working together will make us more likely to take out this troll king. And, of course, that dragon.”

“Dragon?” Sabine looks at her.

“Aye,” Kane growls. “A black monster that keeps submerging to escape us.” He scowls. 

Sabine grins again. “I've always wanted to be a dragon slayer.”

***

The party once more enters the Great Warren and, once past the troglodytes now stationed to guard it, keeps to the left, heading quietly toward the underground lake. 

“If we can lure it out,” Sabine says confidently, “we can take it.”

Kane curls his lip. “Unless it flees like a coward again.”

P-69 picks up a rock and hurls it into the water. There is a splash, then, for a moment, nothing.

Then the water starts to churn and bubble, and the dragon's head rises up again.

This time, the strategic situation is different. Sabine subjects the dragon to her divine sanction, then hangs back, and when the dragon breathes acid on several of the others, it pays for it in radiant damage. The dragon tries to use the same hit and run tactics it did before, but with her sanction in effect, this rapidly proves too painful. It is forced to emerge from the water to fight. 

The dragon is a whirlwind of destruction, its teeth and claws tearing into Kane and P-69. It snaps its tail into Sabine as she charges in to close with it, delivering a telling blow. But once it is surrounded by them, Shifty springs in to flank with an _acrobatic attack_ and Shar hits it with _iron to glass,_ reducing the amount of damage it deals.

Soon, the monster attempts to get away from them again, seeking to retreat to the water. But this time Moab has positioned himself to prevent such shenanigans. He is ready with a _beguiling strands_. It can only reach the shallows before P-69 intercepts it and pulls it back toward them.

The party piles on the damage, unleashing their deadliest attacks.The dragon roars and breathes again, but as they are not grouped up, the dragon is forced to choose between catching only Sabine in its acid or affecting Moab, Shar, and Shifty. It chooses the painful option, and the paladin's divine sanction activates once more, dealing yet more radiant damage to the dragon. 

Finally, Sabine brings down the black dragon with a mighty smite.

***

A search of the water turns up considerable treasure, including a bastard sword that drips acid. Kane claims that gleefully, then the party retreats to their camp to rest before returning to make another foray into the warren.

_*Next Time:*_ Our heroes meet Skalmad the Troll King!


*This is about the point at which we lose two more players, alas. But as you can see, the party quickly met a new one!


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