# Copperheads: Betrayal and Strange Runes and Burning Dead, oh my (short update 02/12)



## arwink

By the standards of the empire, St Cuthbert doesn’t have a large following.  The worshippers that fill his temple may never match the hordes that file through the grand cathedrals of Sarcon, Laremon and Archan in Seldarn City, and he lacks the broad appeal of the common gods like Durkannan the Forger or Uldora the Hearth-Maiden.  The forces of the Saint are few, but his followers are plentiful enough for his purpose and what they lack in numbers they make up for in faith and position.  St Cuthbert is god of Law, and his faithful serve as judges and lawyers in the larger cities, guard chaplains and commanders in the Imperial provinces, and roaming Justicars in the wild lands in between.  The reach of the Saint is broad, and Cuthbertite clerics are owed favors by a wide variety people.

It all starts with a debt that must be repaid.

For Halgo Torke, the church was a means to an end.  After hearing an elf deride his races ability to master the arts of magic, the young dwarf went searching for a tutor that would accept him.  It was an act of petty defiance, or perhaps one of poetic justice, but he was connected with an aging illusionist through the church, and in return for church paying for his tutelage he has agreed to repay the debt with service.  

For Blarth, duty was repayment for a favor yet to be rendered.  As a youth he was abandoned as his parents were taken by bounty hunters and kidnapping, forced to rely on his own considerable strength.  Found by a psi-warrior who served the Church as a Drakkarim, Blarth’s raw talent was molded and shaped.  A warrior in every way, Blarth is a follower of Drakkar – St Cuthbert’s Angel of Righteous War and Vengeance, and the half-orc is convinced that loyal service will one day return his parents to him.

For Geoffrey Cromwell, his debt is repaid with service.  An aging cleric of the Saint took him in as a youth, guided him towards his fate when he was lost and angry with the world.  Molded by the old mans words and deeds, Geoffrey was trained in the arts of theology, magic and battle before being sent out into the world.  His superiors have high hopes for him, and it’s thought that with time and training he may even reach the rank of Justicar.

For Yip, Brother of the Unbending Fist, the debt was burned into his very soul.  Born, like most of his clan, in a temple of the Saint and raised to believe in a life of service and obligation, the church forged the young kobolds very body and mind into a living weapon.  The church has given him a life, a purpose, and a family, and he will repay them for these gifts with loyalty and dedication.  

It all starts with a debt, and when the call comes to report to the Cannon of a small town along the Halark Coast, all obey.


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## arwink

*The Meta-Game Notes*

Those of you who just want the story, skip ahead to the next post.  

The early posts in this thread are undergoing some slight renovation in the coming months - mostly checking for spelling mistakes and minor re-writing.  I settled into the style a little more comfortably in later updates, so I want to give that feel to the entire thread if I can.

*DM’s Campaign Notes*

In the beginning, there’s nothing truly ambitious about the Copperheads campaign.  I was running Return to the Temple of Elemental Evil, but there were two main problems – one was a couple of players who worked shifts, and the other was an itching on my part to explore a world outside of the mega-dungeon.  The copperheads started to solve both problems.  It gave the rest of us something to do on weeks when the shift-workers couldn’t make it, and it let me run adventures that went a little beyond the Elemental Evil.  The original plan was to have the two campaigns twist around one another, with some crossover of NPC’s and locations, so the players were told to create characters that would work in relation to the church.  They could start out as a sort of clean-up squad, I figured, doing all the behinds the scenes stuff the other group didn’t have the time or inclination to do due to the narrow focus of their mission.

Naturally, it didn't work out that way.  Strange how that always seems to happen.

Instead the Copperheads became a game based on dealing with the politics of the Church of St Cuthbert, running off into the wilderness so they never heard a thing about Elemental Evil after the first adventure, and thwarting the will of numerous power groups across the length of two continents.  It also became a game about watching a succession of kobold monks get killed off, one by one, in particularly messy ways.  It developed the wider scope I was hoping for, has allowed for long-term story-arcs and player development, and exists now long after the Elemental Evil group has fallen apart due to time constraints and lack of interest (although the aborted storyhour of the mega-module game can be read here.

The game starts at first level, and despite the mention of a few elements from Return to the Temple of Elemental Evil, the Storyhour has nothing to do with the mega-adventure aside from one NPC and a reference to the Elder Elemental Eye.

If you have questions, comments or suggestions about the past, present or future events and locations in the game, please head over to the Seldarn Empire Notes, Suggestion and Discussion Thread or just head to my website at http://arwink.themadship.dhs.org  (If you're a player in my games, please keep out - we'll be talking about you over there )

*Current Cast – A running list as of members as of the last update*

_Geoffrey Cromwell _- Geoffrey is a human cleric of St Cutherbert, a young man with a calling a tendency to be a little more neutral that good in his approach.  He's gradually driving towards the Warpriest prestige class, but hasn't quite made it there yet.  

_Halgo Torke_ - Halgo is a dwarven diviner (who was an illusionist under 3.0) who took up the wizards calling after an arrogant elf told him dwarves couldn't possible be wizards.  He keeps his beard in a short goatee to stop it from dipping in alchemical solutions, and is largely along for the ride because he owes the Church of St Cuthbert a favor.  Now that he's mastered magic, Halgo's main focus tends to be on gaining power, and staying with the Copperheads lets him do that.

_Blarth_ - Blarth was abandoned by his father at a young age when the orcish mercenary went chasing after a bounty hunter who'd kidnapped Blarth's mother.  Blarth was then raised by an elderly Psi-Warrior who served the Angelic Mardak - Leader of St Cuthbert's Drakkarim (Essentially Holy Bodyguards and Fists of Vengeance).  Blarth is enormously strong, not that smart, and collecting heads under the belief that Mardak will eventually show him to his parents should Blarth prove to be a not-puny warrior.

_Yip II_ - The Church of St Cuthbert maintains a small force of brainwashed kobold monks that they send hurtling through sewer drains to route thieves’ guilds.  Almost all said monks are named Yip and have little by way of personality.  This Yip was sent out into the world because, honestly, he's a tad strange.  Much better at sneaking than his Yip brethren, and he has a tendency to pick weak points and low blows when he gets into a battle.  Hopefully, by being exposed to the positive influence of the Cuthbertite cleric, he'll learn to become one with the Yip's in the future.

_Amarin Yarrow_- A pale, schollarly human from the Old Kingdom of Charos, Amarin is a psionic shaper who specializes in manifesting astral constructs.  He was lured to the northern continent of Bor by an omen, then stuck around in order to work out what was causing the northern continent's weather to act so strangely.  While there, he joined the Copperheads and has adventured with them ever since because, really, they're such a bunch of interesting fellows.  Amarin is far too nice to be an adventurer, and his somewhat naive outlook can cause trouble when he deals with his comrades.

*Been and Gone – Briefly PC’s, but now part of the NPC unwashed*

_Brind _ - Human Fighter.  A seldani by his appearance, this mercenary fighter wore chain and used a bastard-sword with great skill.  Cheerful a touch undisciplined and played by _Mantreus_ for a single session before real life made it impossible for him to game with us.

_Thrash_ - A human ranger with a slight drug addiction and spiky hair.  It is known that he's been raised from the dead, but certainly not by any of the Copperheads.  

*Deceased – Were Player Characters, Now Fond Memories*

_Brother Yip _- The first Yip, who was a good monk and followed orders.  Inevitably, he ended up dead because of those very traits.  

*Spoiler Listing:  Modules and Dungeon Adventures Used in the Storyhour*

Of Sound Mind
A Heroes Tale (2e adventure)
King Oleg's Dilemma (2e Adventure from Dungeon)
Depths of Rage (Dungeon 83)


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## arwink

_Saturday, August 19th, 518 AF_ 

Four of the churches servants sit in the hallway before the office of Y'Dey, Cannoness of Hommlet.  They eye each other carefully, trying to appraise what they can as they sit in silence.  All of them know what their task is to be, but it is the first time all four have been in the same room since they arrived at the temple.

Geoffery is slightly confused by Yip's presence.  It's rare that the Yip-monks are chosen to act as individuals, and rarer still that one manages to survive without others of his order nearby.  Geoffery's heard rumors that several of the small monks were set free for their part in the Trollmist wars, but this Yip still seems to anxious and excited to be a combat veteran.  A part of him still wants to believe his Instructors were joking when they told him of the Brotherhood, the stories of teamwork fostered by stripping away their individuality and warfare against thieves in sewers below the city streets.  As he watches the small creature, sitting crosslegged and focused on the door, he is forced to admit the humor of the idea isn't as great as he once thought.

Blarth and Halgo look particularly dour, eyeing each other off.  Racial distrust is high, and neither looks particularly pleased to be near one another.

"You got axe?" Blarth grunts, breaking the silence.  He glares at the robed dwarf, a racial tuant on the tip of his tongue. 
"Don't need one," Halgo retorts.  "I have magic."
"Hrmph, puny dwarf."

The sound of the door opening stops the arguement in its tracks.  Cannoness Y'dey stares out at the four of them, her grey eyes demanding silence.

"I think it's best if you come in," she says.

Once the party is comfortably seated, she makes the relevant introductions.  Everyone nods as politely as they can manage, with Yip staring at the three tall-folk he's expected to accompany and serve with wide eyes.

"I think you all know why you're here," Y'Dey explains.  "It goes without saying that it wont be explained any further, but but I suggest you look around and get used to each others faces - you'll be relying on one another to stay alive.  Whatever personal differences, whatever hatreds your races may share, put them aside.  Your duty here is to the church, and it is more important than any petty concerns you bring with you."

"All of you would have heard the rumors about Hommlet before you were sent here.  You were gathered here because it has become expected.  This town has a dark history, and the dangers it's people have faced have been great.  Adventureres still pass through from time to time, usually young groups like yourselves, fresh from their apprenticeships.  The history of the place draws them, despite two decades of peace and prosperity.

"The town sent some vetrans from the Trollmists out to look at the old Moathouse where the Elemental Cults were once based.  It was a precaution.  There are always rumors of evil cults poking around out there, or the dead walking once more.  Usually they turn out to be false, but history has taught those of us here not to be complacent."

"This time around, the group we sent out encountered a dragon.  This wouldn't necessarily be worrying, but among some of the dragons victims they found this."

Y'Dey opens the draw of her desk and pulls out an ornate holy symbol.

"The symbol belongs to a being called the Elder Elemental Eye.  No-one knows what exactly it is or where it came from, but it's the same being the Elemental Cults worshipped as a god in Hommlet's past.  Given the relative newness of the holy symbol, and the quality of work that's gone into its making, it's safe to say that this doesn't bode well.  I performed an augery not long after this was delivered to me, and St Cuthbert has confirmed that suspicioun."

"If the temple does rise again, Hommlet isn't prepared to face it's evil again.  The people have grown softer, more comfortable in the safety of recent years.  If possible I wish to avoid allarming them until further evidence has been gathered, but it is clear something must be done.  I've confered with the church elders in Khest, and it's been decided that a _Warding Bell_ will be created to help protect the town.  A number of powerful priests are on their way here to help in its creation, the last will arrive inside of a month."

"What we still need is a bell of sufficient quality to hold the enchantment.  The Yedraphon Monestary had commisioned a new bell from the forges of Bellhold months ago.  It's supposed to be finished in a few days, and their craftsmen are said to have forged the bells for the Great Chapel of Heironous in Seldar city.  The Canon of Yedraphon has agreed to allow us to collect this bell for the ritual and commision another for his temple."

"We're sending you to collect the bell.  We tried this once before, in the old days when the Element cult was first active, but every time they destroyed or stole the bell before it reached the temple.  With luck, these new branches won't know the bells significance, but it's thought that a less...obvious...group is the best choice to bring the bell here, just in case."

Geoffery takes a moment to look around the room, wondering if a fiercely devote, brainwashed kobold, a half-orc and a dwarven mage are any less obvious.  He hides a smirk, and it occurs to him that if nothing else, they at least look the part of a rag-tag adventuring group.

"There will be a wagon waiting for you in the couryard tomorrow," Y'dey anounces.  She pulls a small pouch from her draw and tosses it to Geoffery.  "There's twenty-gold peices in there to pay for room and board at Bellhold, along with a map of the route.  I expect you to be gone at dawn."

There is a momentary silence as all four look at the Cannoness, quickly followed by the realisation that the audiance is over.  Hurridly making their goodbyes, the four companions hustle back into the door.  The door is shut firmly behind them.

"So..." Geoffery says.  Everyone else waits expectantly for him to say something.  "ah...who wants to be woken up?"
The kobold sniffs and stalks off.  Geoffery remembers their order is trained to be up before dawn, sleeping only a few hours a night whenever posisble.  The half-orc shrugs and follows Yip.
"She was kidding about the dawn thing, right?" Halgo asks.
"I'll get you up," Geoffery says.  "I think she meant it."


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## arwink

_Sunday, August 20th, 508 AF_ 

An hour before dawn, Geoffery is beside Halgo's bed with a bucket of water in his hand.  For a few moments, the young priest contemplates other methods of waking the slumbering dwarf, but in the end temptation wins out.  The bucket's contents are dumped on Halgo's head.  As the spluttering dwarf wakes, trying to cast some kind of defensive spell through a his gasps of surprise, Geoffery retreats to the doorway laughing.

"Get up," he says.  "We leave in an hour."

_Monday, August 21st - Tuesday, August 22nd, 508 AF_

The trip to bellhold is a four day journey, and the road between the two town is relatively sparse in the later months of winter.  The mid-point of the journey is punctuated with a small hamlet, and a brief stay in its inn, The Travellers Boon.  The sparsely populated common room is full of sullen farmers, and the barkeep is suspicious.


_Wednesday, August 23th, 508 AF_ 

The travellers close on Bellhold as the evening wears on.  All four are dusty, and many have picked up splinters from the churches wagon.  

Up ahead, they spot an elderly man standing beside the road, a loop of rope clenched in his fist.  He's shaking his hands at a pair of horses that are quietly grazing forty feet down the road...


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## arwink

_Wednesday, August 23rd, 508 AF, Continued_ 

The farmer lowers his fist and tries creeping towards the horses again.  He get's no closer than five feet when the horses suddenly look up and scampre further down the road, settling down some thirty feet away to resume grazing.

Blarth grunts at the farmers actions.  
"Hrmph, puny farmer."

Geoffery takes a moment to work out everything the half-orc has called puny since they left church grounds.  It includes every inhabitant at the town they stopped at, the town itself, many of Blarth's fellow travellers and a seemingly random assortment of roadside landmarks.
"You know,' Geoffery comments, "I'm starting to think that Puny is half-orc for hello."

Blarth sneers.

They pull the wagon up next to the farmer.  He's an old man, puffing slightly after the chase with the horses.

"Travellers, are ye?" he asks, looking over the wagon.  "What can I do for ye?"
Before anyone can answer, the farmer spots Yip meditating in the back of the wagon. His eyebrows shoot up in surprise.

"We're on our way to Bellhold," Geoffery explains.  "Can you tell us how far we have to go?"
"Well, not much more than two or three miles," is the answer.  "So you're adventurers, aren't ye?  If you're looking for a preists to dispell you're friends curse, you're out of luck in Bellhold."
"Curse?" Halgo asks.  "What curse?"
"Well, the one that turns him into a kobold."

Everyone's silent while they think about this, followed by a hurried attempt to explain Yip to the farmer.  Eventually, it's Halgo who solves things by naming yip his intelligent, bi-pedal familar.  This is followed by a round of introductions.  It turns out the farmers name is Othic, a long-time local of the area.

"Seems like you're having some problems," Goeffery offers.  
"Aye, these two." Othic grumbles.  "Blaze and Broadsword.  Dissappeared from the paddock a week ago, then came back yesterday.  Came out this morning and they'd jumped the fence again.  Spent the better part of the day tracking them down, and now they wont let me get close enough to get the halters on."

Othic sighs deeply, then looks up at the adventurers.  "Don't suppose ye'd be willing to give an old man some help?"

The four adventurers look at one another.  None of them know a thing about horses, although Halgo seems to have developed some knack after a few days of driving the wagon.  Eventually, Geoffery solves the problem.

"Yip," he commands.  "Go give the man some help."
Blarth and Halgo smile appreciatively at this, obviously convinced it's a very good plan.  Yip looks less convinced, but dutifully stands and slides down the side of the wagon.

"What do?" he asks, taking the rope from Othic's hands.


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## Kamard

I ever so love the Brothers Yip.


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## arwink

They have a certain charm to them.  When the player first threw the idea at me, I let it past without giving it a lot of thought, but with every successive Yip that gets introduced (he's currently on his fourth), they get that little bit more interesting.


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## arwink

_Wednesday, August 23rd, 508 AF, Continued _ 

Yip sneaks slowly towards the two horses, rope clenched in his tiny paws.  His companions maintain a comfortable distance on the wagon, watching with huge grins on their faces.  Othic looks nervous.

"He won't eat 'em, will 'e?" Othic asks.  No-one answers him.  Yip creeps within ten feet of the two horses, then notices for the first time the differences in size and strength.  There's a momentary pause as he looks at the horses hight, to the rope in his hand, and then back again.  He looks over his shoulder at Geoffery, Blarth and Halgo.  The trio offer him a wide grin and waves of encouragement.

"I put five gold on the horse," Halgo mutters low enough that Yip can't hear.  No-one takes him up on the bet.

Yip slinks away from the horses, the beginnings of an idea forming in his head.  He runs to the opposite side of the road and ties the rope to a fence-post, hoping it's strong enough to prevent a horse from bolting once the rope falls over his head.  He then concentrates on tying a lasso and creeps forward again.  He stops short from the horses, then proceeds to start circling the loop above his head.  The loop expands, getting larger and larger, before unravelling just as Yip throws.  The untied strand of rope hits one of the horses in the nose.  It looks up, flashing Yip a glance that could almost be annoyed, and trots down the road with his companion.  

"Er," Othic says after watching the display, "does yer little fella have any experience with horses?"
Blarth's cry of "Puny Kobold" is the only response.  Geoffery nudges Halgo in the ribs as they watch Yip botch a second attempt and send the horses further down the road.
"Maybe you better help," he suggests.
"Why me?" Halgo asks.
"You've been driving the wagon all this way.  Horses seem to like you."

Halgo grumbles, but he gets off the wagon and heads down the road to help Yip...


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## arwink

_Wednesday, August 23rd, 508 AF, Continued _ 

Halgo strides down the road, muttering to himself as he does so.  Yip is ordered to block off the far side of the road, to try and slow them down should they attempt to escape.  The kobold is dubious, but doesn't argue.

The dwarven illusionist gets closer to the two feeding horses, speaking to them in calm tones as he gets close.  He even gets close enough to stroke one on the nose, but both Blaze and Broadsword bolt when he lifts the rope to throw it over their heads.  Yip makes a valient effort to grab one of them as they trot past, but the three foot monk barely serves as an obstacle.

Halgo scratches at his short beard as he watches them go.
"This could take a while," he comments.  Goeffery and Blarth and laughing from their position on the wagon.

"Maybe they're were-horses?" Geoffery calls, and Halgo is almost certain he hears Blarth muttering puny dwarf under his breath.

"I've got an idea," Halgo calls back.  "Just be ready to stop them if they bolt."
Othic 's expression immediately changes to one of alarm.
"Don't worry," Halgo assures him.  "This looks worse than it is.  It wont hurt them in the slightest."
Then he sucks in a deep breath and begins the incantation for a color spray.  The arcane words rush from his mouth and the flare of multicolored lights spring from his fingers towards the horses.  Yip lets out a short yip of surprise, and Othic looks like he's goes into a state of shock.

The weaving colors dance in the horses vision for a few seconds.  Blaze, the larger of the two, stares transfixed into the weaving pattern then falls to the ground.  Broadsword, smaller and darker, panics and bolts off in the opposite direction - away fromt he waiting Yip and towards the wagon.

"Stop him" Halgo calls.  Geoffery just watches, ammused by the proceedings, but Blarth leaps from his spot and chases the horse.  The panicked Broadsword kicks out as the half-orc approaches, catching a glancing blow on his armor.

"Arg, Puny horse," Blarth yells, then proceeds to punch the horse in the nose with a gauntletted fist.  Broadsword looks wobbly in the aftermath, even takes a few unstead steps to the left.

At this, Othic faints dead away.

Broadsword and Blarth are at it immediately.  The horse rears up, striking out with its forehoves, while the half-orcs heavy blows are hammer out at it even as the hooves strike him.  Within seconds, Blarth has beaten the horse into unconsciousness.

"Puny Horse," he spits vehemently, rubbing at a bruise already starting to form on his brow.  Then he walks back to the wagon and retakes his seat.

Halgo and Yip rush in to rope the incapaciated horses.  

"How long does it take a horse to regain consciousness?" Halgo asks, looking down at the unconscious Broadsword.  "The other one will be awake and unharmed inside a minute."

"Maybe I'd better heal it before we wake up Othic?" Geoffery offers.  Nobody dissagrees.  Geoffery heads over to the unconscious horse while Halgo ties the now-conscious Blaze to the back of the wagon and goes to wake othic.  

"Humans strange," Yip offers to no-one in particular.  He hops up on the wagon beside Blarth to watch Geoffery and Halgo go about their work.


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## arwink

Interestingly enough, I've run through this section of the module twice, and both times a player has come up with the theory of "were-horses" within seconds of hearing about the problem.

For some reason, livestock aren't expected to be scary all on their own


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## arwink

_Wednesday, August 23rd, 508 AF, Continued _ 

Geoffery kneels by the unconscious Broadsword.  The horse has been savagely beaten, it's face a mess of small cuts where Blarth's iron gauntlets have broken skin.  None of it is life-threatening, but the horse is guarenteed to be in pain when it returns to consciousness.  As he's about to cast a simple healing spell, Geoffery notices something odd.  

There's a scabby scratch in the centre of the creatures forehead, older and smaller than the wounds it's suffered at Blarths hands.  Goeffery frowns, slightly troubled.  Something about the scratch seems wrong, but he can't put his finger on it.  He prods at the wound for a few seconds before he realises there's something caught beneath the scab, lodged below the surface of the skin.

"No problem," he says to himself.  "I'll have that out in moment."
He pulls a dagger from its belt sheath and prepares to dig into the unconscious horse.  He's about to make the incision when he's distracted by a strangled gasp of horror behind him.  Geoffery whirls, and see's the recently awakened Othic struggling against Halgo.

"What do ye think ye'r doing?" the farmer demands.
"There's something stuck in the horses head," Geoffery offers innocently.  "I was just going to get it out."
"Yer blade's a foot long!" 
"It's all I've got," Geoffery replies, his tone defensive.

Othic is incredulous, wandering where in hell these people learned to care for animals.  The two horses leading their wagon seem to be well cared for.  Maybe they survived by luck.
"It's probably just a splinter, or a thorn," he tells Geoffery.  "If they were wanderin the woods, they're likely to have picked up dozens of the things.  Put yer dagger away, I've got proper tools back in the barn.  I'll dig it out after dinner."
"You're sure, it's not trouble to do it here."

There's something dangerously eager about Geoffery's tone as he says this.  Othic just stares at him, and it's immediately obvious to everyone that there is no doubt in the old man's mind about his decision.  Geoffery shrugs and sheaths the dagger before muttering a healing prayer to St Cuthbert.  The Saints energy flows through him and into the horse, closing the small cuts that cover its face and returning it to consciousness.  Geoffery notices that the scab on the forehead doesn't heal, but then neither do all the cuts and bruises.  He dismisses it as nothing and loops a second rope over the head of the groggy horse.  Broadsword nickers quietly, snaps once at an armored 
sleeve, then allows himself to be lead to the wagon and tied beside Blaze.

Othic takes a few minutes to look over his livestock, immensly pleased to find neither spell nor beating seem to have caused lasting damage.  These strangers may be odd, but their methods did seem to work.  He figures it works out even.

"Thank the gods," he says .  "They both seem fine, so it looks like I owe ye a debt of gratitude.  Ye say ye'r going to Bellhold?"

The group nods.

"Well, I'll tell ye what," Othic says.  "Me farms only a mile or so down the road, and yer no more than two hours from the town.  Why don't ye join me for a meal before ye head in.  It'll save ye a couple of silver at the tavern, and it'll let an old man say thanks."

There is a breif conference atop the wagon, followed by Geoffery leaning over the side to offer Othic a hand up.
"Sounds good to me," as he assists Othic.  "Can't be worse than the camp-cooking on the way here."


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## Mathew_Freeman

yay! I made it. OK, now I'm off for some lunch. See you all in about 15 minutes.


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## Dungannon

Interesting beginning, Arwink.  Were the Yip-monks your idea, or the players?


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## arwink

The idea of recurring kobold monks with the same name is entirely Murrays.  

See, Murray has a history of being on the wrong end of die rolls in my game, and he doesn't necessarily like playing a variety of characters over two or three games.  He asked if it was okay, and I said it was fine if we could think of a legit reason to fit it into the campaign world.  We threw some ideas back and forth, and the brotherhood was the result.

Yip's tend not to last too long, but they usually die in particularly spectacular ways.  At least two have gone to triple twenty criticals in the past year.


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## arwink

Well, it finally happened.  We just finished the third session of the campaign, and a Yip finally survived through an entire five hours of gaming  

Not only that, the PC's have elected to take a company name, the Copperheads, in celebration of recent events.

Update coming soon.  Just need to eat some dinner and I'll be typing away...


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## arwink

_Wednesday, August 23rd, 508 AF, Continued _ 

Othic's farm is a simple affair.  A large paddock of horses on one side, a smaller paddock filled with vegetable crops on the other.  Geoffery's query about the possibility of sleeping in the old man's barn on the short ride to the homestead is immediately answered by the size of the cramped hut, and the rickety condition of the barn.

"Hmm," he says, surveying the barns interior while Othic lets the horses loose.  "Maybe we'll be better suited to an inn."
Othic nods quietly.

Dinner proves to be a simple fare, but after living on trail rations and the cooking of Haggash's inn, it goes down well.  The adventureres feast on a simple stew, consisting mostly of mutton, carrots and  potatoes, with slices of crusty bread that remains just the right side of stale.  

For Yip, both bread and stew prove something of a revelation.  His order dines primarily on nuts and berries, with strictly rationed meat supplies, while training.  The notion of cooked food is still new to him, and every meal at a new settlement seems a new sensation.  When Othic offers around a bottle of cheap but tasty wine, the kobold is nearly in heaven.

Over dinner, Othic proves to be a wealth of information about the towns history as well as an eager gossip.  He tells his dinner companions that Bellhold was held in the grip of the dragon Copperdeath until nearly fifty years ago, and that he and many other townsfolk were were forced to work in the copper mines as the dragon's servants.  Tears nearly spring to the old man's eyes as he talks of the dragons death at the hand of a company of adventurers.  He also urges the party to return towards midsummer, when the festival celebrating fifty years since the dragon's death is to be held.  

After a brief diversion into his family (widowed, two children), and his drift into farming after the dragon was defeated, Othic also starts hinting about darker news from the town.  While much of the gossip he relates while sipping at the wine seems meaningless, there is the occasional suggestion of missing children being searched for by local heroes, and tales of headaches and bad dreams infecting the population that are bad enough to drive away Karthain, the towns wizard, and the high priests of the three major temples.  Geoffery and Halgo drive towards more information on all of these, but Othic's news is sketchy and he laughs at it all as gossip.  

"Haven't felt a thing like a nightmare out here," he says, waving an arm at the door leading out to the paddocks.  "I got nothin' more to worry about than escaping horses.  And Children go missing here from time to time, wandering in the woods to the north mostly.  Usually the town gets into an uproar until the heroes of the Bell find 'em wandering lost and bring 'em home.  Ah, just gossip and news.  People don't know the meaning of the word trouble since ol' Copperdeath was laid low."

He looks at the dark sky through the window, smoking a small pipe to help his digestion.  
"I think ye best be going," he says, nodding.  "Getting late, and ye still got a good mile to go afore ye hit town.  

Geoffery nods the the others, and they reluctantly pick themselves up from Othic's table.  The farmer leads them out to their wagon.  Blaze and Broadsword are standing in the midst of the field, grazing quietly.  
"Thanks again for ye help," Othic says.  "Couldn't have got them back without ye."
"Pleased to help," Geoffery replies.  "Thanks again for dinner."
There is a small yip of agreement from Yip in the back of the wagon.

"One last thing," Geoffery asks, "Can you recommend an inn in town?"
"Well, the Bell and Clapper's probably the best," Othic says, considering the question carefully.  "Run by a half-elf, Tokket.  Son of one o' the heroes who slew Copperdeath.  Keeps some interesting trinkets laying about for folk to stare at.  Well worth a look, and he keeps some mighty fine ale on tap."

Othic scratches his chin for a second, deep in thought.  "Actually, I'm due in town tomorrow for business," he muses.  "Tokket cooks a fine breakfast, and it may well be worth calling in for a bite after I'm done.  If ye're interested in hearing a few more of an old man's stories, why don't I meet you?"

The four companions look at one another.  Othic's proved a genial and forthcoming dinner companion, if a little over-eager for tales of their own adventures when gaps arrived in conversation.  There is a quick nod of agreement.
"Sure," Geoffery agrees.  "We'll meet you there." 
Halgo shakes the reigns on the wagon, setting the horses moving.  

"Thanks again," Othic waves.  The wagon slowly trundles back onto the road, covering the last hours travel into Bellhold.


----------



## arwink

_Wednesday, August 23rd, 508 AF_

Bellhold is a wide, pleasant looking town.  The four companions drive through in their wagon, through streets lit by flickering torches.  There are people everywhere on the street despite the late hour, trading back and forth in the small stores.  All of them look tired and on edge, their voices slightly sharper than normal.  Every now and then, they can hear the sound of an arguement breaking out in the distance.  As they pass through the streets, they notice that perhaps one building in three has the apperance of being abandoned, it's doors locked and curtains drawn.  Some stores have closed signs that look like they haven't moved in days, and Yip spots one that has a small spiderweb growing over the corner of it's doorway.

Othic has given them directions to the Bell and Clapper, and they quickly follow them.  Down the main road towards the town square, where Halgo is forced to slow the cart down.  The crowd is thicker here, clustered in clumps around various speakers or merchants.  The largest seems to be a group of elderly folk, standing in a large cluster near the bell-tower in the centre of the square.  A stone plaque midway up the towers length proclaims the square Wyrmcall Plaza.  Everyone remembers Othics explanation.

"Named after the bell," Othic had said.  "Big 'un, it is.  Used to ring it to warn the folk the dragon was commin'.  Calls folk to the meetings now, in the town square.  Ye should hear it rung, if ye're in town long enough.  Is an experience, to be sure."

Looking up at Wyrmcall's copper expanse, none of the group has any doubt.  The bell is huge, easily a good fifteen feet across.

"Left?" Halgo asks, remembering Othic's directions.  Geoffery nods and the dwarven illusionist edges the wagon slowly through the crowd.

They find the Bell and Clapper on the southern edge of the square.  It's an impressive building, looming over the two story buildings that surround it in the square and the small houses that make up the rest of the village.  A yawning boy leans against the door to a nearby stable.

"You the stable-boy?" Geoffery asks.
"Aye."
"Can you store this in there?"  Geoffery nodds down at the wagon, then points to the Stables.
"Aye, just.  Ye'll have to pay Tokket extra for the stablin."
Geoffery just nods and gestures to his comrades.  They quickly retrieve their packs and climb down from the wagon, handing the reigns over the the youth.  The boy yawns again as he climbs onto the driving seat.

"Tired?" Halgo asks.
The boy nods.
"Nightmares.  Ain't slept right for days" he says, then shrugs. "Just like everyone else."
He snaps the reigns and coaxes the wagon through the stable doors. 

Geoffery stares up at the Inn, then over at Yip and Blarth.
"Well," he says, "Do you think they'll have problems serving kobolds?"


----------



## arwink

As an aside - we finished Of Sound Mind tonight.  I'm still at least two and a half sessions behind, so I'll be updating pretty often over the next week or so.  It also means that I have only very plans worked out for the PC's from here on in, and only one very altered pre-published adventure converted from 2e in the near future.

If you've got any rat-bastardly ideas to spare, why not click on the discussion thread link in my sig and share them around


----------



## arwink

_Wednesday, August 23rd, 508 AF, Continued _ 

The lower level of the Bell and Clapper is all ale-room, it's walls laden with flickering candlabra, and a collection of trophies and artifacts with an adventuring theme.  A large axe hungs prominantly over the bar, alongside a shield and several smaller weapons.  A glass case has been pushed against the far wall, with several scraps of parchment and daggers laid out on display alongside an open book.  Halgo's gleaming eyes spot the book almost instantly, and he looks up at Geoffery with an eager expression.

"I'll get the rooms," Geoffery sighs.  "Go read."

The barkeep is a tall half-elf, his blond hair thinning.  He's serving some locals on the far end of the bar, but it doesn't take him long to rush to Geoffery's service.

"Evenin,"   he says. "The names Tokket.  Welcome to the Bell and Clapper.  What can I do fer ye?"

Geoffery looks in the bag of gold Y'Dey gave him for expenses.  The majority of it's still there.
"I'd like room for four, some ale, and perhaps something as a late supper if you've got it.  We've got a wagon and two horses in your stables as well"

Tokket nods, then quickly scans the companions at Geoffery's side.
"It'll be five silver for a meal and bed for three of ye, and I'll include the kobold in the stables with yer horses."
Yip snarls slightly at this, his nostrils flaring and ears flattening against his head.

"The kobold is tame, civilised," Geoffery assures Tokket.  "We'd prefer to keep him inside with us."
Halgo, on the far end of the sparsly populated tap-room, hears toe comment and pauses in his reading.
"It's not a kobold," he yells.  "It's my intelligent, bipedal familiar."

Neither arguement seems to sway the half-elf.
"It ain't stayin in my inn," Tokket says bluntly.  "I run a worthwhile establishment, the best in town.  I ain't letting no stinkin kobold ruin that reputation.  Yer lucky I'm letting yer orcish friend stay."

Yip growls again, and Geoffery puts a warning arm on the small monks shoulder to stop him from leaping.
"We'll be willing to pay extra for the kobold to sleep inside," he sighs.  "How much?"

Tokket scowls at Yip, doing the calculations in his head.
"Eight silver," he says finally, "And ye don't let yer pet go wandering unsupervised."

Geoffery agrees, then sends Blarth and Yip to a shadowed table with orders to avoid drawing attention.  Both complain quietly as they cross the room.

Meanwhile, Halgo joins them with his eyes shinning.
"Well," he says, "Seems Bellhold was more interesting than we were told..."


----------



## arwink

_Wednesday, August 23rd, 508 AF, Continued _ 

Halgo quickly relates what he learned from the book.  It seems the writting was the journal of a dwarven adventurer, one of the original four that freed Bellhold from the fist of the Dragon Copperdeath.  The pages that are displayed tell of the dragons defeat, as well as mention that the beast had a secret passage down into the towns copper mine.  He also reveals that the dragon had mastered the art of mind control, and dominated the adventurers who came to slay it for a short time before they broke free.

Goeffery arrives with a round of drinks, and further news he's learned from the barkeep.  Seems that Tokket is the son of one of the adventurer's who killed the dragon, and inherited the Bell and Clapper from her a few years after the beasts death.  He's also learned a lot more of the local news, expanding on Othic's gossip.  The group learns that the local adventuring company has gone searching for the children, and more people have become concerned when the Company of the Bell failed to return.

One thing Goeffery learns that Othic didn't tell them was the prophecy that the dreams and troubled sleep would be over by the end of the week.  SEems the local wise-woman had a vision predicting the end to the troubles, which seems to have abated concerns a great deal.  Despite this, Tokket spent most of their chat blaming the gods for Bellhold's troubles.

The four of them drink in silence, mulling over the odd bits of news and watching the tired, agitated townsfolk milling about in the tap-room.  Yip is quietest of all, sitting in the shadowy corner of the booth, occasionally glaring out at Tokket when the barkeep scowls at their table.  After a quick supper of bread and cheese, they head up to their room to sleep.


----------



## arwink

_Thursday, August 24th, 508 AF_ 

No-one sleeps easily.

Halgo is plagued with dreams of being lost in some place dank and dark, his memory plagued with holes and gaps that were once spells and arcane lore.  He wanders the caves of his dream slowly, warily, his body as bloody and worn as his mind.  THings come back to him in patches, and the reason for his loss became apparent.  He resisted.  Something...  He's not sure what, but it was angry and it tore his mind apart like paper.  

Geoffrey dreams of a new life, a place where he has forsaken St Cuthbert's church for something new, something darker.  The loss of his face pains him, even in his dreams.  He grovels before a new idol, filled with a love for this new god he canno't explain, and even as he worships he hates himself for being so willing to abandon his first faith.

Blarth dreams of dancing.  Disturbing enough on its own for the half-orc, he finds himself in the midst of a ball.  Masked couples dance around the room, and Blarth finds himself being swept along in the moment.  Then, when the music stops, he reaches out to lift his partners mask and sees nothing.  The entire crowd is faceless, and they are angry Blarth tried to see their features.  Their dance grows wilder, dragging the half-orc bodily around the floor.  He moves faster, constantly jerked left and right until his limbs snap and muscles tear.

Yip dreams of training, spending time in the centre of his comrades learning move after move he can use against the enemy.  He is exhausted, trembling, repeating the same moves over and over until he gets them right.  He cannot.  Again and again his tutors find fault, and eventually they punish them.  A failed punch nets a broken arm.  A sloppy kick snaps his toes one by one.  The Brotherhood has turned on him, hurt him, for its own good.  Yip feels terribly, achingly alone.  He wakes up shrieking.

The four companions gather in the taproom in the early hours of the morning, a few minutes before sunrise.  All of them are tired, irritable.  A light buzz at the back of their skull speaks of a headache growing, getting worse every second.  Halgo looks at his companions as they come down the stairs, one by one.

"So, how'd you sleep?" he asks, although he knows the answer by looking.  One by one, they attempt to explain their dreams.


----------



## Horacio

Well, after coming back to Story Hours, the next step was beginning a new one, and which other would I choose?

And I'm glad I did it. Wonderful story, Peter, wanting to read more!


----------



## Mathew_Freeman

What he said! It's getting verrrrrrrry interesting...


----------



## arwink

_Thursday, August 24th, 508 AF, continued_

Breakfast at the Bell and Clapper is a lavish affair.  Bacon, eggs, fresh poridge and bread.  There's even a choice between tea and good Khestian coffee.  Most of the locals seem to choose the tea, but Goeffrey and Halgo both see a need for a clearer head and drink the largest mug of the bitter coffee that they can find.

The decision is made to wait for Othic before eating, and the wait is torturous.  After four days on the road, the sizzling sounds from the kitchen are enough to whet everyone's appatite, and Yip is practically salivating over the table at the new and unfamiliar scents.  

The better part of two hours pases before they give in and order a meal.  The breakfast that's brought out before them is immense, more than enough to cover the boudless appatite of Blarth.  The four companions dive in ravenously.

They are halfway through the meal when a young boy, about fourteen winters old, bursts through the doors of the taproom.  
"Dead," he pants, obviously winded from a long run.  "Mr Tokket, Mister Othic is dead."

A murmer of surprise runs through the crowd, and Tokket quickly leads the boy to a corner and gives him a cup of tea to calm his nerves.  Everyone at the parties table looks at one another.

"We should help," Geoffrey says simply.
"We've got a job to do," Halgo argues.  "Do we have time to go looking for a killer."
"We weren't given a time-frame," Geoffrey reasons,  "And it'll take the better part of two weeks for the required priests to find their way to Hommlet anyway.  I think we've got time.  Besides, he was a polite old man, a friend.  He deserves justice of some kind."

There's a silent agreement from Blarth and Yip, and even Halgo seems swayed by the arguement.  They look down at the uneaten halves of their breakfasts, stomach's only partially sated, then stand and gather their weapons.  They head accross the tavern just as Tokket rouses the boy from his seat.

"The Mayor lad," he orders the skinny youth.  "Go tell the mayor.  With all the trouble about, it's time he sent the watch to investigate something."

The boy nods, then sprints from the building.  As one, the four companions leave after him.


----------



## Horacio

Good update, Peter


----------



## Lela

No!

Dangit, I was really getting into this.  Aw, well, back to the other thread. . .


----------



## Durhon

Geez whiz.  Just reading the last entry and have realised how far behind this is!! LOL


----------



## arwink

Durhon said:
			
		

> *Geez whiz.  Just reading the last entry and have realised how far behind this is!! LOL *




Still going through the investagative motions, which slows things down somewhat.  I'll start covering sessions quicker when we hit fighting and explorationg 

Only another dozen posts or so, and I figure I'll have covered the first session.


----------



## arwink

_Thursday, August 24th, 508 AF, continued_ 

Everyone followed the youth into the square of Bellhold.  It's still early, but the sleep deprived townsfolk are already up and about their daily business.  The square is a throng of peopl, all crowded around merchants and businesses that continue to opperate regardless.  

A single young local has an easier task moving through the crowd than a quartet of adventurers, and it's only a few moments before he's reached the other side of the square and started explaining himself to the mayor and a tall, grim-featured figure that stands by the mayors side.  Geoffrey spends a few futile moments trying to pick his through before giving up and skirting the crowds, leading everyone past the less busy merchant wagons.

One of the spots they pass is a wild-eyed man, his face unshaven and his clothes slovenly.  He's gathered a small crowd, and seems to be preaching about the towns trouble.  Keeping an eye on the youth, the group stops to listen for a few minutes.  He notices their attention immediately, and the preachers wild sermon turns towards the group

"And here we have new friends," he yells.  "WElcome friends, welcome.  He will gladly take you as well.  I was just explaining to these fine people here that we're all going to get swallowed.  Yes, swallowed.  Deep into the abyss, where we are kept and cared for by the one hates us.  I can see him now...feel him..."

The man's mind is obviously cracked, and his rant continues for several minutes, with Halgo paying close attention for any ring of truth in the mad-mans word.  He finds himself particularly interested when the crazed preacher talks of hearing voices in his head, never able to silence the whispers of some otherworldly presence.

"I've got a bad feeling about this," Halgo comments to his companions as they move on.  

By the time they reach the mayor, the youth has already finished the majority of his story.  They here a few snippets of speach:  "Ripped apart...Murdered...so much blood."

This is all Geoffrey needs to hear.

"Sir Mayor," he says, striding forward.  "I'm Geoffrey, occolyte of St Cuthbert, and my companions and I would like to help."


----------



## Mathew_Freeman

Dramatic endings R us!


----------



## Lela

Two posts in one day, wow.

And now I'm over at "In Hextor's Name" catching up there.

I couldn't be happier.


----------



## Horacio

Tallarn said:
			
		

> *Dramatic endings R us! *




I think Arwink is soon going to join the "evil cliffhanger writers2 club...


----------



## Lela

Horacio said:
			
		

> *
> 
> I think Arwink is soon going to join the "evil cliffhanger writers2 club... *




Similar too, but not the same as, the RBDM club.

May I assume Dr Midnight will be the founder?


----------



## Horacio

Lela said:
			
		

> *
> 
> Similar too, but not the same as, the RBDM club.
> 
> May I assume Dr Midnight will be the founder? *




And Lazybones the Chairman...


----------



## Lela

Horacio said:
			
		

> *
> 
> And Lazybones the Chairman... *




Lazybones. . . Hmmm, looks like I've another story hour to put on my list.

He's in line right after Wulf.


----------



## Dungannon

Okay, I think it's high time this group played again so we can get an *UPDATE*!

And a bump.


----------



## arwink

Dungannon said:
			
		

> *Okay, I think it's high time this group played again so we can get an UPDATE!
> *




Sadly, we could not play for three moths and I'd still have enough material to keep updating.  I'm really, really far behind at this point.

So, err, an updates coming.  Sometime in the near future.  I could give reasons why it's been so long, but they're not really interesting to anyone.  Check again in a day or two


----------



## Durhon

Dungannon said:
			
		

> *Okay, I think it's high time this group played again so we can get an UPDATE!
> 
> And a bump.  *



Yes I agree.  We SHOULD be playing.. and yes Arwink SHOULD be updating!! LOL


----------



## arwink

Yep, it's time for an update.  I shouldn't, because I don't have the time, but to paraphrase the simpsons "All thesis and no game make Arwink something something."

_Thursday, August 24th, 508 AF, continued _ 

The mayor is quick to take Geoffrey's hand, his face breaking out into a wide smile as he does so.

"Greetings, Sir, greetings.  It is a pleasure to make your aquaintance.  I'm Hob Waterman and this..."
He points to the lean, grim-faced man beside him, who nods slightly in greeting.
"...this is Luscius Kreckett, the owner of the Kreckett mine and foundary.  It is a pleasure to see a noble priest like yourself in town with such adept...er..."

Hob notices Geoffrey's companions for the first time.  He swallows visibly at the site of Blarth, standing with cross armed and an ugly expression on his face.  The Mayor almost goes pale when hs spots Yip.

"Er...is that a kobold?" he whispers quietly.
"Certainly," Geoffrey says smoothly.  "My order is rehabilitating them, turning them into useful members of society."
"Of course, of course," Hob stutters, "How foolish of me.  You're an ocolyte of St Cuthbert.  You wouldn't bring anything dangerous into Bellhold."
"Of course not," Geoffrey says.  "Yip wouldn't hurt a fly unless it was in the name of Justice."
"Of course not, of course not."  He swallows loudly.  Color starts coming back to Hob's face, but he's still slightly more nervous than he once was.  Luscius, by his side, remains calm.  Hob glances once at the taller man, and the mine owner gives him a nod of encouragement.

"They're in town for the Bell, Hob," he says tiredly.  "The church warned us the guards they'd hired for the trip back to Hommlet were a little...unusual."
"Yes, of course," Hob says.  He turns back to Geoffrey.  "So you were offering to help?"

"Of course," Goeffrey says.  "We met Othic yesterday, broke bread with him at supper.  It pains us all that he's dead, and my faith demands justice against his slayers regardless of my personal feelings.  We'd be happy to assist your guards..."

Luscius cuts him off.  "Our guard is understaffed at present.  They have trouble enough keeping the peace with tempers running so high at present."

Blarth mutters "Puny guards" loud enough for the party to hear.  Geoffrey turns to scowl at the half-orc while Halgo stomps on his toes to shut him up.
"So you'd be happy for us to take matters into our own hands?" Halgo asks quickly, eager to move the conversation away from the half-orcs gaff.
"Certainly," Hob says eagerly.  "Surely adventurers such as yourself, with a Justicar like Ocolyte Cromwell, have resources far beyond the guards in such lean times.  May you bring the killers to justice quickly."

"Of course," Geoffrey says.  "Now, if you'd be willing to tell us a little more about your town and its history, to help with our investigations..."


----------



## Capellan

pssst ... arwink .... it's _Lucius_ Kreckett.  Calling him "Luscious" is kinda squicky, y'know?


----------



## Dungannon

Capellan said:
			
		

> *pssst ... arwink .... it's Lucius Kreckett.  Calling him "Luscious" is kinda squicky, y'know?  *



Oh, but Luscious sounds soooo much more intriguing than Lucius.


----------



## arwink

D'oh.  Serves me right for posting when half asleep 

Consider it amended.


----------



## Durhon

Puny DM!

(LOL)


----------



## arwink

_Thursday, August 24th, 508 AF, continued _ 

Following a hunch that whatever's going wrong in town is somehow linked to the ancient dragon lair in the nearby mountain, the majority of the information Halgo and Geoffrey try to get from Hobb revolves around the location of the old mine.  

It proves pretty fruitless - Hobb is steadfastly convinced that the headaches and missing children will be cleared up shortly, and can't see any reason the old mine would be related to Othic's death.  After several minutes of haggling, Geoffrey can sense the seeds of suspicioun starting to sprout in the mayor's mind.

"As you say," he states firmly, flashing a quick glare at his companions to shut him up.  "We simply wanted to be sure that these things aren't connected and eliminate all possibilities."

With a stiff salute, the St Cuthban cleric leads his companions out of the square.

"Puny town," Blarth snarls as they head back along the road to Othic's farm.

It takes them the better part of the morning to get there, and it's not a pretty sight when they arrive.  A quick search of the house shows no disturbance, but Othic's body has been left where it was slain in the barn.  They can hear the buzz of several flies hovering over the corpse, and the pool of clotting blood is almost enough to turn the strongest stomachs in the group.

"Whatever got him, it did a good job," Geoffrey says, examining the body.  He flips it over to get a better look.  Almost instantly, everyone rears back in disgust.  The farmer has a saddle-bit shoved into his mouth, done with enough force that it's snapped several teeth.  Worse, his chest is a torn mess of gashes and ripped flesh.  Covering his mouth, Geoffrey leans in for a closer look at the wounds.

"That's not done by any blade," he explains.  "He's been torn apart by something big, with sharp teeth.  Almost like he's been attacked by dire wolves."
"If wolf, how he get horse-bite in mouth?" Yip asks quietly.
"I don't know."

There's a breif moment of silence as everyone considers this.
"Were horses?" Halgo offers, in an attempt to break the heavy air.  Everyone grunts, the humor in the comment lost as they consider the possibility that were-horses may well exist.


"Yip, go check the horses in the paddock," Geoffrey orders.  The kobold nods once and sprints out of the barn.  When he returns, he looks confused.

"All there," he explains.  "All but two clustered at the far end of the field."
"And the two that aren't?"
"Othic's horses.  Escaped ones," he pauses for a moment, as if debating whether to add his next statement.  "Yip think they have blood on paws."
"Hooves," Blarth mutters under his breath.  "Kobold not speak common.  Puny kobold."
Yip glares at him.  
"There more," Yip says softly.  "Yip hear something speak to him.  Something in head, speaking in Yip's voice."
"What'd it say?" Halgo demands.
"Singing, like human child." The kobold adopts a chirping falsetto and sings "We're going to get you, we're going to get you" in a sing-song chant.

"Were-horses, huh?" Goeffrey says, looking wearily at Halgo.  The dwarf shrugs.
"If it makes you feel better, it'll probably be something much worse."

They troop outside to look at the horses in the paddock.


----------



## Lela

And yet another creepy moment from one of my favorite story hours as I crawl into bed.  I love it.


----------



## Durhon

Puny horses!!!


----------



## Lela

Durhon said:
			
		

> *Puny horses!!! *




And Puny bed.


----------



## Durhon

Blarth like beds!!!


----------



## Lela

Durhon said:
			
		

> *Blarth like beds!!! *




Lela goes to make sure her door is firmly locked (actually, I do have to do that  ).


----------



## Khynal

Dear God. What kind of town mayor tells a bunch of adventurers they can _take matters into their own hands_. Does he know NOTHING?


----------



## Lela

Khynal said:
			
		

> *Dear God. What kind of town mayor tells a bunch of adventurers they can take matters into their own hands. Does he know NOTHING? *




I'm sure Blarth will learn him well.

Puny Mayor.


----------



## Capellan

Lela said:
			
		

> *I'm sure Blarth will learn him well.
> 
> Puny Mayor. *




Blarth:  "Yeah."


This will only be funny for those of us at the last session.  Just wait 'til the write-up of *that* game.


----------



## arwink

Khynal said:
			
		

> *Dear God. What kind of town mayor tells a bunch of adventurers they can take matters into their own hands. Does he know NOTHING? *




Very little.  Bellhold, as things go, doesn't have much by way of an adventurer industry 

And you have to keep in mind, the way empire law works Geoffrey's just one step away from being a Justicar - essentially town guard and jury in one.  (actually, he took that one step last game, but it's still a distance away as storyhours go).

And, as things go, they didn't do too much damage.  Only one innocent bystander was hurt


----------



## arwink

_Thursday, August 24th, 508 AF, continued_ 

As they leave the barn, Blarth hears something inside his head.

"Puny half-orc, you're going to die."

He shakes his head, trying to clear it.  The voice sounds like his.  Exactly like his.   But he's pretty sure he didn't say it.  Blarth can't remember the last time he called himself puny, but the fact his mind says so worries him.  

"Blarth not puny," he snarls.  Everyone turns towards him.
"What?" Halgo asks.
"Blarth not puny," Blarth repeats.  "Blarth's brain tell him he is.  Tell Blarth he going to die.  Blarth say no.  Blarth strong.  Blarth live."
The half-orc pounds his chest, hard, to prove the point.  Halgo and Geoffrey exchange glances.

"Something's out there, sending messages into our heads," Halgo says.
"So Blarth not think he puny?"
Nobody answers him.

Geoffrey hears a voice in his head.  

"The beasts of the mountain made us strong.  Stronger than you."
He repeats it for everyone else.

"Nothing to do with the mountain, huh?" Goeffrey mutters under his breath, cursing Hobb.  "When do they learn.  Once an evil stronghold, always an evil stronghold."

In the field, two horses stand apart from the rest of the herd.  While most are clustered against the far fence of the paddock, Blaze and Broadsword are grazing quietly halfway through.  Everyone agrees that this is at least a little suspicious.

THey treck accross the field, hands staying warily close to weapons and spells on the tip of the casters tongues.  Everyone is on edge, nervous.  Halfway between the gate and the two warhorses, Yip suddenly yelps and leaps a foot in the air.  Everyone whirls, blades at the ready, but there's nothing there.

"What?" Geoffrey demands.
"Voice in head," Yip says quickly.  "Told me to hurt Blarth."
"Do you feel like doing it?"
Yip looks at the half-orc, considering the question carefully.
"No," he mutters.  Then his mind is suddenly bombarded with heavy pressure, and his fist lashes out towards Blarth's unprotected kneecap of it's own accord.  Yip yelps again, and just manages to get control of his limbs before the blow connects.

"Something nasty," he tells everyone.  "Something making Yip hit.  Not Yip's fault."

Everyone turns again, looking accross the paddock.  One of the horses is looking at them, Blaze, his eyes afire with saphire light.  
"Demon horse," Blarth yells.
Then Broadswords mouth drops open, impossibly wide and filled with sharp wolf-like fangs.  Everyone stares at the fang-filled maw in disbelief for a space of seconds, then brings weapons up as the horse charges towards them.  This time, everyone hears the voice in their head.

"Diiiiieeeeee."


----------



## Lela

Very cool.  I like it.


----------



## Mathew_Freeman

Eeeek! Psychic horses!


----------



## Durhon

Blarth show horse who boss!!


----------



## arwink

_Thursday, August 24th, 508 AF, continued _ 

The charging horse's teeth rasp accross Blarth's armorerd arm, the sound of resisting steel echoing accross the paddock.  Blarth winces, but the armor holds.  Blows lash out from Yip and Geoffrey, battering the horse enough that the half-orc can rip his arm free.

"Puny horse," he snarls, the sound combing from deep within his throat.  His sword hammers down on the the beasts head, opening a bloody cut that drops the horse to the ground.   

Blarth has scant moments to celebrate his blow, as he feels a sudden pressure on his mind demanding he lash out as his comrades.  His arm raises into the air, twitching of its own volition, but the half-orc manages to pull it back under control.  "Horse Out Blarth's Head," Blarth yells.  He hears halgo rush through an incantation, tracing runes in the air, and the second horse suddenly stumbles to the side.

"It's stunned," Halgo yells.  "Move fast, it wont last."

Geoffrey and Blarth run forward, smashing heavy sword and mace blows against Blaze's flanks.  The horses squeals in fright, it's mind still reeling as it tries to comprehend the attack.  Then Blarth's blade finds it's lung and it never gets the chance.

Everyone looks at the dead horses, breathing heavily after the momentary excitement.

"Horse dead?" Yip asks quietly.
Blarth plunges his sword into both corpses to be sure.

"They look like ordinary horses," Halgo mutters.  He stands over the bodies, chanting the words to a spell.  ""Nothing magical about them now.  No spells cast on them."

"Why would there be?" Geoffrey asks.
"The beasts of the mountains made us strong?"
"Ah, of course." 

The young cleric draws his dagger out of its sheath and kneels by the first dead horse.  With swift precision he plunges it into the skull, digging around until he finds a small splinter of crystal wedged into the creatures brain.

"What about this?" he asks, holding it up to Halgo.  "Think it has anything to do with it?"
Halgo stares carefully at the sliver, examining it with his spell.
"It's not magic," he says finally.  "Doesn't even give off a faint light."
"Wait, Blarth check," the half-orc says, suddenly appearing at Halgo's shoulder.  Both Halgo and Geoffrey look at him in surprise.
"Check for what?" Geoffrey demands.

Blarth doesn't say anything, but his eyes roll slightly in his head then take on a faint glow.
"Rufis tell Blarth magic not always magic," the half-orc explains.  "Something about purge...Mind magic no longer the same."
"Mind magic?" Halgo asks.
"Psionics," Geoffrey explains.
"And the purge?"
"Not one of the empires greater moments," Geoffrey shrugs.  "About five hundred years ago an emperor decided to eliminate all psions from the kingdom.  It appears to have had some lasting effects."

Blarth suddenly yells with glee, nodding happily.  
"It mind-magic," he says confidently.  "Blarth see glow, faint but there."

Everyone stares at the crystal shard in Geoffrey's palm for a few seconds.  Then Halgo starts swearing vehemently in dwarvish.

"What wrong?" Blarth asks.
"The diary at the Inn," Halgo says between curses.  "The one written by the adventurers who fought the dragon."
"What about it?"
"There was something in there about the dragon controlling minds..."


----------



## Altin

arwink said:
			
		

> *Monday, August 12st, 518 AF, continued
> Goeffrey mutters under his breath, cursing Hobb.  "When do they learn.  Once an evil stronghold, always an evil stronghold."
> *




LOL! What a great line -- kudos to Goeffrey's player. Meanwhile, nice to see this wonderfull story hour getting updated again. As I'm planning on running OSM in the nearby future, it is very interesting to see what you've done with it Arwink. I particularly liked the idea of Blaze making them attack each other with her power ... creepy. 

Yours,
Altin


----------



## Durhon

once again we have an.. lets say interesting blend of characters.


----------



## arwink

_Thursday, August 24th, 508 AF, continued _ 

Back in town, there is some discussion about what to do next.  Reporting to the mayor is set aside for a time, in favor of learning more about the problems facing the town.  Halgo's sudden connection between the mind-controlling dragon and the shards from the horses head has everyone on edge, and finding a way to the old mine that once served as Copperdeath's layer is quickly named the first priority.

It's quickly discovered that asking the local townsfolk yeilds little.  The young don't know the way, and the elders that worked the mine are unwilling to discuss it in any way.  Even Tokket becomes tight lipped on the matter, for all his rambling about the dragon and it's slayers.  

With few other leads, it's decided that they will talk with Utrish, the village seer who predicted a quick end to the troubles.  They ask for directions and quickly discover the seer lives on the very outskirts of town.

They follow the narrow dirt lane out of town for perhaps fifteen minutes when they spot the cottage.  It's built low, with a slight lean to it, and the exterior is covered with marks and symbols.  Halgo frowns at them for a few seconds as they approach, then struggles to keep from laughing.

"What?" Geoffrey asks.
"Those symbols are meaningless," Halgo snorts.  "It's like something an amature does, first year apprentices can do better."
"What she try to do?" Blarth asks.
"Ward off evil," Halgo says.  "Mind affecting magic, specifically.  If I remember right, they originated from a cult of Chuldurn serfs several centuries ago."  The dwarf rubs his chin in comtemplation for a few seconds.  "If the timing's right, probably during that psionic purge Blarth was talking about."
"So their no danger?" Geoffrey asks.  "Not even to Blarth?"
"None."
"Good," Geoffrey says bluntly.  They hear the sound of a donkey braying somewhere behind the house.  A woman's voice curses softly.
"Yip," Geoffrey commands.  "Go check it out."

The kobold dissapears into the fields of corn surrounding the cottage. The others watch the breif rustle of the corn stalks for a few seconds, charting the kobold's swift movement, then slowly walk the long way around the building.

Yip scurries quickly, then bursts into the area behind the cottage.  He sees an elderly woman hurridly loading clothing into a donkey's saddlebags, her face flush from exhertion.  Yip dismisses her as a threat, then coughs softly to catch her attention.  The woman looks up, and her eyes get wide when she sees Yip standing politely, his paws held up a gesture of peace.  The elderly woman screams.  Loudly.

"Kobold," she cries in alarm.


----------



## Mathew_Freeman

They still haven't quite got the hang of the reaction Yip gets from people, have they...


----------



## Capellan

Tallarn said:
			
		

> *They still haven't quite got the hang of the reaction Yip gets from people, have they... *




What are you talking about?  It's a _great_ icebreaker


----------



## arwink

It's also relatively limited to the first copperheads Yip.  The second Yip is a little more self-assured and dangerous, and it he takes kobold discrimination badly   Given the vicious little blighter can actually do more damage than any of the Yips that came before him, it pays to be nice.  Especially know he's developing a reputation as a hero...

As a side note, this SH is way, way behind the events of the game.  I'm still detailing events of the first session, and in game time we're already on another continent.  In an attempt to get up to date, there's probably going to be more than a few updates this week


----------



## arwink

_Thursday, August 24th, 508 AF, continued _

Geoffrey, Halgo and Blarth hear the old ladies scream as they the approach the hut.  It's followed by a soft thud, and they immediately sprint to the cottage's rear.  THey find the elderly woman throwing half-stuffed packs at an increasingly irate Yip, who dodges back and forth while he snarls.

"Stop it," Geoffrey orders, and Yip scurries quietly to his side.  His tail is swishing back and forth angrily, and he glares at the elderly woman.

"He won't hurt you," Geoffrey tells the elderly woman.  "He's bound to my church."

The lady grunts, then hurries to start picking up the scattered packs.  She pays little attention to her visitors.

"You're Utrish, aren't you?" Halgo asks.  "The Seer?"
"No," the woman barks. 
"Are you sure?"
"Of course I'm sure, do you think I don't know who I am?"

Yip nudges Halgo and Geoffrey, hearing the slight quaver in the woman's voice.  She starts stuffing the packs on her mules, then pauses to glare at the four visitors.

"What do you want?" she demands.
"You going somewhere?" Geoffrey asks blandly.
"No, of course not."  She rolls her eyes.  
"Blarth think you going somewhere."
Everyone stares at the half-orc, slightly dumfounded.
"Idiots," the woman mutters under her breath.
"We just want to talk to you," Geoffrey says.  "We need your help."
"Help?  Nobody here needs help.  All the towns troubles will be over in a week.  Everything will be fine."
"Because they'll be dead?" Halgo asks.
"What makes you say that?" the woman asks.
"Well, the hurridly packed mule is a big clue," he shrugs.
The woman snarls at him.  ANgry gazes are exchanged on both sides.

"Okay, I'm Utrish," the woman says angrily.  "Yes, I'm leaving.  Nobodies going to die, I've just got to leave town.  A sick sister in Petrev, you know how it is."
"Is it that urgent you can't answer any questions?" Geoffrey asks.
"Of course it is," Utrish snaps.
"Because everyone's going to die," Halgo mutters under his breath.  Geoffrey scowls at him.

"Listen," Utrish snarls.  "I don't have time for this.  Here's the deal, I'll sell you the last of my potion stocks if you let me go.  Now."
"Sell?" Geoffrey asks.
"Fine, I'll give it to you.  Here," she rummages in a pack and removes three vials.
"What are they?" Geoffrey asks.
"A potion of healing, a potion of charisma and a love potion."
"A love potion?" Geoffrey asks, amused.  "What in hell are we going to do with a love potion?"
Utrish stares pointedly at blarth and raises her eyebrow.
"If you take them, I leave.  Now," she demands.  
Geoffrey shrugs and takes them. 
"Fine then," he says.  

THey watch the woman lead her mule towards the road.  As she walks away, Blarth shouts "Can Blarth have your cottage?"
"Take what you want," she shouts back.  "I'm not coming back."

Geoffrey and Halgo exchange glances.  
"I'd say a week sounds right," Halgo says.  Geoffrey starts muttering quietly about provincial mayors and their faith in seers instead of faith and steel.  Then they hear the sound of blarth punching in the cottage's ricketty door.

"Cool," comes the cry from inside.  "Blarth got new home."


----------



## Lela

Yep, everyone's going to die.

And, as always, Blarth has found something good out of it.


----------



## arwink

_Thursday, August 24th, 508 AF, continued _

A quick exploration is made of Utrish's cottage, in case she's left any magic items behind.  Appart from a trio of black-furred cats, there's little else of interest and everyone trecks back to town after Blarth's had enough of poking around his new home.

"Whatever's going wrong, we need to get into that old mine," Geoffrey grumbles as they walk.  
"How find?" Yip asks.  "Townsfolk wont tell where."
"We need to make people trust us somehow," Geoffrey comments.

Halgo coughs slight to draw everyone's attention.  He's holding out Utrishes love potion with a wide grin on his face.

"Yeah, that should do the trick," Geoffrey says.  "All we need to do is make sure we give it to the right person.
"Actually," Halgo says, "All we need is a little of the effect spread over an entire room of people.  It wont necessarily make them fall in love with us, but if they're even a little more favorable to us we should be able to talk them around."
"How are we going to make a room full of people swig a potion?" Geoffrey asks.
"Yip," Halgo explains.  "We send him down to pour it into an ale barrel."
"You think it'll work?"
"It can't hurt.  And what else are we going to use it for?"

It's a winning arguement.  They report their findings to Mayor Hob.  Through some fast talking, Geoffrey manages to get some news about an aging path on the outskirts of town.  Although overgrown and hard to follow, the young priest gets the impression that it may lead to the old mine their looking for.  

"Still think we should spike the ale?" Halgo asks as they head back to the Bell and Clapper.
"Maybe," Geoffrey muses.  "We should be able to follow the path, but we should have a back-up plan in case it turns out we're on the wrong track."


----------



## Lela

Dangit, that love potion idea sounds great.

I might try that one of these days. . .


----------



## arwink

_Thursday, August 24th, 508 AF, Very Late Indeed_ 

"I don't care that there's two ale barrels.  Don't do it," Geoffrey orders.  Yip looks up at him, his red eyes wide and innocent looking.  
"It safe," Yip argues.  "Teach nasty-elf a lesson."
"No, you won't.  You could contaminate a whole batch of ale.  And he's a half-elf."
"Elf, halfelf.  Yip not care.  He do anyway."

Halgo stands guard at the doorway, an ammused look on his face.  Blarth comes walking up behind him, chewing on a cold chicken leg left over from dinner.  The half-orc peeks over the dwarven wizards shoulder and observes the arguement within.

"What going on?" He asks.  Halgo smiles at him.
"We're getting ready to spike the ale keg."
"So?  Let yip go do.  Geoffrey not need to stop."
"Yip wants to add to the plan."
"Why?"
Halgo scratches at his short beard, trying to think of a way to explain things to the half-orc.

"You may have noticed our monkish friend isn't taking well to the predudices of the outside world," Halgo say slowly.
"Blarth notice.  Blarth have same problem."
"And he's got a particular dislike for our barkeep, Tokket, after our arrival..."
"Blarth notice.  Blarth smart like that."
"Well, he wants to take a bit of added revenge on Tokket by urinating in the second ale keg."
Blarth looks slightly confused.
"That not good.  Blarth like ale.  How Yip make sure blarth not drink ale with kobold wee in it."
"That's Geoffrey's objection as well.  Yip doesn't seem to think it's a problem."  Blarth's face goes dark, and Halgo wonders briefly if he should restrain the half-orc.  He decides against it, but reminds the warrior to argue quietly as he storms into the room.  

By some miracle, no-one notices the harsh whispers and grunts of the arguement, and after twenty minutes of solid threads Yip slowly slinks down the stairs towards the taproom with the love potion in his paws.  He clambers over the bar without incident, and pours the purplish liquid into the first barrel he finds.  When the vial is empty, he smells the pungent aroma of flowers rising up from the barrel.

"Hope that fade," Yip mutters to himself.  He stares longing at the second barrel for the space of three breaths, conflicted between duty and personal vengance.  Eventually it is the heavy thud of half-orc boots against the floor above that convince him to abandon the plan.  Yip has roomed with Geoffrey and Blarth several times betfore, and recognises the sounds of the heavy, steel shod footware Blarth puts on when he's expecting trouble.


----------



## Lela

This group _is_ psycho!


----------



## Badger

It's like watching the car wreck you know you shouldn't, but danged if you can take your eyes off the carnage all around it...



Badger


----------



## Durhon

> This group is psycho!



oh.... lol.  Things get even better.  This storyhour is still quite far behind but I think its due to the fact that this group gets things done pretty quickly without too much stuffing around.


----------



## Lela

Durhon said:
			
		

> *
> oh.... lol.  Things get even better.  This storyhour is still quite far behind but I think its due to the fact that this group gets things done pretty quickly without too much stuffing around. *




Hmmm, you wouldn't happen to be CN, would you?


----------



## Capellan

Lela said:
			
		

> Hmmm, you wouldn't happen to be CN, would you?




Actually, everyone except Halgo is LN, IIRC.  Halgo drops the 'L'.  Kinda makes _protection from good_ a waste of time with this party.



			
				Lela said:
			
		

> This group is psycho!




What'd we do _now_?


----------



## Lela

Capellan said:
			
		

> *
> 
> Actually, everyone except Halgo is LN, IIRC.  Halgo drops the 'L'.  Kinda makes protection from good a waste of time with this party.*




I meant Durhon as a person.



			
				Capellan said:
			
		

> *
> 
> What'd we do now?   *




If you don't know I'm certainly not going to tell you.


----------



## Durhon

Capellan said:
			
		

> *
> 
> What'd we do now?   *




I think it had something to do with Urination in the ale keg... BY A CERTAIN KOBOLD!!!  lol


----------



## Capellan

Durhon said:
			
		

> *I think it had something to do with Urination in the ale keg... BY A CERTAIN KOBOLD!!!  lol *




Yeah, but we _didn't_ end up actually doing that


----------



## Durhon

no but it was the thought that she was probably appauled at.  LOL


----------



## Lela

Durhon said:
			
		

> *no but it was the thought that she was probably appauled at.  LOL *




Me?  Appauled?  Rarely.  No, I support psycho behavior.  It's part of the reason I like this group (and the rest of you).  Consider it a complement.

I just don't think it ever would have crossed my group's mind(s).



[EDIT:  Why does this always happen at work????  I can't even RAOTF here.  Not fair!  Doc just posted in his story hour and, well, the situation fits perfectly.  Horacio can vouch for me, I sware!]


----------



## arwink

_Friday, August 25th, 508 AF_ 

Everyone gathers in the common room of the Bell and Anchor, helping themselves to the bacon, eggs, bread and coffee set out by Tokket as breakfast for his guests.  No ale is served, but everyone finds themselves eying the two barrels behind the bar nervously.

"I wonder what time they start drinking," Halgo muses.  "We're going to have to be arround when they start.  Those potions normally cause you to fall in love with the first person you see after drinking it."
"We could spend all day in tavern?" Blarth offers hopefully.  Goeffrey frowns at the half-orc.
"No," he commands.  "There'll be enough people here tonight for our purposes.  We still need to go find that path and follow it.  There's something wrong going on here, and I don't think the locals are taking it anywhere near seriously enough."

Blarth grumbles quietly as he finishes breakfast.  

Everyone was tired, but the coffee helps perk them up a little.  The bad dreams had persisted during the night, and a gradually understanding on why the townsfolk were so unhappy and tense was slowly sinking in.  After the meal was over, they gathered together their belongings and suited up for adventure.  With grim expressions on their faces, Geoffrey led the troop into the woods to the north of town.

It took them the better half of an hour to find the overgrown path, Blarth walking past it twice without notiticing the broken flagstones beneath the grass.  Once located, it proves easy to follow.  They trek towards the nearby mountain, eventually finding themselves overlooking a small gully filled with rotting mining equipment.

"I think this is it," Goeffrey says.  He points into the heart of the gully.  "See the sheen there.  It's hard to spot with the dirt covering it, but it could be a sheet of copper."

They scramble down the side of the gully and make for the gleam.  Geoffrey's guess proves correct - it is a sheet of copper.  A door placed over a large pit, where one edge has been pried open.  The space is large enough to allow a man to fit through, and the dull roar of a waterfall can be heard.  A rope runs through the gap, dangling down into the darkness.

"It's a mine," Halgo says confidently as he peers into the darkness.  He pats the copper doorway with one hand.  "Looks like they put this together to keep people out.  It's good work, solid enough to keep most people out.  No way to open it, so who-ever came here before us had to use a crowbar to make that gap."
"How far down is it?" Geoffrey asks.
"To hard to say.  The bottom's father than I can see without light.
Geoffrey grunts and rummages through his pack.  After a few seconds he produces a sun rod.  He activates it, waiting a few seconds for the glow to reach full strength, then tosses it into the hole. 
"It's long," Halgo reports after watching the sunrod fall.  "There's a platform about eighty feet down, and I think there's an entrance there."
"Yip," Geoffrey orders.  "Check it out."
Yip is scambling down the rope in a matter of seconds.  He climbs down nearly a hundred feat without difficulty, his small paws literally flying along the rope.  He pauses at a wooden platform, testing it with a tentative paw before putting his full weight on it.  It holds him, but he can hear the wood groan under his slight weight. 

The entryway leads into a large room, a cavernous area with walls that bare the mark of pick and shovel.  A horde of beetles scuttle accross the floor, and there are patches of slime glowing softly in many patches of the floor.  Scattered here and there are old peices of mining equipment, all of which has seen better days.

Once he's sure the first room is safe, the Kobold monk climbs back up the rope to report.
"The ropes it?" Geoffrey asks.  "No other way to get down?"
"Ladder rungs," Yip says.  "Old, rusty.  May help."
"Damn," Geoffrey grunts.  "This isn't going to be fun in armor.  How strong is the platform?  It holds you, so it'll probably take Halgo's weight as well.  Do you think it'll take me or Blarth?"
Yip looks at the two armored men dubiously, then shakes his head.

"Right," Geoffrey says.  "We look for another way in."
"What? Why?" Halgo demands.  
Geoffrey hammers a fist against his armor, letting it jingle.  
"This weighs a lot," he tells them.  "I can carry it around, no problem, but there's no way I can climb with it on and there's no way we can land on that platform."  He eyes the muscles bulging under Blarth's breastplate for a moment.  "Okay, he's probably strong enough to do it, but I'm not.  We find another way in.  Something safer."
"There won't be one," Halgo says.  "This is a mine, an abandoned one at that.  There's the dragons cave up in the mountains, sure, but that's going to be a harder climb than this.  Yip, can you angle that rope so we can slide into the tunnel rather than landing on the platform."

Yip face takes on a puzzled expression as he tries to remember the room.
"Maybe," he says eventually.  "Stalegmites on ground.  If rope long enough, can tie to that."  He looks slightly nervous and looks at Geoffrey guiltily.  "Yip's knots not good though."
"That's okay," Halgo assures him.  "We can test the rope before we put to much weight on it."
"It's not going to help," Geoffrey grows.  "You've just made it harder to climb."
"Then take off your armor."

Geoffrey blinks once or twice at his dwarven companion.
"What?"
You can't make the climb in armor, so take it off.  We'll stuff it in a sack, send it down with Yip, and you can put it on once we're in the tunnel."
"What if we're attacked?"
"By what?  The deadly beatles that swarmed over Yip when he walked into the room?  It's scouted, safe.  Take your armor off and lets get going."

Geoffrey considers Halgo's logic for a few seconds, probing it for holes.  He can't find any.
"Fine," he says.  "It'll still be slow going, but I think it's doable."

Yip and Blarth are sent down the rope with another sunrod, to keep the tunnel lit while Geoffrey climbs.  Both make it down easily, Yip using his training and Blarth relying on brute strength to make good time.  Blarth cracks the sunrod and illuminates the cavern, looking to the entrance expectantly.

Halgo and Geoffrey look at one another "You next," Goeffrey says,
Even without armor, I'm  not the best climber."
"Me either," Halgo explains.  "But you hold the rope and slide down.  How much easier could it be?"
"I good set of stairs would help," Geoffrey says.  "You go.  If something decides to attack the last person up here, I'm better suited to holding it off than you."

Halgo shrugs and makes his way along the rope.  It's slow going, but he manages it without to many complications.  Geoffrey follows him, lowering himself down in an agonizingly slow hand-over-hand movement that takes nearly five minutes to reach the bottom.

"Let's not do that again," the cleric mutters as he starts strapping on his armor.  Halgo grins at him.
"How do you think we'll be getting out?"
Geoffrey swears a few times as the group makes its way into the next chamber.


----------



## Durhon

what happened to the spiking incident... or did that happen when we got back from the mine.  I can't remember.


----------



## arwink

Durhon said:
			
		

> *what happened to the spiking incident... or did that happen when we got back from the mine.  I can't remember. *




When you got back.  We'll get to it soon.


----------



## Durhon

*Blarths Story*

Don't know if this is the right place for it but here's Blarths background for anyone interested.

If there is a better place please move it and give me the location and I'll post a link.

STORY OF BLARTH

Blarth is the child of an Orc named Araus, his father and a Human named Taleis his Mother.

Araus was a well-known mercenary and fought in many battles and wars, leading the troops of his employers and often doing special missions in which he worked solo.

His Mother Taleis, was an infamous thief and con-woman and was well known for ripping off the rich and famous in various well known cities around the Seldarn Empire using different plots and schemes.

His parents first met when Taleis was finally captured in the city of Ownet and was extradited to Naiga.  Araus was chasing a bounty placed on the head of one of the guards who happened to be escorting Taleis to Naiga.  Araus attacked the caravan, slaying all the guards and freed Taleis from her captivity.

With nowhere to go Taleis decided to follow Araus and they became a lethal duo.  Two years later Blarth was born.

Over the years Blarth followed his parents around Seldarn and its nearby Kingdoms while his Mother and Father taught him their skills however they would never let him partake in any of their mercenary work until Araus was fully confident of Blarths skills

Then one day Taleis fell sick.  Araus left in search of a healer and left Blarth to guard Taleis.

Little did they know that they had been tracked by a Ranger Mercenary named “Sned” who was seeking the bounty placed on Taleis’s head.

Sned easily outclassed Blarth in swordsmanship and stole off with Taleis.  When Araus returned and discovered what had happened he was fuming at Blarths attempt to defend his mother.  Araus then sped off in pursuit of Sned and that was the last that Blarth ever saw of his father.

He was abandoned and left in the forest where he was still badly injured from the battle with Sned.  Blarth nearly died but his will to survive and the need to appease for the loss of his mother drove him on.

For three years he lived in the forest living off the land the best that he could.  Then one day as he was hunting for food he heard the sounds of a fierce battle in a nearby valley.

His curiosity fed him and he had haste to the nearby valley.  He came across the leftover remains of a large battle.  A sole survivor he found called Rufis the Bold.  Blarth took Rufis to his home in the mountains and nursed Rufis back to health as best that he could.

Rufis was a soldier and follower of Celestial Warden Martak, Commander of the Soldiers of Justice and St Cuthbert’s right hand man and taught Blarth all he knew of his religion and taught him how to use the powers of the mind.  Rufis even suggested that if Blarth show Martak how great a warrior he could be that maybe St Cuthbert would bring his parents back.

Several months past and even though Rufis’s wounds had healed, he was never fully right and passed away to an unknown disease.

Blarth taking up Rufis’s idea then went forth to prove his worth to Martak and earn a place next to St Cuthbert.


----------



## Lela

A knight of St Cuthburt telling a recruit about Tempus?  Weird.

Thanks Durhon.


----------



## Durhon

Whoops.  I got that wrong.  Its been fixed.


----------



## arwink

_Friday, August 25th, 508 AF, continued _ 

There is little of interest in the first two rooms of the mine.  The first seems to be a storage area, while the second is a larger cavern.  Halgo gives the wall's a cursory glance before judging that any digging in the area was several decades old, to say the least.  

On the far end of the second cavern, they find a narrow corridor.  It's a cramped tunnel, little more than eight or nine feet accross, and it continues on beyond the limit of their light.  Yip points quietly to something moving in the murky shadows, and Geoffrey nods.  The kobold crawls forward, keeping low to the floor, and returns in the space of a few moments.

"Well?" Geoffrey asks.
"Intersection.  Heads piled in centre," Yip tells.  "Three heads, piled up.   Yip see two goblin heads, one elf.  Beetles crawl over, make move."
"Severed heads?" Halgo asks.  Yip nods.

"Think their dangerous?" Goeffrey asks.  Halgo shrugs, his knowledge of necromancy not vast enough to provide an answer.
"Blarth find out," blarth grunts.  He draws his sword and walks forward.  

As soon as he's withing three paces, the eyes of all three heads roll open and flare at him.  Blarth pauses for a moment, and the heads open their mouth and let out an ear-splitting scream.  Blarth lets out a warcry in response and swings his sword.  The pile of heads falls apart, the elven head at the top flying down the corridor.

Blarth's companions are at his side in the space of seconds, weapons at the ready.
"What in hell is that?" Geoffrey demands.
"Some kind of alarm system," Halgo explains, holding his hands over his ears.  The heads keep screaming, their cries echoing along the narrow corridor.  Blarth and Geoffrey start smashing at the heads at their feet, silencing them as the skulls crumble beneath their blows.

"What that?" Yip asks, pointing.  Everyone looks, and they can see something glimmering in the light of the Geoffrey's sunrod.  It rests next to the still screaming elf head, about three feet from Blarth's legs.  Blarth picks up the head and the glimmering object.  After taking a few moments to stuff a rag in the mouth of the screaming head and stow it in a sack, Blarth holds the gleaming object in his hand and shows it to the others.  It's an gold earring, shaped to look like a tiny trumpet.
"Came off elf head," he tells the others.  "Blarth saw flash when Blarth hit."
"Blarth want it?" Geoffrey asks.  

Blarth shrugs, and pushes the earring through his ear.  There's a momentary blur in his hearing afterwards, as though his ear is blocked with wax.  Blarth contemplates this for a few seconds, then shrugs it off as an afteraffect of peircing his own ear.  Before he can conteplate things further, Geoffrey nudges him and points down one of the narrow side-passages.

"That way," the cleric says.  Blarth nods and leads the way into the gloom.


----------



## Lela

Durhon said:
			
		

> *Whoops.  I got that wrong.  Its been fixed. *




I figured.

And Blarth is stuffing random things in his ears agian.  What will we ever do with that orc?


----------



## Khynal

Lela said:
			
		

> *And Blarth is stuffing random things in his ears agian.  What will we ever do with that orc? *




Pick them up when they fall out his other ear?


----------



## Durhon

It not fall out of Blarth ear!!!  Blarth can't do that mind trick yet!!



> "We've resurrected the barbarian. Let's call the dragon back."




Say.. this wouldn't have come out of the Khest Campaign by any chance...  like the time we had the evil dragon summoning flute that summoned every evil dragon in a 100 mile radius.. only to summon one too many and have one of them belly flop on Justice the Barbarian???  LOL


----------



## Lela

Durhon said:
			
		

> *It not fall out of Blarth ear!!!  Blarth can't do that mind trick yet!!
> 
> 
> 
> Say.. this wouldn't have come out of the Khest Campaign by any chance...  like the time we had the evil dragon summoning flute that summoned every evil dragon in a 100 mile radius.. only to summon one too many and have it belly flop on Justice the Barbarian???  LOL *




Okay, I wanna know more about this one.


----------



## Durhon

Ah... a great campaign and group of characters that one.  Set in the Forgotten Realms.  There was Simon the Cleric, Drakius the Halfing Wizard and Justice the Barbarian.  

We had set up our own keep... called Khest Keep and discovered that some demons wanted our land to form a new layer of the abyss.  There were demon armies all over the countryside and no one would believe us.

Drakius and Justice set off to try and get aid from a rather large city to the north however they found it hard to believe us.  We told them of these armies and how the majority of them had demonic dragons with them.  So as a test for the truth the leader of the city gave us a special dragon summoning flute (i think) and told us to blow it and if there was a dragon in the area of effect they would give us aid.  However they made us do it outside the city incase it summoned one.  We also found out too that the city had a protective circle around it.

So... Drakius blew the flute and poor ol' Justice took a pounding!! LOL.  Once we resurrected him we then proceeded to keep blowing the flute and summoning dragons one at a time (with Simon this time) until the various armies were very weakened.  I think once we summoned two as we got two camps in the flutes radius.  

Shame we didn't story hour that campaign as it was really good.

Some of my facts may need some varification.

That particular campaign ended when we accidentally teleported into the Demon Leaders floating fortess and Simon dismissed it with a fluke arse roll!!

(ps... keep an eye out for Justice's son as he makes a Copperheads appearence later on.)


----------



## Lela

It does sound interesting.  Thanks for the info Durhon,


----------



## Khynal

Um, that's not quite the way it happened. But close.

The quote comes from that moment outside the city walls after the dragon killed Justice, but decided it had taken too many injuries itself to risk fighting on, so it teleported away.

Simon True Rezed Justice. The three of us took stock of our situation and realised that we were still at practically full readiness. If we blew the flute again, the dragon would _have_ to come back and we could try to finish it before it got a chance to heal.

It's always struck me as an incident that said so much about us as a group. It's an example of the strange things we did.

BTW, Arwink has mentioned a plan to chronicle the Khest Keep tale in Story Hour format, either here or on his website.


----------



## Lela

Khynal said:
			
		

> *
> BTW, Arwink has mentioned a plan to chronicle the Khest Keep tale in Story Hour format, either here or on his website. *




Great, yet another Story Hour I simply couldn't stop myself from reading if I tried.


----------



## arwink

Lela said:
			
		

> *
> 
> Great, yet another Story Hour I simply couldn't stop myself from reading if I tried.
> 
> *




Maybe.  

The main problem is that it's a good two or three years since we ran that campaign, and it was a good three years in the running.  I'm not entirely sure I'll be able to reconstruct it.  I'm going to run a thread on the Seldarn boards to see how much I can coax from the memory of those who were there, and then see how much I can formulate into a coherant timeline.  

This will probably take a while


----------



## arwink

_Friday, August 25th, 508 AF, continued _ 

The next chamber appears to be the remains of the mines of bunkhouse.  Rotting wooden timbers and mattressesses attest to the beds that filled the room, although the swarms of small beetles that scatter from the groups light hider such diagnoses for quite some time.  As soon as they are sure the beetles pose no danger, Geoffrey orders everyone to spread out and search the area.  

Twenty minutes of poking through the room turns up little of value, but they do find several carcasses amid the pile that appear to have been stripped of bone and flesh.  More intriguing, however, is the large mural that covers one wall. 

The mural is large enough that they can't see it all at once with the sunrod's light, having to move from one end to another to fully realise what the painting is of.  Such examination shows that the mural is done in three panels, two showing a large dragon with coppery scales hovering over human miners and blacksmiths like some benign deity and the third showing awe-struck worshippers offering tribute to the bowl at the foot of their "God.".  Geoffrey is particularly affronted by the representation, spending several seconds muttering about false gods.

"What do you think it means?" Halgo from the darkness.  The dwarf has wondered out of the range of the sunrod to get a better view of the whole mural with his darkvision.  The color is drained, but he's hoping for some clue when he sees the mural in its entirity.
"I don't know," Geoffrey says.
"Not just picture?" Yip asks.  "Maybe dragon like picture?"
"No," Halgo says.  "There's something about the picture, something we should be seeing but can't."
"Maybe dragon really a god?" Yip says.  He flinches visibly when Geoffrey glares at him.
"No," Halgo says, stepping back into the light.  "There's something odd here.  Look at the coloring of the wyrm.  Copper dragons are supposed to be honorable, not slavers and certainly not prone to delusions of godhood.  And the talk of mind control in that diary, the lack of chains on the worshippers arms and legs.  There's something about this dragon that isn't right."
Blarth, bored with the picture in a matter of moments, pipes in.
"Does it matter?  Blarth thought dragon was dead?" 

"Theoretically," Halgo says.  "Theoretically dead.  Nobodies been up here for a long time, and there's definately something strange going on in town.  I'm not assuming the dragon's truly gone until I see proof that it's so."

THe dwarf scratches his chin, running his fingers through the well-kept goatee he sports.

"And even if it is dead, it doesn't hurt to find out everything we can.  There might be another one of those things out there.  It's rare that such powers manifest in just one creature."

Halgo goes back to studying the portrait with Geoffrey's help.  Yip takes guard by the door, using his darkvision and keen senses to keep watch on the corridor.  Blarth picks at the wreckage for a while, then gets bored and starts playing with the screaming elf head he stuffed into his sack.  He tosses it from hand to hand for a few minutes, then takes the sock he'd stuffed into its mouth to see if it's still making noise.

It is.  The heads scream echoes through the quiet chamber with a sudden intensity, causing everyone to jump.

"Blarth, shut that thing up," Geoffrey hisses angrily.  Blarth shakes his head, suddenly realising he's heard a faint echoe of Goeffrey's statement in his blocked ear.
"What you say?" Blarth asks.
"I said shut that thing up." Geoffrey repeats.  Blarth listens carefully for the echoe, but it's gone.  With a sigh he stuffs a sock back into the elf heads mouth.  He can't shake the feeling that something strange has happened.  He sits on the remains of a bed and tries to work out what.  While he's puzzling it out, he doesn't notice the others finishing their examination of the mural.

"Blarth, come on.  We're moving," Halgo calls.  Again Blarth hears the words echo in his bad ear.
"Say that again," He demands.  "Say exactly the same."
"Blarth, come on.  We're moving." Halgo repeats.  His expression is confused.  "Why?"
"Blarth hear twice, like sound bouncing back off rocks."
"An echo?  Why, there's nothing like that in here.  The rock formation is wrong."
"Blarth not know.  One of Blarth's ears go funny, feel dead.  Now he start hearing things twice when someone say Blarth's name."

Halgo looks suddenly interested, jogging over to examine the half-orcs new earing.
"I wonder," Halgo muses, examing the earing in detail.  "hmm.  Go to the other side of the room for a second and let me know what you hear."

Blarth shrugs and runs to the other side of the room.  He sees Halgo put his hand over his mouth for a few seconds, then the dwarf calls out.
"Did you hear anything?" 
"Did you say something to Blarth?"
"Hold on, I'll try again."

Halgo puts his hands over his mouth again, but this time Blarth hears a quiet whisper in his bad ear "Blarth, walk here and stop when you can no longer hea..."
Blarth stops instantly.

"Why you stop talking to Blarth?" he asks.  Halgo doesn't answer, just runs back with a huge grin on his face.

"Looks like you've got a magic earing," he tells Blarth.  "I think it's triggered by someone saying your name, but it appears you can hear what they say for a few seconds after whateversets it off.  About five, judging by when you stopped just then."

Blarth thinks about this for a few seconds.

"Hmm.  This mean Blarth hear things people don't want him to know they say?"
"I'd say so," Halgo says.  "I'm not sure of the range, but it'd have to be pretty good to stay out of ordinary healing range."

Blarth thinks about this for a few seconds.  

"Blarth think this a good thing," he says.  With a wide grin, he pats Halgo on the back.  "Maybe dwarf not all puny after all."


----------



## incognito

Bah!  Elf earing is puny! Blarth just have new magic ear!

Love this story hour.  I'm on the lookout for low level PC parties who make it up to higher level.


----------



## Capellan

incognito said:
			
		

> *Bah!  Elf earing is puny! Blarth just have new magic ear!
> 
> Love this story hour.  I'm on the lookout for low level PC parties who make it up to higher level. *




That'll be us.  Halgo has *big* plans 



_crosses his fingers that he stays alive long enough to make good on those plans_


----------



## arwink

Capellan said:
			
		

> *
> 
> That'll be us.  Halgo has big plans
> 
> crosses his fingers that he stays alive long enough to make good on those plans  *




Oh, I think he'll be fine.  Even if he dies, you're at the level where you at least have the option of coming back.  
(Note:  Assuming you don't screw things up with the dwarves next game )


----------



## Capellan

arwink said:
			
		

> *you're at the level where you at least have the option of coming back*




I guess we are, now.  The sad thing about that, is that at the point where the story hour is up to, we were all still 1st level


----------



## arwink

I'm working on it.  People just keep grumbling and pointing to all these others storyhours I'm meant to be updating


----------



## arwink

_Friday, August 25th, 508 AF, continued _ 

The decision is quickly made to take the tunnel on the other side of the intersection, with Yip sent forward to scout once again.  The kobold crawls quietly forward along the short corridor, pausing at the entry to a huge room that extends beyond the range of his vision.  He peers around cautiously, taking note of the thin veins of copper ore that appear in the walls, and the aging support beams that keep the huge rooms ceiling from collapsing.  He can see no intruders, but there's a large pool in the centre of the room.

"Blarth bring others forward.  Seem safe," Yip whispers.  At the intersection behind him, Blarth hears and nods to the others.  Yip stays still as the rest of the group comes up behind him, wary for any sign of danger.  As the light approaches, he can make out small rats and beetles scurrying towards the piles of rubble scattered about the room.  Slick patches of slime and mould become noticable, seeming to cover a vast amoung of the room.  Most distubing, however, is the sudden realisation that darkvision has at least one drawback.  With horror yip realises that in color the pool in the rooms centre takes on a slightly ominous tone - the bright and unnatural blue of the water lends it's stillness sending a sudden shiver up his spine.

Geoffrey arrives at Yip's shoulder.
"What is that?" he damands, pointing towards the pool.
"Blue water," Yip tells him.  "Yip not go closer."
"Right."

Everyone looks at Halgo for some explanation, but the dwarven wizard simply shrugs.

"Do we go in?" Geoffrey asks the others.  Everyone starts whispering quietly, discussing the pros and cons of the situation.  Eventually it's decided that there may be something valueable in the room, and the pool is strange enough to merit investigation.

"Blarth test waters," Blarth states.  He picks up a fist sized chunk of rock and tosses it accross the room.  It lands in the water with a loud splash.  Everyone waits in baited breath for some reaction, but apart from the ripples in the water, nothing seems to occur.

"Blarth try again, see if pool harm skin," Blarth says.  There's a sudden tension among the group, nervous that the halforc intends to dip his toe in the water or throw one of them in place of the next stone.  Instead he reaches into his pack and pulls out the screaming elfs head.  He quickly removes his sock from it's mouth and tosses it overhand towards the water.  The elf-heads scream echoes out over the cavern.  It hits the water, bobs below the surface then reappears for a few moments.  The screaming continues until the head become waterloged and sinks below the surface.  

"What does that tell us?" Halgo asks.  "It did the same as the rock."
"You hear sizzle?" Blarth asks.  "See smoke?"
"No, I just heard a splash."
"Then pool not strong acid," Blarth says, grinning.  "Blarth go check head isn't dissolving to be sure.  
"Good enough," Geoffrey says.  He peers into the darkness beyond their light.  "This is a big cavern.  Blarth, take Yip and scout out the parts we can't see.  Halgo and I will take a closer look at the water."

Everyone splits up, Blarth and Yip circling around the lake cautiously.  They've not gone far when Blarth feels his foot squelch into a patch of slime, going in as far as the heel.  He pays no attention to it, simply lifts his leg free and flicks it to rid his boots of the residue.

It doesn't come off.

He quickly realises that he can hear a faint his, and that the slime encrusting his boot seems to be creeping up his leg.  SEconds later, he can feel the sharp burn of something acidic coming through his boot and biting into his leg.

"Ow," Blarth mutters.  He frowns and scrapes at the slime with hs dagger.  

Then the pain starts in earnest.  Blarth's entire foot suddenly feels like it's on fire, and he can literally feel the slime dissolving his flesh and muscle.

"Aaaarghhh!" Blarth screams.  "Help!"


----------



## Lela

Acid.  After all that trouble, there's still acid. . .


----------



## Khynal

Points for creative use of a screaming head.


----------



## Mathew_Freeman

Arwink, here is some official praise for your story hours, all of them! 

Take your time, we can wait.


----------



## arwink

_Friday, August 25th, 508 AF, continued _ 

By the time everyone finds him, blarth's rolling around on the floor in agony.  He's scarping at his slime encrusted foot with a dagger, but the blade seems to be melting even as he runs it along his legs.  Halgo and Geoffrey both swear as soon as the light spills over the half-orcs form.

"Green slime," Halgo barks.  "We have to burn it off him."

Geoffrey is quick to produce a vial of oil that the spill over Blarths leg, while Halgo readies flint and tinder to light it.  Within the space of seconds the slime and Blarth's leg are ablaze.  The half-orc grits his teeth, trying to avoid passing out from the pain.  In the end it's to much and he permits himself a strangled, half-hearted scream of pain.  Geoffrey and Yip hold him down until the fire has done it's work, then douse the lingering flames with heavy blankets.

"Ouch," Blarth mutters.  
"I think we got it," Geoffrey tells him.  He winces when he takes a look at Blarth's leg.  Large patches of skin have been melted away up to his knee, and there are burn marks up to mid-thigh.
"I can't heal this kind of damange," Geoffrey tells him.  "The best we can do is bandage it and get you back to town."
"Just bandage, Blarth be okay."
"You'll be in pain, probably limping for days."
"Blarth can still swing sword," Blarth tells him.  "As long as Blarth can limp, Blarth comes along."

Geoffrey shrugs, but he winces slightly as he starts tending to the mangled leg.  

"It makes sense really," Halgo reminds him.  "Everyone in town is dead inside of a week.  We're probably going to need him before this is over, and we don't have time for him to heal."

Geoffrey grunts, concentrating on his work.  Halgo shrugs and rummages through his pack for more oil vials.

"Yip, set that on fire," he says, pointing at original pool of slime Blarth stepped in.  "Then do a quick scout around the room.  There's probably more than one puddle of slime around, so it'd be nice to avoid the rest."

Yip races off.  After setting the slime alight, he makes an excited call for Halgo.

"What?" Halgo asks.
"Find writing," Yip calls.  "Scratched into stone."
Halgo walks over and reads the writing aloud.
"Here lies Corum Mosstoes, dissolved before we could save him.  He was a friend and a hero.  We know the children were taken to the tunnels above us; we continue on, as Corum would have wanted.  Deke Forgeman, Caliandra Stormhold, Petros Bellson."
"Company of the Bell?" Goeffrey asks.
"I'd say so," Halgo agrees.  "At least one of them isn't coming back.  Two, probably.  Caliandra's an elf name, and that head blarth was carrying looked relatively fresh."

Geoffrey sighs heavily.  "Small town heroes.  They never learn."
"Puny heroes," Blarth offers.  
Geoffrey smiles.  "Right."
He lends a hand to Blarth and raises the Half-orc to his feet.  Blarth winces in pain as he takes his first few steps, but gradually manages to move at a fast shamble.  His wounded leg drags, but it's established he can fight if need be.  

"Blarth do job," he assures Geoffrey.  "No problem."

Yip comes scampering up out of the darkness.

"Two more slimes," he reports.  "Easy to avoid.  On south edge of water, nothing down there."

He pauses for a moment, his kobold eyes gleaming.

"Tunnel on other side," he tells them. "Small, cramped, but easy to get through."  

Everyone considers this for a few moments.  Without a word, they form up and follow yip towards the tunnel.


----------



## Lela

Puny fire.  Puny pain.  Puny slime.


And, may I say, owe.  A lot.


----------



## arwink

_Friday, August 25th, 508 AF, continued _ 

Yip scampers through the tunnel, ready for anything.  It ends in a small, cramped looking room containing a rotting desk and a dragon-headed copper statue laying on the floor.  Yip freezes when he first spots the fallen statue, alert for any signs of animation.  The statue is badly chipped and dented, and when it shows no sign of movement the kobold quickly scans the room for other danger and whispers to Blarth that everyone can come forward.  

The group fans out and scours the office, searching for clues and treasure.  Several rusting manacles attached to an iron ring behind the desk attest to the dark purpose the mines once had, and a cursory examination by Halgo determines that the dragon-statue was, at one time, an animated golem.  Yip swells with pride at having thought of the possibility on his own.

A search of the desk finds a small hand mirror made of polished copper, and a locked drawer that has held up suprisingly well against the ravages of time.
"Valuables?" Blarth asks.  Geoffrey nods solemly, eyeing the lock carefully.  For the first time, he wishes the church had thought to send some rehabilitated theif to help him.
"Blarth will open." Blarth says cheerfully.  A longsword is pulled from its sheath, drawing looks of alarm from Geoffrey and Halgo.
"It might be trapped," Halgo warns, wincing as the Half-orc sizes the drawer up for his first blow.
"No problem," Blarth says.  He adjusts his strike and hammers down on the top of the desk, smashing a small hole through to the drawer.  "Yip have small paws, he reach through."

The kobold wastes no time scrambling onto the desk top, and with a nod of approval from Geoffrey spends several minutes playing lucky-dip with the drawers contents.  He drawers out several thumb-sized chunks of crystal, a small jar of copper polish, and a copper statue dressed in the uniform of an archaic Empirial Soldier that stands six inches tall.  The items are spread accross the undamaged part of the desk, and subjected to quick examination of detect magic and detect psionics.

"Crystal's magic," Blarth says.  "Blarth can hear them talking to him.  Offering to make him smart at mining."
"So's the Soldier," Halgo adds.  He picks the small figure up and examines it, quickly finding a small command word written in common on the back.  "Faint transmutation magic.  This should activate it."
"What does it do?" Geoffrey asks.
"Who knows," Halgo says.  "There's a quick way to find out.  It shouldn't be dangerous with the amont of magic it's radiating."
Goeffrey nods and backs away, gesturing for everone else to do the same.  Halgo rests the soldier on the desk-top and says the command word.  Instantly, the small figure draws a copper longsword but an inch and a half long and marches along the desk-top with stiff legs.  It completes it's patrol four times before coming to a halt.

"A childs toy," Halgo says.  "We can probably sell it without difficulty."

Geoffrey nods.  The toy and crystal mining shards are scooped into a large sack.

"Anything else?" he asks.  Blarth lifts the desk on one side, shaking it and listening for a rattle in the drawer.  He hears nothing.
"Think that it," he says.
"Right then, lets get back to that main passage.  Everyone stay close to the light on the way back.  I don't want anyone walking into a patch of slime again, and I'm not sure we got them all."

They main tunnel of the mine proves to be nearly three hundred feet long, with numerous short tunnels and rifts where ore has been ripped free from the earth.  It takes the better part of two hours to make their way along it's length, peering into every side-tunnel to avoid ambush.  It ends in a large coppor door, it's corrosion so bad the portal looks like it's been weeping green tears.  Everyone picks up the smell of musk as they approach, and the smell is bad enough that Geoffrey is soon trembling and weak with nausea.  

"Something is rotting behind that door," he mutters, swallowing several times to keep down a mouth full of bile.
Before anyone can reply, they hear a sharp, silibant whisper from the other side of the door.

"You!  You hass come back to finissssh the jobbs, yesss?  To killssss the ressts of usss off?  Comess to killsss me too, if you can.  Ssssssss."


----------



## Durhon

arwink said:
			
		

> *Tuesday, August 13th, 518 AF, continued
> "Blarth will open." Blarth says cheerfully.  A longsword is pulled from its sheath, drawing looks of alarm from Geoffrey and Halgo.
> "It might be trapped," Halgo warns, wincing as the Half-orc sizes the drawer up for his first blow.
> "No problem," Blarth says.  He adjusts his strike and hammers down on the top of the desk, smashing a small hole through to the drawer.  "Yip have small paws, he reach through."
> *




You forgot Blarths favourite saying.... "Blarth check for traps!!"...   WHOMP!!!


----------



## Lela

Earlier today. . .



			
				Hypersmurf said:
			
		

> *Barbarians have such a great spell list!
> 
> Inflict Moderate Wounds.  Barbarian Focus: A big axe.
> Cause Fear.  Barbarian Focus: A big axe.
> Knock.  Barbarian Focus: A big axe.
> Suggestion.  Barbarian Focus: A big axe.
> Disintegrate.  Barbarian Focus: A big hammer.
> Levitate.  Target: Creature touched.
> Sleep.  Target: Creature touched.
> Stinking Cloud.  Barbarian Material Component: A bowl of chili, consumed at time of preparation.
> Repulsion.  Barbarian Material Component: A bowl of chili, consumed at time of preparation.
> Find Traps.  Barbarian Material Component: A halfling on a 10 foot pole.
> 
> -Hyp. *


----------



## arwink

Blarth seems to have issues with the material component for detect traps.  Maybe it's the absence of halflings, or just the failure to realise that Yip is an appropriate substitute, but he seems to prefer _Material Component: Body_.  Everything else he's got a pretty good grip on though.


----------



## Lela

arwink said:
			
		

> *Blarth seems to have issues with the material component for detect traps.  Maybe it's the absence of halflings, or just the failure to realise that Yip is an appropriate substitute, but he seems to prefer Material Component: Body.  Everything else he's got a pretty good grip on though. *




I'm sure if someone gave him a 10-foot-pole, he'd figure it out.  And the rest of the group might want to ban chili--as a precation.


----------



## Durhon

and if only Blarth was a Barbarian!!!


----------



## Lela

Durhon said:
			
		

> *and if only Blarth was a Barbarian!!!  *




But don't forget the ranks in "Use Barbarian Device."  Very important, those.


----------



## arwink

_Friday, August 25th, 508 AF, continued _ 

Everyone looks at one another, suddenly wary.  Blarth reaches out and shoves against the door, making sure it's locked.  When the half-orc nods, Geoffrey calls back "We haven't killed anyone here, we've only come in search of some children."

The hiss behind the door is long and thoughful.
"Ssssmellsssss likesss menssss, you do.  Dangerousssss menssss-folk aresss.  Liessss and trickssss they playsssss.  Goblinsss killsssss, menfolkssss kill.  Only Tamalruk alivessss.  Tamalruk makesss all killersss pay."

"We aren't here to start a fight," Geoffrey repeats.  "I'm sorry if humans have hurt you, but we aren't responsible."

"Ssss.  Materssss not.  Tamalruk ready.  Hasssss his weaponssss ready for manssss and goblinsss the ssssame.  The sssscalessss of my tribessss will be avenged.  Comess if you wantsss to die.  Tamalruk isssss ready."

There's the soft scrape of scaled feet on stone behind the door, and the voice goes silent.  

"So much for diplomacy," Halgo says.  Geoffrey scowls at him.
"Think you can break it open," the cleric asks Blarth, pointing to the door.  Blarth just grins and gets a short run-up.  When he hits the door, he rebounds with a heavy clang that fills the passageway with echoes.

"Maybe not easy," Blarth mutters.  He takes several short charges at the doors, eventually wearing them down with some help from Geoffrey.
"Puny door," Blarth mutters as they burst it from its hinges.  He shakes his head to clear the echoing clanging in his ears.

The room on the far side is empty, but there are passenges leading off from the centre of each wall.  Yip is sent forward to scout, scampering quietly into the darkness for several seconds before returning.

"Left passage is dead end," he explains.  "Forward passage is big room, filled with rocks.  Right passage twisty-turny, like mines.  Didn't explore far."
"Guess that means we go right," Geoffrey orders.  Everyone nods, and Blarth leads the way into the tunnel.  They spend several minutes wandering the twisting passages, following turn-offs and twisting corridors.  Halgo and Yip both identify signs of ancient mine-work, and point out the relatively poor state of the various wall braces that remain.  Eventually they see a blue glow at the end of the tunnel they turn into.

"Yip, scout," Goeffrey orders.  The kobold is scamptering towards the light before the words have left the priests mouth.

"Big room, like temple," Yip reports when he returns.  He crouches to sketch a crude map in the dust.  "Big statue of dragon, holding bolw of fire.  Side passages.  Lizard man hiding behind statue."
"Did it see you," Geoffrey asks.  Yip shakes his head.  
"Not think so.  Stayed low.  Kept to shadows."
"Think it's this Tamalruk?" Halgo asks.  
"Yep," Geoffrey asks.
"We bothering to negotiate this time?"
Geoffrey turns to Yip.
"He look like he's willing to negotiate?"
"Yip felt like ambush," the kobold shrugs, remembering his training.
"Then I don't think we'll negotiate," Geoffrey says.  

Everyone readies their weapons and moves towards the light.  There are some muffled clank from Blarth and Geoffrey's armor, but they seem to approach with something that almost could be considered stealth.  When it becomes apparent that they can go no further without being spotted, Geoffrey screams "Now!" and they spring into action.

Yip is the first into the room, taking a wide circle around the statue to come in at the lizardlike foe from behind.  So focused on his prey is he that the kobold fails to notice a tangle of bones laying in the corner of the room.

Everyone else reaches the room just in time to see the bones lurch to life, skeletal arms reaching forward to pluck Yip from the ground and plunge him into the sharp tangle of shards that make up the skeletal creatures body.  Yip screams in pain, blood running over his scales, and everyone can hear a hiss of pleasure from the lizard-creature behind the statue.

"Tamalruk isss ready," the creature laughs, waving a bone-carved symbol in the air.  "Vengence issss hisssss."


----------



## Lela

"Vengence is his."  How Ironic.

Sucks to be [this] Yip.  Well done Arwick, you turned a failed ambush into a truely succesful trap!

I like it.


----------



## arwink

Lela said:
			
		

> *"Vengence is his."  How Ironic.
> 
> Sucks to be [this] Yip.  Well done Arwick, you turned a failed ambush into a truely succesful trap!
> 
> I like it. *




Yip wasn't particularly pleased by it.  He came running into the room on a truly good init roll with every intention of placing himself in a position where he could throw a fistfull of shiruken the moment Tanaruk started casting spells.

He did notice the big pile of bones, but figured he'd give it a wide berth.  Unfortunately, it has reach and improved grab and Tanaruk had made a very good spot and bluff roll when Yip was scouting. The big mess of bones gets a few AoO as Yip attempts to rush past, and suddenly what was a very good plan is upset by a bony embrace and bone shards.

The look on the players face was kind of amusing.  It's almost like he suddenly realised the name could be cursed


----------



## Lela

That almost sounded like that was the end of another Yip.  Too bad really.  I kinda liked this one.


----------



## Durhon

arwink said:
			
		

> *Tuesday, August 13th, 518 AF, continued
> "So much for diplomacy," Halgo says.  Geoffrey scowls at him.
> "Think you can break it open," the cleric asks Blarth, pointing to the door.  Blarth just grins and gets a short run-up.  When he hits the door, he rebounds with a heavy clang that fills the passageway with echoes.
> 
> "Maybe not easy," Blarth mutters.  He takes several short charges at the doors, eventually wearing them down with some help from Geoffrey.
> "Puny door," Blarth mutters as they burst it from its hinges.  He shakes his head to clear the echoing clanging in his ears.
> *




*Blarth Humor*
*BLARTH*     Knock knock.
*LIZMAN*     Whosesssssssss theressssssss?
*BLARTH*     BLARTH
*LIZMAN*     BLARTHSSSSS WHOSESSSSSSS?
*BLARTH*     BLARTH THE HALF ORC!!!  Youse stupid??  Puny lizardman!! LOL


----------



## Lela

Durhon said:
			
		

> *
> 
> Blarth Humor
> *BLARTH*     Knock knock.
> *LIZMAN*     Whosesssssssss theressssssss?
> *BLARTH*     BLARTH
> *LIZMAN*     BLARTHSSSSS WHOSESSSSSSS?
> *BLARTH*     BLARTH THE HALF ORC!!!  Youse stupid??  Puny lizardman!! LOL *




*BLARTH*     Knock knock.
*LIZMAN*     Whosesssssssss theressssssss?
*BLARTH*     BLARTH'S FIST!
*LIZMAN*     BLARTH'S. . .[Thunk, pow, BANG] Owe!
*BLARTH*     HA HA HA HAAAAAAAA!


----------



## arwink

_Friday, August 25th, 508 AF, continued _ 

Geoffrey, Halgo and Blarth rush into the room, Yip's screams echoing through their ears.  The swift-footed kobold is in trouble, his small frame bending unnaturally between the tangled mass of bones of the undead creature that grasps him.  Geoffrey stands forward, the holy symbol of St Cuthbert held high before him.

"Release him," he commands.  He can feel the power of St Cuthbert flowing through him, the holy energy reaching out to repell the undead creature.  It doesn't succeed.  The creature seems to scuttle from side to side, drawing short Yip's of pain from the entangled kobold, but doesn't flee.

Blarth takes a much more direct approach to the problem of freeing Yip.  He raises his sword high and chargers, an incomprehensible roar of anger echoing throughout the chamber.  It connects with a blow that would drop any ordinary human, but seems to do little beyond shearing away a small section of bone on the creature.  

Halgo alone chooses to ignore the undead beast, focusing his attention on the lizard creature and the strange holy symbold he's waving in the air.  The dwarf lets loose with a _daze_ cantrip, refined and empowered with all the strength and skill his training has provided him.  The lizard creature's eyes glaze slightly, its lips slacken for but a second, but it seems to fight off the worst of the effects.  

In retaliation, the Tamalruk mutters a series of words in his sillibant tongue and points at Geoffrey's holy symbol.  Dark energy pulses from the symbol, hairline cracks starting to form along its surface, but Geoffrey offers a silent prayer to St Cuthbert and throws off the effect by sheer force of will.  Tanaruk hisses angrily.

THe bonetangle lurches closer to Blarth, trying to envelope the half-orc in its skeletal embrace.  Blarth's snarl of rage turns into one of surprise as the squat, wide creature shoots out a third arm to join the two weaving around him.  Sharp claws rake at his arms, but Blarth is simply two heavy and aggressive to be easily embraced.  He lashes out with his sword again, watching the small chips of bone and gristle fly where his sword strikes the body.  Throughout it all he can hear the small yips of pain from Yip as his limbs twist and break inside the bonetangles body.  There's a faintly electric tingle in the air as Geoffrey attempts to turn the bonetangle again, but once again this fails to stop the creature.   

"Help Yip," Yip whimpers, a soft cry that barely seems to rise above the din of Tanaruk and Halgo's spellcasting.  Blarth and Geoffrey both lash out, chipping away with sword and mace, but the bonetangle is still standing after their assult.  The creature lurches sideways, and a sharp snap echoes accross the chamber.  

"Yip's dead," Geoffrey yells to the others.  "I think that was his neck."


----------



## Durhon

Quick... someone cast "Raise new Yip"!!!


----------



## Lela

You truely evoked pity arwink.  The muffled "Help Yip" sqeak was wonderful.

I hope the new Yip will be just as fun as the last.  Perhaps you could recomend one that's more of a rebel.  You know, he doesn't like to take guff from others and he was sent to you guys to avoid poisening the other Kobalds.

With a survival instinct, he could live quite a bit longer than the last ones.


----------



## Durhon

Senior Blarths character sheet is now online.

Blath Link


----------



## Capellan

Durhon said:
			
		

> *Senior Blarths character sheet is now online.
> *




Note that the sheet is for 4th level, and at the time of the fight above, Blarth was 1st.  This should give you an idea of how far behind on this story hour young arwink really is .  Not that CotRE's any better, mind you.

Here are Geoffrey and Halgo


----------



## incognito

Awwww...I _liked_ Yip (my 2nd fav character!)

Hope another yip is forthcoming...from the yip factory.

Q for the players - Did you guys, roll or use a point buy for the ability score genetation?


----------



## Capellan

incognito said:
			
		

> *Q for the players - Did you guys, roll or use a point buy for the ability score genetation? *




Roll.  The standard 4d6, drop the lowest, arrange to taste.


----------



## Durhon

Geez I seem to have scored all the nifty magic items of late.  You guys will have to even up.. you have the pick of the choice!!!   

BTW  Disregard the gold on my character sheet.  Forgot to put down the real figure thanks to a PC Gen fault.



> Q for the players - Did you guys, roll or use a point buy for the ability score genetation?



Yar, the method mentioned above.  Blarth got an 18 but lucked out in other departments.  (sounds a bit suss doesn't it!! LOL)


----------



## arwink

incognito said:
			
		

> *Awwww...I liked Yip (my 2nd fav character!)
> 
> Hope another yip is forthcoming...from the yip factory.
> 
> Q for the players - Did you guys, roll or use a point buy for the ability score genetation? *




Yep, there's another Yip around the bend, but first we get a visit from Thrash, punk-ranger and the first real use I found for stuff from the Book of Vile Darkness.

As a general rule, I prefer rolling.  A lot of the arguements for point buy don't really wash with me.  Warwind (from the Mega-module SH) has a phenomenal set of stats, but doesn't really do well because of them.  I've also seen low stat characters overcome or overshadow PC's of much greater power through clever play.


----------



## arwink

_Friday, August 25th, 508 AF, continued _ 

The Cleric of St Cuthbert charges forward, bludgeoning the bonetangle with his mace.  There's a another sharp crack, and this time bone shards fly through the air.  THe bonetangle's limbs flail at Geoffrey, but he batters them aside with shield and weapon.  He hammers the creature again, reducing the creature to rubble.

"Get the lizard," he mutters to Blarth.  There's a hiss as Halgo fires a crossbow bolt through the air, then Blarth bounds accross the room with his sword raised high.  Tanaruk blanches as the snarling half-orc approaches, quickly muttering a quick prayer to his god.  Black energy crackles accross his claws and he reaches out to touch Blarth as he comes within reach.  The lizard creatures touch wracks the half-orc with pain, the black energy seeming to draw his very life-force from his body.  Blarth grunts in pain, then lashes out with his sword.  He catches Tanaruk in the chest, and the creature hisses softly as it slides off the blade and hits the ground.

"It dead?" Halgo asks.  Blarth removes his sword and stabs the corpse a few times to be sure.

Geoffrey pulls the remains of Yip from the tangled bones of the undead creature.  The kobold is mangled, his limbs jutting at strange angles and his head lolling to one side.  With a grave look, Geoffrey lays the corpse flat on the ground and says a solemn prayer to St Cuthbert to ward the kobolds soul.  There's the faint traces of sadness on the clerics features.

"He did his duty," Halgo reminds him.  
Geoffrey sighs.  "You know, when they first told me about the Yips, it all sounded foolish.  I was getting used to having him around though.  He did his duty well"

Blarth hobbles over, his slime-ravaged leg and the scared imprint of Tanaruk's claw suddenly painful now the adrenaline has worn off.
"Found this on corpse," he says.  He holds out a copper club bearing the symbol of Erythnul on its surface, as well as a copper pendant of a lizards head.

"A beast god," Halgo spits as he sees the symbol.  "Not a good sign."
Geoffrey just nods, more focused on examining the blackened scar on Blarth's chest.

"This doesn't look good," he explains.  "I don't have the power to heal you, and you're already slowed down with your leg."
"Blarth fine.  Blarth not puny."
"No, you're not.  But you are hurt, and we've already lost Yip.  I think it's time we sent you back to town.  The Clerics at the temple can heal you, and you can rejoin us in less than a day."
Blarth snarls unhappily.
"What you do while Blarth gone?"
Geoffrey looks at Halgo, eyebrows raised in questioning.
"We'll stay here," Halgo says with a nod.  "Find us some muscle in town, someone not-puny, and get the church to send them down after us.  We'll explore this room and camp, then try and find out what's going on above tomorrow."
Geoffrey notices Blarths scowl as he listens to the plan.
"We promise not to fight anything but puny creatures until the Brothers have you healed," he promises.

Blarth grumbles, but eventually he's convinced of the legitimacy of the plan.  It takes some doing to get the wounded half-orc and Yip's corpse back up the rope, but eventually they send him on his way.

"Think he'll remember to send us help?" Geoffrey asks as they watch him leave.
"Blarth, remember to send us help," Halgo says.  In the distance, they hear a half-orc screaming "Okay."
"Magic earing," Halgo reminds Geoffrey.  "He remembers, or we make his life a missery for the next few hours."
Geoffrey grins.  
"Right," he says. "Let's go explore that chamber and get some sleep."

He pauses for a few minutes, looking thoughtful.

"And if we say his name every couple of minutes,  then shut up for five seconds, I think we could pass the time until help comes."


----------



## Lela

Blarth not puny.  Good Blarth go home and find not puny Yip to help party.

Yip not puny.


----------



## Durhon

thats the general idea behind it.  The next session is also a session that I missed so that was Arwinks way of Blarth missing out (First session I have missed in nearly a year).  Im eager to hear about Thrash though.  Sounds very weird.


----------



## arwink

_Friday, August 25th, 508 AF, continued _ 

Halgo and Geoffrey settle in to the chamber, taking the better part of an hour to explore all its nooks and crannies.  The many side passages seem to lead into long unused portions of the mine, and offer no clue of which way to go. 

The chamber itself is as large as the Temple Chamber of St Cuthbert in Hommlet, and the blue light cast by the brazier of fire before the dragon statue is particularly disturbing.  Worse, the eyes of the dragon statue are huge, blue gems that sparkle seductively in the light.  Halgo and Goeffrey both look at it uncertainly from time to time, contemplating their relative value against the feeling of unease it gives them.  

The walls of the room are intricately charged, a detail that didn't register during their fight.  The carvings seem to show images of humans mining and forging, overseen by a benovelent dragon.  Halgo finds one carving depicting humans offering sacrafices to a huge brazier before the dragon, startlingly similar to the one burning in the centre of the room.  HE frowns when he notices that the carving actually depicts two dragons accepting the offering, and scrapes away at the layers of dust and mould covering the picture with his dagger.  

At the base of the image, he finds several small runes that read "Worship and praise him, for he is a just and true God.  View him only with thine eyes, if ye wish not to face him in judgement alone.  His wrath is mighty, and while he descends from the mountaintop to praise, also does he punish the lately and untrue."  He reads the words aloud to Geoffrey, he simply spits the words "False god."

Just as interesting, they discover that the a patch of wall opposite the statue is smooth and without carvings.  Careful examination of the area finds shards of glass on the floor below.
"What in Nine Hells is this?" Geoffrey swears.
"Part of a mirror, maybe?" Halgo offers.  He lifts a few of the the shards up to eye level on the tip of a finger.  "Maybe part of some magic?"
"What in hell would need a mirror here?" Geoffrey says.  "Is the dragon vein enough that he needs his statue to see its reflection?"
"Well," Halgo says.  His voice trails off as he glances at the statue and notices the sheen of the blue eyes.  "Didn't we find a mirror?"

Geoffrey shrugs and rummages through his pack, eventually pulling forth the copper hand mirror they found earlier.  He hands it to the grinning dwarf.  Halgo cautiously holds the shiny surface up to the dragon, and starts as the blue light reflecting from the gemlike eyes narrows into a beam of pure azure energy.  Static energy runs through Halgo, and his his hair starts to lift slightly.

"Does it hurt?" Geoffrey asks, concerned.  Halgo shakes his head, staring at the statue in fascination.  For a moment, he could have sworn that it moved slightly, shuddering.  He braces himself to run, but keeps the beam trained so the blue light continues to bounce between mirror and eyes.  After a minute the beam vanishes, but the statue lurches to life and walks slowly to the side.  Behind it's perch is a passageway leading off into the depths of the mountain.

"Secret door," Halgo says, his skin tingling.  They look at each other, contemplating pressing forward, then decide against it without discussion.

"Can you close it?" Geoffrey asks, visions of something emerging from the gaping passage while they sleep plaguing his imagination.
"I don't know," Halgo says.  It proves a moot point, as the statue returns to its original position after less than sixty seconds.

"We take it tomorrow.  Lets make camp in one of the shorter tunnels, it'll be easier than keeping watch on all these passages at once," Geoffrey says.  Halgo silently nods, wrapping the mirror in cloth and securing it in his pack.

_Saturday, August 26th, 508 AF_ 

Halgo is on last watch, carefully examining his spellbooks while keeping a wary ear for the approach of others.  His instincts tell him it's a little after day-break, although he's not certain that's correct.  There's a worrying feeling gnawing at him, something he's having trouble pinning down.  Eventually he realises its the lack of communication with Blarth - that although the Half-orc may be able to find help, neither Halgo nor Geoffrey have anyway of knowing when the help may arrive.  Much as he enjoys spending time underground, Halgo isn't sure he wants to wait around all day for help that may or may not be coming.

He sits quietly, reading through the runes and gestures necessary to detect magic, and tries not to think about it.  Geoffrey rouses a little after Halgo closes his book, spends a few minutes clambering back into his armor and goes through his morning prayers to St Cuthbert.  Halgo keeps watch, silently observing the young humans pious look as he prays.  For all his time and debts to St Cuthbert's church, he can't quite understand the level of faith Geoffrey maintains.  

Geoffrey pauses mid-prayer, an eye openining and glancing down the passageway.
"Did you hear that?" He asks.  Halgo shakes his head slightly, but reaches for his loaded crossbow.  They listen, breath held, for a few moments before they hear the noise again.  Soft footfalls, and the scrape of metal against stone.

"Attacker, or the help we asked blarth to send?" Halgo asks.  Geoffrey shrugs, readies his shield and mace.  He nods at the blue light coming through a gap in the passage, the doorway back to the dragon temple.  
"if we've got to fight, lets take away one advantage," he says.  Halgo nods and they creep forward as silently as they can.

The wait is terrible, long minutes passing as they hold their breath and conceal themselves behind the dias holding the copper brazier of flame.

Then they hear the footsteps come close, the whisper of a weapon swinging lazily through the air and a long sigh from the doorway to the cavern.

"So is there anyone here, or am I heading back to town to beat the crud out of a half-orc?"

Geoffrey and Halgo peer around the edge of the dias.  There is a human youth standing at the doorway, a heavy flail on his shoulders.  He wears gleaming black leather armor that bears numerous spikes, and his short hair is greased into smaller spikes that look far less deadly.  He has a steel ring forced through his nose, like a prize bull, and is staring accross the room with red-glazed eyes.

"You two are looking for help, right?" the youth asks.  "I'm Thrash.  This half-orc with a sore foot said you needed someone with a bit of muscle.  Actually, he said you were puny magic users who needed someone not puny, but I read between the lines."

Thrash pulls a small pipe out of his belt pouch and lights it with tindertwig.  He grins widely as he puffs yellow-tinged smoke into the air. Halgo and Geoffrey look at one another.

"He's got to be kidding," Geoffrey mutters.


----------



## Lela

When you say youth, what are we talking here?  17?  14?  8?!?

Then again, that gives me an idea for a halfling Rogue with the Disguise skill (and later a Hat of same).  No one pays attention to a human 7 year-old.


----------



## arwink

15 or 16 from memory.  Although it's less an age thing, and more related to the mindset.  Thrash basically carries himself like your average teenage punk rocker, which tends to make him look a little younger than he actually is to the more serious minded members of the group


----------



## Lela

So, full-of-himself, hair that scares children, and, as we've already seen, a smoker.

Okay, I can't wait to see what this guy's speciality is (aside from causing children to run in fear and shocked old ladies to use comments that start out "In my day, we _never_. . .").

So, Rogue?


----------



## arwink

An answer to Lela's question in update form, cause I'm at work, I'm bored and I can't be bothered working on thesis stuff at the moment 

_Saturday, August 26th, 508 AF, continued _ 

Goeffrey and Halgo huddle together, whispering quietly while Thrash strolls languidly around the room.  "Blue flames," he exclaims every couple of minutes.  "Whoah.  Freaky."

"Does St Cuthbert offer any recourse for killing Blarth," Halgo pauses and counts to five under his breath, "because of this?"   
"I'm not sure, " Geoffrey says.  "If things go bad, maybe we can file it under vengance rather than justice.  Cheer up though, it might not be that bad."
Halgo raises an eyebrow.
"He looks strangely frightening," Geoffrey offers.  "Not to us, of course, but goblins may find the spikes intimidating.  And he does look like he knows how to use that flail."
"To do what? Flagellate himself to prove he's as tough as he looks?"

"Hey," Thrash yells.  They both look up to see him standing by the statue, kneeling and looking at something close to the ground.
"What?" Halgo asks.
"Does this thing move or something?  Or has someone dragged it aside?"
"It moves, there's a secret door behind it.  Why do you ask?"
"There's some slight scraping on the stone here, and the dust has been shifted recently."

Thrash looks up at them, red eyes gleaming.
"Could you make it move for me?  Watching a statue walk could be cool.  The best I've ever done is talk to this glowing blue pool.  He told good stories, but he didn't much like it when I needed to take a drink."
"You could tell that, just by looking at the ground?" Geoffrey asks.
"Sure," Thrash says.  "Some dwarves taught me back home, how to read tracks over stone.  Harder than trailing someone through the forest, but it's doable if you know what to look for."
He stretches his arms and applies pressure to the statue, trying to make it move.  It's an impossible task, but the muscles straining against seem impressive.

"He's an idiot," Halgo says abruptly.
"So's Blarth," 1...2...3...4...5..."and we work with him." Geoffrey explains.  That seems to settle things.

"Thrash, you might want to step back," Halgo says, digging the mirror out of his pack.  "I think it's time we moved on."


----------



## Khynal

I've been looking forward to Thrash's appearance. This should be entertaining.


----------



## Durhon

arwink said:
			
		

> "Does St Cuthbert offer any recourse for killing Blarth because of this?" Halgo inquires politely.




Blarth heard that!!!!

Geez the Dwarf with no beard is saying that Thrash looks weird.....


----------



## Capellan

Durhon said:
			
		

> *Blarth heard that!!!!
> 
> Geez the Dwarf with no beard is saying that Thrash looks weird.....   *




Blarth heard "Blarth because of that."  Not very elucidating  

And Halgo has a perfectly good and sensible beard.  Just because it's not as overgrown as some dwarves, certain people seem to feel they can criticise it ...


----------



## arwink

Durhon said:
			
		

> *
> 
> Blarth heard that!!!!
> *




Thanks for reminding me.  I knew I forgot something.  

Edited the above to keep it in keeping with standard party Operating procedure (anytime Blarth's name is said, they count to five unless they want him to hear them).


----------



## Lela

arwink said:
			
		

> *
> 
> Thanks for reminding me.  I knew I forgot something.  Edit in progress. *




So then, freaky Ranger.  Got it.

Or freaky Ranger/Rogue.

Or. . .

Dangit, now I'm not sure again!

Edit: Looking forward to your edit.


----------



## Capellan

Thrash was a Ranger ...

... who didn't two-weapon fight, and who carried a heavy crossbow instead of a longbow.

Yup, he smoked a _lot_ of drugs.


----------



## Lela

And this guy worships St. Cuthburt?

But really, what does the hair actually look like?


----------



## arwink

Lela said:
			
		

> *And this guy worships St. Cuthburt?
> 
> But really, what does the hair actually look like? *




a)  Um, not really.  We'll get to that, I promise.  He's more freelance talent that St Cuthbert worshipper.

b)  Short spikes, usually held in place with grease and oil.


----------



## Lela

Where's that edit? 

Are the spikes down the middle, everyware, in a circle like a crown?  C'mon man, you're good with details!


----------



## arwink

Lela said:
			
		

> *Where's that edit?
> 
> Are the spikes down the middle, everyware, in a circle like a crown?  C'mon man, you're good with details! *




You missed it.  I'd already edited the post before I left work, then forgot to change the post below it 

The nice version (which Thrash would use) is that his hair curls up in spines of his head like a crown, the short tufts nearly an inch and a half long and shimmering slightly with the grease and oil dragged through it.  It's probably brown originally, but the gunk turns it dark enough that most people think of it as black.  If he ever bothered to wash it, he'd probably become unrecognisable or be mistaken for a semi-identicle twin. 

The not so nice version (which was used by the ranking cleric of St Cuthbert when Blarth brought Thrash to the temple) is he's wearing part of a particularly frightened and dirty sheep on his scalp.  

A good comparison would be any short-haired male manga character.


----------



## Lela

arwink said:
			
		

> *
> 
> You missed it.  I'd already edited the post before I left work, then forgot to change the post below it
> *




Okay, I'm confused then.  I thought Blarth heard something there.



			
				arwink said:
			
		

> *
> The nice version (which Thrash would use) is that his hair curls up in spines of his head like a crown, the short tufts nearly an inch and a half long and shimmering slightly with the grease and oil dragged through it.  It's probably brown originally, but the gunk turns it dark enough that most people think of it as black.  If he ever bothered to wash it, he'd probably become unrecognisable or be mistaken for a semi-identicle twin.
> 
> The not so nice version (which was used by the ranking cleric of St Cuthbert when Blarth brought Thrash to the temple) is he's wearing part of a particularly frightened and dirty sheep on his scalp.
> *




Okay, it's a good thing my roommate just decided sleep wasn't going to happen and started reading.  My laughing would have caused no end of torment for those asleep.  In fact, bursts are still coming out intermitantly.  And I've finally been asked what I'm laughing about.

One last question though, a whole sheep or just some wool?

*ducks and covers head*


----------



## arwink

Lela said:
			
		

> *
> 
> Okay, I'm confused then.  I thought Blarth heard something there.
> 
> *




The correct response to that statement was "No, actually, you didn't."  That's what I had to go and edit out.

For those that are interested, Capellan has started a Yips of the Future thread on the seldarn boards.  If you've got any strange and wonderful ideas Yip can come back as after his next inevitable death, wander on over and post them


----------



## arwink

*OT pimping (Just think of it as a bribe before the update):*  The website formerly known as the House of Arwink has now become the Clockwork Golem Workshop, a home for D20 stuff resulting from a collaboration between myself and Khynal (who is much nastier and more devious than I).  Our first co-created work, the Stone-soul Gargoyle, went up today so go check it out 

And in return for sitting through that, here's an update...

_Saturday, August 26th, 508 AF, continued _ 

The statue moves aside and the three adventurers hurry through to the passage beyond.  The air in the passage is humid, and the stones are slick beneath their feet.  Geoffrey lights a sunrod and they press forward, following the upward curve of the stone.

After a few minutes walking, they hear a soft song echoing down the passageway.  The voice is feminine, and the tune has a lilting, begging tone to it that seems to curl into the hearts and mind of the listeners.  Halgo, in particular, finds himself drawn to the words of the sing, his eyes misting over and his mouth twisting into a dazed smile.  Geoffrey and Thrash both look at him, Geoffrey frowning with concern.

"Try not to listen," the cleric tells Thrash.  "That doesn't look good."
Thrash nods mutely, his grip on his flail tightening until his knuckles go white.

The tunnel twists and turns for several hundred feet, and eventually a dull roar can be heard accompanying the lilting song echoing down the passage.  

Eventually the passage spills out into a large chamber, clouds of mist obscuring vision.  The dull roar becomes thunderous, and a waterfall of luminscent water spills down from the ceiling the chambers centre - feeding into an underground lake.  The strange song seems to echo in the chamber, louder even than the roar of the waterfall, and Halgo takes a few involuntary steps towards the edge of the lack before Thrash puts a hand on his shoulder to steady him.

"Hello?" the ranger calls out.
The singing drops, settling into a mute hum, and a shadowy shape suddenly approaches through the layers of mist.  Halgo smiles gleefully, while Geoffrey and Thrash hold weapons at the ready, prepared for anything.

Except the naked woman whose form comes into focus.  She stands a little over five foot, her frame lithe and pale.  A silver anklet gleaps from her right foot, but there is nothing else between her privates and the world but some tastefully arranged hair.  So stunned by her sudden appearance are the three adventurers that it takes a few moments for them to notice she's walking along the surface of the water.

"Wow," Thrash mutters as she steps close.  "Neat trick."

The woman doesn't say anything for a moment, simply observes while she murmers her song softly.

"More strangers," she says eventually, her words mingling with the notes of her song.  "So long alone, and now more strangers have come.  Come, you must sit and talk with me.  It has been so long, and I have been lonely."

She gestures to a trio of stones by the edge of the lake, and smiles widely.  Halgo returns her smile, entranced by the radiance of her beauty, while Geoffrey and Thrash attempt to suppress a shudder at her mouth of sharp, carnivors teeth.


----------



## Lela

Yet another new idea to use for my group.  This justifies reading all these story hours by itself. 

But let me get this straight, Thrash, the 16 year-old hormone driven teenage male, is _not_ affected by the naked woman who walks on water.  But Halgo, the Dwarven *Wizard* is.

Jeez, it seems I underestimated the teenager and overestimated the dwarf.  Not something I do often.  Cool.


----------



## arwink

Will saves are funny things sometimes.

I just blame it on Thrash's halucinations


----------



## Durhon

This is good.  I knew nothing about what happened here.  Now it all makes sense to Blarth!!!

I will say nothing more as Blarths entrance is yet to come.


----------



## Khynal

Lela said:
			
		

> *Yet another new idea to use for my group.  This justifies reading all these story hours by itself.
> 
> But let me get this straight, Thrash, the 16 year-old hormone driven teenage male, is not affected by the naked woman who walks on water.  But Halgo, the Dwarven Wizard is.
> 
> Jeez, it seems I underestimated the teenager and overestimated the dwarf.  Not something I do often.  Cool. *




Think about it: a wizard's got to be fairly academic, so Halgo has spent many hours in libraries, maybe not seeing that many girls, certainly not socialising with them.

And then he's confronted with _this_. His system just isn't designed to cope.

As for Thrash, I'm sure he spends plenty of time hanging out with the teenage punk girls wherever it is he comes from. That and mouthing off to his parents.


----------



## Capellan

arwink said:
			
		

> *Will saves are funny things sometimes.
> 
> I just blame it on Thrash's halucinations  *





Personally, I blame it on the fact that I rolled a '2'


----------



## Lela

Which doesn't explain it RP wise.  I'm going with what Khynal said.

Unless of course, Cap, you're having trouble finding women in real life.  This could be an extension of that.


----------



## Durhon

Maybe Thrash is quite satisfied... or on the other hand maybe he's gay??


----------



## Lela

Durhon said:
			
		

> *Maybe Thrash is quite satisfied... or on the other hand maybe he's gay?? *




Okay, is this a new player or were the Yip monks set aside for a while?


----------



## Capellan

Yip was (very briefly) set aside for Thrash's appearance.  There was much rejoicing when he returned.  Mainly because, except for Will saves, Thrash's luck with the dice was abysmal


----------



## arwink

Capellan's table seems to hate fighter types.  THe past couple of games, anyone whose main skill seems to be swinging a weapon seems to roll abysmally.


----------



## Lela

Something someone put up a while ago to deal with such issues.  Can't remember who, but I would give credit if I knew--promise.

: : :


If a die fails to provide satisfactory results after several gaming sessions, despite your best efforts and our superb array of advice (which I can send you), it MUST be punished. Please select the method most appropriate for your circumstances……and level of frustration:

1) Throw the die into a solid surface as hard as possible. Think of it as a wake-up call. If the die survives, allow a session or two for recuperation before using it in game play again.

2) Ostracize it from the other dice by keeping it separate during play. Force it to watch all the fun, but do not allow it to participate. Shunning can be a powerful motivator, just ask the Amish.

3) Pop it in the washing machine with your socks and undies. That should do the trick.

4) Drop the die into a Fry Daddy or similar torture device for a few seconds. Consider this an RPG version tough love. 

5) Banish the die to a lonely place (a drawer, your glove compartment, beneath the couch, whatever) for several weeks, months, or years. This is a more severe form of ““shunning,”” as described in #2. 
Sadly, these dice behavior correction techniques are not always effective. What I’’m about to suggest next may astound or offend some of you, but occasionally it may prove necessary to destroy a die as an ““example”” to the others. This is not a decision to take lightly, and you should only attempt die disposal in the most extreme cases. First, line up all of your other dice with the highest number facing the guilty die. The guilty die should then be destroyed in a wicked and horrifying manner, with all of the other dice in close proximity to observe the execution. You may use any means of ruination desirable, but we recommend a brief encounter with Mr. Sledgehammer, followed by a somewhat lengthier visit from Mr. Blowtorch. Typically, you can expect that the other dice will be scared enough to behave properly for awhile after witnessing this event. You may find it useful, though, to keep the tool(s) of destruction, and even the terminated die's remnants, on hand as a valuable reminder.


----------



## arwink

_Saturday, August 26th, 508 AF, continued_ 

Geoffrey and Thrash are hesitant as they sit beside Halgo, nervously glancing over the dwarfs head as he stares with rapt attention at the naked woman.

"Who are you, strangers, that you walk into my home," she says.  

"My names Halgo," Halgo begins explaining immediately.  Geoffrey gets a pained expression and kicks at the dwarfs ankle, but it does little good.  "This is Geoffrey, and Thrash.  We've come looking for a dragon that was supposed to live in the caves."

"You have come seeking Copperdeath?" The musical voice seems to raise in pitch, dancing back and forth between notes with a sense of mournful hope.  "Then Valea is pleased.  Too many years have I been kept here, far from home.  Long have I waited for heroes worthy of the task to free me."

"It would be an honor to accept such a task," Halgo says.  His eyes are shining with joy at being able to do something for the creature standing before him.  He looks accross at Geoffrey "we are going to do it, right?  We have to help her.  It's our job or something."

Geoffrey sighs heavily, then tries to manage a stern look at Valea.
"Shouldn't there have been other heroes coming through here, in the past day or so?"

"Certainly," Valea says.  "Not two days ago, a pair came past and offered to slay the dragon for me, to free me from it's bonds.  They climbed upwards to its lair, and I have heard nothing from them since. I assume that they failed.  Copperdeath is a harsh master, and has powers beyond the mortal ken.  It pained me that such brave beings have died in an effort to free me from centuries of imprisonment, bound by the dragons magic, but I am sure that the three of you possess power and skill far beyond theirs."

Geoffrey can hear the subtle clues that she's lying in her voice.  A slight waver here, a momentary pause there.  He nods, keeping the information to himself.  He's in no hurry to angry an unknown creature, particularly with Halgo bewitched as he is and not knowing exactly how well Thrash can handle himself.

"Do you have anything that could help us?  Information, spells, items?"
Valea examines him carefully, and for a few moments Geoffrey is sure the woman knows he knows she's lying.  In the end, it appears as though this doesn't matter.  She nods quietly, then disappears underneath the water.  Everyone gathers at the waters edge to watch.

"Dude, there's bodies under there," Thrash murmers quietly, subtly gesturing to shapes in the murky water.  It's difficult to make out details with the rippling water, but they do look a great deal like bodies.  Geoffrey nods, while Halgo starts looking for justifications for Valea's uninvolvement in the death.

When she returns, Valea carries two potions, a wet silk rope and a longbow.  She lays them on the edge of the pool for the group to examine, and Geoffrey is pleased to notice the runes for Cure Light Wounds on both vials.

"I don't think this'll be much good," he mutters, nudging the waterlogged bow with his foot.  Valea shrugs, a move that causes the attentive Halgo to blush furiously.  "The one who gave it to me assured me that it was magical.  Should you dry it, I have no doubt it will be of use."

Geoffrey picks up the bow, looks at it for several long moments.  His weapons training focused primarily on the javelin and crossbow, and he's seen Halgo shooting at targets before.  Wordlessly, it's handed over to Thrash who beams widely.

"So how to we find this dragon?" Halgo asks.  "And what do we have to do to free you?"
"The dragon has bound me with this anklet," Valea says.  "I know not the magic he has used, but one who tried to remove it from me was killed by it's magic.  I have not seen his lair for several centuries, but it lies atop the waterfall.  It will require great strength and skill to reach it, from what I know.  Many I have seen attempt the climb, over the centuries, have failed before reaching the top."

Geoffrey walks over to the torrent of water, and can make out a dangling rope flicking back and forth.  He stares up at the hole the water falls through, and can make out the edges of a ramp winding back and forth twenty feet up.  
"Can we make it?" Halgo asks, eager to be off.
"We spend twenty feet climbing against the current to get to that ramp, from there is should be a little easier."
"Should?" 

Geoffrey sighs and doesn't answer.  With a weary expression, he starts removing his armor.


----------



## Lela

Well, this is gonna suck.  Big time.


----------



## arwink

_Saturday, August 26th, 508 AF, continued _

Thrash is first up the rope, his lithe frame moving slowly against the pressing rush of water. Geoffrey and Halgo watch him go, turning into a dark shadow in the mist as he reaches the far side.  

"There's a ledge," Thrash shouts, his voice barely legible against the roar of the waterfall.  "It's damp and hard to keep your feet, but we should be able to crawl along it all the way up.  Start climbing, I'll try and pull you up with the rope."

Geoffrey motions for Halgo to start, his eyes glancing back towards Valea.  The naked woman is laying against the side of the pool, watching the proceeding with shining eyes and a slight smirk.  When Halgo hesitates at the idea, Geoffrey silently reminds himself that the dwarf is enchanted as he forces him to start climing the rope.

Halgo's climb is torturous and difficult, he's never been strong and his frame is decidedly unsuited to the task of clambering up a rope.  Thrash hauls on the rope, gradually pulling the dwarf against the water.  By the time Halgo's on the other side of the climb, he's spitting water and gasping for air.  

Geoffrey proves more adept at handling the rope, although he's forced to carry his armor in a sack danging from his waist.  Coughing and spluttering, he finds his feet on the ledge after the first attempt.   He's greeted by the strange sight of Halgo laying on his back, still spluttering and breathing deeply now he's free of the water.  Thrash looks decidedly odd, his short hair slicked down by the rush of water and his speech strangely lucid after the refreshing blast of cold.

"You want to put your armor on now?" he asks, then he gestures upwards.  "Or do you want to wait until we hit the end of that?"

Geoffrey looks up to see the thin ramp twisting around the central waterfall, spiraling upwards beyond the limit of his vision.  The water falling changes color and emits a soft light, and the mists are tinged with a range of hues from all parts of the rainbow.  The awe inspired by the sight is lessened by the presence of large, thick webbing running through the waterfall and several bundles twisting against the strands that can only be fish.

"Spiders?" Geoffrey asks.  Thrash nods.
"They probably wont attack," he comments.  "There's more than enough fish there, and it looks like they've got a pretty sweet plan going there.  The main problem will be slipping off the ledge - there's pretty good odds we'll get stuck in those webs and it'd take a fair sized spider to spin something that'll hold up against the waterfall."

"I think I'll put on armor now," Geoffrey comments.  He doesn't relish a climb over the slick stone of the ramp while armored, but he's heard tales of giant spiders and virrulent poison in his training.  He's in no hurry to test his healing training against it.

Scaling the ramp takes the better part of five hours, and none of the adventurers enjoys the experience.  They spend much of their time on their hands and knees, Geoffrey with a dagger in hand that he tries to catch into nooks and cranny in the stone.  At one point, when his legs slip out from under him and he slides towards the edge of the ramp, the dagger is the only thing between him and a free-fall into a spider web.  He curses loudly, and scrambles back onto the ramp with a less-than-elegant flurry of limbs and desperation.  After the first hour, everyone is tired, wet and misserable, methodically moving upwards while trying to forget about their surroundings.

Eventually they near the top of the ramp, and by the light of the glowing water they can make out a long open window, five feet above the surface of the ramp and nearly fifteen feet long.  The room behind it looks dark and empty, but there lure of stability and an escape from the drenching water almost over-ride caution.  Thrash is the first to scramble through, acting before anyone else can stop him.  Geoffrey and Halgo both hold their breath for the space of a few seconds, waiting for a scream of pain or surprise.  

Neither comes.  

Instead, Thrash pokes his head through the window.
"You've got to come through this thing," he yells, and they notice his hair has resumed a spiked appearance that does a good imitation of a birds nest, "It totally dries out everything."


----------



## Lela

Hmmm, yet another magic item that's practical but not adventure related.  I'll likely yoink that at some point.

Thrash is kinda fun.  Too bad he's played by someone who has a bit of trouble with the dice.  Perhaps a total change would be in order there.  Or the blowtorch.


----------



## arwink

-sigh-

Edited the above due to inexact notes.  Halgo is going to go for a dip, but it didn't happen here.  He managed the climb without falling.


----------



## Khynal

So the Thrash hairstyle is self-perpetuating? It fixes itself up, when dried?

Wouldn't that be handy? A hair gel for punk adventurers.


----------



## Capellan

Khynal said:
			
		

> *So the Thrash hairstyle is self-perpetuating? It fixes itself up, when dried?
> 
> Wouldn't that be handy? A hair gel for punk adventurers. *




And it's evidently not a water-based gel.  Suddenly I'm interested to know just which liquids the 'drying' magic would actually affect, and which would be allowed through OK.  I'm assuming that it's some kind of oil-based gel, so oils are probably OK.

It's a pity Halgo is half a world away by now


----------



## Durhon

Capellan said:
			
		

> *
> It's a pity Halgo is half a world away by now  *



So I take it we won't be gaming for a while??


----------



## arwink

_Saturday, August 26th, 508 AF, continued _ 

Geoffrey and Halgo pass through the window, the sudden evaporation of the water leaving their throats dry.  

"That's...odd," Geoffrey comments.  Halgo is too busy checking the pages of his spellbook for damage to answer.  

The top level of the caves seem mostly empty.  The adventurers spend a few minutes exploring a gallery filled with four feet chess peices and a copper bell, giving wide berth to a spiderweb that fills a fifteen foot long stretch of wall.  Following a hall filled with mauled statues of human soldiers and miners, they eventually reach a large cavern that spreads out beyond the limit of Geoffrey's sun-rod.  As they enter into the cavern, Geoffrey and Thrash make out the sound of muffled talking in the distance.  

Although much of the cavern is dark, there is a dim patch of illumination from the northeast corner.  A quick exploration finds a ramp leading up to a crack on the wall, and the light creeping through the crack.  The dim sound of talking gets slightly louder here.

"Check it now?" Trash whispers.  Halgo shakes his head, motioning everyone back.
"Lets check the rest first," he explains after they've moved back.  "I'd rather not leave anything behind us."

The exploration of the room reveals no enemies, but there are a number of curiousities.  The most greusome are ten copper statues, made with such detail that they seem almost lifelike.  Halgo offers the comment that they may have been transformed by magic, but points out that the damage caused to the metal forms make returning them to flesh potentially fatal.

The second discovery that takes everyone aback is a small building, over ten feat tall, set into the eastern wall.  The building has no windows or doors, but the ceiling hangs over the walls and bears what appears to be a giant handle.  Geoffrey boosts Halgo up for a closer look, and he confirms that the roof isn't bound to the walls by mortar.

"It's like a giant doll house," Halgo explains, quickly picking up on the reason for the handle.  "You can take the roof off and peer inside."
"Why in hell would you put that into a dungeon?" Geoffrey asks.  Halgo just shrugs.

Next to the dolls house is a table nearly ten feet tall, with large chunks of crystal scattered accross the top.  Geoffrey boosts Thrash up, and the slow process of passing the table contents to the floor for Halgo to examine with magic begins.  Although none show any signs of enhancement, Halgo suggests they may be psionic rather than conventional magic.
"Store them under the table," he says.  "If we get out of here alive, we'll leave them for Blarth to check."

They return to the ramp.  Little can be seen through the crack beyond the gleam of light, but Halgo recognises the muffled language being spoken as goblin.  They spend several minutes examining the wall, searching for some secret door that leads to the chamber beyond, but none appears.  Eventually, the three of them settle on the ramp to contemplate the problem.  

"Think we missed something in the room?" Geoffrey asks.  "Some hidden doorway in the hall or some such?"
Halgo shakes his head.  Like all dwarves he knows his stone, and the odds of something like that escaping his scruitiny is slime.  
"It's got to be up here," the wizard says.  "Why build a ramp to a dead end?  It's stupid.  It's almost like..."
He pauses and snaps his fingers.   He scrambles up the ramp and sticks his hand through the wall, wiggling it on the far side.  Within seconds, the wall sloughs away and he can see the room beyond.  
"Illusion," he says.  Geoffrey is quick to follow, but Thrash is more difficult, stubbornly believing in the walls existence until Geoffrey grabs him and forces his head through the seemingly solid stone.
'Whoah," Thrash mutters.

Beyond the illusory wall is another large cavern, stretching out for several hundred feet.  The room is well lit by flickering torches and glowing moss, and the floor seems to be made of corroded copper.  The cavern is filled with Goblin equipement, and a number of the ugly creatures scurry along the floor.  The group makes out an impromtu kichen and dining area, a livestock pen with several cows and horses within, and a row of work benches lines with blue crystals much like the ones they found on the giant work table.  In the distance, towards the far end of the cavern, they can make out the form of a giant dragon.  It appears to be dead, its body slowly decaying, but it has been the site of recent activity.  It's mouth is propped open by a pair of spears, and the dragons throat.

In addition to the goblins hurrying around, there is a small human child chained to the centre of the chamber.  He cries pitiously, although they are muffled by a filthy rag stuffed into his mouth.  Two other children, both human, are kept in a cramped cave near the livestock.

Thrash is the first to respond to the scene.
"Thirteen," he whispers quietly.  "Four leader types on top of that."
"What?" Geoffrey hisses.
"There's thirteen goblin warriors down there, plus four which show signs of being something special."
He points around the room.
"The guy down by the dragon, the one who'se flesh is going blue and whose head looks like a ripe mellon, he's probably something odd.  Mage, maybe, or something like it.  That one over there, standing guard over the kids, he's dressed in robes like bulgy head so they're probably the same.  Apprentice, if we're lucky.  Over by the ale, with the crown.  Some kind of leader.  The bigger goblin scowling at everyone is probably a bodyguard."

"All that in three seconds?" Geoffrey comments.
"It's a knack," Thrash shrugs.  "We going to take them?"
"There's seventeen of them," Halgo comments.
"Yeah, so?" Thrash asks.  
"There's three of us," Halgo says helpfully.
Thrash shrugs.
"We've got surprise, a nice ledge to shoot at them from, and there's children down there."
"He's got a point," Goeffrey says, but he sounds dubious.  He has three javelins in a sling accross his back, but he's not sure that will hold off a goblin horde.
"It'll work," Thrash promises.  He readies the enchanted longbow and tests its pull.  "Besides, this was dried out by that window."
"Look," Halgo says.  "I'm not saying we can't take them, but we've already lost Yip to this place.  Let's not risk another death."
"Do you really think anyone else in Bellhold will be good for this," Geoffrey starts to argue, playing devils advocate.  "Apart from Blarth, and we don't even know if he's..."

The debate is cut short.

"Congratulations," a voice hisses through the air, in badly broken common.  Everyone's eyes snap back to the cavern, and they spot the swollen headed goblin looming over the trapped boy.  "Today is your lucky day, boy!  Soon you'll have power...or you'll be dead.  Either way, human, your life will be better."

The goblin raises a hammer while the guards hold the child down, and flourishes what appears to be a shard of blue glass.  As he moves in, the child thrashes against the guards and goes limp.

"Blast," Halgo swears.  His crossbow is raised before the word leaves his lips.


----------



## Lela

Way to force the player's hands.  And Halgo did the right thing, I support it entirely--even if Thrash dies.  It won't be so bad really, even if all the punk chicks he's undoubtibly seen do not bare him any tortured and depressed children, his hair will live on many years without him.

Does Cap always recomend exploring the lower levels first?


----------



## arwink

Capellan and Geoffrey are a lot more methodical than many of the gamers I've dealt with before, so such suggestions usually get attributed to their characters even if they didn't actually say it.  I'm a terrible note keeper and more than willing to fudge events in the name of story, so none of this will be 100% accurate (But it'll be close, and people are more than willing to point out when I overstep my mark )

As we'll see at the end of the adventure, Geoffrey's player can take the methodical approach to extremes I hadn't even dreamed of


----------



## Capellan

Correction.  I'm methodical.  *Geoffrey*'s player is anal.  There's an important difference.

(Lest anyone is tempted to argue, I have just two words to add:  exploratory surgery.  You'll see what I mean.)

Halgo did do the right thing here, didn't he?  Hmmm.  Wonder how long that'll continue?


----------



## Lela

Capellan said:
			
		

> *
> Halgo did do the right thing here, didn't he?  Hmmm.  Wonder how long that'll continue?  *




Only as long as it takes him to remember the Nymph-like thing.  That's kinda a duh though.  I assume you're refering to something else.


----------



## arwink

Lela said:
			
		

> *Only as long as it takes him to remember the Nymph-like thing.  That's kinda a duh though.  I assume you're refering to something else. *




Lets just call it foreshadowing 

Once we finished Of Sound Mind, all sorts of interesting things started happening.

Shall I offer some teasers?  I think I shall  

Some of the things on the near (or far) horizon:

- Halgo meets up with some...unusual contacts  
- A new, improved Yip getting beaten up by bipedal dire-rats
- Negotiations with Angels
- Strange Silver Orbs and Gauntian Undead
- Blarth running with fear at the prospect of being called "Papa"
- Goblin Jesters
- Half-orc Fire Cults
- Dwarven Football games


----------



## Durhon

*claps*

oi oi!! I love teasers!!


----------



## Yip

OK, I have succumbed.

I can't recall the passwords for either of my former EnWorld entities, so I figured I'd run with Yip... Yips.

I imagine it could be hard running with too many Yips.  They'd get under foot quite easily.

Let me conjur an image for you.  Picture a Yip, dressed in a little red pleated skirt which hangs midway down his thighs.  He's also got on a nice tight white top, tied up to expose the midriff (trim and taught).

He has two pom poms, one clutched in each paw.  

He is Thrash's cheer squad.  Alas, none of the other Yip's would join him. 

I can hear the "Go Thrash, Go Thrash" in that high pitched yap as I type this.  "Give us a T"

Throw in a high leg kick or two and you've got the whole sorry picture.

Anyway... I think I've said enough.


----------



## Lela

arwink said:
			
		

> *
> - Dwarven Football games *




I don't think anything could scare me more than that.



			
				Yip said:
			
		

> *
> Let me conjur an image for you.  Picture a Yip, dressed in a little red pleated skirt which hangs midway down his thighs.  He's also got on a nice tight white top, tied up to expose the midriff (trim and taught).
> 
> He has two pom poms, one clutched in each paw.
> 
> He is Thrash's cheer squad.  Alas, none of the other Yip's would join him.
> 
> I can hear the "Go Thrash, Go Thrash" in that high pitched yap as I type this.  "Give us a T. . ."
> 
> Throw in a high leg kick or two and you've got the whole sorry picture.
> 
> Anyway... I think I've said enough. *




I don't know how I could have been so very, very wrong. . .


----------



## Khynal

Yip said:
			
		

> *Alas, none of the other Yip's would join him.
> *




I know I shouldn't encourage him, but ...

Do you realise Yip doesn't _need_ other Yips to form a cheer squad now? Thanks to the appearance of a character who can summon astral constructs?


----------



## Yip

OK, now I've got an image of three identical Yip's standing side by side looking at the ground with very expressionless faces.

As you approach, all three look up at once and speak in sychronisation "We are Yip, you WILL be assimilated".

Don't give me ideas Khynal.  You know it does not take much.

As you enter the dimly lit tunnels, you hear the rythmic beat of dozens of little paws hitting the earth in time... trump trump trump

Damn it, now I've got an image of them in little Storm Trooper outfits...  "This is not the Yip you are looking for..."


----------



## Mathew_Freeman

"You don't want to sell me Yips."

"I don't want to sell you Yips."

"You want to go home, and rethink your life."

"I want to go home and rethink my life."


----------



## Khynal

Yip said:
			
		

> *Damn it, now I've got an image of them in little Storm Trooper outfits...  "This is not the Yip you are looking for..." *




I could potentially do storm trooper outfits.


----------



## arwink

-sigh-

This was meant to be an update, but I'm in the process of moving house at the moment, and realised only after I sat down that the notes for the adventure are at the other house.  

I'm an idiot.

The rest of my week will be taken up by marking assignments and going to the local gaming con for the first time.  All going well, I'll try and update next week some time.


----------



## Mathew_Freeman

No worries, Arwink. Moving house is something that disrupts all forms of gaming.


----------



## Lela

arwink said:
			
		

> *-sigh-
> 
> This was meant to be an update, but I'm in the process of moving house at the moment, and realised only after I sat down that the notes for the adventure are at the other house.  *




_"Life is unfair . . ."_



			
				arwink said:
			
		

> *
> I'm an idiot.*




Aren't we all though?  At least sometimes?  And there are worse than us.  Remind me to post an e-mail about this very subject here later.



			
				arwink said:
			
		

> *
> The rest of my week will be taken up by marking assignments and going to the local gaming con for the first time.  All going well, I'll try and update next week some time. *




I see only "YAY!!!!!!!" in that sentence.  And much of it.


----------



## arwink

Yes, it's late, but I hope to make up for lateness with quantity   Moving, Marking and going to the Con took a lot more out of me than I thought.  Net access is a lot more haphazard at the moment as well.  I'm currently typing this up on my parents mac, which doesn't handle enworld well, so you'll have to excuse any wierdness in the posting until I get my hands on a real computer 

_Saturday, August 26th, 508 AF, continued_

Pruk's ears are itching, and that's never a good sign.  The young goblin stands guard over the four warriors Thimdrul has sent to collect the last human child.  All of them are wary of Pruk, glancing at the crossbow he keeps at his side.  

Pruk wonders if it was a good idea to bring the weapon on this mission, considering the status both the weapon and his accuracy gives him over his follow goblins.  Every time they've engaged an enemy, be he beast or human, Pruk has had difficultly reminding himself that he's meant to be ordinary, just another goblin serving Prince Akratt and his bulgy-headed advisor.  He's taken to shooting with his bad hand, but even then he's a better shot than any of his fellow soldiers with their clumsy javelins.  Still, sooner or later one of the stupid tall-folk from the town will find his messages and come to destroy the goblin threat, and then the crossbow will be handy.  He just has to remember to miss more often, before the Prince notices how good Pruk is with the weapon and names him Pruk his bodyguard over the bezerker Guzzum.

The itching in his ears gets worse, and Pruk suppresses a grin.  His ears always itch when he's being watched, and he takes it as a good sign.  Sprelt, Thimdrul's assistant, is suddenly at Pruks side, barking out orders to the warriors.  They kneel over and pick up one of the children, carrying him towards the sparse area of the cavern where Thimdrul waits with a hammer and a glowing sliver of crystal.  Pruk suppresses a shiver.  He hopes some heroes show up soon, before Thimdrul and the glowing crystal he found in the dragons cave get too powerful for the pink-skins to defeat.  Otherwise things bode ill for the future of Pruk's patron.

The itching gets worse as the child is laid out in front of Thimdrul, bad enough that Pruk needs to concentrate in order to avoid scratching them.  His keen eyes place everyone in the room.  Thimdrul and Sprelt looming over the child, about to drive the crystal sliver in.  Guzzum getting drunk near the corner of the cavern, his massive sword placed carelessly accross the top of the barrel.  Akratt is almost dancing from foot to foot, eager to see the result of his advisors experiment.  His crown almost bounces off his head, and Pruk can see the faint edges of concern weighing on Akratt - the realisation that Thimdrul may not be seeking power for the princes benefit.  Akratt is to weak or foolish to be done with the mind-bending advisor before he gains power, which is why Pruk is here.  Pruks master, the princes brother, wants him dead for the good of the tribe.  Pruk is inclined to agree.  He snorts quietly.  Wonders where the observers are hiding.

The attack comes fast enough that even Pruk is surprised.  Three weapons come flying through a solid stone wall, a javelin that drops one of the warriors, an arrow that catches the prince in the arm, and a crossbow bolt that bounces off the strange shield Thimdrul maintains by thought alone.  The goblins howl in anger, searching for intruders.  Pruk is the first to see them, laying against the lip of a tunnel ten feet up the wall of the cavern.  It's a sheer climb, hidden somehow until the humans attacked.  Pruk gives himself a few seconds before he reacts, makes sure that one of the warriors is the first to shout a warning.  When Pruk raises his crossbow, he's careful about placing the shot several feet wide of the tunnel mouth.

Akratt panics, which surprises no-one.  Sprelt sprints towards the wall of the cavern, uses his strange magic to climb upwards like a spider.  He gets halfway up before he's picked off by the dwarf's crossbow.  Thimdrul retreats, heading towards the dragons corpse to retrieve the glowing crystal he's fawned over since the goblins arrived.  Pruk contemplates shooting him now and saving the humans the trouble, but it's early yet.  There's to many ways this could turn agains the intruders, and then Pruk will need to be around to lure more heroes here to destroy Thimdrul and his magic.

Several more warriors die, and the return volley of javelins is hopelessly inept.  Pruk notes the cover the ledge gives the intruders, the sheer skill needed to pick them off from below.  He could manage it, but even then it would be a tricky shot.  One of the humans shoots at him.  Pruk returns fire, this time launching a bolt that is several feet wide of the mark.

Guzzum's roar cuts through the cavern as he lurches to his feet.  The big goblin hefts one of the ale barrels before he charges at the intrders.  It proves cover enough that a javelin and an arrow don't find thier mark, and the bezerker is almost whithin climbing distance.  For a moment, Pruk's almost impressed and wonders if he under-estimated the princes bodyguard. Then he realises that Guzzum carries no javelins, no missile weapons of any kind.  The enraged Guzzum launches the barrel towards the ledge, an upward throw of fifteen feet at least.  It falls short of that by ten feet at least, a puddle of ale pooling around the bodyguards feet as arrows and crossbow bolts pincussion his body.

More arrows come Pruk's way.  He can see the rest of the goblins retreating to the dragons corpse, gathering up more javelins as they take cover behind decaying limbs and wings.  Akratt is alive but wounded, Thimdrull carrying his glowing blue crystal by a child.  Gazzum and Sprelt are both dead.  Pruk realises that he's the closest target to the intruders, that if he makes a move then it needs to be now.  An arrow catches him in the shoulder, burries itself deep.  Pruk shoots again, this time purposely pointing his crossbow away from the tunnel.  It will look better if he gets captured, should the humans fail, but he tries to make it obvious that he's not shooting to kill.  It doesn't work.  The human in chainmail throws a javelin at him, while another fires a crossbow.  Pruk sighs, wonders how humans became so numerous when they're so stupid.  Getting captured isn't an option, so he turns and shoots at one of the fleeing goblin warriors.  He catches his target in the back, spins him around once before it falls.  Pruk catches sight of his face, knows the warrior as Gizzel.  Pruk grins with satisfaction.  Gizzel was annoying, and his breath stank of sour ale.  As his former comrades throw javelins his way, Pruk scramblines towards the wall and nimbly makes the climb to the humans ledge.

A hand is around his throat as he reaches the lip, lifting him high before slamming him into the dirt.  Pruk looks up into red-glazed eyes and spikey hair.
"What're you trying to do?" his attacker demands, using the clumsy language of the humands.  Pruk sights.
"Stupid Pink-skins," Pruk mutters in the same tongue.  "Don't know how to take a bodies help when it's offered to you."
The human blinks, shakes his head as though clearing it of the remnants of a dream.
"Ah, guys, the goblins talking to me," Spikey hair says. "And I think it's saying it wants to be friends."


----------



## Capellan

arwink said:
			
		

> *Sprelt sprints towards the wall of the cavern, uses his strange magic to climb upwards like a spider.  He gets halfway up before he's picked off by the spike-haired human.*




Actually, Halgo got 'im.  I remember being surprised that one bolt was all it took.  I guess Pruk missed his Spot check


----------



## arwink

Consider it edited.  Pruk does have a poor memory of events, what with dodging return fire and being, well, dead by now


----------



## Dungannon

I like the alternate POV.  Now, I remember you mentioning something about "quantity" arwink, so where's the next update???


----------



## arwink

Dungannon said:
			
		

> *I like the alternate POV.  Now, I remember you mentioning something about "quantity" arwink, so where's the next update???  *




Wednesday or Thursday some time.  I've already started writing it up, and by then I'll have the bulk of my marking and moving done.


----------



## Lela

A goblin's POV.  There's something new.  It always surprises me how you grow to like the protagonist (be he good or evil).  Somehow, whether you know him or not, you just want him to win.  And after you start to know him, the wanting him to win doesn't stop--even if he is evil to the core.  It just seems like he's _your_ protagonist and, as such, must win.  We identify with him.  Assuming he's written well (and this is all based on that), you feel that he is destened to win.  And you just want him to.  Even if it means the end of the world.

You've created one of those protagonists arwink.  And, though the POV is likely to change soon, for a brief moment, a cannon fodder goblin glowed with the radience of a PC.  Amazing.


----------



## Khynal

arwink said:
			
		

> *Consider it edited.  Pruk does have a poor memory of events, what with dodging return fire and being, well, dead by now  *




Yes, knowing this group, I can't imagine things going well for the goblin.


----------



## arwink

_Saturday, August 26th, 508 AF, continued _

Pruk feels himself being dragged down a ramp, the human's grip getting tight around his throat.  The spikey-haired human's face swims into his field of vision, quickly followed by a dwarf and a helmed human.
"What do you mean, friends?" the dwarven face demands. 
"Me...Pruk," the goblin wheezes through Thrash's grip.  "Laid...signs...to lead...humans...here."
"Why?"
"Humans...kill...Prince...then...Pruk...leave."

"Goblin politics," the dwarf spits.  "That's not friendship, that's mercenary self interest."

Pruk's eyes bulge slightly and his tongue lolls to one side.  It's part ruse, part reality, but he can see the spikey haired human looking at the others on the edge of his failing vision.  Stars are dancing back and forth in front of the image.  

"Let him go," a commanding voice says wearily, and suddenly air leaps into Pruk's starving lungs.

"Stupid humans," he chokes.  He heaves in large gulps of air, tries to struggle to his feat.

"What was this you were saying about signs?" Helmet-head asks.
"Pruk leaves signs," Pruk says.  "Lots of them.  In forest, in fields, wherever we steal human's stock.  Pruk wanted humans to find the Prince.  Kill him, kill advisor.  Pruk go away, keep goblin tribe from hurting human town.  If advisor live, he kill prince.  Use blue stone to create monsters and drive humans and goblins away."

"Did we see any signs in the forest?" Helmet-head asks quietly.  It's as though he doesn't expect Pruk to hear, but the goblin has always had keen hearing.
"I don't remember any," the dwarf sayssays.  He scratches at his goatee while he thinks, trying to remember.  Pruk wonders if it's really a dwarf instead of some oversized gnome, but he can't be sure.  "I'm fairly sure we just stomped through and made our way here."

"So the goblin could be lying?"
"Sure," the Dwarf says.  "Although if he's willing to help us kill his prince, it may be worth letting him live.  There's a lot of them, and only three of us."

"You had surprise, cover," Pruk comments quietly.  "Goblins not know tunnel was here.  Go back, and they have dragon corpse, more spears.  They launch waves, soften you up even if you charge.  Prince no longer have bodyguard, but he has advisor.  Still dangerous.  Three against tribe not enough."

"He's got a point," the helmet head says.  "He can't hit with that crossbow, but if nothing else he's another target they can choose to throw a spear at.  One less heading towards me is a good thing, I think."

The Dwarf and the spikey-haired human agree, and the dwarf leans in to glare at Pruk's face.

"Tell us about the other goblins," it demands.  "Tell us what they can do, who to take out first."

Pruk creeps up to the lip of the ramp, spends a few minutes scanning the goblins hiding in the distance and the corpses scattered along the ground.

"Prince still lives," he reports.  "So does mind-witch.  Prince a coward, but Thimdrul dangerous.  More dangerous since we come here, find blue crystal.  Others are warriors - frightened, not well trained.  Only able to follow weak leader like Prince instead of strong leader like mine."

He eyes the assembled adventurers, taking in their weapons and armor.
"Pruk think you can beat them, with Pruk's help."

A rope is secured at the top of the ramp, and everyone slinks down as quietly as they can.  With cautioun in their steps, the group creeps along one wall towards the wide tunnel that seperates the first hall from the one that hides the goblins and the dragon's corpse.  Everyone leans against the wall, breathing as lightly as they dare while listening for the sound of movement on the other side.  There are muffled clanks, whispered commands, but little else.  Pruk swallows lightly.  This isn't his kind of fight.  The odds aren't in his favor, and there's no element of surprise.  Everyone feels their nervousness rising, knowing that this fight will come down to raw power against numbers.  He reminds himself that it's his princes will, that he does this for the good of his people.  If worst comes to worst, he can run and kill the humans later.  After they've taken care of his tribe.

"Ready," the spikey haired human whispers.  Everyone nods.

"NOW."


----------



## Lela

I have to admit, this is a twist I wasn't expecting.

Way to bring the goblins alive (though not for long).  It's this kind of thing which gives character to a campaign.  Hope you'll be giving us more updates.  And soon.


----------



## arwink

_Saturday, August 26th, 508 AF, continued _ 

Three adventurers and a goblin leap from their hiding place, weapons at the ready.   Pruk and Halgo go to work with crossbows, the small goblin's accuracy frightening now he's shooting to kill.  Thrash aim with his magically enhanced bow is almost as good, and he takes out two goblins in the space of a few breaths.  

They are met almost instantly by a hail of javelins.  The goblin warriors are poor shots, but they cause more than a few nicks and cuts through sheer persistance. Geoffrey does his best to ward the wounded with his shield, but for a twenty-count the air is filled with the sound of missile fire.

Then there's a lull, a two second absence of noise that seems to catch everyone off guard.  The adventurers stand poised, arrows and bolts aimed, as they realise what the silence means - the goblins have run out of javelins and are drawing short blades before charging.

A final barrage of missile fire is let loose just as the goblins start to charge, most of the shots going wide.  Geoffrey and Thrash are quick to draw weapons, laying in to their smaller opponents with morning star and heavy flail.  Pruk and Halgo attempt to hang back, relying on their missile weapons, but the rush of goblins is quick to surround the front line and charge them down.  Even the goblin prince, reluctant as he may be, has a weapon drawn as he scurries accross the uneven stone floor.

"Where's the Psion?" Halgo demands over the roar of the goblins.  In the back of his mind, he knows the bulgy-headed Thimdrul is the most dangerous adversary.  If he has even half the power Pruk seems to attribute to him, the psion is a force to be reckoned with alone.  His companions don't answer, hard pressed by the small squadron that surrounds them.  

The answer comes when a blue flare of light suddenly spills accross the chamber.  Thimdrul is standing at the open mouth of the decaying dragon corpse, a chunk of crystal the size of a childs head held aloft.  The crystal glows, it's radiance throbbing, and Halgo feels the faint clench of magic closing around him.  His limbs start to stiffen, his movements slightly jerky, before adrenaline and natural dwarven stubbornness reassert themselves to throw off the effects.

Three of the goblin warriors are dead by the time the first of the four falls.  Pruk dies under the blows of his kin, falling to the ground with a weary mutter of "stupid...humans..." before darkness takes him.  Geoffrey and Thrash are fighting four or five opponents at a timeincluding the foppish prince, while two or three of their fellows harrass Halgo.  With the numbers agains them there is little to do but parry and dodgy, biding their time until a goblin lets its guard down enough to allow a strike.  The blows they do make are rarely strong enough to down a foe, but they gradually whittle away at the attackers despite the cuts they take in return.  

Through it all Thimdrul watches, the crystal in his hand pulsing with power.  All three of the adventurers feel the crushing numbness as the fight progresses, the subtle pull of a paralyzing magic that would mean death to anyone who succums.  For the space of almost a minute they resist, whittling away at the goblin warriors.  

There are only six foes left, five of the original warriors and the prince, when Thrash's will gives out and he freezes in place.  The young warrior can only stare with blank terror as the prince's dagger finds his heart.  Blood fountains accross the floor of the cavern as the ranger collapses, his flail clattering to the floor.  One of the goblins lets out a small cheer.

Halgo and Geoffrey barely hesitate, both starting to fall back even before Geoffrey yells out the order.  Geoffrey is badly wounded, blood seeping out of small rents and tears in his armor.  Halgo has suffered only minor cuts, but it's almost more than his scholarly lifestyle has prepared him for.  They run, as best they can, to the rope.  As Halgo climbs, Geoffrey hammers the rusting lock holding the children prisoner.  Even though he can hear the cries of the goblins in the distance, they don't seem to have followed.  

The cleric helps the three children make the climb, then struggles up the rope as best he can in his armor.  Halgo is laying flat on the ledge, crossbow ready as he scans for approaching goblins.  They wait, breathless, for the space of two minutes before they breath a sigh of relief.


----------



## arwink

I'm doing some compression and taking some creative liscence with these fight scenes, both because I want to get to some of the later stuff that happens and because it was a good time ago and I don't have terribly detailed notes of the specifics.  The above is enough that you get some idea of the fight, even if you don't get the details.  From memory Halgo was low on spells by that point, so it really was just a swords out, back against the wall kind of fight that didn't go well for either side.

_Meanwhile..._ 

Yip shifted the heavy pack on his shoulders, sighing softly at the inconvinience of the design.  For some reason, humans didn't think to include certain elements of the kobold body when they designed such things, and the pack was to large for his small frame and irritated his tail as he walked.

It was the better part of a three day journey to Bellhold, and Yip had done it in two.  He'd had little sleep, but The High Priestess had said his delivery was important and time was of the essence.  This alone should have been enough, but Yip felt a small pang of guilt when he considered the real reason he hurried was the news that another Yip was assigned to the Cleric, Geoffrey, he was searching for.  It had been months since he had last seen another of his bretheren, and he longed for the familiar companionship of his own kind.  

And yet, when he compared the feeling of companionship to the idea Abigail had introduced to him, the strange human notion of friendship, it almost seemed secondary.  There was something about the small human girl, something seemingly innocent and uncaring, that drew the small kobold to her.  He would die to protect his bretheren and the church because it was duty, but he would die to protect Abigail for something else.  Something he wasn't sure he could identify, but probably had something to do with the mysterious practice she called "hugging."

He wondered why the order had sent him out into the world, all alone.  They said it was going to happen to all Yips, but he seemed to be first.  Perhaps it was the fact he learned to quickly from the thieves he hunted, becoming almost as skilled in the arts of hiding and sneaking as they were.  Perhaps it was that uncanny knack he'd always had of finding the weak spot in someone's defences, always hitting them hard and fast where it would hert the most.  It was useful, to be sure, and had saved many of his bretheren's lives in the seweres, but it always made the others nervous.

Yip shrugged.  It was probably best not to think about it.  There was much in the outside world he didn't understand, but he would learn.  He snuck a small strip of jerky out of a pocket in his robe and started chewing on it.  He made a small chirp of pleasure as he savored the salty flavor, so far removed from the nuts and berries his bretheren had favored during training.

The outside world wasn't all bad, not at all.

Yip's weren't really permited to be cheerful in their duty, it tended to look to frightening to the unknowing observer, but Yip's gait was dangerously close to jaunty as he came withing sight of Bellhold.  He grinned to himself around a mouthful of jerky, paused for a moment to savor the site of a new town.  There was a blue flash on the corner of his vision, somewhere up on the mountain that bordered the town, but when he looked for it again it was gone.  

"Oh well," Yip thought.  "Probably just some strange human thing."
He set off down the road, heading cross country so he could sneak around the town and approach the temple of St Cuthbert on the far side without alarming the townsfolk.  He ran through the list of people he was to find once more, repeating their names aloud.  
"Geoffrey Cromwell, Halgo Torke, Blarth and Yip."
He had something for each of them, and it was imperative he get it to them.


----------



## Lela

Wow, ask and recieve, you know.  Works.

Blast it arwink, you and your group do far too good a job giving life to those fodder races.  The thinking it causes is, well, thinking.  And that can't be good.

But I think I'm going to try that again:



			
				Lela said:
			
		

> * Hope you'll be giving us more updates.  And soon. *


----------



## Khynal

A little girl named Abigail, huh? Who knew this Yip was such a softie? He tries so hard to seem tough, so we'll take him seriously...


----------



## arwink

Lela said:
			
		

> *Wow, ask and recieve, you know.  Works.
> 
> But I think I'm going to try that again:
> *




I'm meant to fall for that ploy twice?

Well, okay...

time is going to be a bit screwy for the next couple of posts, but assume they all even up eventually 

_Slightly Later..._ 

Blarth rests on a basic cot, occasionally testing the fresh skin that has grown over his slime-burned legs.  The local acolytes had to use a scroll to heal the wound, but it seems to have done the trick.  Even so, the young priests of St Cuthbert are demanding he stay in bed.  Every time he struggles out of the cot, they convince him to return by assuring him that Thrash is more than adequately equiped to deal with any fighting his companions may discover.  

Blarth isn't sure the acolytes understand his desire to assult the mountain once more correctly, but they seem very intense and under a lot of stress with Bellhold's problems, so he doens't make waves.  Geoffrey and Halgo are both a little puny, and they'll probably leave him all sorts of good things to kill in the name of Drakkar and St Cuthbert when he goes back tomorrow.

The better part of the afternoon is spent resting in bed, occasionally practicing his dagger throwing or listening to random comments the others make through his earing.  

Just after dinner, there's a knock on the door.  Blarth is halfway out of bed when the door swings open and a young cleric enters.
"Back under the covers," the acolyte demands.  "Now."
Blarth scowls, but obeys.
"That's better," the acolyte says.  "THere's a visitor for you, from Hommlet.  He comes with news."

A small kobold enters, dressed in the deep blue robes of a Yip Monk.  For a moment Blarth's heart leaps, thinking his comrade may have been returned to life, but he quickly notes the subtle differences in appearance - different shades to the scales, a smoother gait, and a different tone to the way this Yip carries his tail.

"You Blarth?" Yip asks respectfuly.
"Yeah, me Blarth," Blarth says.  The Yip bows slightly, then rummages around in his oversized pack.
"This arrived at the temple for you, sent through from big temple in Petrev," Yip explains, handing over a small parcel.  "They say it come from your master.  Man who trained you.  They gifts after he died."

Blarth pauses for a moment before taking the package.  His master is nearly a year dead, but imperial law has taken this long to process his estate.  There is a faint tinge of sadness to the half-orcs features as he opens the package.

Inside is a dorje of gleaming green crystal, as well as a trio of potions and a longsword forged by a master smith.  

"Thanks," Blarth says.  He tries hard to keep emotion from entering into his voice.

"Is Yip's duty," Yip says.  "Have other packages, for Halgo-Torke and Geoffrey-Cromwell.  Yip find them here?"
"Up the mountain," Blarth explains.  "I'll take you to find them later."
"Yip rest here?  Cannoness say Yip serve here now, work for Goeffrey-Cromwell and Blarth."
Blarth points to the spare cot accross the room from his own, barely paying attention to the kobold as he probes the dorje to determine it's powers.

_Meanwhile, up the mountain..._ 

"Do we go after them?" Halgo whispers, scanning over the edge of the ramp.  "I know we'd killed over half their number, and they're not coming after us."
"Are you ready to go back down there?" Geoffrey asks.  He has a short row of javelins at the ready.
"Not particularly, but it doesn't sound like they're still there," Halgo comments.  "There was all that noise an hour ago, but now it's quiet."
"Luring us into an ambush."
"Or they've fled.  Goblins aren't that brave, and a lot of them are dead."
"You got anything more dangerous than that crossbow in your head at the moment?" Geoffrey asks.  Halgo shakes his head, glancing down at the weapon in his hand.
"Then unless you suddenly learn to shoot a little straighter, I figure we give them a little longer before we go chasing.  We've got the training and the height advantage.  We can wait."

Neither of them talks for a short space of time, their ears focused on any noise coming from the caverns below them.  On the bottom of the ramp, the three children are hudled together.  Two fo them are crying softly, still shaking from their ordeal.  The third is scowling at the two adventureres, his arms protectively placed over his companions.

"I don't think that kid likes us," Halgo comments eventually.
"Why not?" Geoffrey says.  "Didn't we just save him?"
"Maybe he liked learning goblin?"
"Maybe he has a splinter in his head, like those horses."
"Possibly," Halgo admits.  "Only one way to be sure though, and I don't think we want to take that option."
"You hear anything down there?"
"Not yet."
"You really think they're gone?"
"I'd say so.  Goblins are sneaky, but they'd be hard pressed to be this quiet.  Especially if they think they've got the advantage.  Why?"

Geoffrey stands and draws a dagger from his belt. 

"Come hold the kid down.  If bulgy-head's can control minds with those things, we can't afford to leave it in there."
"You'll kill him." 
"Relax," Geoffrey says cheerfully.  "I've had plenty of experience, and those horses were good practice."


----------



## Khynal

A very cold, very practical, very Lawful Neutral thing to do.

And very well conveyed in the text.


----------



## arwink

_Back in town..._ 

Sleep is hard to come by in Bellhold, and Blarth is far from happy at whoever is shining light in his eyes.  He was sleeping, he was sure.  Not peaceful sleep, with the nightmares of helplessness, but sleep none the less.  He doesn't particularly want to wake up.

Then he feels small paws on his arm, shaking him awake.

"What?" Blarth mumbles, opening his eyes to stare blearily around the room.  Yip is already dressed, nervously glancing at a blue light shinning through the window.

"Yip think something wrong," the kobold hisses.  "Best get ready."

Blarth nods, starting the slow process of getting into his armor.  Yip helps, but it still takes longer than either of them are happy with.  As the half-orc starts readying his weapons and gathering supplies - weapons, food, the mirror Halgo keeps reminding him of through the earring.  Yip takes watch at the window.

"What's happening out there," Blarth asks.
"People walking," Yip says softly.  "Look like they still asleep.  Eyes glowing blue."

"There eyes are what?" Blarth asks.  He's halfway to the window to look for himself when there's a knock on the door.

"Whose there?" Blarth asks.
The voice of the two acolytes who treated him come through the door, speaking in perfect unison.
"You must leave," the chant.  "You no longer belong.  We cannot feel you in our minds."
"Blarth isn't here," Blarth yells back.  "Come back later."

He looks at Yip.  The kobold shrugs, then goes back to looking out the window.  THe acolytes on the other side fall silent for a few moments, before the two voice scream in unison.

"You no longer belong here.  You leave, or you die."

Thy start hammering at the door, a furious assult that shakes the thin wood on its hinges.  Blarth doesn't pause once the noise starts, he runs to the window and jumps out with Yip hot on his heels.

Townsfolk are spread wide around the street, all of them staring blankly with an azure fire in their eyes.

"This town is mine now," the scream in unison.  "You will leave or you will die."

Then they move forward, a perfectly precise swarm of human bodies flying at the two humanoids.  For all their precoision, they are slow - still moving as though they were sleep walkers.  It's enough.  Both adventurers find the unity of speach unnerving.

"Leave now?" Yis asks.  Blarth just nods and sets off at a run.  They dodge slow moving bodies, Blarth occasionally using his body as a battering ram for his smaller companion, and flee towards the woods.

_Up the mountain_

"Is he still breathing?" Halgo asks, his voice tinged with sarcasm.
"A little," Geoffrey says.  "It's shallow, but it's there."
"Have you stopped the blood coming out of the gaping knife wound in his forehead?"
"Yes."
"Were there any little slivers of crystal there?"
"No."  Geoffrey pauses, contemplating the child laying at his feet a small pool of blood. "But there could have been.  I might have missed it."
"But we wont be checking again, will we?" Halgo says.  "Not while the child is still so weak after your examination."
"I can heal him in the morning," Geoffrey says defencively.  "It's not like he's going to die.  And at least we know the goblins are gone."
"How so?"
"If they didn't come to investigate all that screaming, they're stronger than I'm willing to give them credit for."

Halgo's face looks slightly pale, and he blanches slightly at his friends reasoning.

"I think we're going to need help to get out of here," the dwarf says.  "Blarth, come back to the mountain."
"How's he going to get up here?"
"We'll give him directions. 'Blarth, we'll tell you how to find us.  Blarth, to begin, make sure you bring a mirror."
"Haven't we told him that already?"
"It's Blarth," Halgo explains, then stops and counts to five under his breath.  "Do you really think he's going to remember on his own?"


----------



## Capellan

arwink said:
			
		

> Halgo's face looks slightly pale, and he blanches slightly at his *friends* reasoning.




You're using that term very loosely, these days


----------



## Lela

Okay, that was disgusting.  A very, much as I want to say evil, neutral act.  What about the other two kids?  How, exactly, did they react?


----------



## Khynal

No doubt they were helping out with the screaming.


----------



## arwink

Lela said:
			
		

> *Okay, that was disgusting.  A very, much as I want to say evil, neutral act.  What about the other two kids?  How, exactly, did they react? *




I went for Neutral.  Given the circumstances, Geoffrey had some very good reasons for wanting to perform surgery, and he did take steps to avoid killing the boy.

As for the reaction of the other children, and whether the clerics actions were justified...well, that's in an upcoming post


----------



## Lela

Which, I assume, we'll be seeing soon.  Please. . .


Pritty Please with Suger on Top?


----------



## arwink

It should be pretty soon.

I just went and had a meeting with my new supervisor, and completely re-organised the topic of my PhD thesis.  I now get to spend the next two years looking at Narrative and the various ways it relates to DnD gamers.

End result - writing my storyhours is now a source of research and study, rather than something I feel guilty about doing when I should be researching and studying 

There's pretty good odds there will be a celebratory update tonight some time.


----------



## Lela

arwink said:
			
		

> *It should be pretty soon.
> 
> I just went and had a meeting with my new supervisor, and completely re-organised the topic of my PhD thesis.  I now get to spend the next two years looking at Narrative and the various ways it relates to DnD gamers.
> 
> End result - writing my storyhours is now a source of research and study, rather than something I feel guilty about doing when I should be researching and studying
> 
> *




How the monkey did you manage _that_?!?  You're my hero arwink.

So, will you be interviewing other Story Hour authors?  What about those who don't write Story Hours and those who tried but didn't continue?  Doesn't this mean playing is now research too?

I feel young and childish saying this but who cares:

_*NOT FAIR!!!*_


I'll go back to thinking about my Biology Lab now.


----------



## arwink

Lela said:
			
		

> *How the monkey did you manage that?!?  You're my hero arwink.*




I'm doing a PhD in writing.  Very few people have looked at the way gamers write, so it was a relatively easy thing to push 

*



			So, will you be interviewing other Story Hour authors?  What about those who don't write Story Hours and those who tried but didn't continue?  Doesn't this mean playing is now research too?
		
Click to expand...


*
Well, storyhours and games as research and tax-deductable gaming stuff are the upsides of the new topic.  The downsides is that I just signed up for a very tight research schedule because I should have made this decision about my project a year ago.  

I'm still not entirely sure how I'm going about things just yet, because the decision by the heads of my department to let me change was only made a few hours ago.  I have a supervisors meeting on Thursday to nail down some research options, which probably will include interviewing various gamers and spending lots of quality time reading the boards.


----------



## Capellan

arwink said:
			
		

> Well, storyhours and games as research and tax-deductable gaming stuff are the upsides of the new topic.  The downsides is that I just signed up for a very tight research schedule because I should have made this decision about my project a year ago.




Since it wouldn't do to leave a gaming buddy in the lurch, I hereby volunteer to game with you as much as humanly possible over the rest of your research period.

Aren't I a good friend?


----------



## Lela

I, too, am willing to help.  And, though I can't come to Austrailia any time soon, a PBeM game would add a different perspective to the research.  Should that be a road you choose to take, I hereby offer my humble services.  

And, as a side note, this actually sounds like a Thesis I'd consider reading.


----------



## Mantreus

I too feel that I should offer my services in the pursuit of knowledge!

Can't let Capellan take all the "friend points" 

ps - Arwink, I hate you...


----------



## arwink

Mantreus said:
			
		

> *Can't let Capellan take all the "friend points"
> 
> ps - Arwink, I hate you... *




If it makes you feel better, I'll try and say this with a straight face:  

"It's really not going to be as much fun as it sounds.  I'll be spending more time researching contemporary lit theory than I will spend playing, or even reading, game books.  If anything, I'll probably end up running fewer games than running more, due to the short time frame I've got to do the research and get the thesis drafted."

That being said, there is a destinct possibility that I'll be running an electronic game in some form once I've nailed down exactly what I'm going to look at.  It's more likely that I'll spend some quality time down on the Play by Post boards and asking people to fill in questionaires about their gaming habits.

After my meeting on Thursday, I'll be putting a bunch of info regarding what I'm looking at up on my site.  People interested in keeping track of proceedings can check up on the exact themes and topics then.


----------



## arwink

_Saturday, August 26th, 508 AF, continued _ 

Blarth stands at the base of the ramp, one of the children clinging to his legs.  The other is hiding behind Yip, although she seems a little bewildered by all four of her rescuers.

"What wrong with them?" Blarth asks, gesturing down. Halgo just shakes his head and points at the still form of the third child, the bloodstained bandage still wrapped around its head.

"Goblin hit boy?" Blarth asks, confused.
"Geoffrey thought he might be possesed," Halgo explains.  "He did a little exploring with his dagger."
"Geoffrey find crystal?" Blarth asks.  Halgo shakes his head.

"Blarth think we need plan," the half-orc says.  "Town going crazy."

Yip is left to calm the two children while the three taller adventurers trade information.  Stories of goblin battles and glowing eyed priests are exchanged, and a brief exploration of the front portion of the goblins cave is made.  There is little more to see, just a series of ledges that can be used to repel assult from below, and a splendid vista of the town and the surrounding mountains that is only mared by the blue flare of light from the town centre.

"I think," Geoffrey comments, "that everyone's going to die a few days earlier than Utrish predicted."

The decision is made to camp.  Both Blarth and Yip are exhausted after fleeing the town, and both Geoffrey and Halgo are wounded after their fight.  A crude campsite is set up at the foot of the ramp, and that food that looks edible is liberated from the goblin camp.  

Throughout it all, the only topic of conversation remains what happens next.  They have some new resources, gifts to Geoffrey and Halgo from their mentors including potions of strength, healing, and a wand that allows Halgo to cast shocking grasp when opponents close in for melee combat.  They also have a new Yip, who proves adept at keeping children quiet if nothing else.

"I think we're going to have to get back to town" Geoffrey says eventually.  "The child is going to need more medical attention than I can provide, and it's probably not all that long before the glowing blue goblin takes over the world or sucks Bellhold into a plane of hell.  I think we're looking at a quick infiltration and elimination mission."

Halgo takes a moment to consider Geoffrey's armor and Blarth's oversized blade before restraining his guffaw of laughter.
"What?" Geoffrey demands.
"First we have to get down that ramp," he reminds Geoffrey.  "With three children, one comatose, and a dead body."
"We leave Thrash here," Geoffrey says bluntly.  "We're probably going to need the time, and we can come back for him later when the towns safe."
The others frown at this, but it's hard to argue with the clerics logic.  

The morning is a grim affair, breifly punctuated by the sound of Geoffrey's prayers to St Cuthbert as he heals his wounds, Halgo's and the cut on the childs head.  The boy wakes up, but still moves as though half asleep and week.

"He's still sick," Halgo comments sarcastically.  Geoffrey glares at him.
"He shouldn't be," the cleric says as he inspects the result of his curing spell.  "All the damage from the knife is gone.  Whatever's affecting him, it isn't my fault."
"So what do we do?"
"Town.  No other choice, really.  It's beyond my ability to heal, and those townsfolk are still in a lot of trouble.  I think it's time we moved out."

With a sigh, everyone gathers together their belongings and prepare for the climb down the slick spiral.

The trip down proves almost as difficult as the climb up, although the presence of the sure-footed Yip is calming to everyone.  The small kobold slides easily over the slick stone, his tail and scaled feet giving him a better balance and purchase.  He moves quickly, often serving as a steadying arm or encouraging presence when he's needed most.  In the space of a few hours, they have everyone safely gathered at the base of the ramp to contemplate the waterfall.

"How are we getting children through that?" Halgo asks.  Geoffrey doesn't answer, just looks at it in frustration.  
"Blarth and I will have to carry them down," he says eventually.  "The only other way is to jump through and hope they can swim, and they're probably too weak for that."

"I'll head down first," Halgo says eagerly.  "I can make sure there's no-one waiting."
There's something eager in the dwarfs voice, and Geoffrey remembers the spell Valea had cast on him with her voice.
"No, Yip first," Geoffrey orders.  "Then I'll go .  We need someone who can swim if anyone falls of the rope, and Yip's the only person we've got who won't be hampered by dropping his equipment through."

Time is taken to remove Geoffrey's armor, placing it into a sack so it can be lowered down once both cleric and the child clinging to his neck are safe.  Yip shimmy's down the rope, his small frame battered and beaten by the rushing water but otherwise fine.  Geoffrey is close behind, and he emerges the rushing water just in time to hear Valea hissing at the small kobold.

"You attempt to leave.  Leave without keeping your word.  You seek to leave me trapped here, bound forever."

"The dragons dead," Geoffrey says calmly.  He places the child on the ground and motions for her to back away.  She does so without hesitation.

"If he's dead, why can't I leave?" Valea wails.  "Why am I still trapped?"
"We don't know," Geoffrey says.  He's keeping his voice even, trying to defuse the dangerously angry creature.  Valea's sharp teeth are bared.  "We'll find out.  You have my word."

"No," Valea snarls.  The sound is dangreous enough that Yip leans forward slightly, his tail balancing him as he drops into a defensive stance.  

"If you cannot free me, my only use for you is as meat..."

Geoffrey swears, swinging his mace into position as Valea lurches forward with a dagger, two giant rats appearing on her heels.


----------



## Lela

It's as I've always said.  Never make a woman mad.  It's going to hurt if you do.

And

No matter what you do, a woman's always going to get mad.


----------



## Capellan

arwink said:
			
		

> Halgo's oversized weapon




Should you really be talking about that in a family-friendly forum? 

More seriously, I think you mean someone else ... Thrash or Blarth, probably ... since Halgo only carries a club.


----------



## Khynal

arwink said:
			
		

> *
> 
> "It's really not going to be as much fun as it sounds.  *




No one believes you.


----------



## arwink

Capellan said:
			
		

> *
> More seriously, I think you mean someone else ... Thrash or Blarth, probably ... since Halgo only carries a club. *




My mistake.  It was Blarth, who was the other person that exhibited problems with slick floors and downward slopes.

My brain wasn't working terribly well at 2 AM when I wrote that.


----------



## Lela

arwink said:
			
		

> *
> 
> My mistake.  It was Blarth, who was the other person that exhibited problems with slick floors and downward slopes.
> 
> My brain wasn't working terribly well at 2 AM when I wrote that. *




Just out of curiosity, is it working well now, when you're obviously planning to write more?


----------



## arwink

Lela said:
			
		

> *
> 
> Just out of curiosity, is it working well now, when you're obviously planning to write more?  *




No, not considerably.  For some reason, SH's are always the writing I do when I'm at my most braindead, because I don't have to make decisions about what happens next 

A short update, 'cause I've got an early start in the morning.  Friday I'll try to do something longer though.

_Saturday, August 26th, 508 AF, continued _ 

Halgo hears the sounds of combat below, the screaming of Geoffrey and Yip as they're engaged by some form of enemy.  He glances at Blarth, who'se quickly fumbling with his weapon and trying to push the children back from the ledge, then reaches for the rope.

The climb is more difficult going down than it was coming up.  Halgo concentrates as best he can on keeping his hands on the rope, but his mind is already rushing forward to the combat going on below.  His gut tells him that Valea is involved, and the cold feeling of dread he feels as this occurs to him makes him fumble at the rope.  Within the space of a few breaths he's pushed down by the waterfall, tumbling through the rushing water until he hits the pool below.  For a moment he gets a glimps of the fight, the image of Valea and Geoffrey locked in hand to hand while Yip holds off two giant rats holding firm in his mind as he plunges into the depths of the pool, air scorching in his lungs.

It's then that Halgo realises he can't swim, and panic more powerful than any other emotion fills his body.  He tries to struggle towards the surface, but his limbs aren't strong enough to carry him against the thundering force of the waterfall.  He struggle vainly under the water as the current pulls him further from the shore.

Yip is the first to notice the dwarf floating away, although he spares nothing more than a glance as he tries to kick one of the rats back into the water. 
"Halgo drown," he yells out, then turns his attention back to the two creatures snapping at him with yellowed teeth and slick fur.  The rats are almost as large as the kobold, over two feet long and thick as a small log.  Certainly they are stronger, and the kobold has trouble keeping them at bay.  He lands a few telling blow, but Yip is quickly covered in a dozen nips and bites for his trouble.

Geoffrey and Velea both look towards the water at the kobolds cry.  Both have wounded the other, geoffrey baring a short cut on his chest while the fey's arm has been bloodied by his morning star.  Geoffrey curses harshly when he spots the floating dwarf, then curses again when Valea neatly slips out of his reach and dives towards the water.  There is a flash of sharp teeth in her smile, and Geoffrey knows he has little chance of reaching the dwarf before she does.  With few other options available to him, he hammers his morning star into one of the rats fighting Yip.  Able to focus his skills on one opponent, Yip quickly batters it into stillness.

They rush towards the edge of the pool, eyes scanning the depths of the water.  Yip is the first to spot Halgo, struggling against Valeas embrace, and even towards towards the water with the intent of trying to aid his new companion.  Geoffrey holds the kobold back - the water is Valea's domain and it gives her to many advantages over land-walking his companions.  He loads his crossbow in case Halgo somehow manages to drag the water-fey to the surface, then offers a short prayer to St Cuthbert in the hopes of some form of salvation.

It comes in the form of Blarth, crashing through the waterfall and splashing into the pool at it's base with a breastplate still strapped to him and a longsword in hand.  Like Halgo before him, Blarth is dragged along by the current.  Unlike Halgo, he bobs to the surface as though he were a log of wood, flotsam gently rising and falling with the ripples of the water.

"What the?" Geoffrey says, confused.  
"Rope," Blarth yells.  "Blarth can't swim.  Only float."
Geoffrey just nods mutely as Yip throws a line of rope towards the half-orc.  Blarth catches it, then looks out accross the water.  His eyes narrow when he sees Halgo and Valeas's struggle, and within seconds Halgo bobs to the surface with an angry fey still struggling with his body.  Geoffrey grins in cold satisfaction, leveling his crossbow and firing.  Valea gasps once as the metal tip of the crossbow digs into her flesh, then slowly sinks below the surface of the pool.

Halgo gasps at the air greedily as Halgo paddles over, rope still clenched in one fist.  Within seconds, Yip is pulling them to the sure.

"What in hell happened there?" Geoffrey asks.
"Blarth make things float," Blarth says simply.  "One of the things he taught to do with his mind.  It nothing.  Easy."
Geoffrey stares at Blarth, flabbergasted and trying not to think about his suit of armor sitting uselessly on the upper ledge of the waterfall.
"You can make things float," he says evenly.  "It's easy.  And you didn't think to mention this before now?"
"Sorry," Blarth says.  "Blarth not think it important until now."


----------



## Lela

arwink said:
			
		

> *
> 
> No, not considerably.  For some reason, SH's are always the writing I do when I'm at my most braindead, because I don't have to make decisions about what happens next
> 
> *




Interesting.  I wonder if other's feel/act the same.



			
				arwink said:
			
		

> *
> "What in hell happened there?" Geoffrey asks.
> "Blarth make things float," Blarth says simply.  "One of the things he taught to do with his mind.  It nothing.  Easy."
> Geoffrey stares at Blarth, flabbergasted and trying not to think about his suit of armor sitting uselessly on the upper ledge of the waterfall.
> "You can make things float," he says evenly.  "It's easy.  And you didn't think to mention this before now?"
> "Sorry," Blarth says.  "Blarth not think it important until now." *




I always forget that Blarth isn't a BBN. . .


----------



## arwink

Lela said:
			
		

> *
> I always forget that Blarth isn't a BBN. . . *




So do we, much of the time


----------



## arwink

_Saturday, August 26th, 508 AF, continued _ 

"Get back up the rope," Geoffrey orders.  "We need to start bringing those kids down, and if you can do this floating option then you're the best chocie for the job."

Blarth nods, then starts hauling himself up through the waterfall hand over hand.  When he reaches the ledge at the top, he sees two of the children huddled as close to the wall is possible.  The third is sitting on the edge, shivering, and Blarth recognises it as the child Geoffrey wounded.

"What wrong?" Blarth asks.
"I'm cold," the child says meekly.  "and I'm scared.  I don't want to stay here anymore."
"That okay," Blarth says as assuring as he can, pulling himself onto the ledge.  "Blarth will get you out.  What you're name?"  
"Dorik."
"Well Dorik, Blarth carry you down first.  Get you warm fast, yeah?"
Dorik offers Blarth a small smile, the reaches forward for a hug.  Blarth blinks a few times at the offer, the gesture not something he's used to, then bends down to return the childs embrace.

To late, he notices Dorik's eyes glowing blue.  Energy seems to seep out of Blarth's skin and into the child, leaving him disoriented and weak.  He staggers to one side, barely conscious as his head swims with dizziness and fuzzy vision.  With as much effort as he dare expend, Blarth attempts to clout the child.  It catches Dorik on the side of the head, knocking both of them through the waterfall.

On the bottom, Halgo is the first to notice Half-orc and human child hitting the water.
"He's fallen," Halgo yells, spuring the others into action.  It proves to be unnecessary, as Halgo lurches to his feet in the small pool and grabs Dorik before he floats away.  The child is unconscious, battered by the pressure of the water and the fall, and Blarth dumps him on the shore with a grunt of contempt.

"What happened?" Halgo ask.
"Dorik psionic," Blarth mutters.  "Tried to use power on Blarth, make Blarth think he was weak and puny.  Blarth hit Dorik, make him sleep for a while."
"The kid attacked you?" Halgo sighs.  He can already feel Geoffrey beaming behind him, feeling vindicated.

"I'm not going to say a word," Geoffrey says with an exagerated politeness.  
"You shouldn't," Halgo replies.  "You dug around in his head.  Twice.  And didn't find anything.  "
Geoffrey looks for a retort, but nothing comes on short notice.  He goes to open his mouth, but Halgo merely holds up two fingers and mouths the word "twice" at him.  The Cleric of St Cuthbert grasps wildly for something that will salvage his dignity in this situation, eventually deciding to retreat into orders.
"Tie him up, blind-fold him and keep him unconscious until we get out of here.  Blarth, how you feeling?"
Blarth stretches, limbering up his limbs for a few seconds.
"Blarth good."
"Excellent.  Want to go get the other two while I get to work binding our young friend?"

The other children prove to be little problem, clinging to Blarths back as he makes the climb with ease.  They both cling to the half-orc after he emerges from the water as well, seemingly valuing his armored presence.

Blarth's floating trick proves equally effective at bringing the treasure stored in the heart of Valea's pool to the surface, leaving it floating along with the current where a swimming Yip or Geoffrey can pull it to sure.  Within the space of a few minutes the bottom of the pool is cleared, gaining the adventurers a few small sacks of scattered coins and copper jewelry.

"Looks like she really hasn't seen much company," Halgo comments blandly as he looks over the haul.  

As they pass through the statue room, Goeffrey calls for a halt.
"What's up?" Halgo asks, scanning the room with an alart expression.

"I don't know," Geoffrey admits.  "I keep getting the feeling we forgot to do something in this room, but I'm not sure what.  I think we should make camp here for a while.  I want to send Yip topside to get a closer look at what's going on in town before we try sneaking in, and we need to work out what's we're doing with the kids while we try and go in."
"We could go closer," Halgo suggests.  "There's more secure places, fewer exits."
"No more light," Geoffrey counters.  "You three can see in the dark, but you and Blarth will need as much sleep as I do.  Here we've got more than enough light to..."
His voice trails off as the cleric stares at the brazier of flame.

"Halgo, what does that look like to you?"
"Brazier of fire, probably magical."
"Yep, and what do you think they used it for?"
"Who?  Dragon people, or the scale-skin we killed?"
"Either."

Halgo thinks for a moment before his eyes light up as well.
"Gaint magic offering dish?" he asks.
"Giant magic offering dish," Geoffrey says.  "Yip, get up there and see what's inside."


----------



## Capellan

arwink said:
			
		

> To late, he notices Dorik's eyes glowing blue.  Energy seems to seep out of Blarth's skin and into the child, leaving Halgo disoriented and weak.
> 
> "He's fallen," Halgo yells, spuring the others into action.  It proves to be unnecessary, as Halgo lurches to his feet in the small pool and grabs Dorik before he floats away.




While it's nice that Halgo always seems to be on your mind, he keeps popping up in the funniest of places in your updates 



			
				arwink said:
			
		

> "I'm not going to say a word," Geoffrey says with an exagerated politeness.




IIRC, I spent the rest of the session baiting Geoffrey over the fact that _the child had a lump of crystal in his head, and Geoffrey couldn't find it_.  And he tried *twice*.


----------



## Lela

arwink said:
			
		

> *Wednesday, August 14th, 518 AF, continued
> "I'm not going to say a word," Geoffrey says with an exagerated politeness.
> "You shouldn't," Halgo replies.  "You dug around in his head.  Twice.  And didn't find anything.  "
> Geoffrey looks for a retort, but nothing comes on short notice.  He goes to open his mouth, but Halgo merely holds up two fingers and mouths the word "twice" at him.  The Cleric of St Cuthbert grasps wildly for something that will salvage his dignity in this situation, eventually deciding to retreat into orders.
> "Tie him up, blind-fold him and. . . *




LOL!!!!!!!!!!!!!  Cann'tt sttoopp lauughing!!!!!!

TWICE!!!!!


----------



## The Padre

Lela said:
			
		

> *
> 
> LOL!!!!!!!!!!!!!  Cann'tt sttoopp lauughing!!!!!!
> 
> TWICE!!!!! *





You people are so mean!

I knew there was a crystal in the kid. For that matter everyone knew there was a crystal in the kid!

I just sucked at my dice rolling.................... 

Dave
aka Geoff


----------



## Capellan

The Padre said:
			
		

> *You people are so mean!
> 
> I just sucked at my dice rolling....................
> *




You thought this was bad?  Wait until arwink gets around to writing up the last session we played.  You know: the one where the half-orc ...


----------



## arwink

The Padre said:
			
		

> *You people are so mean!
> 
> I knew there was a crystal in the kid. For that matter everyone knew there was a crystal in the kid!
> 
> I just sucked at my dice rolling....................
> *




Unfortunately, Geoffrey just makes a good straight man.  Especially in situations like this.

On the upside, imagine what this is going to look like when we start talking about Denver's characters in fifty-odd updates time 

Speaking of future updates- I'm figuring I'll be finished telling the story of the Copperheads and OSM after the next two updates.  

What comes up after that, I hear you ask?  

I think we should be looking forward to an Angry Celestial, the First meeting between Halgo and a certain someone everyone in the party has come to know and distrust, and a Gauntian necromancer who'se having a Very Bad Day


----------



## Khynal

Capellan said:
			
		

> *
> 
> You thought this was bad?  Wait until arwink gets around to writing up the last session we played.  You know: the one where the half-orc ...
> 
> *




Geoffrey will never live that one down.


----------



## arwink

_Saturday, August 26th, 508 AF, continued _ 

Yip rushes up to the lip of the brazier, then waves his hand through the flame when he feels no heat.

"Magic," he says.  "Not burn."
"What's inside?" Geoffrey asks.
Yip leans over the edge, peerind deep into the bowl of the giant brazier.  He starts digging stuff out, calling out the contents as he deposts them on the floor.

"Blue stone, sword, shield, whistle, potions, lots of skeleton parts, some coins," Yip calls.  "Geoffrey want spears?  They not look good."
"Leave them," Geoffrey orders.  "I think you've got the good stuff."
"There big statue," Yip calls back.  "Bigger than Yip.  Look like dragon.  Can't push it out."
"Blarth, go help him.  Once we've got it all on the floor, we'll detect magic and psionics.  If we're lucky, someone's put something in there we can use."

A detect magic shows nothing of interest, apart from the four potions bearing the imperial rune for _Cure Moderate Wounds_, but Blarth's quick scan of the items reveals the crystal whistle to be magical.

"Whistle psionic," he reports, squinting at the treasure horde.  "Don't think anything else is."
"Do you know what the whistle does?" Geoffrey asks.  Blarth shrugs, then picks the whistle up to examine it closely.  It starts to glow softly the moment it touches his hand, a soft amber light that reflects in the half-orcs eyes.

"Blarth know," he reports, his voice slightly subdued.  "Blarth can put piece of his mind-power in whistle, make it make loud noise when he play.  Loud enough to hurt things, lots of things.  Don't think Blarth has the power to do it often, just once a day."

Halgo supresses the urge to shudder when he sees the vacant look of glee in Blarth's eyes a the thought of such power.  

"Blarth get good heads with this," Blarth murmers to himself.  "Blarth very not-puny with whistle."

"That should help then," Geoffrey says grimly.  "Yip, I think it's time to send you up and look around.  Get as close to town as you can, but be back here in the space of eight hours or we'll come looking for you.  I want as much information as you can get on what's going on, the type of defenses they've got, everything.  We'll try and break in under the cover of darkness, and I want to do it right."

Yip nods and scampers off down the tunnels.  Everyone else makes themselves comfortable, laying down to get some rest with the sniffling children.

"It's okay," Blarth says comfortingly, patting one of the children awkwardly on the head.  "Blarth strong, and goblin puny.  Blarth save town.  Get you home.  Blarth have magic whistle, make everything much easier."

Somehow, it seems to help.


----------



## arwink

_Sunday, August 27th, 508 AF_ 

Four adventurers lie on their stomachs, watching the flare of saphire light coming from the roof of the Mayors house.  All of them glow slightly with long lived magics that Halgo and Geoffrey have cast before the assault.  All are blessed, and both Geoffrey and Blarth have made use of potions that boost their strength.

"Are you sure this is as close as we can get?" Geoffrey asks.  Yip nods silently.  There is over three hundred yards of meadow between the line of trees they're using for cover and the edge of the village, another dozen or so feet into the village before they can reach the house.  Even from here, they can see the saphire-eyed townsfolk wandering backwards and forwards, slowly tearing their town apart.

"Whoever that goblin is, he wants that town destroyed," Halgo comments blandly.  No-one feels the need to add anything to the statement.

"When I say go, we run.  Everyone know what to do?" Geoffrey asks.  Everyone nods.  "Right then.  Go."

Everyone sprints, Yip and Blarth taking a slight lead over the short-limbed Halgo and heavily armored Geoffrey.  It doesn't take long for the horde of townsfolk to spot them running, and they take a defensive position with alarming precision.  Geoffrey allows himself a grunt of pleasure as he notes the way they space themselves around the mayors house, a circle standing as a human sheild between the attackers and the goblin.  Just as he'd expected.  For all the goblins skill with mind control, the townsfolk couldn't be turned into warriors.  He could only use them as armor, not a weapon.

The four companions keep running, getting within bowshot of the house.

"Ready," Geoffrey shouts, watching the horde of townsfolk bunch up and prepare to recieve their charge.  "Now."

The cleric skids to a temporary hault, holy symbol in hand.  He offers up a prayer to St Cuthbert, and the symbol in his hand glows softly as a grey mist suddenly raises up out of the ground.  Visibility drops to near nothing, and Geoffrey smiles with satisfaction as he hears the townsfolk screaming "No!" in perfect unison.  Blarth and Yip charge through the mist, confident in their path.  Yip encounters a single townsman, searching through the mist, and takes him out with a swift sweep to the legs.  Blarth's approach is less graceful, simply barreling through the townsfoilk who are unfortunate enough to block his path.  He pauses for the moment with his whistle, pointing it towards the house and lets loose with a blast of pure noise that shakes the very stone and shutters of the building.  Everyone hears the sound of someone stumbling on the roof in the aftermath of the blast, and the voice of a hundred townsfolk scream in pain as one.

"Inside the house," Geoffrey orders, "We stop the goblin before we're forced to hurt someone."

It proves to be easier said than done.  Blarth and Geoffrey are both flanked by townsfolk in the space of seconds, all of them following the sound of clanking armor.  While their vision is limited, the townsfolk seem unnaturally aware of each others location. 

Yip  has the most success, drinking a potion from his belt as he runs, then springing through the mist with a magically assisted leap.  He hears the sound of humans crying out as he sails overhead, then lands on the wall of the mayors house where a second potion enables him to cling to the wall like a spider.

"Yip on the wall," he yells, letting the others know his position before scrambling up towards the roof.  Everyone else redoubles the efforts, clubbing their way through the people that surround them.  Geoffrey is dismayed to find he's lost his bearings in the fog, finding the wall of the house but no door.  To his right, he hears the sound of a half-orcish yell and the sound of splintered timber as well as the pad of dozens of feet.
"This way," Blarth yells.  "Blarth find way in."  
Even as he starts fighting his way towards the opening, Geoffrey wonders if the crash was a door or Blarth simply smashing his way through a wall.

Blarth finds a second problem in the hallway of the mayors house, the mayors daughters and servants lined up before him in a human blockade.
"You will not reach me," they scream.  "You will not take my revenge."
Blarth is quick to charge them down, barreling his way through to the stairwell behind them.  All the half-orc can think of is the loss of the first Yip, and the realisation that the second is facing a goblin that can control towns on his own.  Halgo is finds the doorway seconds after the half-orc, just in time to see the crowd regaining their feet.  The dwarven illusionist simply grunts before rattling off the words to a color spray, disabling all the members of the blockade but one.  

"Geoffrey, we're in," he cries, hoping the cleric can find his way through the mist by following the dwarven voice.  Then the survivor of his spell is upon him, scratching at him with her claws.  Halgo snarls in frustration and hits her with his club, dropping her to the floor.  Geoffrey appears in the doorway behind him, a small group of townsfolk hot on his heels.

"Run," the cleric orders.  "I think we made them angry."

Halgo doesn't need to be asked twice.

On the roof, Yip is running along the uneven tiles towards the goblin.  Even as he approaches, he gets the sense that something is wrong.  Although the roof seems to have absorbed the brunt of Blarth's blast, the bulgy-headed creature is still staggered and barely conscious.  Despite this he holds the crystal high above his head with outstretched arms, his own eyes glowing with the same saphire glow as the townsfolk as the crystal flares light towards the sky.

Yip leaps forward, a single paw swinging out to connect with the goblin's head.  The creature cries out pitifully, the first voice apart from the parties Yip has heard speak on its own.  When Yip's second blow catches the creature in the stomach, it collapses to the ground and ceases moving.  Yip grins with satisfaction and waits for things to return to normal.

They don't.  

The crystal rock keeps flaring, and he can see more townsfolk running accross the square.  Yip reaches forward to pick up the crystal, work out why it's still activating, and he hears a sudden voice in his head.  A sudden voice that screams about vengance with an unholy determination, and thrusts itself into the small kobolds mind.  Yip's eyes flare blue for a moment, but he drops the rock and backs away hissing.

Blarth, Geoffrey and Halgo burst onto the ceiling through a trapdoor, hauling a ladder up after them.  Almost as soon as they're steady on the ceiling, Blarth throws himself on the door in an effort to keep it closed.  The sound of a dozen fists hammering on the far side isn't far off.

"The goblins dead," Geoffrey says, his voice a little confused.
"Not goblin," Yip explains with a shudder.  "Stone."

Everyone looks at the saphire stone, and it's almost as though they can feel its hatred emenating forward.

"Damn it," Geoffrey curses.  He hammers at the stone with his mace, chipping away at it with every blow, but the crystal seems to heal as fast as it does damage.  Remembering it's origin in the dragon's cave, Geoffrey hauls out the sceptre he liberated from the dead scale-skin and hopes that copper will have a greater effect on the stone, but it does nothing.

"Okay," the cleric says uncertainly.  "What do we do now?"

Yip doesn't answer.  He's already taken up a position towards the edge of the rooftop, occasionally pulling tiles free to toss at any members of the growing army of townsfolk that are circling the house.  The ranks are already three or four townsfolk think, and in the distance Yip can see even more starting to emerge from various place, all under the stones control.  By the trapdoor, Blarth is suddenly thrown a few inches into the air by the force of those hammering underneath.

"Blarth need help," he yells.  "They're comming through."

"Halgo, can you do anything?" Geoffrey asks.  The dwarf doesn't immediately answer, concentrating instead on a thin layer of blue dust and crystal fragments near the edge of the roof.

"Halgo," Geoffrey calls, rushing to the trapdoor to aid the half-orc.  "We don't have time to study.  Cast a spell at the damned rock."

Halgo just waves, trying to concentrate through the din of the townsfolks assault.  

"This is part of the crystal," he says slowly, putting an idea together.  "It's not regenerating, so something had to have hurt it."

"Whatever it is, figure it out fast," Geoffrey says.  In the back of the clerics mind, he's sure the townsfolk will start building human ladders on the outside of the building soon and if that happens he and his companions are going to be over-run."

"This is where he was standing when Blarth hit it with the flute," Halgo says eagerly.  "It might be vulnerable to sonic attacks."

"Right," Geoffrey orders.  "Blarth, hit it with the flute agian, fast."
"Can't," Blarth grunts.  "Blarth only use flute once, need time to recharge."

Geoffrey swears again.

"Anyone else got something that'll make a big noise?"

For a moment everyone thinks, then Yip notices the big bell accross the square.

"Give Yip sack," he orders abruptly.
"What?" Geoffrey yells.
"Give Yip sack.  He take Crystal to Bell, use bell to break it apart."
"Will that work?" 
"It killed that drunk, remember?" Halgo points out, remembering one of the stories the townsfolk told them about the bell.  "Killed him and shattered his bottle in his hands.  Besides, you got any other ideas."

No-one says anything.  Halgo mutely gives Yip a sack and watches the kobold load the crystal in carefully.

"You sure you can do it?" Halgo asks.  Yip shrugs.
"Yip small, fast.  Jump a long way and can still climb walls.  Will try to stay on rooftops, outrun townsfolk."

And with that, he runs.  Geoffrey and Blarth are concentrating on keeping the townsfolk down, so they don't see him go, but Halgo watches the kobolds small body sail over the wide Bellhold streets and land on the wall of a building on the far side.  With barely a pause, Yip scrambles up the wall and keeps running.  Within seconds, there are townsfolk filling the street and chasing the kobold.  There are seven blocks between the Belltower and the Mayors house, and Halgo watches Yip sail along them all.  Many of the gaps are too wide for him to clear directly, but every time the small monk dissapears from view he reappers within the space of a few seconds, occasionally with his clothes torn or thrown debris trailing after it.  Halgo finds himself watching in fascination, counting down the rooftops between Yip and the Bell.  Five, four, three, two...

For a moment there's a pause, and Halgo hears the universal cry of glee coming from the townsfolk that can only mean YIp's either fallen or been caught.  Halgo holds his breath, counts the seconds, and within a twenty count Yip is moving again, his robe all but shredded as he runs along the final rooftop and leaps towards the belltower.  

Halgo has never been the greatest of believers in St Cuthbert, aiding the church out of obligation rather than belief, but even he finds himself holding his breath and offering a silent prayer to the Saint for Yip's success.

On the last rooftop, Yip is quickly planning how to get to the tower as he runs.  It's over ninety feet between the rooftop and the belltower, and there are townsfolk forming a second human shield around it.  Yip barely breaks stride, simply reminds himself that he's smaller and faster than any of them.  His leap is spectacular, carrying him nearly ten feet beyond the small crowd of townsfolk that were expecting to catch him as he lands, and he hits the ground sprinting.  He ducks and weaves, keeping beyond the grasp of those few mind-controlled townsfolk he comes close to, until he hits the small ring of human bodies at the very base of the tower.  

Two of them reach out as Yip charges towards them, one of them catching Yip by the shoulder despite his weaving.  YIp barely breaks stride, one arm swinging up to take one attacker in the nose while he tries to push past the second.  Yip is smaller and weaker than the man who'se grabbed him, but his determination and momentum carry him through.  A quick jag forces his attacker to jerk back, and that move is all Yip needs to leap onto the mans chest with his entire bodyweight and knock him to the ground.  As the townsman hits the ground, Yip is already sumersaulting back onto his feet and grabbing at the wall of the belltower, the spider climb spell letting him scramble up and out of reach.

"No," townsfolk scream in unison, and Yip feels the imact of stones, sticks and arrows on the wall around him as he runs.  He pays little attention to the attacks, keeping his mind on the task at hand and is soon in the tip of the belltower, depositing the bag and stone under the bell and leaping at the bell pull.

Wyrmscall rings out accross the town, a booming gong that echoes through the chest of everyone present.  Underneath the bell, clinging to the rope, Yip is shaken like a rag doll.  He feels his vision go black, his bones and teeth ache with the noise, and his grip loosens sending him plumeting down the shaft of the bell tower.  It is either luck or grace that allows him to recover enough to snag the bell-pull again as he falls, letting out a second booming gong that echoes accross the town.  

Yip can still hear the townsfolk screaming in unison, a sign that the crystal is still whole, so he sets his feet against the wall of the tower and pulls as hard as he can once more.  A third note, and more screaming, before Yip hears the sound of splintering wood below him.  He looks down and sees a small horde of townsfolk pouring into the belltower, clambering over the steps and surging towards him.  

The kobold searches blindly for a path of escape, but the only way is up towards the bell or down towards the horde of waiting arms.  As the first of the townsfolk reaches a point on the stairwell within reaching distance of the kobold, Yip leaps towards the far wall and out of their grasp.  He keeps the rope gripped firmly between two paws, and his desperate dodge produces a fourth tone.  Even as he lands there are more arms, more danger.  Yip moves again, another desperate move that is half leap and half climb up the bell pull.  A fifth tone.  A sixth.  As he lands, Yip feels the sharp pain of a dagger thrust through his chest.  He yelps in pain, feels a sudden rushing of darkness coming towards him, and he realises he can barely hear the screams of the townsfolk that surround him.  With grim determination, the kobold leaps free of the wall and sounds the bell for seventh time before he looses consciousness, swinging wildly on the rope until he slams into the far wall and slides down onto the stairwell.

Yip doesn't see the mass collapse of the towsfolk, or even wake up when his companions arrive to double check the crumbled remains of the crystal beneath the bell.  As the companions pick their way among the unconscious townsfolk that litter the Belltowers stairwell, they notice the crumpled body on the ground.  Geoffrey kneels quickly, checking the kobolds wounds.

"He's still alive," Geoffrey reports.  For the moment, that's enough.  Halgo and Blarth head towards the bell as the cleric starts to cast what minor spells he has left to heal Yip's wounds.


----------



## Mathew_Freeman

*GO YIP!*

Fantastic stuff! did you make him roll all of those jump checks?! That must have been some session...good going everyone!


----------



## arwink

Yep, there were a stack of jump checks, but I gave them some leeway there because Yip was usually two stories off the ground, and he usually snagged a wall on the way down.  Those few times he didn't roll high enough (for a 1st level character, his jump was pretty good), he took subdual damage and made tumble checks to avoid the townsfolk rushing him before climbing up a wall again.

The tower itself ended up being a morass of tumble checks, with the occasional climb check to keep hold of the rope.  It was the subdual damage from the two falls that knocked him out in the end.


----------



## Khynal

That was pretty epic. He's got to be proud of that run.


----------



## Lela

So cool.  Will comment more later.


----------



## arwink

The more astute among you will have noted that a lot of dates just changed in the storyhour, and we've now lost ten years and changed months.  

Basically, I've known I've done something odd with the dates for a while, but not had the time to fix it.  The drawback of having made a typo somewhere along the line, and let the problem propogate for a long time afterwards.

The next section is probably one of the few parts of the game I do have relatively detailed notes for, so it finally gave me the chance to compare where we should be, timewise, with the dates on the SH.  

There should be an actual update in the next twenty-four hours or so.


----------



## Yip

Whoohoo!  Yip made it through a session!!


----------



## arwink

_Sunday, August 27th, 508 AF, continued_ 

It takes nearly an hour to bring Yip back to consciousness, Geoffrey having used many of his more powerful healing spells in the fight against the townsfolk.  Young acolytes from Bellhold's church are summoned, and the kobold is housed in one of the finest rooms in the Bell and Clapper until such time as healing magic can be applied.  

When Yip does open his eyes, the first thing he sees is the shiny, moonlike face of the local acolyte of St Cuthbert.  For a moment Yip struggles, remembering the young clerics appearance at the door with glowing eyes, but soon the sound of revelry reaches his ears.

Bellhold is having a celebration.

"Yip hurt," Yip mumbles, his body still covered in bruises.
"My apologies," the moonfaced cleric says, his tone verging on the reverential.  "I had little power remaining, only enough to bring you back to consciousness.  One of my brothers is running back to the temple to collect a pair of scrolls that will complete the task."
"Town safe?" Yip asks.  The acolyte nods.  He appears to be on the verge of explaining more, when the door to the room burst open and a slightly drunk Blarth wanders in.

"Yip awake," Blarth roars in delight.  "Yip come drink with Blarth.  Come make merry with town."

A mug of Mead is pushed into the confused Yip's hands before Blarth disappears back through the door, roaring the news of Yip's consciousness to the lower levels of the tavern.

Yip sits in bed, bemused and aching.  He sniff's experimentally at the mug in his hands, detects the scent of honey.
"Safe to drink?" he asks cautiously, looking at the acolyte.  The young man nods eagerly, and an uncomfortable silence settles between the two.  Yip waits quietly, sipping at his mead and wondering when the cleric will give him something that resembles an order.  The acolyte simply looks at him in a mixture of concern and awe, amazed at the punishment the kobold took in the process of saving the town.

A minute passes, and the only sound that's heard is the drunken singing of Blarth and several townsfolk.  Yip sips cautiously at his mead, and finds the taste pleasant in a musty kind of way.

"Perhaps," the acolyte says eventually, "we should go join the celebrations?"

Yip nods, pulling himself out of bed.  
"More drink downstairs?" he asks, shaking the empty mug.  
"Certainly, follow me."

Downstairs, Halgo and Geoffrey are sitting at a table as they observe the festivities.  Blarth seems focused on becoming the life of the party, the half-orc attempting to meet every townsfolk that has crammed itself into the Bell's large taproom.

"He's recovering from the disappointment well," Geoffrey muses, watching Blarth engage the very drunk town mayor in conversation.  "I thought we were going to have to restrain him when they told him that Utrish's verbal agreement wasn't legally binding."

Halgo doesn't answer, just watches the crowd with a frown of intense confusion on his face.

"There's something wrong here," Halgo says.   "I can't place my finger on it, but there's something wrong."
"Like what?" Geoffrey asks, sipping at a mug of ale.
"I don't know," Halgo admits.  "There's something in the air though.  Maybe it's just the after effects of the crystal leaving a strange taint in the way people are acting."

"Certainly something strange there," Geoffrey says with a grin.  
He points across the room where Blarth is in the process of kissing a young maiden, recognisably one of the Mayor's entourage.  Even more surprising is that the chamber maid doesn't slap him when he lets her go, but rather pulls him forward for another kiss before he's even caught his breath.

"Who'd of thought it?" Geoffrey asks.  "Seems there may be someone for everyone after all...."
He pauses when he sees the look of abject horror on Halgo's face.
"What?" Geoffrey asks.  Halgo doesn't answer, just gazes around the room with the same look of terror plastered upon his features.  Geoffrey follows his gaze, his features a mask of confusion.  There's no danger here, nothing frightening.  Just a group of townsfolk celebrating, having a good time, and getting to know each other better.

Then it hits him.  Many patrons through the inn appear to be getting over friendly.  Very overfriendly.

"Oh no," Geoffrey says.
"Yep."
"Are you sure?"
Halgo points at Blarth and the flush-faced maiden in his arms.
"Can you explain that any other way?"
"It was watered down?" Geoffrey mutters.  "How much effect could it have watered down?" 
"Who know?" Halgo shrugs.  "Normally, I'd say the effects should be minimal.  Very minimal.  But these people have just had their will messed with in a strange and unknown manner, and they've spent a good deal of time in each other’s heads.  They could be very sensitive to mental influence for the next few days."
"Dammit."
Halgo breaks out into a grin, pointing at the mug in front of Geoffrey.
"I think you'll be safe," he says.  "But to be on the safe side, you might want to stop drinking ale for the evening. It may well be time you learned the joys of wine and mead."
Halgo's laughter echoes out across the room as Geoffrey assumes an expression of outright terror.


----------



## Lela

Oh goodness.  Well, at least it wasn't the _other_ idea they had a while back. . .


----------



## arwink

Not a lot of detail in this update, but it covers the three weeks of downtime that occured after OSM.  Some interesting moments in there, including one that will be given greater detail in a post later this evening, but nothing particularly entertaining to write.

_Tuesday, August 29th – Monday, September 18th_

Bellhold toasts the adventurers success for several days after the crystals destruction, holding a great feast and presenting all four of the heroes with copper badges commemorating their heroism.  Blarth's badge actually bears a small inscription on the back, reading "protector of the town," although no-one is sure whether the townsfolk are serious, hopeful, or simply deluded.

In the aftermath, the group splits up for a time.  Halgo organises some time spent studying with Etrius, a local hedge wizard.  Blarth spends his time fixing the ramshackle hut the town assigns him, keeping himself...entertained...by dabbling with Tulia, the mayors maid who seem to take a shine to the half-orc while drinking the love-potion tainted ale.  Everyone is surprised that the enchantment takes hold so readily, but Blarth isn't one to complain.

Yip and Geoffrey head back to Hommlet, delivering the bell and allowing Yip to spend some time visiting with his human friends Abigail and Garret.  Yip gives Abigail the magical soldier the group found in the mines, and his generosity is met with numerous squeals of pleasure and hugs of gratitude.  Geoffrey is quick to write letters of commendation regarding the kobolds bravery, and soon has Yip assigned to the party on a permanent basis.  Their visit lasts but three days, by which time Y'Dey admits that there's little for them to do in town and they're sent back to Bellhold until such time as they are needed.

It doesn't take long for the boredom of a quiet town to work on the adventurers mind.  While Halgo is busy studying and scribing scrolls, Geoffrey takes the rest of the group up the mountain with a pair of halfling mountain climbers.  Days are spent going over the mines and dragons lair in detail, liberating every form of booty that can be found.  Primarily, this seems to consist of thousands of copper coins that are bagged, dumped down the waterfall and recovered from the water below via Blarth's _float_ power, but among some minor magic items of power Blarth finds a copper swords that bears psionic enhancements, giving him the ability to call upon fate itself to guide his hand in combat once per day.  

Incredulous townsfolk stare as day after day the trio comes back with a bounty of copper coins and statues, eventually earning them the nick-name of the Copperheads.  What starts as a humerous jest is quickly adopted by Geoffrey as a badge of honor, and it isn't long before it seems as though the group never had another name.  

When the mines and lair are cleared, a suggestion of moving in and using them as a base of operations is carefully considered.  In the end it is only the dream of travelling to the newly settled continent to the north, Bor, that keeps the party mobile.  Geoffrey does, however, take the time to write another letter to the church suggesting the lair as a suitable training ground for an enclave of Yips. 

Halgo finishes his training, but he seems irritable and distracted for the last few days.  When the group gathers for an evening meal at the Bell and Anchor, he writes the irritibility off as lack of sleep and alchemy fumes.  No-one thinks to argue.*

In short, for three weeks the Copperheads life is easy and relaxing, if a little boring.  Plans are made, skills are honed and fun is had.

Until the last night when Tulia, a regular nocturnal visitor at Blarth's hut, confonts the half-orc with the news she's with child.  Blarth blinks a few time, staring at the lass as if he may of misheard, then wanders off to the tavern to figure out what he should do next.

*There is a good reason why he's like this, but it'll be dealt with in a seperate post


----------



## arwink

*Spoiler Warning for my Players:  *The next two updates are things that ahppened out of session, and involves various campaign information that your characters don't yet know.  Although it's being included for the sake of completeness, I leave it up to you to make the decision as to whether you want to read it.  I trust you enough to spereate in character and out of character knowledge without difficultly, but there are...surprises...in here that you may prefer to find out the old fashioned way - in game.  If so, stop reading now and come back in two updates time 








_Roughly 13th of September_

Halgo's asleep, resting in the small room he's renting above Gladys Halroth's Millinery store.  Everyone else has been searching for the dragons treasure and doing the churches bidding, but Halgo has spent his weeks studying.  His casting has improved in leaps and bounds, and he's mastered spells of of the second order for the first time.  These few days since he finished studying with Etrius, the local hedge wizard, he's spent in his room scribing scroll after scroll in preperation for future adventures.  It's a grueling process in many ways, far more complex than any layperson would think the act of writing could be.  Every scroll has been invested with the tiniest sliver of Halgo's life essence to seal its power.  Every night he's been falling into his bed, and every morning the sun calls him back to the desk to start the process again.  Tonight he decided enough was enough, sleep would get the priority.  

Which is why he's less than pleased to be shocked awake by a loud Whump, a sound that's frighteningly simlar to a spellbook being slapped onto a table. For a moment struggles against consciousness, his sleepy mind musing on how long it's been since he last heard that sound.  Spellbooks and tables were one of his mentor, Milo's, favorite tricks when his apprentice snoozed in the old gnomes study. 

Then it occurs to him that he's not actually heard the sound since he was last asleep in the old gnomes study, and that's many miles away.

Halgo opens his eyes by the barest of slits, trying to keep his breathing even.  He can see the room perfectly, the mahogany study-desk and patchwork curtains perfectly visible in the light.  This doesn't bode well for someone who expects to see his room in the black and white monochrome of darkvision.

Whatever's arrived, it's brought its own light source.

With exaggerated care, Halgo opens his eyes and looks around the room.  The light is being shed by a small puff of flame, dancing merrily near the ceiling.  Leaning against the far wall is a chalk-skinned man in dark robes, taller than the average human but with a golden sheen to his eyes when they catch the light.  He seems relaxed, unconcerned with the possibility of attack or the awkwardness of the situation.  For a moment it seems as though he's about to speak, but he doesn't.  Instead he stares, seeming to study Halgo with a detached sense of curiosity.

"Ancestors," Halgo thinks, his mind suddenly leaping into action.  He searches his memory for a spell to cast, instinct leading him to color spray, but he's still sluggish and slow to recall spells after a days scribing.  Secondary options are considered - the crossbow stored under the bead, the club resting against the far wall, Milo's wand of shocking grasps in a pocket of the pack at the foot of the bed.  None can be reached in time.

Still the pale man smiles, as though waiting for Halgo to make the first move.

"Wait,"  Halgo thinks, "There's no need to wake me.  If he meant harm, I'd be dead in my sleep."

He sits up slowly in bed, reaching deliberately over his shoulders for a pair of spectacles that are placed on his nose with exaggerated precision.  It takes a few moments of adjusting to get the exact position right, but once it is Halgo looks to the stranger with a raised eyebrow.  

"Good evening. How can I help you?"

The man shakes his head, a faintly disturbing motion that seems alien and insect-like.  His golden eyes blink, once, before he starts speaking.
"Ah.  Our appologise", he says. His voice is deep and smooth, as though it's been dipped in warm mud. "We weren't expecting...well...one of your folk."
A slight grin crosses his face, the slightest curling of pale lips that could almost be regarded as pleasant.
"You *are* Halgo, aren't you? We haven't found myself in the wrong room?"

"Aye. Halgo Torke," Halgo says.  "Though I'm surprised you've heard of me. Or at least, surprised you've heard of me without hearing what I am."

Halgo stands, stretches and pours himself a glass of water from a jug on the nightstand.  Even as he moves, he's calculating the distance from the bed to the window, planning escapes should they prove necessary.  

"Can I offer you a drink, Mister .... ?"
"Kelpreth," the strange says. "Just Kelpreth. Our people don't believe in titles or honorifics, we simply are who we are. And we think something a little stronger would be pleasant, given the hour"

Kelpreth leans forwards with a look on intense concentration on his face.  He touches the jug of water, and the hairs rise up on the back of Halgo's neck as he pours.  He grits his teeth, sure the strangers just cast some spell but not sure what.  There is the vaguest hint of a flinch in his reaction.
"Your people?" Halgo asks, trying to cover his nervousness.  "And who might they be? I don't recognise your race." 

The stranger smiles and raises an eyebrow.  The smell of warmed honey mead rises from the water jug, filling the air with a faintly cloying scent. 

"We're human," Kelpreth explains, "We've just freed ourselves from certain...planar complications. We're now more of a clan than a race. We think we're known as the Ki'rath in this world. We are an acquaintance of your Mentor, the Sage Padbottom. He thought you might have use of our services, sooner or later. We were finally in a position to track you down."

He gestures for Halgo to pour the mead, slowly sips his cup one one is handed to him.

"Ahh, perfectt. One of the few pleasures we miss from this world. Something always goes wrong with the taste when we try it elsewhere. We spent cycles trying to remember where it came from."

He waves his hands, motioning for Halgo to drink, then pulls a small pendent from a pack at his side.  He holds it forward, and Halgo can make out some form of silvery metal bearing ornate runes.

"For you," Kelpreth says.  "You make examine it magically before touching it, of course."

Halgo nods his thanks, quickly muttering the cantrip to _detect magic_.  A quick study of the pendent reveals minor magic, of the divination school.  Halgo also recognizes the rune, vaguely, from his studies.  He can recall Milo mentioning the Ki'Rath, a group of extraplanar merchants , but few details beyond that.

"I would have thought Milo would have mentioned my race," Halgo offers, then smiles at the memory of his mentor.  "Perhaps not. It might have been his idea of a joke to let you find out for yourself."

"Milo didn't actually tell us that much," Kelpreth admits.  "Your name came up during a transaction, and he explained you were once his student. We've always had a great deal of respect for Milo's students. Several of them have gone on to great things, and have become very reliable customers." 

Halgo nods, barely listening.  Components are pulled from his pouch as surruptitously as possible, followed by a quick chant uder his breath.  A _protection from evil_ springs into existence around the dwarf, sparkling motes of light suddenly circling him.

"If he's planar, this'll fix him," Halgo thinks.  He holds his hand forward to accept the amulet, keeping it just short of the edge of the protection barrier.  Kelpreth simply smiles, and the look of concentration washes over his face again.  The amulet rises up, floating from the strangers pale hand to Halgo's.  

"It's our calling card," Kelpreth explains.  "Through it, we can contact you and, more importantly, you can contact us. Simply hold the pendent and concentrate, and someone shall answer. Perhaps not me, but someone will come, sooner or later. We are procurers of the arcane, the eldritch and the unknown, trading with beings across a thousand planes. You'll find none better. Be it rare component, rare creatures or unknown magics, there is nothing we cannot find."

There's a slight pause, another insect-like crick of the neck.  Halgo isn't sure why, but he gets the feeling that Kelpreth is embarrassed.

"Which is partially why we are here. You see...We're looking for a memory. Specifically, the memory of learning a spell, and we were wondering if you'd care to trade one of yours?"

"My selection of spells is limited ..." Halgo admits, then pauses to let Kelpreth's request sink in.  "What do you mean, my 'memoy of learning a spell'? It sounds like you want to copy one of my memories and give it to someone else ... you can do that?"

Kelpreths grin is wide, perhaps not as calming as he would hope.

"Well, technically, we can't copy the learning of the spell. We need to remove it. Permanently. The parts of your mind that comprehend and shape the magic are simply transferred into a storage-device, and given over to another client."

Kelpreth pulls a slim wand from his belt, waves it once through the air in demonstration.  

"But it is possible, yes, if one knows the proper spells. It does have some drawbacks, of course. It's rare that anyone has ever managed to relearn a spell once it's stripped from them. A great sacrifice, we know, so we are prepared to offer what we consider more than adequate compensation."

Halgo watches the slim, pale hand dip into the hand again.  When it emerges, it carries a stone the size of a fist that glows with light.  Small motes of energy dance around it in an erratic orbit, and the still functioning _detect magic_ shows a sudden surge in power.  Halgo takes a moment to focus his attention on the stone, and instantly the radiance from his spell flares to the point of blinding.Halgo squints, instinctively throwing a hand in front of his eyes.

"We offer you this," Kelpreth says simply.  
"And what is that?"

Kelpreth closes his fist over the stone, dimming the radiance a little.

"It's a wisp of god-essence," he says, and Halgo supresses a shudder at how casually he says it. 
"A goddess actually. A lady of magic, now doomed by her own hand. I'm not sure of the details, but she's no longer in a position to miss it, we assure you. If you ever find the time to visit the Astral, we could probably even organize a short trip to her corporeal remains. There's been some scavenging for the god-flesh, but it's still relatively whole"

He opens his hand again, and holds the stone at eye level. The shimmering silver radiance flares to illuminate the entire room like a flash of lightening. 

"She exists now only as pure magical energy. Perfect for powering spells, easing the loss of personal essence that comes with binding magic into mundane objects, or fueling the mind and body. We're not entirely sure how much energy we captured, but it's in there and it should be enough to last some time. If you truly wish, you could even use the energy to summon her back for a short time."

"Interesting," Halgo says, internally trying to quiet the part of his mind that's shuddering in revulsion at the very thought of scavenging essence from a god.  "What exactly do you want in return?" 

"The memory of learning a spell, as we said," Kelpreth says. "It doesn't particularly matter which one, but it must be of the first order or higher. Minor cantrips will be of no use to the third party."

Halgo considers this for a few moments. There's something wrong here, something he can't quite put his finger on.  There's no spell in his repertoire that can't be found easily enough, imitated and cast by a hundred other mages.

"It's an intriguing offer," he says eventually.  "Unfortunately, I need all the spells I have now. My selection is limited enough without giving one up - quite possibly permanently."

Halgo places his drink on the table, still untouched, and walks to the window.  The shutters are thrown open, letting a sudden gust of fresh air into the small room.  He gazes out over the town, watching the lights of other houses in the distance.

"Now, if you were willing to wait a few weeks, I might be able to help. But I expect there are many other sources you could get something as trivial as this. The world is full of fledgling wizards."

"True, there are many," Kelpreth admits, "But few have you're lineage or training. We've had great success with Padbottoms students before, and we were hoping to continue in that tradition." 

He sighs and places his cup next to Halgo's.

"Very well, if that's your decision. We must be on our way. The customer will not be pleased if this order isn't fulfilled, and time is becoming increasingly short. It was a pleasure to meet with you, Halgo, Student of Padbottom. If there is ever anything we may do for you, do not hesitate to use the pendent."

Halgo turns, looks into Kelpreths pales eyes once more.  

"I'm sorry I could not be of more help," he says. "I trust that you will be able to meet your customer's order. No doubt your resources are ... extensive." 
Halgo walks back to his belongings, slipping the pendent into a pouch. "
I will contact you if I have need of your services. I'm sure there will be many things you could acquire for me."

"Many things. Anything, really, if the price is right."

Kelpreth smiles, placing the wisp of god essence and the wand back into his belt pouch. He offers Halgo a slight bow, then slowly fades from sight, seeming to shimmer away into nothingness with the sound of a hundred hornets in the air.

Halgo waits five seconds, counting them off after Kelpreth disappears, before he allows himself a grimace of distaste.  When he's sure the Kelpreth is gone, he walks to the table and scoops up the jug and cups before heading to the kitchen.

"Oh well," he thinks.  "My things needed a wash anyway."


----------



## arwink

*Spoiler Warning*....same as last update, although this is the last of them for a while.









_The next day_

Halgo persuses Etrius shop, flicking idly through the small jar of scrolls that the hedge wizard keeps on his counter.  There's a fair variety there, for so small a town as Bellhold.  _ Acidic curse, erase, enlarge, guilt_ and _unseen servant_ all catch his eye, but eventually he spots a _monster summoning_ spell of the first order.

"How much are these again?" Halgo asks, pointing at the jar.  Etrius raises an eyebrow, wondering why Halgo feels the need to ask after spending two weeks in the store learning new magic.

"Twenty-five gold a piece," Etrius says.  "More for the identify scrolls in the cabinet.  Are you after anything specific?"

Halgo thinks for a few minutes, looking at the scrolls.

"Not yet," he says eventually.  "But I may be back to buy something later."

Trying to contain his eagerness, the dwarven wizard rushes back to his small room.  He pulls the summoning pendent free of his pack and concentrates, calling Kelpreth back.

"I've changed my mind," he says, projecting his thoughts through the amulet.  "If you still need that memory, these are my terms. So long as you can choose which spell to take, and are willing to let me make that choice, then I can be ready to let you take the memory in two days. I will, however, need an extra payment of 500 gold - immediately - in order to do this. I need the money to cover the scribing costs of the spell."

A buzzing sound suddenly echoes through his head, as though a swarm of bees flies through the window, and the room is suddenly filled with the cloying scent of honey.  The creature that appears isn't Kelpreth, however.  Instead it's a dwarf-like being, standing a little over four feet tall with satyr horns on its head.  It belches and scratches at a flabby stomach as it glares at Halgo.

"Yer called?" 
Halgo stares for a moment, slightly taken aback by the new creature, but recovers enough to repeat his offer.
"Hmm," the dwarf muses, thoughtfully examining a spot of cleanliness under its grim-covered nails.  "Have to get Kelpreth on that. His deal. Shouldn't be a problem though." 

He starts rummaging through a sack at his belt, muttering under his breath as he does so.  Eventually he pulls free a small bag and a tooth about an inch long set on a necklace.  
"We ain't given yer more gold but," the dwarf says.  "Everythin' ye need fer scribin is in here. If yer buyin new spells, then use the tooth as a bartering tool. Should get ye what ye need."

Halgo takes them both, turning the tooth over slowly in his hands.

"What is it?" he asks.
The dwarf looks exasperated.
"It's a tooth, innit," he grumbles.  "None of yer concern really. It'll get ye yer spells, maybe a bit extra. That's all ye need to know."

"I'll look a fool if I try to sell someting without knowing what it is," Halgo says, pushing for information.  "I don't want Etrius thinking I'm a fool - he'll raise his prices."

"Yer worryin' too much," the dwarf says. "If yer really that concerned, test it yerself before givvin it to 'im. E'll know what it is, though, and he'll be more than happy to part with a scroll or two for the trinket. I've done me part. Ye want anythin' else, take it up with Kelpreth."

Halgo shrugs.

"I'll look into it myself, then. Could take me a few days, though. I trust Kelpreth won't be too inconvenienced by the delay ..."
"Not like he'll let ye know if he is." 

The dwarf-creature grins, then dissapears in a blink of blue light.  

Halgo spends a few hours in his room, searching through books and scribbled notes trying to discover what exactly the tooth is.  It gives away few clues - a set of runes near the base the bear the imperial signs for transformation magic and the Academic rune of one of the smaller Seldar academies of Spellcraft.  

Halgo was never part of the academic system that turns out many Imperial wizards, but he remembers Milo telling him the runes were often used to mark students works that were created before graduation.  It was an easy way of identifying works before the wizards had earned a rune of their own.  A quick _detect magic_ confirms that the transmutation
 rune is correct, although the dweomer is minor, but it reveals little about the tooths powers.  Halgo shrugs.  It's enough that he wont seem completely clueless when he sells it, and he's seen Etrius buy wierder things from townsfolk in the past few weeks.

With a sigh he walks back to Etrius' store, slapping the tooth down on the counter.

"I want to buy some of your stock. What'll you give me for this?"

Etrius stares at the tooth for a couple of seconds, as though not entirely sure what he's looking at. Then he picks it up, a look of surprise on his face as he inspects it. 

"Where'd you get this," he asks. His tone is almost accusing.

"If I told you that, you'd buy direct," Halgo says.  "Do you want it or not?"

Etrius studdies the young dwarf for a few seconds, trying to pick up clues. 

"Halgo, I...Yes, I want it...But where did you get it?" 
He looks more anxious now.

"It was payment for services rendered. What's the problem?"

Etrius mutters a command word, and the tooth in his hand transforms into a small crossbow. 

"It was mine," he says, smiling slightly. "The last crafting I performed before graduating Heldar Academy. The Hunter's Tooth. It was stolen before I left, apparently used to assasinate some minor lordlings in Thilt. Never even occured to me it could be used for that. Foolish of me, I suppose. I always though ot it as a silly idea. No great magic, but original enough to pass my exams." 

Etrius sighs. 

"I was damn proud of the tooth. Always looked forward to having it after I left." 

He pulls out the jar he uses to store his scrolls. 

"It was one of these you were after, yes? Help yourself. Take two, if you want." 

He continues to smile with childlike happiness, using his command word to transform the crossbow back into a tooth, then into a crossbow again.  Halgo watches him for a few moments, marvelling at the simple joy the wizard finds in being re-united with his creation.

"Thank you," he says, wondering if Etrius even hears him. "I just need the one." 

He studies the scroll for a few days, gradually commiting its magic to memory and unlocking the secret of the summoning spell within.  Care is taken to trace the runes and symbols needed into his spellbook, making sure no mistakes are made.  When its done, Halgo commits the spell to memory once more, casts it to ensure the knowledge has translated correctly.  A small badger appears in his room, frolicing happily about the floor for a few seconds before simmering back to the celestial plane from which it came.

Halgo smiles, nods once, then readies the Ki'Rath amulet.

"I need to speak with Kelpreth."

Again, the sound of a thousand locusts runs through his head, followed by a loud whump, and Kelpreth is standing in the room with an eager look on his pale face.

"You called, Halgo?" he asks, grinning.

"I did. You seem ... pleased ... by that." Halgo almost puases to consider the implications of this, but a small corner of his brain urges him on, pushing for him to make a deal. "I've been thinking about your offer. When you take the memory, can I choose which spell is lost?"

"Of course," Kelpreth says, his grin getting a bit wider. "Although, to be honest, some spells are more preferable for the third party than others.  However, we think at this late stage, expediency will win out over quality."

"It'll have to. I can spare a Summon Monster, first order, but no others. Do we have a deal?"

Kelpreth seems to let out a sigh of relief, although the noise sounds strangely like the hum of insect wings.

"We believe it is an acceptable deal," he says, smiling. He reaches into his pouch and draws out the small wand  and a crystal about the size of Halgo's thumb. While he holds both of these in one hand, he pulls out the glowing god-spark with the other. He looks at Halgo with a serious expression on his face

"Are you prepared to undergo the ritual now?"

"Yes. No time like the present."

Kelpreth puts the god-spark on the side table, the slow moving motes of energy that surruound it fusing slightly with the wood and leaving the faintest scorch mark where it rests.  Then the pale merchant raises the short wand to Halgo's head and holds the crystal to the wands base.

"We should warn you," Kelpreth says grimly, "that this will be dissorienting." 

It proves to be an understatement.  A small beam of green light jumps from the wand to Halgo's head, and a pain unlike anything Halgo has yet experienced thunders through the dwarves body.  It's as though his consciousness is being sucked through the small beam, through the wand and into the crystal.  The pain intensifies as Halgo feels his mind being stretched out, narrowed, then a great sense of disembodiment comes over him.  

He feels nothing, sees nothing, and gets the strange sense that he exists only inside the crystal in Kelpreth's hand.

Then the pain returns, Halgo's very essence being torn apart and reassembled, peice by peice.  Memories start blinking out of existence, little things Halgo could barely recall in his conscious state even if he tried.  He finds himself remembering, briefly, the exact texture and scent of his spellbooks as he scribed the spell, the first tentative tests made to ensure the magic was recorded properly.  They exist for but a moment as a perfect image, a moment of pure understanding and knowledge, before they dissappear forever. 

The process seems to last for hours, dragging on and on as more and more memories are sorted through and sliced apart with expert precision.  Then the thinning senseation returns, and Halgo is sitting on the bed of his rented room once more.  Kelpreth looks down at him, his eyes a metalic yellow as he stares.

"Can you remember anything about the spell?" he asks. 

Halgo tries to recall something, anything, but he cant.  It takes a few moments to come to grips with the concept, despite his knowledge of what has happened.  After two days of experimentation and learning, the spell is gone.  Except it's not just the spell, the physical motions, but the minor memories that go with it.  Tiny fragments of lore that Milo hammered into his dwarven student's head, theories of conjuration and summoning that enabled Halgo to decipher the scroll in the first place.  They aren't quite gone, but they are...altered.  Slivers of lore extracted then the remaining memories stitched together to cover the gaps.

With a shuddering awareness, Halgo realises that he will never be able to learn that spell again.  He simply cannot recall the training needed to decipher the techniques, to channel the magic correctly.  The hundreds of little things that are learned to control every spell, all of them related to that spell are gone.

Kelpreth has the god-spark in hand, offering it towards Halgo with a faint smile.  In his other hand, the thumb-sized chunk of crystal has a dirty, muddy radiance.

"That was ... about as bad as I expected," Halgo lies.  He picks up a blanket and uses it to take the godspark, carefully wrapping it for safe-keeping.  "I'll be in touch if I need anything else." 

Kelpreth performs a short bow, Halgo staring at him as levelly as he can to cover his disorientation.  

"A pleasure doing business with you, Halgo," Kelpreth says. "We look forward to further commerce in the future. We bid you farewell." 

Wand and crystal are quickly deposited into the strange merchants pouch, then there's the whisper of a few words as he fades into nothingness.


"I don't like him," Halgo thinks.  "Whatever he is."  

With a shudder, Halgo picks himself up off the bed and begins securing the godspark in it's bundle of blanket as best he can.  When he's done, he burries it in the bottom of his pack.  When it's done, he takes a seat by the window and drinks a glass of water.

"Explaining you to the others is not going to be fun," he muses.  "Maybe I wont...

Time passes slowly, the daily life of Bellhold moving about on the street below.  Halgo watches it, feeling strangely out of place when he considers the object now in his possesion.  He pulls a sheet of paper out of one pocket, carefully making a set of notes.  

"1 - learn more about the planes
2 - learn more about the god spark.
3 - remember to cast identify."

He pauses at the third point, remembering the flare of light when he first used detect magic on the stone.

"Or", he writes, "perhaps not."


----------



## Lela

Thought provoking to say the least.  I especially like the Hunter's Claw.  That's pritty cool as a minor item.  Perhaps I'll steal it one day.

I'm not exactly sure what to say about the godspark.  It's not something I think I'd want to have.  Too dangerous.  But then again, it _is_ a godspark after all.  Decisions, decisions. . .

Edit: Recomend a read through for spelling and grammar (S&G).


----------



## Mathew_Freeman

This is all extremely interesting...me like muchly!


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## Durhon

Geez I go on two weeks holiday and theres two pages of posts when I get back.  Must go on holidays more often!


----------



## Khynal

OK, I took the potential spoiler stuff out. There. Are you happy?
 

You know, it never even occurred to me to use that thread, it's been so long since we used it last.


----------



## arwink

Rather than turn the rest of the page into spoilers space, why not talk about Khynal's question in this almost forgotten thread .


----------



## Yip

Two HUGE posts and they both have spoiler warnings.  You are a cruel cruel GM Mr Arwink.


----------



## Lela

Yip said:
			
		

> *Two HUGE posts and they both have spoiler warnings.  You are a cruel cruel GM Mr Arwink. *




Fear not MIGHTY Yip!  For soon arwink will post yet again.  His glory and majesty shine upon us and we shall know the Story Hour is good.

Come arwink, reveal the Story to us.  We await.


----------



## arwink

_Tuesday, September 19th, 508 AF_

Dawn comes to Bellhold.

The light finds its way into rooms of all kinds, creeping in through the gaps between curtains or the cracks in shutters.  To many, the light goes unnoticed.  Dawn has a long history of arriving in town, it has happened every day for time unknown.  Few but the farmers and the bakers feel the need to be up and about before the suns first beam touches the ground, and none seem to treat the event as something out of the ordinary.  

The four men known as the Copperheads sleep, gradually recovering from an evening that was partly spent curbing Blarth’s rising panic and partly spent congratulating him on the good fortune of becoming a father.  The light spills on Geoffrey’s face, but he merely mumbles through a mouth made dry from to much wine and adjusts the drapes on his rented room.  Blarth tosses and turns in his hut, his dreams haunted by thoughts of his own missing parents and the future of his own child.  Yip is awake as the light hits his room; he notices little as he meditates on the virtues of duty and abstinence in an attempt to rectify a night of indulging in honey-mead and ale.  In a room at the back of the Millinery, Gladys Halroth is beyond sleep.  Her rest has been scarce since the dwarven tenant moved in upstairs, his thunderous snores seeping through the wooden floor a mere hour after Halgo slumbers.  The elderly hat-maker is perhaps the first inhabitant of Bellhold proper to see the light, and certainly the first to open a window and greet the new day. 

She is also the first to faint at the surprise of what the new day brings.  

She isn’t the last.

The light of dawn isn’t enough to wake the citizens of Bellhold, but the thundering voice that cuts through sleep like an avalanche is more than adequate.  Hundreds of eyes snap open as the cry echoes against the mountains that surround the town.

I HAVE COME FOR FIDELITY OF KHEST.  IT IS KNOWN TO ME THAT HE VISITED THY SETTLEMENT, AND THAT NEAR THY SETTLEMENT HE DIED. PROVIDE ME WITH HIS LOCATION OR HIS CORPSE, OR I SHALL BE FORCED TO BECOME VEXED WITH THEE. 

People leap from beds, suddenly awake with an intensity and alertness that few knew they were capable of.  Many fly to their windows, peeking from their windows to catch sight of the speaker with a booming voice.  

Dawn has not come to Bellhold.  At least, it has not come yet.  Instead, a shining member of the Celestial Host hovers above the town with a radiance that lights the town as brightly as pure daylight.  His expression is dour, verging on angry, and the very way he hovers in the air speaks of impatience and irritation.

Many townsfolk follow Gladys Halroth’s example and faint dead away.  One is brave enough to heft a shoe at the flying celestial, as though it were merely an irritating dog or bird singing a welcome song to dawn.  Fortunately for the peasant, the celestial either fails to notice or ignores the attempt that falls several dozen feet short of the height at which it hovers.  Everyone else attempts to cower in fear, praying for deliverance.

In his hut, Blarth glances at the celestial once more before cursing the loss of a good shoe and his hung-over aim.  He returns to bed, grumbling about the way the angel shines hurting his eyes.  

In the temple of St Cuthbert, Yip unwinds from his meditative pose and watches the flying creature in awe.  Something within him shifts and twists at the sight of the shining light, but it is a weak and feeble instinct that is easily controlled.  Yip swallows once, keeps his eyes locked on the hovering creature and waits for what is to come.

Halgo gazes out the window, a grin on his face.  “Nice illusion,” he thinks to himself.  “I wonder who’s creating it.  It’ll require an enormous amount of power.”
He watches for a few seconds longer, waiting for the weight of his disbelief to cause the sight to slough away to nothingness.  It doesn’t, remaining strong and real enough to burn itself onto his eyes.  For a few seconds Halgo’s grin remains frozen on his face, then he realises that there’s an actual real, honest-to-the-gods angel hovering above town.  He lets out something that could be a gibber, then clutches at his backpack and it’s precious contents in a panic.  “If I live through this,” he mutters to himself, “I need to secure things better.”

On the third story of the Bell and Clapper, Geoffrey Cromwell starts climbing into his armour.  He keeps half an eye on the window as he straps on greaves and readies his shield, watching as the hovering angel starts to patrol back and forth over the town.  For a moment Geoffrey thinks the creature’s golden eyes are turned on the inn’s window, and the cleric must take a deep breath to keep from quailing in fear.  

As the angel starts its third circle over the town, Geoffrey is ready.  He ensures his holy symbol is displayed prominently on his chest, that his shield and morning star are as presentable as they can be made on short notice.   Then, with another breath to shore up his bravery, the cleric of St Cuthbert strides towards the stairs and the front door of the inn.  He has his morning star clenched in a sweaty grip, his shield held forth with a precision he hasn’t known since he took his first vows as a warrior-priest.

“Greetings, Shining one,” Geoffrey calls from the inn’s courtyard, reflexively slipping into the language of religious scholarship and formal greeting.  It seems a hollow and empty cry next to the booming expanse of the angel’s voice, but Geoffrey’s call is enough to catch the creature’s attention.  “I am Geoffrey Cromwell, servant of St Cuthbert of the Cudgel, Guardian of the tenets of Law and Justice.  If you have some business in town, would perhaps consent to speak with me.” 

The Angel’s eyes lock with Geoffrey’s, blazing with raw power and righteousness. With a nod, it draws a sword composed of pure flame and swoops towards the cleric.


----------



## Lela

Did Yip just have a twinge there?  What for I wonder. . .


----------



## arwink

_Tuesday, September 19th, 508 AF, Continued_

Dust billows up as the Angel alights in the midst of the courtyard.  It towers over Geoffrey, standing over twice the cleric’s six-foot frame, but it still manages to seem graceful as it kneels, sword forward in a gesture of respect.  Geoffrey responds in kind, his brain quickly dredging up as much information on the courtesies of the shining host as it can after a night of good wine and revelry.  It’s all he can do to keep his hands on his morning star as he holds it forward.

“GREETINGS, GEOFFREY CROMWELL, SERVANT OF ST CUTHBERT,”  the Celestial booms.  “I AM KNOWN AS CHEALRIOTH ON YOUR PLANE, WARRIOR OF THE SHINING HOST AND CHAMPION OF LADY CHANCE.  IT IS GOOD TO MEET ANOTHER WARRIOR-SERVANT OF THE GODS IN A PLACE SUCH AS THIS.” 

“The pleasure is mine, Chealrioth,” Geoffrey offers.  He blinks a few moments as he attempts to gaze directly at the shining celestial.  “Do you think, perhaps, you may dim your radiance long enough that we may speak with one another in the spirit of camaraderie.  I am still mortal, for all the kinship we share in our devotion to our masters, and such light as yours is strong to mine eyes.”

In an instance, the radiance is dimmed to the light of a lantern rather than a blazing star.  Geoffrey is forced to blink a few times as his eyes adjust to the gloom that settles over Bellhold once more.  When his eyes can see once more without watering, he can make out the form of a green-skinned humanoid over fourteen feet tall, with white feathered wings that curl slightly around the celestials body as though it were embarrassed to be seen without its illumination.

“MY APOLOGIES,”  Chealrioth says.  “I AM NOT OFTEN REQUIRED TO SPEND TIME IN YOUR PLANE, AND YOUR WAYS REMAIN STRANGE TO ME.” 
“No apology is needed,” Geoffrey says.  “Is it not the nature of all but the gods to start without knowing everything.  Understanding comes with time and experience.”
“INDEED,”  Chealrioth says.  A look of sudden consternation flashes across his face.  “IT VEXES ME THAT I MUST ASK THIS, GEOFFREY CROMWELL, BUT I HAVE BEEN CHARGED WITH A GRAVE DUTY THAT MUST BE FULFILLED.  CAN YOU SPEAK FOR THIS TOWN?” 
“The people of this town are free,” Geoffrey says cautiously.  “Few can speak for them, and I fear thy arrival has frightened those who would into hiding.  They are but simple folk, content in their life and unknowing of the greater celestial mysteries.  They presence is strange and startling to them, so I beg you hold them in no disrespect.  In their absence, I will attempt to aid you in your duty.”
“THAT IS FAIR,”  Chealrioth says.  “THE MISTAKE IS MINE.  ALL CREATURES ARE THEIR OWN, AND NONE SHOULD BE PERMITTED TO SPEAK FOR ALL.  MY DUTY BLINDS ME SOMETIMES.  IT HAS BEEN A LONG TASK, ONE THAT HAS KEPT ME FROM PRESSING TASKS ON MY HOME PLANE, AND I FEAR THE TIME ON YOUR WORLD HAS LEFT ME IMPATIENT.” 
“I say again, no apology is needed,” Geoffrey says.  His jaw starts to ache with the formalism of talking to the emerald angel, his brain with the desperate need to remember the correct protocol when addressing a greater celestial.  “What is thy mission, Chealrioth, Warrior of the Shining Host?”
“I COME ON BEHALF OF THE LORD SIMON HUMAN-BORN, LORD OF KHEST AND FAVOURITE OF MY LADY OF CHANCE.  THE HEART STONE OF ONE HE HOLDS DEAR, ONE FIDELITY OF KHEST, HAS GONE DARK AND THE YOUNG MAN’S SOUL IS LOST TO THE NETHERWORLD.  MY TASK IS TO FIND FIDELITY’S REMAINS, TO PUNISH THOSE RESPONSIBLE FOR HIS DEATH , AND THEN TO RETURN WITH BEFORE RETURNING THEM TO MY SUMMONER.” 

Geoffrey nods slowly in agreement, slowly placing the names in the angel’s explanation.  Simon of Khest is a familiar name, a human-born hero of the Demon-stone wars who has outlived all other heroes by virtue of a reincarnation into elven form.  The venerable cleric had served as advisor to the Lords of the Halark Coasts since the region joined the empire, and was known to be protective of the descendents of his former allies and comrades. 

“I have spend many months in this town,” he announces, “and never have I heard the name Fidelity of Khest.  Is it possible he travelled unknown, or that he hid his identity?”
Chealrioth nods.
“IT IS POSSIBLE.  MANY TIMES THE LORDLING HAS FLED FROM MY LORDS PROTECTIVE GAZE, AND HE HAS LONG LEARNED TO HIDE HIS IDENTITY IF HE WISHES TO AVOID EASY PURSUIT.” 
Chealrioth shifts slightly, his wings rustling slightly as he relaxes his stance a little.  For a moment, it even looks as though the celestial is feeling sheepish.
“IT IS NOT,” He booms softly, “AN UNCOMMON OCCURRENCE.  THE LORD FIDELITY FANCIES HIMSELF AN ADVENTURER IN THE VEIN OF HIS GRANDFATHER, BUT HE HAS NOT YET LEARNED THE FAVOUR OF MY LADY AS HIS GRANDSIRE ONCE DID.” 
“Do you think, Noble Chealrioth, you could provide me with a description of the young Lord of Khest?  Perhaps I may have seen him, but not penetrated his disguise.”

Chealrioth nods once, gesturing and summoning an image in the air.  Geoffrey studies the illusion for a few moments.  It is recognisably the face of Thrash, albeit with longer hair and lacking the vacant expression that settled in the young rangers eyes as he travelled with the Cleric.

“He is known to me, Chealrioth,” Geoffrey says.  “He travelled for a time with my companions and myself, serving as a warrior against the evil that settled in a cave on yonder mountain.  It is to my sorrow that I was present when he was slain, cut down by a horde of goblin warriors in an effort to save myself and my companions.  May it please you to know that we have already extracted vengeance on his slayers for the death of our comrade, and that he rests beneath a cairn in the cave where he was slain.”

The emerald head of Chealrioth swings towards the caves, his eyes narrowing as though he can see through the very mountain stone to see the resting place of his quarry.  His expression is grim, and his eyes blaze with fire as he turns back to Geoffrey.

“MY THANKS, GEOFFREY CROMWELL, FOR YOUR DIRECTIONS AND YOUR ACTIONS IN AVENGING THE FALLEN LORD.  FORGIVE ME FOR MY IMPATIENCE, BUT I WILL COLLECT THE LORDS REMAINS DIRECTLY.  MUCH TIME HAVE I SPENT TRACKING HIM, AND I LONG TO RETURN TO THE RADIANT LIGHT OF MY LADY.  CONVEY MY APOLOGIES TO THE PEOPLE OF THIS TOWN, FOR I MEANT NOT TO FRIGHTEN THEM AS MUCH AS I DID.” 

“The pleasure would be mine, Chealrioth,” Geoffrey says.  From the back of his mind, the traditional farewell of Chealrioth’s goddess wells up. “Good journey and high favour, noble one.”  
Chealrioth’s eyebrows raise in surprise as he lifts off the ground.
“GOOD JOURNEY AND HIGH FAVOUR, GEOFFREY CROMWELL.  MAY WE MEET AGAIN.” 

Wings beat against the air, creating a cloud of dust that seems to engulf the young Cuthbertite cleric.  Within seconds, Chealrioth becomes a flare of light against the backdrop of the mountains.  Already Geoffrey can see doors opening, heads peering out of windows as the townsfolk realise the angel is gone.

“Well,” Geoffrey mutters to himself.  “That was invigorating.”
“Are you okay?” Tokket asks, emerging from the inn.  Geoffrey shakes his head, holding forth a hand that trembles like a leaf.
“I think I need a strong drink.”

As he turns and walks towards the inn, the celestial comes bursting forth from the cave at the peak of Saddle Mountain.  Although few can see it, Geoffrey knows the angel has Thrash’s corpse in his grip.

“LORD SIMON IS TRULY VEXED AT YOU, YOUNG MAN,”  the celestial booms.  If he says more, the sound in lost in the distance as it flies towards Khest.


----------



## Mathew_Freeman

Sorely vexed, indeed.

Great stuff, mate!


----------



## Durhon

Geez. Must have made his diplomacy roll eh?   

I love it when old campaigns come into new.  This was all a reference to one of our first campaign groups.


----------



## Lela

Holy CRAP!!!  Now there's a good ally to have.

Not that it may ever come up again but still a good one to have.  And here I'm desperatly trying to figure out a wayto make this work in my group . . .


Oh, don't forget the Yip's Rogues Gallery thread.


----------



## arwink

I'm going to try to get a last update done before the weekend's gaming starts, but they'll be a bit scarce for the next two or three weeks due to assignment marking.

In place of todays update, I'll offer instead some background notes to the last update:

Simon Human-born and the Demon-stone war mentioned in the last update are basically references to the first 3e campaign i ran, in which Khynal, Durhon and Yip were all players.  I didn't want to make a huge amount of references to that campaign, largely because Capellan and Geoffrey didn't join the group until very recently, but I did want to have it floating around in the background so the players who were there had a sense of continuity.

Simon was Khynal's PC, a cleric of the luck goddess that was probably one of the most reasonable, sobre and generally level-headed people you could ever hope to meet.  Even after a series of reincarnations had transformed him into a gnoll, and later an elf.  

I think, eventually, the guards at his temple just let anyone in who claimed to be Simon as long as they didn't look human.  That was how often he'd head off to adventure, and come home looking completely different.  He's now an Ancient Elf with Epic levels, a nominal leader of the region but largely leaving the job to the family of his two comrades in arms.  He's currently an epic level cleric, and busies himself with keeping the Khest line safe and preventing numerous wizards and idiots around the empire from finding and experimenting with chunks of demonstone.  It's a full time job.

Thrash/Fidelity's Grandsire was a Wild Elf Barbarian named Justice (Played by Yip), who later got turned into a human.  Bad luck all round, and he's at least two hundred years dead by the time the Copperheads game starts.  His family is primarily human or half-elven (he was a tad indescriminate in his conquests), and all of them are primarily long lived regardles of race.  It's largely thought that Justice is hanging in Valhala.

The last character from the game, the rogue/wizard Drakius, dissappeared not long after the war was over, leaving his wife and children to run things in his place.  no-one knows exactly where Drakius went, but he had put together a small task force of wizard/rogues to help him collect and store evil artifacts to ensure they weren't used against the kingdom as they were in the Demonstone war.  It's thought that he succeeded, to some extent, but he's been MIA for over a hundred and fifty years.

In the next update:  News about heading north, Blarth abandoning his responsibilities and Yip getting beaten up by dagger-wielding rat-fairies.


----------



## Lela

arwink said:
			
		

> *I'm going to try to get a last update done before the weekend's gaming starts, but they'll be a bit scarce for the next two or three weeks due to assignment marking.
> 
> Yip getting beaten up by dagger-wielding rat-fairies. *




I have no idea how to respond to that.


Though I will put one more request in for the Yip thread.


----------



## arwink

Done.  Small Scampering Creatures of Seldarn can be found here


----------



## Lela

arwink said:
			
		

> *Done.  Small Scampering Creatures of Seldarn can be found here *




YAY!!!!!!!!!!!!!


----------



## Durhon

arwink said:
			
		

> *In the next update:  News about heading north, Blarth abandoning his responsibilities and Yip getting beaten up by dagger-wielding rat-fairies. *




Abandoning duties???  Come on, Blarth only has one duty.  And thats heads!!!


----------



## Khynal

Durhon said:
			
		

> *
> 
> Abandoning duties???  Come on, Blarth only has one duty.  And thats heads!!! *




Collecting them, I assume you mean.


----------



## arwink

Durhon said:
			
		

> *
> 
> Abandoning duties???  Come on, Blarth only has one duty.  And thats heads!!! *




No, abandoning responsiblities, not duties.  There's a fine difference, and you definately did one of the two


----------



## arwink

_Wednesday, September 20th_

The Cuthbertite initiate that rides into Bellhold goes unnoticed.  His blue and white tabard is streaked with red mud, his face red and sweating beneath his helm.  He clenches the small pack to his chest tightly as he rides, silently chanting the precepts of duty and obedience under his breath as his horse canters through the city streets.

When he reaches the courtyard of the Bell and Clapper, he slips from the horse.  There is a patch of soot on the ground, a scorch mark as though someone has lit a fire hot enough to crisp and burn the very cobblestones.  The initiate notices, but doesn’t think too much on the matter.  Y’Dey had said that there was trouble in town, that some strange magic or psionics had been involved.  Melting stone was likely another manifestation, a sign that the group the church sent here had done their job.

With a final recital of the precepts, the initiate pushes open the doors of the inn.  

“I’m searching for Geoffrey Cromwell,” he tells the bartender.  The half-elf simply nods, points to a sandy-haired man sitting at a nearby table.  The initiate watches him closely.  The cleric is drinking a cup of tea, his eyes trained on the initiates blue robes and Guardian’s Cross.  	A half-orc, a dwarf and a kobold surround him.

“It’s time to create the Warding Bell,” Geoffrey says simply as the initiate approaches.  The young boy nods, offering the small message pouch.
“The ranking Justicars have arrived,” he says.  “Y’Dey requests your aid in the crafting.”
“Head to the temple,” Geoffrey orders.  “Rest there.”

“Time to go?” Blarth asks.  There’s a false note of eagerness in his voice, as though working for the temple may not be the foremost reason in his mind for leaving.  Geoffrey waves him off, reading through Y’Dey’s letter.

“We’ve got five days,” Geoffrey comments.  “You aren’t required to come, but Y’dey has recommended you make the journey.”
“Why?” Halgo asked.  “I thought we were told to stay here?  I’ve got research I could be doing.”
“She wishes to discuss a request we made when I last reported,” Geoffrey tells him.  “We may not be coming back to Bellhold for some time.”
He pauses for a moment, aware of the expectant look on his comrades’ faces.
“It appears we may be part of the delegation being sent to Bor.”

There’s a moment of quiet contemplation at the table as everyone considers the news.  It had been something of a passing fancy, the lure of the unknown continent to the north.  Tales of goblin hordes, ice and snow drifted down from the new country.  It was a wild country, a place that had known the civilizing touch of the Empire for little more than two decades.  A place where fortunes could be made, and reputation carved out of the ice that covered the continents mountain ranges.

Blarth grins, pushing himself free of the table.
“Where are you going?” Halgo asks.
“Blarth go say goodbye.”
They can hear the half-orc whistling as he exist the inn.

_later_

“You should have given her more,” Geoffrey grumbles.  
“Blarth gave her lots,” Blarth says.  “Blarth give lots of gold.  More than she need to care for Blarth’s child.  She not have to work for years, and Blarth might be back by then.”
“It just doesn’t seem right,” Geoffrey says.  He sigh’s heavily, feeling partially responsible for dragging Blarth away from his pregnant lady-friend.  Even if it is only a very small part.

The afternoon air is crisp, although the promise of a storm lies on the horizon.  The group has made good time, their enthusiasm and dedication to duty prompting them towards a quick exit from Bellhold.  As Blarth and Geoffrey argue about the morality of leaving behind an unborn child, Halgo and Yip walk quietly behind.  Neither feels the need to become involved in the mild argument.

“Drink?” Yip chirps suddenly, pulling a small flask of mead from the folds of his robe.  Halgo raises an eyebrow in surprise.
“Where did you get that?” the dwarf asks.
“Tokket-elf give to Yip.”  He pauses, searching for the correct word.  “Is gift?”
“Ah,” Halgo says.  He sniffs the open flask, the smell of mead strong inside.  “How are the other brothers going to feel about you carrying around drink?”

Yip shrugs.

“Not know,” he says reasonably.  “Other Yip’s maybe not notice.  Yip is very quiet, very sneaky.  Hide things well.”
A momentary flash of disgruntlement passes across his face.
“Sometimes Yip think that why he here.  Serving Cleric-Geoffrey, not running with others.”

Halgo contemplates the obvious internal conflict the kobolds is feeling for the space of a few breaths.  The small creature is obviously distressed by his current mission, the solitary feeling of being separated from his kin.  On the other hand, it also has mead, which means it’s a good thing he’s here right now.  With what could almost be a supportive smile, Halgo accepts the flask and takes a hefty swig of the golden liquid.  It runs like liquid velvet over his tongue, washing away a days worth of road dust, and brings a smile to the dwarf’s bare cheeks.  

Yips.  Sometimes they were handy to have around.

Then he notices that Geoffrey and Blarth have stopped talking, stopped moving even, and Yip is looking alert and tense in the expectation of danger.  A set of bushes just to the side of the road are rustling quietly, and everyone is looking at it with tense anticipation.

A lean face pops up from behind the greenery, a face with vague elf-like features and a shock of read hair.  It grins like a feral cat, momentarily flicking a short and very pointed moustache.

“Afternoon travellers,” the redhead says.  “Don’t suppose I could trouble ye for a moment of your time, no?


----------



## Lela

Okay, this is officially a bad thing.


----------



## Durhon

Heh heh heh.  Here comes a bit of fun.

In the next episode.... Blarths big mouth!!


----------



## arwink

“Afternoon travellers,” the redhead says.  “Don’t suppose I could trouble ye for a moment of your time, no?

Twigs and leaves crackle beneath the redhead’s feet as he climbs out of the scrawny bush he was using as a hiding spot.  He proves to be a short man, standing only a little over five feet.  His cloak and tunic are the color of rust, while his pale leggings are streaked with dirt and grass stains.  All in all, he looks like a particularly short elf that has lost weight and developed a sense of humour.   His grin is wide and infectious, his eyes gleaming happily as he looks the four travellers over carefully.

“Sorry for surprising yeh,” he says.  “But ye can’t be too careful on the road these days, ye know what I mean?  Dangerous things happen to lone travellers, particularly those of us that don’t go runnin’ around in tin suits or carryin’ long-blades, yeh?”

“No problem,” Geoffrey says.  “Although you have little to fear from us.”

“Good to hear, good to hear,” the redheaded man says.  “The names Relmarn.  Well, it might be Relmarn.  At the very least, Relmarn’s the name I’m usin’ while I’m a-travelin in yer fine lands.  Could use another, I suppose, or tell ye if Relmarn is real enough, but ye can’t be too careful in the wide world these days, no?”

“Indeed,” Geoffrey says.  “My name is Geoffrey, and my companions are Blarth, Yip and Halgo.  Those are our real names, and we’re bound for Hommlet if you’re in need of travelling companions.”

“’Unfortunate,” Relmarn says.  “I’m a-headin’ the other way myself.  A small place called Bellhold, lookin’ for a friend who may be there.”

“We’ve just travelled from there,” Geoffrey says cautiously.  “And we were there for many months.  Name your friend, perhaps when can offer some assistance.”

“Well, her’ name was Valea,” Relmarn says.  “She was the..ah…lover of me master, the Duke Wintermoon.  She’s been a-missin’ for quite some time, and he’s sent me to ensure she’s okay.”

Halgo is standing at the back of the group, Yip’s flask still in his hands.  He squints at the animated face of Relmarn, notices the shifting colour of his eyes for the first time.  Closer examination shows that Relmarn’s feet don’t quite touch the ground, and there is a strongly fox-like twitch to his knows when he talks.  _Fey_ Halgo thinks. He takes another swig of Yip’s flask to hide his surprise and concern, trying to remember everything Milo had told him about fey lore.  It was an area that had never interested Halgo, and he curses his ambivalence now.

Geoffrey squints at Relmarn cautiously, not noticing the tell-tale signs that mark him as something other than human, but easily guessing revealing all he knows about Valea’s fate is a bad idea.  

“I’m afraid the name is unfamiliar to me,” Geoffrey offers cautiously.  “Do you have any way she could be identified?”
“Well, she’s a-beautiful and probably stayin’ close to a lake or somethin’ like it.  Probably wearing a silver anklet, a present from me master before she went a’travellin’”
“And how long as she been missing,” Geoffrey asks.
“I’m not rightly sure,” Relmarn admits.  “We only really noticed a few decades back, but maybe a century or two.  Not long.”
Geoffrey nods, a quick half-truth is forming on his lips.  Unfortunately, Blarth speaks before he can say it aloud.
“Blarth know that name,” the half-orc muses.  “Wasn’t that girl beneath mountain?  Water-woman with no clothes?”
“Ah, ye know her then?” Relmarn asks, brightening visibly.
“Yes, I believe so,” Geoffrey says wearily.  “I assume you were aware she was fey.”
“You don’t say,” Relmarn says, his eyes twinkling.  “Well, I think Wintermoon said somethin’ along those lines, yes.”
“And I’m afraid she’s dead,” Geoffrey says.  “She was being held captive by a dragon, and she died in the fight to defeat the lingering legacy of the wyrms evil.”

Relmarn looks crestfallen, but there’s the faintest edge of a smirk beneath his expression.
“That’s bad news, to be sure,” he says.  “The Lord will be mighty unimpressed with me, unimpressed indeed.  ‘Don’t suppose you know who did the deed, do yeh?  So I could placate his Duke-ship with news of where his vengeance could be focused?”
“I believe it was a goblin who cut her low,” Geoffrey lies blandly.  “He was under the control of the dragon’s spirit, and he cut her down with magic.”
“Aye, that ain’t gonna be good,” Relmarn says, his face aghast.  “Ah well, nothin’ for it.  Should have started a-lookin earlier than I did an’ all.  Me thanks for yer help an’ all, an ‘ good luck in your journey.”

Relmarn settles onto the side of the road, a look of perplexed fear plain on his features.  The copperheads look at him for a few seconds, trying to gauge the creature’s motives, but soon take the chance to move on down the road.  Relmarn watches them go, his nose twitching.  When he’s sure they’ve stopped looking back, he lets out a grin and leaps to his feat.  He starts walking back towards the bushes, his form shimmering and shifting to that of a fox as he moves.  His keen fox ears can hear stern words being exchanged between the cleric and the half-orc as they leave, an exchange that confirms what Relmarn already expects.  Letting out a yelp of glee, the fox sprints across the hills until he enters a small clearing.  

“You have found them,” a cold voice rasps through the clearing.  Relmarn transforms back into his humanoid form and bows low before a patch of empty air.
“I believe so, lord,” he says.  “They are either her slayers, or they are lying to protect those who dealt the blow.”

A cold breeze cuts across the clearing, and a small hunting party of fey surrounds Relmarn.  Lithe goblin hunters chatter and shriek with joy at being on the prime, while a three foot tall rat wearing human garb and a silver loop through one ear makes tentative thrusts with a rapier only barely large enough to be called a dagger.  

Relmarn keeps his head bowed, looking at none of them, until he feels a cold hand upon the back of his neck.  When he looks up, it is into an elf-like face of indescribable beauty.  Golden eyes flash in amusement as they drink in Relmarn’s quail of fear at the sight of them, and a goblin jester at the sidhe’s side makes a crude joke that sets his comrades laughing.  Relmarn pretends he hasn't heard the barbed comment, his attention focused on the terrifyingly perfect face that seems to fill his field of vision.  Even when the thin, pale lips twist into a smile and the chill hand is removed, Relmarn can't allow himself to relax.

“Excellent, Relmarn” Duke Wintermoon rasps, an icy rapier appearing in his delicate hands.  “You have done well.  Lead us find them, and let us punish them for their impudence.”


----------



## arwink

Woo.  Double post.


----------



## arwink

Eep!.  tripple post.


----------



## Durhon

Yay!!!


----------



## Lela

Yep, not good.

Now it's doubly official.


----------



## arwink

I'm swamped with marking at the moment, but after reading a hundred assignments over two days I figured it was time to write something for myself.

Starting on Monday next week, I should be back to a regular posting schedule for all three storyhours that should see me getting somewhere close to up-to-date 

_Wednesday, September 20th, continued_

The first warning that something has gone wrong is the circle of mist, slowly closing on the campsite.  It rises out of the still night air and drifts in, a large circle slowly closing in towards the fire.

"Damn," Geoffrey swears, and the others nod in agreement.  Plates of stew are hurriedly set aside and weapons are scrambled for.  Blarths sword clears its sheath with a whisper of noise, the crystalline rabbit's foot attached to its pommel dancing on its length of chain.

"Yip," Geoffrey says.  "Go see what's out there."

The small kobold scampers to obey.  Everyone watches him go, the mist closing over him so quickly it's as if he's stepped through a solid wall.  Ears are strained as everyone listens for noise, and they can hear the silent pitter-patter of feet in the distance.

Yip pushes his way through the mist, struggling to see what's before him.  Rocks loom out of the dankness, dark shapes that can only be identified when Yip is close enough to reach out and touch the stone surface.  He curses silently, then reproaches himself for the bad habit he's picked up from Geoffrey.  Yipmonks don't swear, they obey.  Even when they are sure that obedience could lead to death.

He curses again, and this time no reproach looms in his subconscious.

Silence reigns across the hills.  Neither Yip nor the Copperheads waiting with tense nerves around the campfire can hear a thing.

Yip is the first to find their attackers.  The jester-goblin appears out of no-where, seated on a rock just to the kobold monk's right.  It stares at Yip, it's pale white eyes squinting from behind its jesters sceptre.

"Greetings scaly-kind," the goblin rasps, it's hat jingling softly now despite the silence with which he had approached.  "We need not fight."

Yip stares at the creature, wondering why it makes such an offer.  Then he notices the jesters rod waving back and forth, the eyes on the frost-like head that tip it glowing softly.  The faintest weave of magic makes its way into Yip's brain, tugging at his instincts in an attempt to make him call the goblin friend.

"We need not fight..."the goblin repeats, and Yip gives the creature a wide grin."
"Yip want to fight," he says.  With a loud Yip of anger, he leaps forward with a strike to the goblin's elongated nose.  It's a glancing blow, one that draws a stream of mist-like blood from the goblin's nostrils, but that's all the monk gets before a well-dressed rat emerges from the mist and tackles him.

Around the campfire, the other copperheads hear the sudden sound of Yip's attack.
"Blarth not thing that good sign," Blarth says needlessly.  A hail of arrows emerges from the mist before anyone can agree...


----------



## Lela

Well, this just gets worse and worse.  I was hoping Yip would take that goblin out but, alas, there was much blood but little death.

That is, assuming Yip manages to beat off the rat man.  Those monks never seem to have much luck with grappling though.

My other hope was for Yip to pretend to be the goblin's friend.  This might have allowed him a few tricks or at least a full attack at a weak goblin willing to die.  But, again alas, Yip's are not meant for subturfuge (ah ha!  Rogue/Bard Yip designed to sneak, lie, and spy: I know what I'm doing tomarrow) and decided to go for the witty comment instead (very important, those).  Very Buffyesque really.  Again, assuming survival.


----------



## arwink

It's probably worth posting 2 things about this encounter:

1) It's one of those things that invariably looks better on the page than it did in game.  At the time when I was asking for people's recollections of the encounter, it took a few minutes proding to get them to recall it happened at all.  Even I wasn't really all that thrilled with it, as I'd normally leave a vengence team such as this until much later in the campaign, but I was playing with some monsters before they got published and the group were at just the right level to give me an idea of the CR.

All in all, things are even less exact than my storyhour updates usually are 

2)  Don't put ideas in Yip's head.  The current Yip is presently angling to take my title as "Most multiclassed PC in Brisbane."  He's currently a rogue/monk/fighter, with intentions of taking levels of drunken master and sorcerer over the next three level-ups.  I shudder to think what will happen once he's got those....

In any case, another update Friday.


----------



## arwink

_Wednesday, September 20th, continued_ 

The three Copperheads in the campsite weather the hail of arrows with only minor cuts.  Whoever is firing from out of the mist is obviously more skilled in the arts of stealth and magic than they are in accuracy.  A few arrows, bolts and javelins are unleashed in response, but it quickly becomes apparent that the mist will make missile fire difficult.  Their opponents may not be terribly accurate, but they do have the campsite surrounded.  Blarth draws his sword and plunges into the mist, following the direction of the arrow fire in the hopes of finding an opponent to engage in hand to hand.  Halgo and Geoffrey exchange glances, ducking under another hail of arrows, before they plunge into the mist after the half-orc.  They find their first attack hiding behind a rock, the goblin's silvery eyes seeming to see through the mist.  The small creature is prepared for them, a dagger-sized longsword held at the ready, but his skills and strength are no match for an angry Blarth.  The goblin's blood stains the ground, and he seems to disappear into the mist.

Out in the mist, Yip wrestles against the dagger-wielding rat.  The rat's blade slashes as they tumble through the mist, drawing a line of thin cuts on the kobold's arms and chest.  All the while, a jingling goblin jester trails after.  The sharp-featured creature keeps pressing a button on the back of its jesting rod*, flicking a long pale ribbon at the wrestling duo that causes a brief moment of searing cold when it connect with flesh.  Yip snarls as he forces himself to ignore the pain, then levers his legs underneath the rat to throw himself free.  The rat sails through the air, landing on its feet, as Yip quickly bounces back into a ready stance.  The angry snarl grows louder as both rat and jester close in on both sides.

Yip flurries, paws and tail snapping back and forth until the small monks seems to become a small ball of violence.  He catches the jester a glancing blow, draws a line of blood on the rats cheek with a wildly whipping tail.  Then  Yip hears the soft whisper of boots on the grass, and a tall being with an alabaster face emerges from the mist.

"Friends," Wintermoon says softly, the very word almost dripping in bile.  Yip drops his stance, his body flowing from alert to relaxed.  Despite the edge of danger in the tall Sidhe's tone, Yip can't resist the subtle charm of the creatures voice.

"Friends," Yip says.  "What you want Yip to do?"



*[pimp mode on]For the curious, the stats for the Jesting Rod can be found on the budget staves and rods update on Clockwork Golem.  For the really curious, the stats for the fey goblins and Relmarn are in the Gaming Frontiers: Monsters pdf  [pimp mode off]


----------



## Lela

Aw, there we go.  Yip's been hit.  Of course, the question is whether or not he's been _Charmed_ or _Dominated_.  I'd guess _Charmed_ myself but I could easily be wrong.


----------



## arwink

_Wednesday, September 20th, continued _ 

Wintermoon kneels down, looking Yip in the eyes.

"You must help me," he explains.  "We must stop your comrades from hurting my soldiers.  You will follow my lead, little scaly-kin."

Yip nods, and the fey-lord stands and calls into the mist.  His voice booms unnaturally loud through the air.

"I have your lizard-creature.  If you do not wish him to die, you will surrender yourselves into my justice."

In the mist Halgo, Blarth and Geoffrey stand in a tight circle, blades at the ready.  

"Do we believe him," Halgo asks.  
"Yip may already be dead," Geoffrey says.  "We stay put and kill anything that comes near."

"Yip still alive," Yip calls at Wintermoons prodding.  "Yip surrendered."

The three Copperheads stand still for the space of a few breaths, listening to the sounds of creatures moving in the thick mist.

"Okay," Geoffrey mutters.  "Head back to the fire.  If we surrender, I want to be able to see them coming."

The air around the fire is still clear, giving the three Copperheads a field of vision almost thirty feet wide.  After the clinging claustrophobia of the fog cloud, such limitations are almost welcome.  Seconds after they take their new positions, Yip scampers into the clearing with a spooked look on his face.

"Let us make no mistake, mortals, I'm going to kill you," Wintermoons voice echoes out of the mist.  "But first I want you to know that doom is upon you.  To feel the looming knowledge of death more keenly than any of your kind.  To murder one of the folk is a serious thing, even one such as Valea."

"Murder?" Geoffrey calls back.  "Who murdered.  We were trying to save her, not kill her.  Her own craving for blood got her killed.  She attacked us and we had no choice but to defend ourselves."

"You lie," Wintermoon says.  The hiss of a dozen goblins fills the air, and the sound of bow-strings being pulled taut fills the air.  "She spoke of your callous murder, you betrayal."

"She lied," Geoffrey says simply.  "Why would we kill a fey, a women yet, if we had any choice in the matter."

Silence fills the air.  The copperheads hold their breath, hoping the fairies in the mist are contemplating Geoffrey's words.

"Your words ring true," Wintermoon says, but the words are hesitant and unconvinced.  "Every magic I have says it is so, but my soul tells me you lie."

"Then you're soul is wrong," Haglo says.  "It tells you what you want to believe."

Silence again fills the air, and slowly the mist melts away.  When it is gone only four fey remain standing around the party - the rat, the jester, Relmarn and Wintermoon.  They fey-lords countenance is confused, rapidly shifting from emotion to emotion, and the faintest streak of blond is starting to manifest in his dark hair.

"You have bought yourself a reprieve with wisdom," the fey says, his voice slowly taking on a rich timbre that had been absence moments before.  "I will think on this, commune once more with my beloved's soul.  If what you have said proves false, I shall return..."

In an instant, the blond in his hair is gone and his voice goes cold and deathly once more.

"...And I will slay you for your crime."

Four fey slowly fade from view as the collective breath of the Copperheads is released.

"What in hell was that about?" Geoffrey asks.
Halgo shakes his head, just as confused.  Blarth shrugs.
"Puny Fairy," he says, then goes back to his dinner.


----------



## Mathew_Freeman

arwink said:
			
		

> *"What in hell was that about?" Geoffrey asks.
> Halgo shakes his head, just as confused.  Blarth shrugs.
> "Puny Fairy," he says, then goes back to his dinner. *




 ROFL!


----------



## Durhon

Dont forget the flute!!!


----------



## Lela

Durhon said:
			
		

> *Dont forget the flute!!! *




Yeah, we can't forget the flute.  It's essential!


----------



## arwink

Lela said:
			
		

> *
> 
> Yeah, we can't forget the flute.  It's essential! *




er, the flute is forgotten.  File this under "oops" and pretend that Blarth used it to blow away a couple of fey goblins in the above 

Like I said, the details for this bit were sketchier than most, and the adventure that follows is more interesting in many ways...


----------



## arwink

*New Spoiler Warning:  The Following Adventure is adapted from the 2e Module "Haggash's Secret" from the book "A Heroes Tale" by Monte Cook.*

_Thursday, September 21st_ 

After a night where sleep is consistently interrupted by strange noises and half-alert dreams, the Copperheads pack up their belongings and continue the trek towards Hommlet.  The days travel passes quietly, with few encounters, but by late evening a winter storm has broken.  A quick discussion of the route suggests that Haggash will be nearby, and despite the relative gloom and unfriendliness of the locals, the Inn of the Welcome Arms on the edge of town will by drier to sleep in than a ditch by the side of the road.  Marginally drier, anyway.  The decision is made to press on through the darkness for another hour, when the light from the inn's windows comes into view.

The Inn of the Welcome Arms is a small, cramped place that somehow feels more claustrophobic and seedy than previous visits to the establishment.  In two places along one of the tap-room walls, dribbles of rainwater leak in through cracks in the wooden walls.  Still it' isn't the side of the road and as a flash of lightening splits a tree outside, everyone is pleased to be inside.

The Welcome Arm's innkeeper is a thin, almost wasted, man named Tal.  HE offers the Copperheads the same grunt he's given them on their last few visits, but after a few minutes he slides along the bar to talk to the party.

"Afraid the kitchen's closed," he says.  "Can offer you some bread and cold stew if you're interested though."
"Agreed," Geoffrey says, and everyone echoes the sentiment.  As Tal heads to the kitchen, everyone glances at one another.  This is as close to friendly as anyone in Haggash has been.

"Something is going wrong in town," Geoffrey predicts.
"How Geoffrey know?" Blarth says.
"There a small town, no-one likes talking to outsiders, and there's no sign of anything valuable.  Those places are always in trouble for some reason.  It's like they have a sign on the front door that invites evil to seek them out."

Sure enough, when Tal returns he tries to subtly sound the group out to gain a measure of their skills and expertise.  That Geoffrey is a Cleric of St Cuthbert and a Justicar in training seems to make all the impression the inn-keep needs, and within seconds he is explaining Haggash's tale.

"The townsfolk are nervous," Tal says secretively, keeping his voice low so the toothless old man at the end of the bar doesn't overhear the conversation.  "We have a single church in town, the Morningstar Abbey, and it traditionally welcomes all comers..."

Halgo suppresses a snort at this.

"But there's been travellers recently," Tal continues, oblivious to the irony of his statement.  "Silent monk from some foreign order, and they've been making folk nervous.  Went into the morning star a few days back, haven't left it since.  Old Desol who takes care of the abbey say their meditating as is their right, but he seems tired and evasive when he says it.  Townsfolk are right terrified there's something going wrong inside the abbey..."

There's a long and expectant pause as he says this.  Everyone looks at each other for a few minutes before Geoffrey finally sighs.

"Alright, we'll look in on it tomorrow," he says.  "If there's anything wrong, we'll destroy the evil."
"Are you sure?" Tal asks.  "I wouldn't want to put you to any trouble."
"Copperheads kill dragon-stone," Blarth boasts proudly.  "Puny Monks not prove problem."
"Copperheads...Copperheads," Tal mutters under his breath, then his eyes go wide.  "You're not the lads who saved Bellhold a few months back, are you?  I've been hearing tales of you from the travellers.  Gentlemen, it's a pleasure to have you in my inn."

"And the pleasure is all yours, I assure," Halgo mutters quietly.  As Tal bustles away to talk excitedly to the Inn's only other patron, the Copperheads sip quietly at the watered ale and discuss their plans.

"We'll go tomorrow morning," Geoffrey says.  "Early."
"Geoffrey think anything there?" Yip asks, pulling a face as he sips another ale.  
"Who knows," Geoffrey says.  "But there's no harm in checking it out.  Get a good nights sleep, if you can.  We'll want an early start."


----------



## Durhon

Ah... here comes head number two.


----------



## Lela

Wow, that was creepy.


----------



## arwink

_Friday, September 22nd_ 

It is still raining as dawn creeps up on the Inn, and a glum Geoffrey wakes everyone in the Copperhead's small room.  Tal has breakfast ready by the time they've reached the common room, a sparse meal that consists of little beyond porridge and a cup of warm tea.  Yip almost orders an ale with his meal, but a quick glare from Geoffrey discourages from this notion.  

Haggash is an hours walk from the inn, through the rain and over a boggy hilltop.  The town itself is a less than inspiring sight through the deluge, a small collection of two dozen buildings that seem to be clinging to the title of disrepair as closely as they can.  The abbey is easy to spot, even through the rain.  It's the only building of any size in Haggash, and the short bell-tower easily makes it the tallest.

Geoffrey leads the group up to the Abbey's front door, knocking loudly as the drizzling rain soaks them to the skin.  There is the soft sound of slippers on wood on the far side of the portal, and after a minute or so someone appears to open a lock.  The door swings open the barest slither of a crack, and an elderly face looks through.

"Yes," the face asks.
"We have come seeking sanctuary," Geoffrey says.  "May we enter and pray to our gods?"
"I am afraid not, child."
"Why not?"
"There are monks here, children of the light who have sworn themselves to silence as an act of devotion.  They are praying in solitude, and the presence of others will disturb them."
"We will be quiet," Geoffrey says.  "We have no with to disturb the prayers of others."
"No." 
Geoffrey pauses to consider this for a few minutes.  His knowledge of such Abbeys, shared by all gods, is sketchy to say the least.  The correct protocol was taught to him once, but it dances beyond the limits of his memory to recall it quickly.  Eventually, he falls back on righteous indignation as a back-up.

"You would refuse a fellow priest?  I thought this abbey was open to all?"

The elderly face examines him closely, then flicks a meaningful glance at Yip.
"This is a place to worship the gods of light," he says, a dangerous edge to his voice.  "A place for those who devote themselves to the sanctity and protection of all life and freedom.  Your god is a welcome ally, but he has no place here.  The dreams of your church are not the dreams of ours.  I have little time for this, and this conversation is already gone on long enough.  The brothers who meditate here have travelled far and if this conversation should continue I fear we shall disturb them.  I bid you good day, and recommend you take your shelter elsewhere.  The inn has rooms in which you can wait out the storm."

The door slams in the parties face.

"That could have gone better," Halgo comments.
"Shut-up," Geoffrey says.  "What did you think?  Is there something up?"
"Something, but I'm not sure what," Halgo says.  "He's holding onto some old grudges against the church, that's for sure.  It may be as simple as a lack of contact, or some misplaced dogma."
"You really think so?" Geoffrey asks.  Halgo shrugs.

"Broken window," says Yip cryptically.  Everyone turns to look at the small kobold, and he points at a small building opposite the church.  The shutters are damaged, one of them broken in two with the remnants hanging at a skewed angle from the window frame.  

Everyone crosses the road and peers inside - It appears to be a general store, filled with mining equipment.  There is an aura of stillness about the shop, as though the contents were afraid of the very idea of movement.

"Go investigate," Geoffrey tells Yip.  "Unlock the door."

The kobold nods once, scrambling up the wall and through the window.  Once inside, he almost trips over an elderly man laying bound and gagged on the floor.  Yip kneels down, reaching out a small paw to check the man's pulse.  Within the space of a few breaths his terrified eyes snap open, staring up into the lizard-like face looking over him.  The mans thin limbs struggle against his bonds, and Yip leaps back from his frenzied thrashing.

"Yip not hurt," he calls out.  Outside, in the rain, the others ready weapons at the sound.  Yip reaches forward, freeing the gag from the man's mouth, and instantly he starts screaming.

"HELP!  MONSTERS!  THEIVES!  ALARM!"

Yip scowls, heading over to the door and pushing up a bar before returning to untie the old man's bonds.

"Yip not hurt," he snarls loudly as nimble paws worry at the knots.  The old man calms slightly, but as soon as his legs are free he leaps up.  Spotting Geoffrey entering his store, he runs to take cover behind the cleric.  When he sees that Blarth is just behind, entering the doorway, he almost faints from sheer terror.  Yip rolls his eyes.

"Yip not hurt," he yells at the quailing man, then turns his attention to searching the store for some clue about the thieves who assaulted the man.

"Calm yourself," Geoffrey orders.  "Neither the kobold nor the half-orc will hurt you, they are servants of St Cuthbert and warriors of his church."

The old man looks up, doubt evident in his gaze.

"I am Geoffrey Cromwell," Geoffrey continues.  "I am investigating the problems in your Abbey, and Yip noticed the damage to your premises.  We are here to help. Who are you?"

"I'm Fror," the old man says.  He seems to be calming, but his eyes dart to follow Yip as he examines the store.  "I'm the storekeeper here, selling equipment to miners who come down from the hills."

"And what happened?" Geoffrey asks.

Fror shrugs.  

"I don't rightly know," he says.  "I heard sounds last night, while I was sleeping.  When I came out there were people here, big men with cloaks.  Couldn't see much, but they had big noses and they were raiding my store.  I tried to fight them, get them out, but one of them clubbed me behind the head while I was trying to find a weapon."

"Are problems like this common?" Halgo asks, looking around the store.  

"Not really," Fror says.  "Some of the miners might try and steal some of my stock if they were really down on their luck, but mostly their crazy enough to steal from one another instead of me.  If you ask me, it was them monks over in the abbey."

"Why would Monks be stealing from you?" Geoffrey asks.  "What do you have that they'd want?"
Fror frowns, his beard and moustache quivering as he thinks.
"Don't rightly know," he admits.  "But I still reckon it was them."
Geoffrey tries to restrain a sigh.
"Could you look at your stock," he says.  "Tell us what is missing?"

Fror nods, moving slowly back and forth between barrels of mining equipment and shelves of food.  Halgo and Blarth both start examining the store in detail, searching it for aura's of magic or psionic power that would indicate some kind of tampering or divination.  When none is found, everyone joins Fror's examination of his stock.

"Yip find," Yip calls halfway through.  As everyone gathers around, he shows them a handful of brown feathers he's gathered from beneath the window.

"Anything you'd stock?" Geoffrey asks.  
Fror shakes his head.
"Not me," he says.  "Don't deal in animals.  Folks have to go to Bellhold for that.  And they didn't take money, just some shovels and picks.  The usual mining gear."

Geoffrey frowns, picks up one of the feathers and examines it closely.

"Something's going one here," he says quietly.  "I think we need to talk to the mayor, get some jurisdiction to deal with this."
Fror bursts out laughing at the suggestion.
"Don't bother," he says.  "The Mayors a frightened old coot like me, he isn't going to care what you do.  As long as the problem gets solved and things go back to normal, no-ones going to care."

"Procedure is procedure," Geoffrey says, his voice even.  "Yip, Blarth, you two stay here and keep an eye on the Abbey.  I've got a feeling that whatever is going on, it's going to involve that building somehow."

With a nod, Geoffrey and Halgo step back out into the rain.  They follow Frors directions to the mayors house, leaving their companions to the watch the Abbey that sits quietly in the rain.


----------



## arwink

_Friday, September 22nd, continued_ 

The meeting with Haggash's mayor is as eventful as Fror predicted.  Mayor Larsh turns out to be an elderly man, missing a great deal of his teeth and intimidated by the fact that Geoffrey has enough money to buy such luxury goods as weapons, armour and a spinal column.  Quivering with fear as the situation is explained to him, Larsh is quick to give Geoffrey all the jurisdiction he requires for however long he needs it.

Back at Fror's store, Yip and Blarth keep watch over the abbey.  There is little sign of movement, although the signs of life within the church are ominously still.

Halgo and Geoffrey return and explain the absence of local authority leaves things up to them.

"Anything happen in there?" Geoffrey asks.
"Not see anything," Yip says.  
"Scout it and see if you can find a way in."

Yip scouts, scampering through the mud that surrounds the abbey as he looks for alternatives to the front door.  There are few, mostly windows that bare barred and locked on the inside.  

"Front door easiest," he reports when he returns, shaking his scales free of water.  "Windows hard to get through, roof too hard to climb on."
"So we're going in the front way," Geoffrey says.  "Anyone got any problems with that?"

No-one does.


----------



## arwink

_Friday, September 22nd, continued_

It's a little after nightfall, Geoffrey theorising that even the seemingly isolated morals of the townsfolk could be affronted by an armed assault on their place of worship.  Blarth leads the group up to the Abbey's doorway, knocking loudly with a mailed gauntlet on the wood.  This time it takes the ageing cleric within longer to answer the door, the sound of his pacing whisper-soft as he moves through the room.  When he peers through the sliver of an opening, his pronounced eye-brows dance with irritation.  The beam of light that shines through the sliver illuminated Blarth's features in an orange light.

"What do you want?" the cleric demands.  
"Blarth want in," Blarth says.  
He punches one arm forward, hammering it into the doorway with as much strength as he can manage.  The doorway is solid oak, very thick, but it seems to dance back at the force of the blow.  With a sickening thump, it hits Desol in the forehead and knocks him to the ground.
"Blarth coming in," Blarth says simply, dusting his hands.  He pushes the doorway open, then steps in over the body. 

The entry alcove of the abbey is more ornate than it's rustic exterior would indicate.  A pair of water fonts flank the small room, the trickling water almost glowing in the light of the lamp hanging from the ceiling.  The icons of various religions of light line the wall, carved into the very wood.  Beyond the abbey itself is dark, the shadowy shape of neatly arranged pews and the alter all that can be made out in the darkness.

"What's that one," Geoffrey asks suddenly, pointing at a symbol hidden in the corner of the alcove.  "I recognise the others, but that symbol is unfamiliar."
"This place is old," Halgo reminds him.  "Pre-imperial.  Maybe it's from one of the silent gods."
"No," Geoffrey muses.  "I've studied most of them during my training.  Besides, Aphora and Amora are both here, and they're old Halark gods that weren't known in the empire for several hundred years.  That one's older, completely unfamiliar."
"So it's something to look into later," Halgo shrugs.  "It's not going anywhere just yet, is it?"

Geoffrey considers this for a few seconds, then shrugs. 

"I guess not.  Whose got empty waterskins or potion vials handy?  Those fonts should be holy water, and it's worth filling up any vials we've got.  Just in case."

There are only a few such vials handy, but all are filled and carefully stored with the oily liquid from the font.  With the task complete, Yip slowly creeps forward into the darkness of the Abbey.  His stealth is far greater than his companions, and he moves like a silent shadow into the small chapel. He keeps his centre of gravity low, slinking up to one of the pews before peering over the top.  It's just far enough beyond the lamplight that his darkvision kicks in, letting him see the abbey in clearer detail.

It also lets him see the two cloaked figures lingering against the walls, cloaked figures who both start moving their arms in gestures of silent spellcasting the moment Yip has moved into the room.  Bolts of energy shaped like bird talons fly across the room from both direction, striking Yip and burning his scales.  The small monk yelps in pain, and the noise is all the alert his companions need.

Geoffrey has a light spell active, and the room flares into light the moment he steps out of the entry alcove.  The group finds themselves flanked by the cloaked figures, being charged on both sides.  The attackers now have scimitars drawn, and they remain disturbingly silent as they launch their attacks.  The first cuts Yip badly, while the other draws a line of blood on Blarth's arm.

The copperheads retaliate.  Yip flips over the pew, using it for cover as he moves around to flank the attacker and crush it between Geoffrey and himself.  He lashes out with a tiny fist, snapping it into one of the pressure points for pain on the cloaked figure.  It flails wildly, the pain evident in its actions even if it makes no sound.  Geoffrey and Blarth hammer at their opponents with their weapons, both wounding their opponents.  Halgo uses one of his minor magics, a _daze_ cantrip extended beyond its normal length.  When that doesn't work, he draws his crossbow and loads it.

The attackers are easily outclassed by the copperheads, and they come to this realisation quickly.  The creature locked in battle with Blarth falls back, virtually sprinting along the edge of the Abbey in an effort to reach the alter.  Blarth is in immediate pursuit, although the cloaked figure has greater pace.  Halgo takes the opportunity to fire a crossbow bolt at the fleeing figure, but it flies wide.

The other attacker struggles to break free of the combined assault of Geoffrey and Yip, but the pair keep him tightly wedged between them and press the attack.  As he struggles, the creatures cloak falls back to reveal his features - a hawklike face with glowing red eyes.  Geoffrey's training lets him recognise the creature instantly, a misshapen servitor-race of the Gauntian demon-worshippers that have threatened the empire for centuries.

"Kenku," he hisses.  "Gauntian spawned.

The creature glares at him, slashing out with its scimitar, but Geoffrey's shield is in place to block the blow.  Geoffrey puts all his strength behind his retaliation, but the creatures defences are equal to the task.  It is less fortunate against Yip, who becomes a flurry of fists, feet and tail-strikes that almost instinctively seem to target vulnerable areas.

In front of the alter, the second Kenku stops.  It's eyes swing wildly, noting the half-orc charging across the room to attack it and the crossbow wielding dwarf loading another bolt into its weapon.  The kenku kneels briefly, hammering the hilt of its scimitar against the floor, then retreats behind the alter in order to gain some cover against Halgo's missile fire.  It works admirably, but is much less effective against a charging Blarth.  He leaps over the edge of the last few pews, not even bothering to circle the alter to attack the kenku.  He swings his blade over his head, circling twice before it leaps forward to slice through the kenku's skull.  A fountain of blood spills across the alter.  

"Puny bird-man," Blarth grunts.

Then the floor beneath his feet buckles, throwing him off his feet.  As he shakes his head, getting his bearings, he sees an unnoticed trapdoor open.  The creature that emerges is pale-skinned and rotting, obviously undead.  Scraps of ancient armour still cling to its form, and it's hair is white and wildly arrayed around its head.  More disturbing are the patches of flesh that have been replaced with the fur of some animal, and the mangled lump of flesh at the end of one arm that appears to be the paw of some giant ape.

It glares across the abbey with glowing red eyes, before turning it's attention to Blarth standing at its feat.  The warped ape-hand reaches forward, jagged claws extending from its flesh, and the creature gurgles with pleasure as it tears a great rent in the half-orcs armour.


----------



## Lela

> *"What do you want?" the cleric demands.
> "Blarth want in," Blarth says.*




LOL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!


----------



## arwink

_Friday, September 22nd, continued_ 

Blarth keeps his sword between the creature and himself, struggling to his feet despite the awkward fit of his armour.  Halgo is still firing, bolts striking the undead creatures body but doing little to hinder its movements.  Worth, Blarth can feel a stiffness settling into his limbs, slowing him down and leaving his reflexes sluggish.  With a snarl he attacks, leaving aside finesse and skill in favour of hacking at the corpse as though it were a tree.  His blade cuts through the decaying flesh, but the creature stands firm in the face of the assault.

Fighting the Kenku on the far side of chapel, Yip and Geoffrey have greater success.  Yip hammers precise shots into the creatures stomach, another into the chest hard enough to rupture its heart.  The creature gasps, the first noise it's made since the combat started, and falls to the ground.  Without pausing both Yip and Geoffrey move to aid Blarth.  

Geoffrey runs along the side of the church, holding his holy-symbol aloft and channelling the will of his god.  He can feel the warm energy of St Cuthbert's blessing running through, but the undead creature holds firm.  Yip is more direct, the small monk dancing over the tops of the pews in order to aid Blarth.  He clears the last three in a leap, hitting the creature with a flying kick.  The blow would have killed a normal man, driving the jaw up into the brain, but on the undead abomination it merely causes the jaw to hang at a ghastly angle as its elongated claw reaches out and rips a bloody line up Yip's scaly arm.  Yip tries to drop into a defensive posture, but already he can feel the cold chill that leaves his movements sluggish.

Blarth takes the opportunity presented by Yip's arrival to strike the distracted undead.  His blade flashes, digging deep into the creatures chest, and for a moment it seems to stagger.  Another of Halgo's bolts strike it as it stumbles.  Geoffrey takes a position behind the alter, using the advantage of height and cover to hammer a blow down on the creature with his mace.    Red eyes turn towards him, flaring with anger, but the alter blocks the corpses attacks.  

With everyone clustered around it, the undead has little room to manoeuvre.  Geoffrey and Blarth hammer away at it, heavy blows designed to snap bone and tear flesh.  Yip's skills are less useful, designed to disable and target the weaknesses of a living body, but he makes up for a lack of brute force with a furious assault that lands two attack for every one of his companions.  Halgo starts launching cantrips at the creature, using magic to disrupt the very essence of unlife that animates the corpse.  The undead beast flails back at everyone, its claws opening grievous wounds and drawing shreds of life essence out of its opponents, but it has little chance of standing under the combined assault and falls in a mater of seconds.

"What was that?" Blarth asks, leaning against the alter as Geoffrey starts binding wounds.
"A ghoul," Geoffrey explains.  "Created by guantian necromancers, and much more dangerous than normal.  It's touch doesn't paralyse, but it steals the very quickness from your limbs."
"Blarth not like it," Blarth mutters.  "But it fight good."

As soon as the wounds are bound, Blarth uses his blade to cut the ghouls head free of its body.

"Prize for Drakkar," he tells the other.  "Blarth make offering.  Prove Blarth skill."

When the wounds are healed as best they can manage, the Copperheads gather around the trapdoor the Gauntian Ghoul emerged from.  It is a rough shaft leading down, recently tunnelled.  Whatever creating the passage has left ropes dangling down, leading into the darkness.

"Gauntian undead, guantian mutates.  I'm guessing this means there's Guantian magic-users nearby then?" Halgo says.  Geoffrey nods.
"I don't suppose they'd be tunnelling under a church for recreation either?" Halgo says.
"No," Geoffrey sighs.  "We have to go down."
"Can you make it in your armour?"
"I think so, but I'll have to take it slow," Geoffrey says.  "Yip and Blarth, you go down first.  Halgo will come down as backup, so start scouting the tunnel as soon as he's there.  It may take me a few minutes to get down safely, so try and have some idea of what we're facing before I get there.  Got it?"

Everyone nods.

"Then lets go."


----------



## Lela

I always thought it was a good thing when priests of a demonic entity tunneled under your churches.

Then again, I've been DMing for a while and my PCs never seem to agree with me.  Hmmmm. . .


----------



## Durhon

Was that head number three???


----------



## arwink

_Friday, September 22nd, continued_


Yip barely seems to touch the rope as he descends into the darkness, the rough hemp feeding through his hands quickly with just enough contact to control his descent.  Sixty feet down he can see the ground, and when he lands its on all fours, body flat and alert for danger.  His darkvision shows a narrow passage, crudely cut, leading deeper under the Abbey.  

Blarth follows behind, his ham-sized fists holding the rope in a sturdy grasp as he lowers his armoured form down.  His descent is less elegant than Yips, but no less effective, and once his feet have touched the ground he draws his lucky sword and makes sure the sonic whistle is tucked into a convenient place on his belt.  As Halgo lowers himself cautiously down, Yip scouts down the path.  He seems to move on fingertips alone, his arms and legs barely moving as he scuttles along the dry dirt.

Goeffrey is just starting his descent when Yip returns.

"Short tunnel," he announces.  "lots of rat-men, tall man with no hair.  Black robes and hands like claws.  Digging big silver thing out of ground." 
"Cleric or Wizard?" Halgo asks.  
"He has wands," Yip shrugs.  "No weapons.  Yip think Wizard."
"How many rat-men?" Blarth asks.
"Ten, maybe more.  Yip not stay long enough to count."

The three of them look up the hole in the ceiling, the dark shadow of Geoffrey hanging from the rope.  The cleric's armour clanks loudly as he descends, and yip thinks he can hear Geoffrey swearing under his breath as he climbs.

"They close to digging thing out," Yip says dubiously.  "Not think we have time to wait for Geoffrey."
"Can you make it up there?" Halgo asks. Yip nods.
"Let him know we're pressing on without him.  With luck, we can keep them distracted long enough to stop them getting whatever it is they're after."

Yip nods and starts scampering up the rope.  Before he's even three feet off the ground, Halgo hisses for him to stop."
"What?" Yip asks.
"Tell him to hurry as well," Halgo smiles.  

Yip sighs softly and starts climbing up the rope once more.  Meanwhile, Halgo and Blarth start planning an assault on the mysterious miners.


----------



## Lela

arwink said:
			
		

> *Friday, September 22nd, continued
> "Short tunnel," he announces.  "lots of rat-men, tall man with no hair.  Black robes and hands like claws." *




Oh, nice.  Are these the Rat Men who are the antiYip?


----------



## arwink

well, in theory they're the anti-Yips.  In practice, well...

_Friday, September 22nd, continued_

Yip leads Halgo and Blarth down the passageway.  It's a short space, only about sixty feet long from the small chamber where they climbed in and the space where the Gauntian and his ratlings are digging and a silver sphere, but the sound of the excavation is enough to cover the less than subtle movements of Yip's companions.

The excavation itself proves to be a less than impressive sight.  Dozens of small, furry boddies flail at the dirt covering a sivery orb that stands a little over four feet in height.  It's hard to see where one of the ratlings ends and the next begins, their fur seeming to blend into one digging mass of vermin.  Standing over them is the gauntian, pale skinned and white haired.   His robes are of dark velvet, and he holds two wands at the ready as he exhorts his servants to dig faster before the intruders arrive.  Most disturbin are the robed figure hands, which are bent and torn in a manner that is almost inhuman.  Long fingernails stretch out like talons, and there is little doubt that they could cut flesh.

Everyone prepares themselve for the assault, moving as close as they can.  Unfortunately, before they can attack, the Gauntian turns around.

"Intruders," he screams.  "Stop them.  I must free the orb."

The ratlings turn as a single mass, their elongated faces twitching as they start to charge down the corridor.  A few have dropped picks and drawn short-blades of various types, but most seem to be surging forward to tear the Copperheads apart with their bare paws.

They have taken less then three steps before Blarth neatly plucks the whistle from his belt and blows.  A thunderous roar fills the passageway as a ripple of psionic energy washes over the ratlings.  The roof starts to shake, dirt falling from the ceiling, but ultimately holds against the barrage of noise.

When the echoes die away, all the ratlings are dead and the Gauntian is livid.

"I will not be stopped by the likes of you," he screams.  "I'm so close, nothing can stop me."

Somehow he manages to an evil laugh into the verbal components of a Web spell.


----------



## Lela

arwink said:
			
		

> *well, in theory they're the anti-Yips.  In practice, well...
> *




I can see how you'd think that.  But, really, they're just catching up with the Yips in terms of death ratio.  For some reason, they want to play fair.  Fathoming why is likely fruitless.


----------



## arwink

_Friday, September 22nd, Continued_ 

the passageway echoes with the sound of a dozen kettles being dropped in sack, a vaguely muted grunt of effort barely audible above the din.  Geoffrey swears softly, struggling to his feet and smoothing the shifted plates of armor that were dislodged by his heavy landing.

“Hope they’re done being sneaky,” he mutters. One hand swings to the morning star at his side, the other freeing the shield from its moorings on his back.  Shaking out some of the stiffness from his heavy landing, Geoffrey adopts a combat-ready stance and prepares to advance down the corridor towards the fight.

He’s barely managed more than a few steps before he finds himself walking blind.  The only light in the crudely carved corridor is the dim radiance filtering down through the hole from the abbey, and that merely serves to spotlight the churned up dirt where Geoffrey dropped to the floor.  

Geoffrey paused, crouching slightly.  You could taste the freshly mined dirt on the air, and there were muffled sounds all the way down the corridor. He listens carefully to the sounds, hears the distant sound of someone weaving spell-chants and cackling into the darkness.  It’s hard to tell exactly what’s being cast, the sound muffled as though passing through layers of thick cloth, but Geoffrey picks up enough to know that it’s not immediately worrying.  There weren’t enough harsh syllables for those to be attack spells.

Closer to his position, he can hear occasional muffled curses being hissed out in a variety of tongues.  As his eyes slowly became accustomed to the half-light, he could make out vague shapes ahead of him.  Twitching patches of grey against the darkness.  

“Damn it,” Geoffrey mutters.  He digs through his belt pouch, searching for his _everburning stone._ When it’s found he tucks the morning star into his belt and holds it aloft, the cold-blue flames spilling pale light into the tunnel.

Not five feet before him the tunnel is awash with a tangled mass of sticky grey webbing, stretching from wall to wall like a shroud.  Here and there Geoffrey can see moving clumps in the heart of the tangle, trussed up bundles that are perfectly sized to be his companions.  Halgo is closest, the dwarves jutting goatee poking through the strands that have looped around him, but the layered strands make it difficult to determine what’s happening further in.  Geoffrey can make out twitches of movement, the webs dancing as someone pulls and jerks against the strands.  A guttural _puny web_ can barely be made out from the heart of the tangle, so Geoffrey makes a guess that Blarth is tearing his way free in an attempt to accost whatever is on the other side.

This, Geoffrey thinks, is not the surprise attack they were counting on.  As he stares into the webbing he can hear the chanting on the far side more clearly, recognises the intonations and syllables necessary to transform or move earth.

“Halgo,” Geoffrey hisses.  “Can you hear me?”
The clump of webbing near the edge jerks wildly for a few seconds, scrambling wildly towards the narrower tip.  With a great deal of effort, the dwarven wizard gets a hand free and begins tearing at the webbing covering his mouth.

“Mmphththmh,” he says.  Geoffrey can’t quite make out the words.
“What?”

A large patch of webbing is torn away, revealing Halgo’s spitting lips.
“Burn the gods-damned web,” he yells.  “He’s digging something out.”

Geoffrey is moving immediately, raising a crossbow and smoothly loading it in a single motion.  He focuses on the sound of the Gauntian’s chanting, tries to gauge his position from sound alone.  The muffled effects of the strands of webbing make it difficult, but eventually Geoffrey thinks he’s pinpointed the location.  Exhaling softly, he lets the bolt fly.

It cuts through the webbing like a shark through water, splitting strands and flying true.  Geoffrey grins in satisfaction for a split second, and then the bolt halts in mid-air, suddenly caught in the tangled strands only twenty feet in.  Halgo starts thrashing again when he hears the crossbows telltale twang.

“We’ve already tried that,’ He yells.  “Burn the web, it’s the only way we’ll get there in time.”

Geoffrey considers this for a few seconds, questions about the logic of burning something his companions are trapped in whirling through his head.  In the end it is training that wins out, the St Cuthban ideals of duty, obedience and sacrifice driving him towards the enemy at any cost.  He pulls flint from his belt pouch and crouches near the first strands of webbing.  In a matter of seconds, the webbing has become a rapidly moving wall of flames that advances down the corridor.  The flames quickly spit out a smoking Halgo, the dwarf quickly patting at burning patches on his robes.

“Damn it,” he screams.  As soon as he’s sure nothing’s burning, he jumps up and starts screaming into the flames.  “When the flames hit, try to fall back through them.  Don’t try to outrun them.”

Almost as he finishes saying this, Yip bounces out of the fire.  The kobold’s scales don’t show up burns well, but there smell of scorched lizard-flesh is stronger than that of burnt web.  Halgo pauses to help the small monk to his feet, but Geoffrey keeps advancing behind the flames.  His crossbow is held at the ready, eyes focused on the rapidly thinning webbing.  As soon as the flames burn enough space to take a shot, the St Cuthban cleric is ready for it.

Towards the front of the web, Blarth is steadily ignoring Halgo’s advice.  The half-orc has been hacking through the web since it settled upon him, his heavy muscles slicing through the sticky strands with a slow inevitability.  When he hears the faint whoosh of flames behind him, Blarth merely focuses his attention forward and keeps moving.  He doesn’t outrun the flames, but adrenaline washes through his body as the webs around him burn.  Although patches of skin and hair catch alight, much of the damage is cosmetic rather than serious.  

“Blarth Kill Puny Wizard,” he roars.  

Geoffrey quietly takes up position beside the half-orc, catching sight of the silver orb for the first time as fast-moving flames burn patches through the obscuring webbing.  There is a flicker of movement in the corner of his eye, and Geoffrey reacts.  The crossbow twangs softly, the bold missing the wizard by mere inches before burying itself in the dirt wall scant inches from the silver orb.

“Damn,” Geoffrey mutters.

The Gauntian Wizard was cackling when he fired, a glowing wand in his hand pointed at the silver orb.  Everyone watches as his eyes jerk towards the bolt still quivering in the dirt, then turns with a snarl on his lips.  When his mouth opens, the sheer force of his scream carries through the hiss of burning webbing.

“No, not now.  Not Now!”

A clawed hand drops to a small sack at the wizards belt, tearing through the course canvas rather than opening it.  The wizard holds a small skull carved from black stone aloft, glaring at Geoffrey through the flames and webbing.  His mouth moves silently as he throws the skull to the floor, setting off a rippling wave of black energy that washes down the passageway.  Blarth and Geoffrey both scream as the wave touches them, their bodies burning with pain as old wounds open and start bleeding once more.

"You will not stop me," the Gauntian screams. he’s already rummaging through a scroll case with one hand, the other diving towards a component pouch in search of his next weapon.

Blarth is in bad shape in the aftermath of the wave.  As a warrior his body is covered in the scars of old blows, and many of them have opened wide enough that blood is seeping through the cracks and crevices of his armour.  Geoffrey fares slightly better, but is quick to halt his advance.

“Do something,” he barks at Halgo, then turns his attention to healing Blarth before the half-orc collapses.

“Count to ten,” Halgo orders.  “Then charge.  The web should be burned through by then.”

He takes a step forward without bothering to check who heard him, so Halgo doesn’t hear Yip’s dubious query of “Should?” muttered under his breath before the kobold starts counting.  As he follows the flames Halgo starts casting a spell, filling the air around the Gauntian with sparkling silver motes of light that flare and shine. As the motes drift slowly towards the ground they cling to the wizards robes, skin and face.  The wizard is lit up like a warning fire, light spilling off him.  More importantly his dark eyes start casting about wildly, seeing nothing.

“I cannot see,” he yells.  “Damn you dwarf, I cannot see.”

Halgo just smiles and loads his crossbow.

“Count,” he calls.

“Eight...Seven...Six...” Yip yells back.

Blarth and Geoffrey push forward, crossbow and bow a the ready.  missiles fly through the burning webs, one striking the wizard as his twisted fingers are weaving the words to a spell.  The wizard screams in pain, a hideous sound that reminds everyone of a slowly burning swamp-toad.  A beam of black light spills from the twisted fingers, flying towards Blarth but missing the half-orcs chest by a full foot. The blind eyes cast back and forth wildly, as though straining to see something through the dancing sparks that leap back and forth before the wizards eyes. 

“five...four...” Yip counts, making sure his voice is loud enough for the others to hear.  More missiles are launched, but the Wizard’s protective wards are enough to throw them clear.  He blindly throws another spell forward, a field of energy settling over Geoffrey that starts to sap the very strength from his legs.  Geoffrey snarls in frustration, trying to force himself to keep moving despite the tremors in his limbs, gradually fighting off the effects.

“Three...two...” Yip counts.

The silver motes of light that cling to the Gauntian suddenly fade as Halgo’s spell looses strength.  They drift off, fading into nothingness, and the empty casting of the wizards eyes ceases in the space of a second.  The wizards eyes flare open, suddenly drinking in the sight of the burning web and advancing adventurers before him.  

“I can see,” he screams, laughing wildly.  “You’re going to pay for that, Dwarf,”

“One,” Yip counts.

Halgo smiles as the webbing drops away, only the faintest scraps still burning against the floor and ceiling of the passageway.  The dwarven wizards hands are already moving as his companions start lurching forward in a charge, sending rays of rainbow coloured light towards the Guantian a split second before Yip and Blarth pass him.  Both the kobold and the half-orc pause for but a moment to watch the display, the wizard throwing a robed arm up to protect his eyes from the sight as the rainbow glare dances around his body, filling the passageway.

It does the Gauntian little good.

"I'm blind," the wizard screams. "Curse you to Hell, not again. Not when i was so close..."

He gets no further than that, Blarth and Yip both surging forward to hammer the wizard with sword and fist.  A moment later Geoffrey is there as well, flailing at the crumpling robed form with his morning star.  

Noone is sure if the Gauntian is killed by Blarth's sword sliding through his chest, Geoffrey's mace caving in his skull or Yip's paw shattering his kneecap, but it is agreed that he comes to a messy end. He falls to the ground in a crumpled heap.

Everyone catches their breath for a few seconds, bathed in the orbs silvery glow.

"So," Geoffrey says eventually, glancing at the four-foot sphere. "What's that then?"


----------



## Lela

Okay, we've taken out the minions.  The wizard's dead.  We've got what he was after.  Now, what the heck is it?

May I recomend putting it on display at your home and throwing a party for a lot of powerful people.  If anyone knows what it is you might find out.  And if anyone tries to steal it you can kill them.  Dinner, dancing, and mayhem.  Really, could there be a better party.


"Puny Orb."


----------



## arwink

I originally logged on to do an update.  Then I read the last update and decided that I didn't really like what I'd written, so I re-wrote that instead.  The new version is cut and pasted in above - no significant difference in terms of the action, but I'm much happier with the new version.


----------



## arwink

_Friday, September 22nd, continued_

Yip looses interest in the study of the orb quickly, turning his attention to the more intriguing study of the contents of the dead Gauntian’s pockets.  Expert paws sift through the contents, quickly separating the potentially magical from the simply valuable and placing them in two different piles.  Every now and ten he finds something that sparkles nicely in the silvery light of the orb, and he holds it up to appreciate the momentary beauty of the reflection.

Sometimes its good to be the rank and file, rather than the guy who needs to know what’s going on.  When the sorting is done and his three companions are still staring at the orb with intent concentration, Yip happily settles down on the necromancer’s corpse and starts taking quiet nips from his hip flask.  Sooner or later, someone will tell him what’s going on and what parts of the loot are worth keeping.  That’s all he really needs to know right now.

Meanwhile Blarth, Geoffrey and Halgo wrack their brains trying to work out what the orb is and why degenerate devil-worshippers would want it.  Halgo is adamant they exhaust the limits of their training and knowledge before examining the sphere in close detail, even before using divinatory magic to determine the strength of its magic.  

“You never know what we might be dealing with,” the dwarf muses.  “And it could be dangerous to meddle with it.”

Everyone is quick to agree, bowing to Halgo’s superior experience in meddling with things they shouldn’t have.  Or theoretical experience, anyway.  Dwarves don’t often shave their beards down to goatees without a damned good reason, and Halgo seems to know what he’s talking about, so everyone follows along.

They sit and they think, occasionally sketching crude notes in the dirt and bathing in the silvery glow.

“It’s very shiny,” Blarth suggests eventually. 
“Oh, that’s going to be useful, thank you,” Geoffrey sighs.
“Blarth not mind, he here to help.  Feels kind of…holy…too.”
“Blarth.”
“Yes.”
“Stop helping.”
“Okay.”

“Glowing silver spheres four foot tall,” Halgo mutters.  “Seems the kind of thing you’d make a note about for future generations, doesn’t it?  The kinds of things you bury under churches usually are.”
“You ever heard of it?” Geoffrey asks.
“Nope, but we’re under a church.  Seems the kind of thing you’re training should have covered, doesn’t it?”
“Maybe, but it hasn’t,” Geoffrey says.  “I spent my time learning dogma and the niceties of dealing with other faiths.  Obscure arcane and holy relics I leave for the apprentice Law-sages.  Everyone’s sure they haven’t heard of it?  Not in any of the religious, arcane or psicrafts we’ve studied?”
“Blarth sure,” Blarth says dubiously.  Halgo just nods.
“Then I’m going to scan the dweomer,” Geoffrey announces.  “This is getting us no-where.”

“No, let me do it,” Halgo says quickly.  “There may be a second wave standing guard outside the church, and any healing you can manage is best left at the ready.”

Geoffrey nods.  
“Good thinking,” he says, and Halgo breathes a slight sigh of relief.  He starts chanting the phrases that will unlock the presence of magic, keeps his eyes focused on the silver orb.  As soon as the spell is finished, the silvery light flares up as though it were becoming a small stare, bathing everyone in a warm glow that seeps through them like honey.   Halgo sees spots dancing in front of his eyes, a hundred tiny orbs spiraling back and forth as he tries to focus.  Everyone else looks away, the intensity of the orbs glow too much for them.

When the radiance dies away, it takes everyone a few minutes to realize they’re sitting in pitch darkness.  Geoffrey pulls the everburning-stone from his pack, but it’s light seems meager and dim in contrast to the spheres sudden flare.

“It’s gone,” Geoffrey says.
“Yep,” Halgo comments.
“And we seem to be healed,” Geoffrey comments.
“Yep,” Halgo comments.  “I even had a hang-nail that appears to be gone.”
“I take it that thing was powerful,” Geoffrey says.  It’s a statement, not a question.
“Most powerful thing I’ve ever seen,” Halgo says blandly.  “At a guess, I’d say roughly on par with some of the greater artifacts.  The Mithril Giant of Heironous.  The Morning Star of Simon Humanborn.  The Radiant Waters of Sulrathi.  The Scepter of the Empire.   Any of a dozen evil artifacts hidden by Drakius Bane-warden. That kind of thing.”
“Gift from the gods kind of thing then,” Geoffrey says.
“Say so.”
“And we’ve just lost it?”
Halgo waves a hand through the empty space where the orb was only a few moments earlier.
“Yep.”
“Blarth wonder if someone be angry about this,” Blarth says, his face scrunching with the effort of coming up with an answer.

Everyone thinks about this for a few seconds.

 “We were keeping it out of Gauntian hands,” Geoffrey says.  “Really, that should even things out.  Right?”


----------



## Lela

I like the way you did the rework.  There's a buildup there that defintally adds to the moment.


For a moment there I thought that everyone but Yip had been entranced by the orb.  I was starting to wonder when he'd figure it out.  Great suspense there Arwink.  You managed to have me guess in 2 or 3 different directions on the function of the orb and, as it ended up, none of them were right.  Very well done.


----------



## arwink

_Friday, September 22nd, continued_

With the Gauntian menace purged from their Abbey, the people of Haggash begin to celebrate like they’ve never celebrated before.  Weak ale is brought in from the Inn of the Welcome Arms, one of the villages aging sheep is killed and roasted, and for a few moments everyone in town attempts to smile.  The four adventurers do their best to accept the village’s gratitude with good grace, but all of them are itching to be back on the road towards Hommlet.  Or, at the very least, escape the endless succession of pockmarked faces that stop past to grovel and praise them.  

Later, in the relative quiet of their room in the Inn, they finally get a chance to examine the spoils of the day and discuss the mysteries that the Abbey and Haggash have raised.  

“By the Holy Cudgel those people are persistent,” Geoffrey grumbles.  
“They wanted you to stay and be sheriff,” Halgo comments blandly.  “You know the old rule – save one of these fleck-mark towns and you’re responsible for it for a year and a day in the eyes of the people.”
“You’d think they’d at least offer us a reward if they wanted us to stay.”
“First – wanted you to stay, not us.  No-one wants a half-orc and a kobold in the militia, and these people are actually backwards enough they think dwarves can’t be wizards,” Halgo corrects.  “Secondly, they did give us a reward.  See the thirty pieces of copper in the threadbare pouch?    The soiled one that looks like it belonged to those rat-things?  ”

He points at the small cluster of items and coins on the bed before him.  Geoffrey nods.

“Well, the rat things carried silver.  I think we just wiped out the town treasury.  For a moment I even contemplated letting them keep it, it must be hard moving up to a dinky one-horse town if adventurers keep saving your hides, but I figured thirty copper may be just enough to buy us the ale we need to cope with this day.”

Geoffrey sighs.

“At least Desol had the healing potions,” he says.  
“And we got the spell book,” Halgo points out.  “Wands, scrolls and spells will always come in handy.”
“Yip confused,” Yip comments.  “Thought we were doing job?  Why things matter?”
“We are,” Geoffrey says.  “But our mandate is to look like adventurers.  Adventurers take rewards, so we do the same.  Besides, we’ll be using these to do the churches business.”

Yip nods, satisfied.  Something in the small kobolds soul sings at the very thought of such ownership, having something to call his own.  There’s always the possibility of trading the metal disks for more ale, and that’s nothing to be argued with.

“The only thing that bothers me,” Halgo says, “is what happened to that orb and what that symbol means.  It worries me when something that powerful sits around without anyone knowing it was there.  It’s never a good sign.”
“Blarth just happy Desol not mad,” Blarth says. 
“He’s the ancestral caretaker of the Abbey,” Halgo grumbles.  “Him not knowing about the orb at all just make things worse.”

“Not much we can do about it here,” Geoffrey shrugs.  “We’ll turn the information over to Y’Dey when we get to Hommlet and search the archives for the symbol.  Sooner or later we’ll turn something up.”

_Saturday, September 23rd – Monday, October 16th_

After Haggash, arriving in Hommlet at Sunset is a welcome relief.  The trails of smoke rising up over the sparse forest and the smell of cooking food lingering on the breeze is enough to set everyone salivating, and even the sparse fare of the Temple is a treat compared to the overcooked lamb and weak ale of Haggash.  There are elder priests in attendance when the group arrives, sixteen clerics who served the Church as traveling Justicars or High Priests in the larger churches.  The copper bell has taken pride of place over the alter in preparation to the rituals necessary to bind magic into its being, but the tale of it’s delivery are more than enough to bring a slight flush to Geoffrey’s cheeks when Y’Dey tells it over dinner.

The Copperheads see very little of each other in the days to follow.  Almost as soon as they arrive, one of the High Justicars commandeers Yip and begins using him as a messenger, sending the fast-moving kobold to nearby towns for days on end before finally sending him north to Petrev.  Geoffrey is quickly consumed in the planning and creation of the warding bell, serving as an aid to the clerics focused on its creation rather than contributing his own skills, but kept busy nonetheless.  Even in the weeks after the Bell’s completion he’s kept busy as Y’Dey puts him through his paces, consistently testing his skills in spell casting, combat and theology.  The testing is hard, often more rigorous than Geoffrey can bare, but as the weeks pass he learns to adapt.  His timing becomes faster, more exact.  He learns greater control over the divine energies that flow through him.  

Halgo is lost to his art, moving out of the temple to take quarters at Hommlet’s inn while he studies the various spells and arcane items he took from the Gauntian’s corpse.  He cites the Spartan living conditions in the temple as his reason for moving away, but in truth there is a certain trepidation in looking at the Gauntian’s art.  Even as he starts memorizing some of the strange enhancements, he knows that there is a tinge of evil to some of the craft he’s memorizing.  Such spells are in the minority, however, and he’s pleased to discover a fair number of divinations and illusions among the Guantians necromancy.

Blarth leads groups of Hommlet’s militia into the woods by day and whiles away the evenings at the local taverns.  Restlessness comes to him first, the vague dissatisfaction of a militia soldiers tasks leading him towards more hours at the tavern, and as the weeks wear on even that starts to wear thin.  As the second week of October begins, he lingers around Halgo’s room and Geoffrey’s training more often, eager for some clue about when they can move on.  When none is given, he returns to the taproom of the Welcome Wench and stares at the dragon’s skull hanging over the hearth.  

“If Blarth kill dragon for Drakkar one day.” he muses, sipping at his ninth ale, “Drakkar be pleased with Blarth.  Blarth give Drakkar head, Drakkar give Blarth back father.  Blarth make Drakkar proud.  Blarth not puny.  Drakkar not puny.  Very much alike.”

The last week passes slowly for the Half-orc, slower still when Halgo finishes his studies and begins joining him in the Taproom.  They wait, impatiently, for some sign of Yip’s return or Geoffrey being released from the rigor of his training.


----------



## Capellan

Three weeks since the last update.

Remind me again how you're going to keep up with the halfling game?


----------



## randomling

OK. That's it, guys. I'm moving to Brisbane.

Where is the new update? Where?!


----------



## arwink

It's floating around in my head somewhere 

A combination of work and computer problems have kept it from getting written and uploaded, and I figured that this was a good spot to take a breather anyway.

Look for the updates to start next week, internet access willing.


----------



## arwink

And I'm back.  Insert excuses as to why the updates went away here at your leisure.  I won't bore you with the real ones 

_Tuesday, October 17th_

Halgo, Geoffrey and Blarth file out of Y'Dey's office, each of them eager to return to their lodgings and pack for the journey.  Yip is still absent, Y'Dey simply explaining that he is on church business, but after weeks spent in grueling training or endless waiting the Copperheads are ready to be on the move once more.

"Bor," Halgo says, eyes gleaming with the very thought of it.  "I can't believe they're willing to let us go."
"Yday not make it sound like reward," Blarth grumbles.  "Blarth not sure Halgo should be so happy."
"She called it a wild and dangerous land," Halgo grins back.  "That just means there's all sorts of opportunity there."
"And any land with that kind of description is sure to full of not-puny challenges," Geoffrey assures the half-orc. 
"Blarth guess," Blarth says.  "But still have to find Justicar before we go."

"Ex-Justicar," Geoffrey reminds him.  "Selandar has gone rogue, it is an affront to the church to call him by his former title."
"Know anything about him?" Halgo asks.

Geoffrey's brow furrows as he dredges up the scraps of rumor and history he's been slaving over for the past few weeks.

"He's a veteran of the Trollmists," Geoffrey says eventually.  "One of the lower-ranking commanders who served as a chaplain for an imperial company.  Skilled warrior, well respected for his strength and his wisdom before he went rogue."
"Anything else?" 
"Not really.  Selandar was no different than a half-dozen other justicars in the area.  A good man whose been led astray, and taken his servants with him."
"Blarth not want to fight Yip."
"It's not our Yip," Geoffrey reminds him.  "It's other Yips.  Evil ones."
"How Blarth know difference?"
"You'll know," Halgo says with a grin.  "They'll be the ones trying to kill you."

Blarth thinks about this for a few moments.

"That make sense," he says eventually.

"If anyone's got any business to do in town, get it done today," Geoffrey orders.  "We leave at first light.  If he's still at The Attu Watch, we should stand a good chance of catching up with him."

He doesn't register the exasperated glares that Halgo and Blarth give him.


----------



## Lela

I think we just had a major insight into the mind of Blarth.  And I just ate too.


----------



## arwink

_Wednesday, October 18th_

The Attu Watch.

For the locals, the name conjurs up a long and grim history of violence and bloodshed.  The remains of an old keep, long decayed, whose wide and bloodstone paved courtyard has become a favored camping spot for those who travel the road between Hommlet and the Holy City of Petrev.  Ancient stones set into the side of a steep hill, surrounded by the fey-filled Tusk forest.  Bards sing tales of its history, the grandure of its creators and the bravery of heroes who have used the ruins as the site of their last stand.

This means nothing to the approaching Copperheads, who simply look at the crenulated lip of the Watch as a challenge.

"Only one way up," Geoffrey comments, examining the hill face.  "The rest of it is to difficult to climb in armor, and leaves us exposed to missile fire."
"Blarth not like," Blarth says.  "Path might be trapped."
"Might be?" Halgo says.  "Will be is more like it.  Selandar had Yip's, remember?  If they've had even a few days to turn this into a base of opperations, then they'll have trapped that path for sure."
"It doesn't matter, the only clue we have is up there," Geoffrey says, his jawline setting into firm resolve.  "Selandar's betrayed his god and killed the holy servants who were sent to return him.  We find him, we kill him, and we return his belongings to my brothers in Petrev."

It's not a prospect that fills anyone with joy, but they gear up and start along the path.  Single file, Blarth in the lead where his armored form can soak the worst of any traps they may trigger.  They know that all Yip's have some skill with the trapmakers art, but their main hope is that the Yip's that follow Salandar have done little to develop their natural talent.

Fortunately, it appears that they haven't.  The trap comes halfway up the climb, a tripwire that causes two sharpened stakes to swing out at knee level.  Blarth is at the ready when he hears the sudden click of the wire, leaping to one side and dropping his shield low enough to deflect the worst of the blow.  He suffers nothing more than a thin scratch through his greaves.

"Ouch," he grunts.  "Found trap."
"Right," Geoffrey says blandly, examining the wound.  "No poison, and its not deep."
He mutters the words of a spell under his breath and heals the shallow cut.
"Let's go."

The cautious climb continues, but there are no further traps to waylay the heroes, just an hour of narrow path winding back and forth along the slope.  As it nears the tip, it straightens, leading forward to the edge of the Watch.  

"They're waiting for us," Geoffrey says, pointing at a pair of twitching ears barely vissible over one of the crumbling battlements.  "Let's not dissapoint them."

He hefts his sheild into place and readies his mace, holding it loosely in one hand.

"Can anyone think of an easy way to sneak up on them?"

No-one can.

"Then we charge.  Blarth and I in the lead, Halgo stay behind and out of arrowshot.  They should only be armed with throwing blades, but they may not follow the restrictions of the order now so be ready for anything."


----------



## Lela

Charge!!!!!!!!!!!!!


----------



## arwink

The adventurers surge forward, shields at the ready.  Two scaly forms rise up from behind the stones, flinging a handful of shiruken at their charging foes.  There's a series of staccato thumps as the spinning blades collide with shields and armored chests, but a single pointed barb flies high enough to open a small gash along Blarth's cheek.

One of the kobolds has the presence of mind to ready his siangham even as the shiruken leave his hands.  The other chances on flinging another handful, ducking down behind the battlement to ready another pawful of blades before popping back up with a paw poised and ready to throw.

He learns too late that while battlements offer great protection from enemy arrow fire, they do little to prevent a sword-wielding half-orc standing on the far side from slicing your head off with his copper blade.

The second Yip backtracks, his claws clicking on the cobblestones as he skitters away from the trio of attackers.  The siangham is held in a defensive stance, ready to lash out at anyone who approaches.  Halgo watches him for a second, shrugs, and raises his crossbow into a firing position.  The kobold's hand jerks automatically when it hears the crossbows twang, its paw closing along the bolt's path a mere second after the metal barb has buried itself in his head.

"This is your churches elite thief-hunting service?" Halgo asks, looking at the dead kobolds.
Geoffrey scratches his head.
"I guess they're more impressive when they have numbers."

The bodies are searched without much enthusiasm, and it’s realized that the Yip monk’s corruption hasn't led to the overturning of their vows of poverty.  Apart from their weapons, the only real valuables they carry are the iron-crossed holy symbols worn around their necks.

"Weird," Halgo comments, picking one up and turning it over.  "You'd think they'd throw these away."
"Look closer," Geoffrey says, his voice kept carefully neutral.  

Halgo holds the symbol closer, noticing a single burning eye carved into the center of the Iron Cross.
"Granak," Halgo swears.
"Yep."
"Who Granak?" Blarth asks.  "Blarth know name."
"He's a god of devastation," Geoffrey says.  "Storms, forest fires, earthquakes. His worship has never been seen this far along the coast."
"That bad?"
"It's bad," Geoffrey says.  "And it means we need to find Selandar fast.  A fallen justicar with a penchant for mass destruction isn't something we want on the loose."


----------



## Lela

Oh, dear.  This not good.  Granak not puny.  Blarth have challange.


----------



## Mathew_Freeman

What this campaign needs is a pirate! He'll soon take care of yon landlubber kobolds! Arrrrrr!


----------



## Lela

Tallarn said:
			
		

> What this campaign needs is a pirate! He'll soon take care of yon landlubber kobolds! Arrrrrr!



 Aye, and maybe an undead pirate at that!  E'll make 'em beg like the dogs they arrrrr!

 - Mad John Rackham (that's RACK'em to you land lubbers, Arrrr)


----------



## Lela

Tallarn said:
			
		

> What this campaign needs is a pirate! He'll soon take care of yon landlubber kobolds! Arrrrrr!



  Aye, and maybe an undead pirate at that!  E'll make 'em beg like the dogs they arrrrr!

  - Mad John Rackham (that's RACK'em to you land lubbers, Arrrr)


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## Khynal

Updates! Yay!


----------



## arwink

Finding Selendar turns out to be more difficult than anyone expected.  There are precious little clues as to where he may be hiding, and the only way off the watch is down the path they originally walked along.  The kobold bodies are quickly hidden and all signs of the fight are cleaned away as best the group can manage.  With slightly dampened spirits, they return to the base of the hill.

"Look for tracks?" Geoffrey suggests.
"It's a travelers path," Halgo says.  "There are only a dozen people walking along it ever day.  I doubt any of us could follow a force smaller than an army across soft mud at the best of times.  How in hell are we going to find the tracks of a single renegade cleric on a paved road."

"Kobold tracks," Blarth announces from the side of the road.  "Blarth think they come from forest."

Halgo and Geoffrey look at one another.
"Not a word," Halgo says quietly.
Geoffrey just smiles.  

They head into the forest, following the light trail of kobold paws through the undergrowth.  The tusk forest has a thick canopy that only filters through a little light, and there's an earthy smell in the air that seems faintly oppressive.  After what seems like hours of aimless wandering, they stumble across a mail-clad figure lying in the midst of a clearing.  The body is brutally bloodied and partially eaten, large rents ripped through the chain-linked mail.  The pale blue tabard he wears is bares the symbol of St Cuthbert, and a heavy mace is gripped firmly in his hands.

"Perric," Geoffrey says as he kneels over the body.  "He was one of the assistants during the bell crafting, an apprentice justicar.  I remember Y'Dey mentioning that he was being sent after Selandar and hadn’t been heard from.  He was presumed dead or corrupted."
"Dead is better, in this case," Halgo says quietly.  "Isn't it?"
"Yes, but look at the wounds," Geoffrey says.  He runs his hands along the edges of a wide gash.  "Something heavy tore through here, and I doubt it was a weapon.  What in the Nine Holy Laws does this to a man?"

A sharp crack suddenly fills the air, followed by the sound of something forcing itself through the undergrowth.  Everyone turns to see a giant boar, easily five feet in height, crashing its way through the bushes around the clearing.  A single, baleful eye glares at the three adventurers, a red gleam easily visible as it stares from the shadowy fringe of the clearing.  Two long tusks, easily the size of pike blades, curve out from the boars face.  Both the tusks are streaked with dry blood.

"Blarth just guessing, but he think maybe that do it."

With a grunt of pure rage, the boar charges.  

The three Copperheads lurch into actions, weapons at the ready even as the boar crashes into their midst.  The boar's tusks swing wildly, tearing a rent in the side of Geoffrey's armor and opening a wound in the clerics belly.  He barely fills the wound as a cold rage fills him, the sight of the corrupted creature that killed his brethren fueling his anger.  Channeling the might of St Cuthbert through his blow, he smashes his mace down on the creature’s head.  The boar lets out a squeal of pain, and the blow staggers the creature, but it doesn't fall.  Blarth is quick to press the advantage, hammering his sword against the boar’s head.  The creatures flailing tusks deflect the worst of his blow, but the half-orc still opens a jagged gash along the snout.

Everyone looks a little surprised when the boar is still standing after both blows.  Even more so when it swings around and gouges a tusk into Blarth's leg.

Halgo rattles off the words to an _extended daze_, his magic boring through the boars rage and leaving it momentarily glassy eyed.  
"You've got a ten-count," the wizard calls.  "Kill it."
Everyone sets to with a vengeance, hammering at the boar with whatever weapon is at hand.  None of it seems to do any good, swords barely cutting through the thick hide and maces bouncing off the thick skull.  Although the creature is easy to strike, neither Blarth nor Geoffrey seems to hit it hard enough to break the skin.

Halgo silently counts off the effect of his spell, calling a warning mere seconds before the Boar shakes free and swings its tusks towards him.  The dwarf's arcane defenses hold out against the boars tusk, but the force of the blow leaves him winded.  The boar snorts heavily and takes a step towards the wizard.

"Nay!" Geoffrey shouts, and his mace lashes out with an arcing blow. Even before it reaches the boar, he can feel the force in the blow - a smooth combination of human muscle and weighted core coming together in a deadly symmetry.  The mace connects with a tusk first, snapping it with barely a pause, then buries itself in the boars remaining eye with a sickening squelch.  The boar takes another step towards Halgo, an act of pure instinct, then keels to one side and falls to the ground.

"It dead?" Halgo asks.
Blarth pokes it a few times with his sword.
"Think so," he says.
"Good."
Halgo looks at Geoffrey for a few moments, then glances down at the pig.
"Next time I stun something, do you think perhaps you could hit it like that before it recovers?"

Geoffrey shrugs.

"I'll see what I can do."


----------



## Lela

Nicely done Arwink.  As usual.  Thanks.


----------



## arwink

Nightfall is close as the Copperheads finish examining the boar’s body, and no one is particularly thrilled with the idea of finding their way back to the road in the darkness.  A hurried camp is made just outside of the clearing, with small beds of leaves covered by cloaks and a small fire to cook strips of bacon from the freshly slain boar.

"Waste not, want not," opines Geoffrey cheerfully as he cooks.  "There should be enough there for breakfast as well."

Geoffrey's cooking skills aren't great, but he does a manageable job with the bacon and everyone settles down for a relatively contented nights sleep. The noises of the forest are muted and quiet, and there is a warm breeze filtering through the trees.  Halgo grumbles about the potential to ambush, voicing a concern on everyone's minds, but little happens to disturb their sleep.

Morning consists of another meal of Boar, and Geoffrey is quick to carve out a few choice cuts of the pig and cook them for later consumption.  Once the cooking is done, the Copperheads face up to the arduous task of digging a grave for the fallen Cuthbertite in the clearing.  It takes the better part of an hour to dig a shallow grave without proper tools, and Geoffrey says a few somber words over the interred body.

Only then do they realize they can no longer find the kobold tracks they'd been following the day before.
"Damn," Geoffrey curses.  "I knew that was too easy."
"So climb a tree and find the direction back to the road," Halgo suggests.  "Standing here isn't going to get us anywhere."

Geoffrey looks doubtfully at the winding trees that surround them, the thick carpet of leaves several dozen feet overhead.  He has dim memories of the watery climb up the waterspout in Bellhold, and he doesn't relish being without his armor in the forest.  He shakes his head at Halgo, and as one they turn to the half-orc who is hiding the remains of the boar in the nearby bushes.

"Blarth!"

It takes a few minutes for Blarth to scale the tree, even longer for him to find a branch that's strong enough to hold his weight at a height where it would do some good.  Eventually, he drops to the ground with a slightly muted clank.

"Road that way," he says, pointing.  "But Blarth see bird up there too.  Circling over clearing.  And smoke, like from chimney, that way."
"What kind of bird?" Halgo asks.
Blarth shrugs.
"Don't know.  Eagle.  Hawk.  Something like that."
Halgo frowns as he considers this piece of news.

"It could just be after the boar's remains," he muses, "But it could also belong to a druid or mage of some kind."
"Spy?" Geoffrey asks.
"Possibly.  Hard to say while we're standing here.  Why don't we try heading towards the chimney smoke for an hour or so, then send Blarth up another tree and see if it's still there?"

So they start walking.  Three adventurers with nary a scrap of wood law between them, trekking off through an overgrown forest chasing a scrap of smoke in the distance.  By the time Blarth is sent up another tree, it's quickly realized that they are traveling off course, and that the bird is still circling above them.

"Definitely a spy," Halgo decides upon hearing the report.  "Probably leading a hunting party of some kind after us.  Could you still see the smoke?"
Blarth points.  
"That way."
"I think we're heading south then," Geoffrey comments blandly.  "We're likely to overtake it if we aren't careful."
"Then we'd best be more careful," Halgo says blandly.  "Unless you want to wait here for whatever's following us to arrive."
"Is that such a bad idea?"
"That depends," Halgo says.  "If it's only a couple of guys, then no.  If it's a platoon of thirty Granak converts, it could be a tad tricky."
"I doubt it's a large platoon," Geoffrey says.  He runs his fingers along the edge of his iron cross holy symbol, carefully considering the situation.  "That many men would be easily traced back to the camp, and I doubt they've had time to amass enough forces for that kind of thing.  Whatever that bird's attached to, we can probably take it with a little luck."
"We could set up an ambush," Blarth suggests.
"Not with the bird following us," Halgo counters.  "If it does belong to a druid, then it'll they'll have some idea of where we are before we arrive."
Blarth shrugs.
"Blarth fix."
With a speed neither Geoffrey nor Halgo expects, Blarth scrambles up the tree.  He picks his path carefully, making sure his feet rest on broad branches that support his weight and give him fair purchase.  After a few seconds of testing the higher branches this way, he finds one that suits his purposes.  

Balancing as carefully as he can, Blarth readies his magic bow and takes aim.  With a whistling exhalation of breath, he lets fly an arrow that only narrowly misses the circling bird above.  The bird wheels in a tighter circle, seemingly alarmed by the sudden presence of arrows, giving Blarth enough time to fire a second shot that strikes the creatures wing.  The bird lets out a piercing cry and glides clumsily into the forest below.

"Got it," Blarth informs, then promptly looses his balance and half-falls of the branch.  Quick reflexes and luck leave him dangling from a second branch a few feet lower, his feet scrambling at the rough bark in search of purchase.

"You know," Geoffrey says, watching the flailing feet, "For a moment there, I was almost impressed with him."

With their avian shadow gone, the prospect of ambush looks slightly more appealing.  The trek through the forest is continued for another hour as the three adventurers seek out a suitable ambush sight, eventually selecting a clearing with a giant oak in the center where there are plenty of options for hiding.  Blarth is left in the open, seemingly setting up a camp with his weapons nearby.  Geoffrey takes a position near the trunk of the tree, gathering firewood with a loaded crossbow in easy reach.  Halgo hides in the undergrowth, crossbow at the ready and the words to a spell on his lips.

It doesn't take long for their pursuers to find them, and Geoffrey's guess as to numbers is close to the mark.  Two men approach the clearing, creeping as quietly as possible through the undergrowth.  The first is pale skinned with inky hair that clings to his head like a limpet.  The effect would almost be comical if it wasn't for the burnished half-plate he wears, or the angry red pucker of an empty eye socket that glares balefully at the world.  Sitting on his shoulder is the hawk that Blarth wounded, it's wing whole and healed despite the arrowshot.  

His companion is far more intimidating, a seven-foot monster of a man with gleaming red skin and a long Mohawk of blue hair that runs like a crest over his head and dangles to his waist.  Black eyes keep careful watch on the ground, seemingly following the Copperheads tracks, and he carries a great-axe that stands a full head taller than he does.  

The pair are locked in whispered conversation, but no one can understand the muted tongue they are speaking.  Although the words are foreign, there is no mistaking the tone, and no-one is surprised when the hissing crescendo reaches a point that sounds much like a "Now."

The two men charge into the clearing, the hawk leading the way as it flies like an arrow towards Blarth.  The Copperhead's react like a well oiled machine, Halgo and Geoffrey letting fly crossbow bolts that catch the red-skinned warrior in the chest and fell him, while Blarth cuts down the hawk as it lurches towards his face.  The one-eyed cleric pauses in mid-charge, taken aback at how quickly his comrades were slain, and hurriedly chokes out the words to a _protection from good._  An angry red light surrounds the cleric, and he smiles in grim readiness, confident in his protection from these champions of light.

His confidence doesn't last long, as both Blarth and Geoffrey close in on him as Halgo lets loose with an _extended daze_ that leaves him stunned.  The red energy that surrounds the cleric flares to life as both Blarth and Geoffrey swing, the evil light enough to deflect Geoffrey's mace but not strong enough to stop Blarth's sword.  There is a slick gurgle as the cleric slides off the blade, lying on the ground in a bloody mess while the red light flickers and dies away.

"Well, that was bracing," Geoffrey says, looking over the bloody mess that was their ambushers.  "Anyone else for following their tracks back to their hideout?"

No one has a better plan, so the attackers belongings are quickly gathered together and sorted, with the clerics small pouch of gold coins distributed evenly and his healing scroll and masterwork morning star handed over to Geoffrey.  The cleric spends some time considering the duo's arms and armor, contemplating their relative value back in civilized areas against the added weight they'd be in a cross-country trek.  In the end, the half-plate is stowed in a tangled mess and attached to Blarth's pack while the great-axe is left lying in the long grass.

The tracks of a goat-footed creature and a heavily armored cleric prove much easier to follow through the soft forest loam than a pair of kobold monks, although there are still several false trails and wasted hours where the group takes a wrong turn.  After the better part of the day is gone, they manage to spot the trial of smoke through the canopy, and it appears blessedly close.  Following the tracks and their instincts, the Copperheads trek to the edge of a small clearing on the side of a hill, with a ramshackle cottage sitting in its center.  It has the appearance of an old hunters shack, badly in need of repairs, but the smoke rises lazily from it's chimney and the deep indentations of the cleric's heels that they've been following for hours lead right up to its front doors.

"Does anyone want to rest before we go in?" Geoffrey asks.  No one does.  As quietly as they can manage, the three adventurers move up to the shacks front door.


----------



## Lela

LOL!  I love that moment when Blarth comes tumbling down. . .

 That's great!


----------



## arwink

I made the mistake of comparing which game the storyhour was up to compared with where the game was in real life, and discovered that at this point I'm at least eleven sessions behind.

Yeesh.

Note to self- must post more.

I should also note that this adventure was at least loosely based upon Provincial Prior Cause from Dungeon 96.  I forgot to mention it earlier, but from here on in it starts following the layout of the dungeon a little more closely.


----------



## arwink

The interior of the cottage is sparsely furnished, and apart from the cooling stew over the coals there is little sign of habitation.  A pair of battered wooden chairs are set alongside a rickety table, but the piles of musty blankets on the small travelers cot have been covered with think layer of dust and leaves.  There is, however, a small trap door with an iron ring-pull set into the floor and the adventurers waste no time in opening it.  The air that rises is pungent, a mix of rotting flesh and vegetable odors that leaves everyone holding their breath for a few moments.

“Blarth first,” Geoffrey orders.  “Scout it, and call if you need help.”

Blarth nods and starts down the rickety wooden ladder.  The boards creak ominously as his armored form settles on each rung, but holds out long enough for him to reach the muddy floor of the cellar.  He peers about with his darkvision, making note of the sacks full of rotting food that line the walls.  On the far wall there’s a crude tunnel, obviously carved with little attention to the complexities of mining, and Blarth can hear the soft dripping of water from somewhere beyond the range of his darkvision.  Blarth draws Luckringer, willing the copper blades radiance to dim to the barest glimmers, and starts towards the tunnel.

He’s not gone further than a few feet when the darkness settles down upon him, a black blob of emptiness that manages to block darkvision as effectively as a blindfold.  Blarth can feel Luckringer flaring into light in response to his sudden flash of panic, but even that does little to cut through the blackness.  Blarth snarls, his voice rising to call a warning to his comrades above, but a pair of slimy tentacles dangle out of the darkness and warp themselves around his throat.  Blarth lets out a choked gasp before he’s pulled of his feet, feet waving wildly in need of purchase as his body is lifted towards the roof.  The half-orc lashes out wildly as the tentacles tighten, choking of his air.  His sword swings wide, no use in such close quarters, but he hears a whispered grunt as he connects with his flailing shield.  He swings again, praying to Drakkar that he can find the creature again in the darkness, and is rewarded with a satisfying slap and a short fall to the ground.  He lands on the balls of his feet, rocking slightly to take the momentum of the fall, shield already moving to deflect the swinging tentacles he feels whistling past his face. Praying quietly to Drakkar, the half-orc stares up into the emptiness and stabs.  He grunts as he feels the blade hit, and the darkness dissipates just in time for Blarth to see a black-skinned octopus sliding along the length of his sword to collapse against his face.

Geoffrey and Halgo scramble down the ladder just as Blarth fights his way free from dead tentacles and octopus flesh.

“Um, Blarth need help?” Blarth offers weakly, kicking the creatures remains into the corner of the room.
“You were supposed to call,” Geoffrey reminds him.  Blarth shrugs, shows the cleric the bruises around his throat by way of explanation.

“It’s called a darkmantle,” Halgo tells them as Geoffrey heals Blarth.  “Ugly looking things, and dangerous enough if you aren’t careful.  They use darkness to confuse prey, then try and choke them to death from a vantage point on the ceiling.”
“Blarth noticed,” Blarth mutters.

“Are there more?”
Halgo scans the ceiling, looking for likely hiding places.  

“Not that I can tell,” he says.  “But they’re quiet creatures, and far better at hiding in the shadows than we are.  If there’s another one up there and it doesn’t want to be found, we’re not likely to see it.”

“Blarth kill it,” Blarth says with a shrug.  “Darkmantle puny.  Blarth not-puny.  Easy fight.”

“You know,” Geoffrey deadpans to Halgo, “I think it’s been a whole three or four days since I heard him say that.”
Halgo offers a small smile.

“In any case,” Geoffrey says, considering the dark passage leading into the earth, “I think it’s best we stick together from here on in.  Without Yip, we can’t really manage a quiet approach, and we want to avoid anymore sudden ambushes.”
“What about traps?” Halgo asks.
“Blarth can take point,” Geoffrey orders.  “He’s the least puny of us all, which should help against poisons or gas.  And his armor should take the brunt of most conventional deterrents.”
“Blarth not want to go first,” Blarth offers hopefully.
“Tough.”

They proceed down the passageway, light provided by Blarth’s blade and a quick orison from Geoffrey.  The passage twists and turns along its length, and Halgo sniffs at the poor quality of the mining used to dig the passage.  
“I’ve seen goblins do better work,” he explains, pointing out some poorly braced sections of wall.  He considers the wall for a second, then looks at Blarth.  “I’d be very careful when using that whistle of yours.  These tunnels may not be stable enough to cope with that much destruction.”

The passage eventually spills into a small chamber, with branching tunnels leading off from the far wall.  The chamber itself is bathed in a blue light, cast from a crude representation of an eye that glares up from the dirt floor.  Blarth stops on the edge of the sigil, eyeing it warily.

“Glyph,” Halgo and Geoffrey say at the same time.
“Glyph not good?” Blarth asks.
“Depends on how attached you are to living,” Halgo explains.  “They could have any sort of spell stored in there, and it’s probably going to hurt whoever steps on it fairly badly.”
“Blarth not afraid,” Blarth boasts, and both his companions take a few instinctive steps backwards.  Despite his bravado, there is a moment of hesitation as Blarth looks over the glyph.  Bracing himself, the half-orc places his heavy boot on the surface of the glowing eye.


----------



## GreyShadow

So is Blarth going to need a new pair of heavy armoured boots? 

Enjoyable reading.


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## arwink

Boot.  Only one.  The other boot doesn't get damaged until later in the adventure


----------



## arwink

Black energy erupts out of the Glyph, crackling bands of electricty clawing Blarth as though trying to pull him into the earth.  He doesn’t scream, or even feel a great deal of pain, but the others see him sag as the black lightening dissipates.

“Ugh,” Blarth grunts.  “Glyph make armor heavy.”
“Are you hurt?” Geoffrey asks, approaching with his eyes warily scanning the floor for any sign of the trap.
“He shouldn’t be,” Halgo says.  “I recognize that effect.  Someone stored a Ray of Enfeeblement in there.  It won’t hurt him, but…”
“But Blarth become puny,” Blarth finishes for him.  His face is crestfallen, and no one speaks for a few moments as the realization sinks in.
“Blarth not want to be puny.”

“It shouldn’t last to long,” Halgo offers cheerfully.  “The spell usually only lasts a few minutes, even when cast by a powerful wizard.  You should be back to your old self within the hour at the latest.”
“Blarth’s armor feels funny.”
“That’s just because you’re not used to noticing the weight,” Geoffrey tells him.  He examines the half-orcs armor for a few minutes, hammering on shoulder greaves and tightening straps.  “You’ve been wearing this a little loosely since we met, so the weight distribution is a little off.  Usually you’re strong enough not to notice, but now…how’s that.”

Blarth takes an experimental swing with his sword, getting used to the new weight on his shoulders.

“Better,” he agrees.  “But Blarth still want to be strong again.”
“We don’t really have time,” Geoffrey says.  “Whatever built that glyph is probably aware we’re here, so we need to press on.”

“Which way?” Halgo asks, looking at the branching passages.
“That way,” Geoffrey says, pointing down one of the corridors.  “There’s light coming from around that corner, and Selandar’s human.  He’s most likely going to be with the light source, no matter how well his followers see in the dark.”

The light comes from a small laboratory, with wooden shelves set into the earthen walls bearing a wide array of fungi, dried leaves and desiccated body parts.  In the center of the room is a crude mound of earth that serves as a table, with mortar and pestle surrounded by a small collection of jars, vials and a pair of lit candelabra.  

Hiding behind the contents of one of the shelves is a small, vaguely humanoid creature with skin the color of mud.  About the size of a small cat, it glares at the intruders and bares a mouthful of sharp needle-like teeth.  Spindly limbs propel it into the air as it leaps, small bat-wings fluttering in the air and carrying it toward Blarth with a hiss of fury.

Blarth swings with an almost casual indifference, a wild blow with more strength and fury behind it than precision.  The creature is sliced in two before it can reach him, falling to the ground and melting into a muddy paste on the floor.

“Puny,” Blarth grunts, taking a great deal of satisfaction in the word.

A quick search is made of the room, turning up a pair of sunrods and an unidentified potion amid the clutter on the table.  Halgo spots a small alcove in the back of the room, containing little more than a potters wheel and some blood streaked clay.
“Homunculi,” he says when he sees the wheel.  “A wizards tool, small constructs that serve as guardians.  Most likely belonged to whoever corrupted Selandar.”

“Brilliant, wizards.” Geoffrey mutters.  “Are there any secret doors out of here?” 
No one can find any.
“So much for logic then. We go back, and we follow the other path.”

The second path leads into a chamber that reeks of sulfur, the scent emanating from a vein of the yellow mineral that cuts through the wall.  A writing desk sits in the corner or the room, it’s accoutrements neatly arrayed on one side and a stack of skin skeins resting on another.  A small pile of books is stacked on a small bench by the desk, although most are thin and missing pages.

Geoffrey and Halgo make a move towards the desk, their approach interrupted halfway across the room by a savage hiss from a darkened passage on the southern wall.  A gray skin lizard steps out of the darkness, longspear in hand.  
“You not touch the massstersss workss,” it hisses, and a stench strong enough to overpower the smell of sulfur permeates the room.  

Halgo is nauseated by the stench, but their fortitude holds both Blarth and Geoffrey in good stead.  Blarth charges across the room with his sword raised, the lizard-creatures spear skittering along his armor.  While the spear does little damage, the force of the attack throws off the half-orcs attack and he swings wide.  Still gagging on the stench in the room, Halgo circles wide to get a clear shot at the creature and casts _ray of frost_.  The beam of pale energy strikes the lizard in his flank, covering its scales in frost and drawing an angry hiss.  Geoffrey follows Blarth’s charge more cautiously, moving in for a measured strike on the creatures flank.  

The lizard’s spear proves awkward in such close quarters, with two opponents pressing the attack, so it drops the weapon and lashes out with its claws, drawing a thin line of blood from both it’s attackers.  It has a momentary flash of pleasure when it thinks of how it’ll explain it’s brave defense of the small study to its master, cut short when Blarth’s sword cuts through its chest.

“You know, even without strength, you’re not that puny,” Halgo comments.  Blarth merely smiles and wipes the lizard’s blood of his blade.

A quick search of the desks contents is made, and there is a great deal to be learned from the various skins and pages scattered across it.  The books turn out to be simple texts, most of them covering issues such as heraldry and imperial law and all have been rigorously defaced, but the two stretched animal skins hold some information of worth.  The first appears to be a simple hymn to Granak, but the second appears to be some kind of order.

“The Archeprelate is correct,” Halgo reads, quickly translating the crude scrawl from orcish.  “We must turn towards the elder gods, raise them from their graves and use them for our own purposes.  Laeth has taught me how to channel the power of Granak, and the savage god is behind our plans.  By restoring the old gods, we can take on the powers of avatars.  Other agents have been sent to find their graves, to deal with their spirits and servants.  You must find their holy shrines, rebuild them and awaken their worship once more.”

“Then I guess we should add Heresy to the list,” Geoffrey shrugs.  He glances at the scrolls as Halgo hands them over, staring at the illegible scrawl.  
“What’s this say?” he asks, pointing to a more civilized set of runes in the margin of the hymn.  Halgo takes the scroll and looks carefully.
“It’s draconic,” he says, surprised.  “It says “May only be summoned during Beltane ritual.’  Mean anything to you?”
Geoffrey shrugs.  
“There’s half a hundred Beltane rituals, especially among the nature gods.  Could be anything.”

The various books and scrolls are gathered and stowed, ready to be transported back to the church for further investigation.  With firm resolve, they turn towards the passageway leading into the darkness and continue deeper into the complex.


----------



## arwink

“Desecration,” a deep voice snarls, and there's a meaty *thunk* as a javelin flies out of the darkness of the corridor and strikes Blarth in the shoulder.  Blood streams from the wound, and the half-orc swears loudly a he pulls it free.  Within the space of a few moments, a second javelin appears from the shadows to rebound of Geoffrey’s shield.  

Everyone blinks for a few moments, sluggish reflexes adapting to the sudden attack.  Fighting through the pain Blarth launches himself into a charge, war cry on his lips, only to run into a patch of caltrops blocking half the corridor.  The half-orc screams in pain, his hurried retreat leaving small spots of blood on the floor of the passageway.  Geoffrey watches his comrade’s interrupted charge and swears, hurriedly pulling a sunrod free from his pack and throwing it down the passageway.  The rod strikes the ground with a soft crack, suddenly throwing the area into illumination.

The room that suddenly blinks into vision is like a nightmarish parody of a shrine, with a bloody eye painted above a black-stone alter and small patches of blood scattered about the floor.  Standing in the center, a javelin in hand, is a mangled bear-likecreature that could once have been a man.  Twisted limbs are covered with thick, clumped fur, and the humanoid face bears the traits of some wild animal – a bear-like snout and the thick fangs of a dog are prominent, as are a set of wolfish ears the poke out of a mane of black hair.  The remnants of a suit of plate armor are strapped to misshapen limbs, and the creature still wears a white surcoat that is splattered with blood and grime.  Despite its twisted features, Geoffrey recognized the face behind the corrupted flesh.

“Selandar,” he shouts, surprised and slightly stunned by the fallen justicar’s warped features.

Halgo emotes no such reaction, quickly loading his crossbow and opening fire.  The bolt spirals through the air, catching the Selandar in one of his brutish legs.  The fallen justicar grunts something gutteral, pulling a potion vial from his belt and swallowing its contents.  With a sudden shimmer, he disappears from view.

Everyone cautiously moves through the field of caltrops strewn across the pathway, scanning the floor for metal points while they listen to the guttural sound of Selandar praying to his new god.  The Copperheads move into the room in a tight formation, weapons at the ready and wary for invisible attackers.  They can hear the sound of Selandar moving and praying, but the small chamber echoes and its hard to pinpoint his exact location until he appears by the alter, javelin in hand, and spears Halgo with a heavy blow.  The hulking Justicar is quick to follow up the attack, crossing the chamber in the wake of his thrown spear, morning star in hand.  His giant form closes in on Geoffrey and Blarth, trying to bottle them by the entryway of the temple.  They both swing wildly at the charging justicar, but Selandar's new form proves surprisingly resilient and he he remains standing despite the force of their blows.  Halgo hurriedly casts an _extended daze_ on the warped human, but the mental training he received as a Justicar has obviously not been eradicated by his transformation.  

Salandar hammer’s Blarth with his morning star, his free hand fumbling for a scroll tucked through his crude belt.  Geoffrey and Blarth attack again, but the Justicar’s training and the fury of his assault leave them unable to penetrate his defenses.  Still, Selandar is bleeding from two wounds that would fell a normal man, and his movements are slower.  The hand groping at his belt finds the scroll he’s searching for, and he fends off his opponents with the morning star as he unfurls it one handed and reads its content aloud.  The guttural words echo across the chamber, and Selandar’s hand channels black energy that he touches to Geoffrey’s chest.  The young cleric screams in pain as old wounds re-open, and as the three heroes press the attack Geoffrey punches his mace through Selandar’s mis-timed parry and opens a large gash in the fallen justicars chest. Blood splatters across the floor as Selandar’s lifeblood pumps out of the wound, but still the fallen cleric doesn’t fall.

“Surrender,” Geoffrey yells.  Selandar’s only response is to stumble backwards, quickly drinking the contents of a vial he wears on a chain around his neck.

Everyone swears as the fallen Justicar’s wounds heal, flesh and bone knitting together until all that is left is yellowing bruises.

“Desecration,” Selandar screams through his brutish teeth, seemingly the only word he can manage in the common tongue after his transformation.  Geoffrey and Blarth move up to flank him as Halgo loads his crossbow and waits for a shot.  Selandar’s defenses prove strong as he bats away the measured blows, and the bolt that Halgo lodges in his arm seems little more than an irritant.  The fallen Justicar swings wildly at Geoffrey, battering a wide dent in his armor and punching the points of the morningstar through Geoffrey’s shoulder.  Geoffrey stumbles backwards, trying to recall the words to a healing spell through the pain and praying that Blarth can hold his own.  His vision is blurred with pain as the healing magic flows through his hands, slowly closing the wound, and when he is finished he can see Selandar's gruisome form looming over the half-orc psion with his morning star raised high.  Blarth has a large gash along one arm, making it difficult for him to hold his shield high enough to deflect the blade, and Geoffrey curses when he realises that Selandar's next blow may kill his comrade.

The morning star swings down, a blow driven by fury and bestial strength that is aimed at Blarth's head.   Blarth swings his blade up in a desperate parry, and the sound of the two weapons meeting echoes loudly accross the chamber.

Everyone is surprised to find that Blarth has blocked the blow, his sword holding steady against the strength of Selandar.

Then Blarth's joyous cry echoes accross the cavern, as he realises that the strength sapped by the glyph has returned.

"Blarth not puny!" he yell joyfully, and he pushes back against Selandar and renews his assault.  Selandar’s bestial strength isn't anwwhere near enough to match an unrestrained Blarth, and between the half-orcs heavy blows and Halgo’s third bolt it’s enough to drop him to the ground.

With nary a pause to recover from the battle, Blarth lops off the fallen Justicar’s head.

“He not puny,” Blarth offers as the others stare at him.  “He make good kill.”

After a few minutes spent healing and catching their breath, the adventurers search the room.  The alter contains Selandar’s magical _holy symbol fo the justicar_, although the symbol is slightly dented as though the fallen cleric had tried to damage it.  Sitting next to it as a warhammer that glows with a pale blue light – a weapon Geoffrey recognizes as the _Hammer of St Gustav_, one of the most respected clerics of his religion in ancient times.  The hammer bears only weak enhancement, but its powers made it impossible for it to be wielded by evil.  

Halgo busies himself with the looting of Selandar’s body, recovering a small pouch filled with gold and silver as well as a small topaz of some value.  Also among the fallen justicars possessions is a note written on a scrap of parchment in orcish.  Halgo alerts Geoffrey and reads the orcish runes aloud.

“When you’ve finished this simple task, join us at the rendezbvous.  The rebuilding of the alter at Skarth awaits our attention.”

They barely have time to consider what this means when Halgo, searching the walls of secret passages, calls them over.  The dwarf has found the stone frame of a doorway in the back of the temple, barely distinguishable from the dirt and stone around it.  It’s made of a pearly gray stone, with a small hole the size of a coin at the height of the arch.

As Geoffrey and Blarth walk over, Halgo examines it with a _detect magic_.

“It’s magical,” he says.  “And judging by the aura, I’m guessing that it’s a portal or a gate.”


----------



## Lela

I think this is starting to get _really_ interesting (as opposed to just interesting).

Well done with the big fight scene.  That came out excellent in print.  And Blarth was right.  He not puny.


----------



## arwink

Blarth is, most definately, not puny in the slightest.  I think this was one of the last sessions where he _wasn't_ regularly hitting with a full-scale power attack and rolls of seven or less 

I haven't really run a game with a real, brutish, high strength and heavy armor fighter since the very first campaign of 3e where Yip's player ran around as a Barbarian.  This time around there's a surplus of them - Blarth serves as a tank fighter fairly effectively despite his status as a psi warrior (20 Strength and Psionic Weapon cover a variety of ills), and Geoffrey is slowly angling his way towards War Priest when he hits seventh level (with a ranger follower for leadership).  After a group that was top-heavy with spellcasters/psions and stealth types, it's nice to be able to throw hordes of opponents at the group and rely on someone to cleave again (to say nothing of a character able to punch through damage reduction despite an absence of magic weapons).

On an unrelated note, this week has probably been the most fun week I've had posting this storyhour.  The players have perused the events that took place almost a year ago of real time, made some connections with some recent events in the campaign, and the reactions have been interesting


----------



## arwink

“This isn’t good,” Geoffrey says quietly.  “Can you tell where it goes?”
Halgo shrugs.
“Hard to say,” he explains.  “I don’t even know how to activate it at the moment.  I’ve got a spell that possibly tell us more, but I'll need some rest before I can cast it.  And even then, it could take days for my magic to find out everything I need to know.”
“How many days?” Geoffrey asks.
“Three, maybe four.”

Geoffrey glares at the dormant gate, then considers the various wounds his comrades bare.  It’ll take at least that long for him to heal everyone.

“We’ll make time,” he says.  “Borr isn’t going anywhere, and another few days won’t make any difference to the church.  Selandar’s been rogue for a while now, it's not like they were expecting us to succeed immediately.”

The alter to Granak is destroyed as competently as the group can manage, and a small camp is set up in the abandoned cottage on the surface.  Over the next four days, the group settles into an easy ritual – Blarth stands guard, Geoffrey starts dismantling the evil devices in the complex as best he’s able and casts curatives, and Halgo spends the day making notes about the portal and studying the device with _object loresight_.

His magic reveals the following:

1) The gate is 1328 years old
2) The name of the last creature to touch the object was Laeth, Archeprelate of the Fallorn
3) Laeth’s race was Human, albeit tinged with demonic blood.
4) The Gate was created by Abanis of the Scallari.
5) The object was created by a human.
6) The object’s purpose is to provide instantaneous passage between this temple and the grand temple.
7) The Portal is made of magically enhanced stone.
8) It was created in this chamber, although some lingering sense says that part of its creation occurred elsewhere.
9) The own of its most recent owner is Selandar.

When his divinations are complete on the fourth day, he gathers his comrades together and explains what he’s learned.

“We destroy it then,” Geoffrey says, his voice final.  “I don’t recognize any of the names, but the presence of demonic blood and its presence in a temple of evil....”

He leaves the thought hanging.

“I don’t know that we can destroy it,” Halgo says, his expression thoughtful.  “Its construction is like nothing I’ve ever seen, and the stonework is exceptional.  It’s not going to be harmed by our weapons, and certainly neither you nor I have the ability to harm it with magic.  I doubt even Y’Dey could dispel it’s magic – the things damned powerful.”
“Then we make sure whoever uses it can’t get to the surface,” Geoffrey decides.  “You thought the roof here was unstable, yes?  Then Blarth and his whistle are going to keep that thing underground for years to come.”

The task proves easier said than done, especially with the limited use Blarth gets from his whistle.  Six days are spent firing blasts of sound at the roof of the temple chamber, then slowly collapsing the rooms that lead towards it.  In the end, they have reduced the crude complex to a mass of stone and rubble that would require months of excavation to be used again.  With the task done, they send Blarth up a tree to determine the direction and return to the road.

The remainder of their journey to Petrev is uneventful, with the next night spent in the relative comfort of a small inn built along the roadside.  They are told tales of some trouble the inn had a few weeks back, a tale about evil fairies kidnapping the patrons and stealing them into the forest, but few of the group are interested enough to enquire further.  Only the inn’s mustard eating contest attracts their attention, with Blarth becoming so enamored of the tage mustards fiery taste that he buys a jar to take with him when they leave.

Two days later they arrive in the Holy City of Petrev, a sprawling metropolis of a city that crams itself between the sea cliffs and a giant spire of rock several thousand feet high, along a shelf of land on the coastal edge of the Ironstone hills.  They enter the city without incident, reporting to the Grand Temple of the Saint with news of their victory over the renegade justicar and a request for orders.  

When their report is completed, the group is told of the mission to Borr, learning they will be part of the first wave of St Cuthbertite law to sail to the new continent and bring the voice of law to the settlers within.  Arrangements are made for Geoffrey to be sworn in as a full-fledged Justicar, and Blarth turns out to be the most senior of the Drakkarim warriors being sent on the expedition.  The boat is still a month from leaving for the northern continent, however, and the group is given permission to pursue their own goals until such time they are required to make the voyage.

Everyone takes some time to themselves.  Geoffrey is put through hours of rigorous training in church dogma, required before he can take his position as an official Arbiter of justice.  Blarth spends his time at the local Chapterhouse of the Drakkarim, honing his skills and learning to better control his psionic gifts.  

Halgo spends the time in the city, searching the markets for new scrolls and spells to learn and commissioning a lead-lined box that can be used to hide his payment from Kelpreth from magical detection.  Such time that isn’t spent researching new magic is spent in the temple libraries of the city, trying to find some reference to the strange holy symbol they found in Haggash or the various groups and people uncovered by his divination of the magic gate.  He finds little of use about either.

For three weeks, the Copperheads see little of one another, content to pursue their own goals without the presence of their companions.  It isn’t until the third week, when Geoffrey’s mastery of Law and Dogma is considered complete enough to attain the title of Justicar and everyone gathers for the ceremony, that the realization that they crave something more interesting sets in.  They gather in a small tavern in the cities temple district to discuss what they should do to fill in their remaining week, and the decision is made to talk to the church.  Geoffrey is, after all, an officially recognized warrior of the law now and there’s bound to be something the church needs done.

A meeting is made with Brother Cadloren, a plump monk that serves in one of the smaller chapels in the city.  Cadloren was a friend of Geoffrey’s mentor, and vouched for the younger priest during the ceremony in which Geoffrey was made justicar.  A middle-aged man with a plump belly, he still manages to maintain the rigid military bearing associated with the Church.

“Hmm,” he muses, sorting through a pile of scrolls that litter his desk. “In theory, there’s not a lot we should be sending you here.  Sixteen chapels devoted to Our Lord or his Children in the city usually keeps things pretty quiet, and orders are that none of you should be incapacitated by the time that boat arrives.”

He sucks on his cheeks for a few minutes, carefully observing the three eager faces in front of him.

“Still, there may be something you three would be suited for.” 

He pulls out a scroll and lays it flat on the table.

“How do you feel about tracking down a cult?”


----------



## Mathew_Freeman

I'll make a pre-emptive quote, here:



> "Ha. Puny cultists."



After all, it's bound to happen, isn't it?


----------



## Capellan

arwink said:
			
		

> The players have perused the events that took place almost a year ago of real time, made some connections with some recent events in the campaign, and the reactions have been interesting




Get used to it.  This kind of thing is my bread'n'butter


----------



## arwink

“There’s rumors of a strange fire-cult starting among the half-orc and orcish population of the city,” Cadloren explains.  “We’ve been trying to pin them down, but the racial stance of the cult is fairly strong.  They’re only accepting those with orc blood, and they keep things small enough that they can recognize outsiders.  We even sent a small group of Yips looking for them in the sewers, but they disappeared without a trace.  It’s a fair bet that they’re dangerous, and they’ve been responsible for a few acts of arson in the name of ‘Orcish Liberation’ already.  We’ve got no orcish justicars in the city at the moment, but maybe you three can bluff your way through with him.”

He points at Blarth.  Halgo and Geoffrey both stare, imagining Blarth working undercover, and carefully restrain themselves from laughing.

“Blarth can do that,” Blarth says, grinning wildly.  

“Excellent,” Cadloren beams.  “We can’t really offer you much help at the moment, but I’d suggest you start at the Blood and Water– it’s a tavern that caters primarily to half-orcs and other half-bloods.  It’s likely that their recruiting there, so try to get yourselves picked up.  And be careful – they know there’s justicars looking for them and the last person we sent out was badly beaten.”

The group writes down the directions to the Blood and Water, making their way into one of the poorer streets of the cities South Market region.  Geoffrey, in particular, draws a great deal of notice as he strides through the streets.  The area is poor, and the people who live there relatively downtrodden, and the gleaming armor and shining tabard of the new justicar mark him as someone out of place.

”There’s the tavern,” Halgo says, peering around a corner and down a short street.  “I think it’d be best if we split up.”
“Why?” Geoffrey demands.  “Surely we can go in and ask a few questions?”
“You’re a tad conspicuous,” Halgo reminds him. “And a tavern full of surly half-orcs isn’t the best place to get on someone’s bad side.  Blarth and I will go on.  You take Blarth’s earring and find some place to hide on the other side of the street.”

Halgo glances around the corner and squints at the shops.  

“…maybe the second story of that Bakery there.  If we need your help, we’ll call you.”

“What about you?” Geoffrey demands.  “Surely you don’t think you’ll fare any better than I would?”
Halgo offers him a happy wink.
“I’m an illusionist,” he says cheerfully.  “I’m not going to look like an dwarf.”

Geoffrey heads down the street, heading towards the bakery with a small pouch full of gold.  He notices several of the men and orcs on the street suddenly leave after he moves past them, slinking into back alleys or heading indoors with strange expressions on their faces.  Geoffrey does his best to pretend he hasn’t noticed, striding into the bakery.

The baker is an elderly man, Thamos, and he nearly feints in surprise when the Geoffrey brings his armored form through the door.

“C-C-Can I help you?” Thamos asks.
“You have a room upstairs that overlooks that tavern, yes?” Geoffrey says, pointing.  “I’ll give you ten gold a week if you let me use it.”

Thamos eagerly agrees, throwing in a daily supply of buns to the deal.

Halgo and Blarth wait until the count of four hundred before they move, Halgo taking a few minutes to magically transform his appearance into that of an orc.

“You’ a bit short,” Blarth offers, examining the result.  Even magically altered, Halgo’s height is only a little over five feet.
“Goblin blood,” Halgo rasps, doing his best to master an orcish croak.  “Killed me mah fer it, but it left me stunted.  Wouldn’t go makin’ jokes about it iffen I was yoo.”

“Blarth not sound like that,” Blarth says, eyes squinted as he studies Halgo’s disguise.
“You’re slightly more erudite than the standard orc,” Halgo offers smoothly, his voice returning to normal.  “We need to stress that you’re the strong one, and I’m the puny sneak.  Gives us a good dynamic to work with.”
“Blarth not sure other orcs believe you really orc,” Blarth says dubiously.  “You sound silly.”
“It’s okay,” Halgo assures him.  “No-one will notice.”
They head down the street, Blarth striding purposefully with Halgo doing his best imitation of a goblinish caper beside him.  Most people don’t even glance up as they past, and one or two of the half-orcs even nod a greeting as they pass.  

The Blood and Water is a beaten and battered tavern, it’s door hanging half off its hinges and its sole window patched with boards.  Despite it’s ramshackle look, the roar from the interior is loud enough to suggest a healthy patronage.

Inside the tavern is a hive of movement, with dozens of half-orcs, hobgoblin mercenaries and kobolds scattered from doorway and to back booth.  Everyone shouts at one another, often in a mish-mashed pidgin of common and their racial tongue, and the furniture is almost as battle damaged as the exterior.

“Geoffrey,” Halgo whispers quietly, “this could take us a few days.”


----------



## Khynal

Undercover Blarth, eh? This should be entertaining.


----------



## Lela

arwink said:
			
		

> “C-C-Can I help you?” Thamos asks.
> “You have a room upstairs that overlooks that tavern, yes?” Geoffrey says, pointing. “I’ll give you ten gold a week if you let me use it.”



  Thamos eagerly agrees, throwing in a daily supply of buns to the deal.

   10 GP a week?  Either he's made himself completely conspicious or insured a follow for life.


----------



## arwink

Lela said:
			
		

> Thamos eagerly agrees, throwing in a daily supply of buns to the deal.
> 
> 10 GP a week?  Either he's made himself completely conspicious or insured a follow for life.




I believe that's what's known as being "a diversion."  If you don't want people to notice your agents sneaking into the territory, you put something bodly obvious out the front with the illusion of it being sneaky 

And, in the long run, 10 gp isn't as much as it sounds in DnD economics.  On average, a 1st level commoner making his living as a baker will earn about 6 or seven gold a month (assuming a craft skill with 4 ranks and an average weekly roll of 10).  Even assuming that this is a particularly poor area, so the baker is obviously not greatly skilled, Thamos is probably doing okay for himself.  3-4 gp a week, which puts him a little above his neighbours.  On a good week, when the gods roll a natural twenty, he can probably push the 10 gp mark all on his own.

It's the untrained laborers that have it tough in DnD economics, earning a silver a day (which, incidently, is what the bulk of Petrev's half-orc population does).  The professionals and crafty types are hardly adventurers, but they get by okay.

Short version:  10gp is generous, it's flashy, and its cuts through quite a bit of tedious negotiation and haggling, but it's not going to make Thamos a wealthy man.  In all likelihood, it'll be set aside for his daughters dowry or spent on a better quality of baking tools.


----------



## Lela

Still it's a lot of money.  What I find most intreging about it though is that he said per week.  This implies that he'll be there for more than one.  In fact, he may be there three or four days.  This alone should throw the orcs off.

 I'm not sure how good a diversion a fully armored Justicar is though.   Even an orc is bound re realize he's a little too conspicious.  If they're skilled in such arts they'll see it as it is.

 Hopefully, though, they won't and this will all come off without a hitch.  And a bar fight.  Gotta have a bar fight.


----------



## arwink

In fact, it takes four.  By day Geoffrey makes a point of being seen, using the Bakers room as a watch place where he can observe the Tavern until the mid evening.  By night Blarth and Halgo make the rounds, making their way in and out of the tavern while being as vocal as possible about their dislike of the humans of the city and their desire to see orcs elevated to a new station.  Their efforts are occasionally hampered by the short duration of Halgo’s magic, with the dwarven wizard often having to leave every half hour or so to recast the spell and continue his disguise.

It’s on the fourth night that they’re approached by a tall, dark-haired orc dressed in burned amber robes.  He strides purposefully towards their table, settling into a seat opposite Blarth without asking permission.

“Halgar not say you could sit there,” Halgo menaces.
“Gromeck not care,” the stranger says.  “Gromeck need speak with you.”
“Blarth not care,” Blarth snarls, leaning close to stare the orc in the eye.  “You not sit at Blarth table unless you buy Blarth beer.”
Gromeck locks gazes with Blarth for a few moments, then breaks into a wide grin.  
“Excellent,” Gromeck says.  “What you drinking?”

He gestures, and the harried barkeeper hurries to bring three tankards to the table.  Halgo watches the barkeep as he approaches, reading a look of pure terror on the orcs face.  

“What you want?” Halgo demands.  “Halgar and Blarth busy.”
“Gromeck hears stories about you two,” Gromeck rumbles, still smiling.  “Hear you mighty warriors, hate humans, want to join the Children of Fire.”
“Yeah,” Blarth says.
“Well, Gromeck might be able to help you.  Gromeck may know people, if you interested.”
“Yeah,” says Blarth.
“But first Gromeck need your help.  Need you to prove you worthy.  Gromeck only need strong orc, smart orc.  Otherwise no good to Targ.  You look like smart orc, you look like strong orc.  You smart?  You strong?”
“Yeah,” says Blarth.
“No-one here strong enough for this,” Gromeck grumbles.  “All afraid.  Don’t want trouble.  Gromeck need shadowy-orc, not afraid of law.  Gromeck need orc who don’t mind hurting people.”
“Yeah,” says Blarth.
“You know Bakery across road?”
“Yeah,” says Blarth.
“Justicar in Bakery.  Justicar looking for Gromeck.  Justicar with necklace, can follow Gromeck when he leave.  You bring Gromeck Justicar head, you get gold.  Good gold.  Maybe then Gromeck take you to Targ.”
“Yeah,” Blarth says, drinking deeply from his ale.
“Why head?” Halgo demands.  “Why need kill justicar?  Just make Clerics mad, bring more to hurt orcs.  Why not steal symbol, make Justicar unable to follow.”
“You good thief?” Gromeck demands.  “You steal symbol from Justicar neck?”
“Yeah,” Blarth says.
“If you hit him hard enough to knock ‘im out first,” Halgo adds.
Gromeck beams wildly.
“You smart orcs,” he says.  “Kind of orcs Gromeck needs.  You bring Gromeck symbol, Gromeck give gold.  Tomorrow, okay?”
“Yeah,” Blarth says.  They shake hands on the deal, and watch as Gromeck leaves the tavern.

“Right,” Halgo says.  “Who’s going to convince Geoffrey he needs to give up that shiny new holy symbol for the good of the mission?”
“Yeah,” says Blarth.  He pauses for a moment, considering his response.
"Er, Blarth mean not me."


----------



## Mathew_Freeman

Bwahahahahahahah! Oh, that's priceless.


----------



## randomling

Tallarn said:
			
		

> Bwahahahahahahah! Oh, that's priceless.




_Completely._


----------



## Lela

Tallarn said:
			
		

> Bwahahahahahahah! Oh, that's priceless.





			
				randomling said:
			
		

> _Completely._



 Yeah.


----------



## arwink

Geoffrey is unwilling to relinquish his holy symbol under any circumstance, explaining this loudly and clearly when the three adventurers meet later.
“It’s my symbol of authority,” he seethes.  “I can’t believe you agreed to give it away.”
“The other option was your head,” Halgo reminds him blithely.  “And that’s going to be a lot harder to fake.”
“Fake?” 
“Sure.  You’ve got a spare holy symbol, don’t you?  One that looks close enough to the magic one?”
“Yes, but wont they check.”

Halgo just grins.

“Trust me.”


Gromeck meets Blarth and Halgo at the tavern, rubbing his hands together and muttering eagerly.
“You get symbol?” He asks, his eyebrows arched.
“You got gold?” Halgo demands.
“Symbol first.”

Halgo shrugs and holds the symbol up for Gromeck to examine.  The half-orc mumbles softly in excitement when he sees the symbol, reaching forward with one hand to touch it.  His fingers pause a few scant inches from its surface, and Gromeck quietly mutters the words to a _detect magic_ under his breath.

“You do good,” Gromeck wheezes happily, placing two pouches of gold on the table.  “You kill Justicar too?”
“Hurt bad,” Blarth says with a grin.  “Justicar Puny, no match for Blarth.”
“Good.  Yes,” Gromeck gloats.  “Gromeck very pleased.  Take symbol to Targ, tell him about you.  Targ reward Gromeck, reward Blarth and Halgar.  Meet Gromeck tomorrow, and Gromeck take you to the fire-god.”
“Halgar can’t wait,” Halgo says, unable to keep the joy out of his voice.  He allows himself a mental chuckle at the success of his ploy.

They watch Gromeck leave, sipping at drinks and counting the half-orc’s gold.

“He gone?” Blarth asks, his back to the door.
“Gone,” Halgo says.  “Geoffrey, follow him.  We’re heading out.”

Outside Geoffrey has already activated the power of his Justicar’s Amulet, following the insistent tug of the holy symbol as it follow the half-orc's path down the street.  He’s traveled less than half a block when Halgo and Blarth join him.
“Got him?” Halgo asks.
“Heading left at the corner,” Geoffrey says.  “How in hell did you convince him it was magic?”
“Nystul’s aura,” Halgo says with a smile.  “Never really used the spell before, but it turned out to be pretty handy.”
Geoffrey feels another tug from his holy symbol, another change in direction.
"Quite." 

They follow the pendent for the better part of an hour, trailing after Gromeck as he walks along streets and disappears into the sewers.  Eventually they find themselves in a section of the city known as Old Town, a place where ancient buildings and wide manor houses sprawl off in all directions.  Gromeck enters one of the more run-down buildings, and Geoffrey feels his pendent go limp.

“Magically protected from divination,” he says.  “I’m guessing that’s where we want to go.  Shall we?”
“They’ll have guards,” Halgo warns him.
“We have Blarth.”

They move as quietly as they can up to the front door, Blarth in the lead.  Blarth hammers on the door with his fist.
“Let Blarth in,” he yells.  “Blarth have message for Gromeck.  Move fast.  Justicar coming to kill Targ.”
An orcish guard sticks his head through the door.

“What you say?” He demands.  
“Justicar coming to kill Targ,” Blarth repeats.  He points over his shoulder to the glaring form of Geoffrey waiting on the steps below.
“See.”

The orc gapes for a moment, then tries to slam the door shut.  Unfortunately Blarth is faster, his sword clearing its sheath and flashing through the narrow gap.  Blood fountains as the guard is thrown backwards by the force of the blow.  There’s the sound of a sword being drawn from its sheath behind the door, and the three adventurers force their way in to face a second guard.  The orcs attack is clumsy, more brawn than skill, and he’s quickly cut down.

“Symbol’s active again,” Geoffrey says, feeling a sudden tug of movement at his neck.  “The barrier must be the doorway.  Seems Gromeck’s heading down.”
“Lets find the kitchen then,” Halgo sighs.  “Tunnels underground are always in the kitchen.”

They sweep through the manor anyway, taking care that all the upstairs rooms are empty before they search the kitchen for a trapdoor.  It doesn’t take long – the upper levels are essentially empty and the trapdoor in the kitchen is crudely hidden behind some sacks of flour.

“I keep thinking it shouldn’t be this easy,” Geoffrey mutters, looking at the iron rungs leading down into the dim red light below.  “Then I remember we’re dealing with orcs.”

They climb down the ladder, Blarth in the lead.  The ladder drops down nearly fifty feet, below the level of the city sewers and into an older set of tunnels that show signs of ancient construction.  The air in the tunnels is warm, almost humid, and everyone starts sweating the moment they set foot on the ground.  They’re in a small chamber, with a single exit leading off.

“Carefully,” Geoffrey comments.  “We don’t know what’s out there.”

Almost as if cued by the clerics voice, there’s a scream of rage and three sets of eyes can seen moving through the darkness. Geoffrey swears as a trio of red-skinned goblins come into view, their hair dancing madly enough that it seems like it’s on fire.

“Blarth fix,” Blarth says, and his blade cuts down two of the creatures the moment they step within swords reach.  Geoffrey finishes the third with his morning star, clubbing it over his head and sending it sprawling.  The group starts down the corridor, pausing only momentarily to ensure the goblins are dead.  

The heat of the chambers gets worse as they progress, and the corridor ends in a set of red-steel doors that radiate heat like a forge.  Everyone sweats profusely in their presence, and in their armor Blarth and Geoffrey almost find the heat unbearable.  Blarth moves to shove the door open, but Geoffrey restrains him and casts an _endure elements_ on him before he comes in contact with the metal.  

"Better safe than sorry," Geoffrey says with a shrug.

Blarth shoves his shoulders against the door, suffering some mild burns, but magic prevents him taking the worst of the damage.  The doors locks, weak and pliable due to the heat, are no match for Blarth’s strength and swing open easily.

Revealing two eight-foot mastiff’s with red fur on the far side, flames spitting out of their mouths as they breath, and an eight foot tall Orc with a leather apron and a battleaxe pointing at Blarth standing framed by the doorway.

“Attack,” it orders, and the hellhounds do so with relish.


----------



## Lela

arwink said:
			
		

> “Symbol’s active again,” Geoffrey says, feeling a sudden tug of movement at his neck. “The barrier must be the doorway. Seems Gromeck’s heading down.”
> “Lets find the kitchen then,” Halgo sighs.  “Tunnels underground are always in the kitchen.”



 RofaLOL  Oh, that's beautfil. . .


----------



## arwink

The half-orc lets go of the chains which restrain the hounds, then uses his free hand to draw a thin dagger and fling it at Blarth.  The short blade reflects of Blarth’s shield, and the psi-warrior closes the gap between the door and the closest hellhound with his sword raised high.  Luckringer seems to leap forward of its own accord, striking the hound deep in the chest.  Burning blood splatters over the flagstone floor, and the dog staggers to one side with a whimper.  It almost falls, seeming to regain it’s footing at the last second and launch a half-hearted snap at Blarth’s weapon arm.  The teeth clip the edge of Blarth’s cloak, but little else, as the half-orc shuffles out of range.  The second hellhound glares angrily at the door, opening its mouth and expelling a stream of burning flame that engulfs Geoffrey and Halgo.  Both feel a shock of searing pain run through the bodies, and Geoffrey is quick to turn his attention to his Wizardly companion and heal the worst of the fire damage.  Halgo, healing magic flowing through his limbs, fires a crossbow at the half-orc houndsman and drops him to the ground.

Blarth snarls at the hellhound and finishes it off with a single strike, his momentum carrying him through to strike the second hound even as the first one falls.  The hellhound lets out a frightened yelp, wraps its teeth around Blarth’s leg and lets loose with another gout of flame.  Fortunately, Geoffrey’s protective magic keeps Blarth’s leg from becoming charcoaled, but it does little to stop the hellhound teeth from breaking the skin.  Blarth feels blood seeping down his leg, and it’s all he can do to keep the dog from pulling him off his feet.  Geoffrey moves in to help, his morning star crushing several of the dogs ribs, and Halgo targets the creature with a _ray of frost_ that draws one of the loudest howls of pain yet.  Even as the dog’s wild eyes look for Halgo and his cold magic, Blarth plunges a blade through the creature’s neck.

Everyone pauses for a moment, catching their breath, before Geoffrey points down the corridor.  

“Gromeck and Targ,” he grunts.  “Keep moving.  I’ll heal as we go.”

The path splits within a few dozen feet of the hellhound lair, one path leading into the darkness while a second echoes with the sound of orcish chanting and softly flickering flames.  Everyone looks at one another for a moment, but it’s hardly a choice.  With weapons at the ready, they follow the path towards the flames and chanting.  Blarth concentrates carefully as they walk, using his newly acquired mastery of his own body to take control of his own blood flow.  He manifests _biofeedback_, mentally closing down the blood flow around his wounds and enjoying the feeling of mastery the technique gives him.  

In the room at the end of the passageway there are nearly a dozen chanting orcs, all kneeling before a giant pit of fire and swaying back and forth in a state of religious ecstasy.  On the far side of the room, Gromeck is handing the holy symbol over to an eight-foot tall orc with a Mohawk of pure flame.  Red skin ripples as it reaches forward to take the symbol, turning it over in his hands for a few seconds before it melts in its hand.

“Fool,” the red-skinned orc seethes.  “It is fake.”
“But Gromeck checked,” Gromeck offers quickly.  “Used magic, like Targ said.  Orcs said they stole from Justicar…”
“Then you were tricked,” Targ announces.  His head swings towards the entryway, where the Copperheads are listening in the shadows.  Everyone’s hands tighten around weapons as the flaming red eyes focus in on them, squinting through the smoke of the fire pit.

“Intruders,” Targ rumbles.  “Kill all.  Do not let them stop us.”

The orcs don’t need any further urging, rising to their feet and charging forward with short, sharp daggers clenched in their fists.  They get no more than a few feet from where they started before Blarth reacts, instinctively putting his whistle to his lips and sending a shockwave of pure sonic force through the room.  The charging orcs are scattered, some falling to the ground with broken limbs and bleeding ears while the rest are swept into the fire pit by the force of the blast.  Gromeck and Targ are both rocked by the blast, but neither fall.

“Fool.  You ruin everything,” Targ snarls, and he scoops his oversized hands into the flames before him and pulls forth a burning palm of flame.  With a roar he lobs the flames at Blarth, covering him with fire that burns through the protection of Geoffrey’s spell.  The bulk of the damage is cosmetic, Blarth pulling as much blood and muscle away from the flesh as he can with _biofeedback_, but its enough to give Blarth pause.

Halgo steps calmly into the room, ignoring the sweat soaking his face, and casts a _color spray_ that leaves Targ stunned and Gromeck momentarily blind.  Geoffrey takes the opportunity to circle around the fire pit, hitting the stunned orcish fire-cultist with the Hammer of St Gustav.  It’s a clumsy strike, fully displaying Geoffrey’s unfamiliarity with the hammers weight and techniques, but it glows brightly as it strikes and the red-skinned orc screams in rage.  Gromeck, blind and panicking, rips through the words of a healing spell and backs up against the curved wall of the chamber.  It does him little good, as an angry Blarth circles around and cuts him down with a single strike.  

Targ starts to shake off the effects of Halgo’s spell, but not before the wizard hits him with a _ray of frost_.  Targ glares across the fire pit, but the more pressing concern is the cleric with the hammer nearby.  He lashes out with sharp claws, his touch tearing through Geoffrey’s skin and burning at the same time.  Geoffrey, already fighting awkwardly with the hammer in hand, swings uselessly in retaliation and Targ starts to laugh in amusement.

“You will pay, mortals,” he rumbles, burning eyes glaring coldly over the flaming pit.  “You have ruined my plans, but I will take your souls.”

Then Blarth’s sword appears through his throat.

“Puny demon orc,” Blarth says, then decapitates Targ with a second stroke.


----------



## Lela

> “You will pay, mortals,” he rumbles, burning eyes glaring coldly over the flaming pit. “You have ruined my plans, but I will take your souls.”
> 
> Then Blarth’s sword appears through his throat.
> 
> “Puny demon orc,” Blarth says, then decapitates Targ with a second stroke.



 Best.  Copperheads.  Ever.


----------



## Durhon

*Notes*

Geez, Arwink seems to be taking extremely good notes as that seems to be exactly how I remember it happening.


----------



## arwink

Or it happened so long ago that no-ones going to notice as long as I keep things remotely right 

The good news is that this essentially closes what I consider "Part One" of the campaign.  The next update will deal with the clean-up of the fire-cultists lair, and then we start on part two of the campaign, which was triggered by this conversation:

Me: So, what do you want to do next session? (mutter mutter mysterious gate/gauntian spies and silver spheres/other assorted plot hooks mutter mutter)
Capellan:  Will Yip be back?
Me: Yeah.
Capellan: Then we're going to Borr.
Geoffrey: Yeah
Durhon:  Sounds cool.
-blink blink-
Me:  Okay.  Um.  Sure, why not.  (mutter mutter puny players mutter mutter)

Lesson: Never put rough notes in a campaign introduction and assume you'll have time to develop them.  Players routinely pick the bits and peices you consider a throwaway line and obsess about them, then promply forget about the adventure hooks you've carefully planted.

So what does Borr have?  Ice, snow, small towns barely clinging to life, and a horde of gnolls.  How in hell do you make that fun   ?


----------



## Mathew_Freeman

How can a Horde of Gnolls NOT be fun?


----------



## Capellan

[Halgo]
"'Copperheads: Three Cuthbert Worshippers and a Kobold'?  What fool came up with _that_ name?  It's a gross misrepresentation!  'Three Cuthbertites and a Rather More Sensible Dwarf' would be far more accurate.

Calling me a Cuthbert worshipper, indeed! Like I'd dedicate myself to such a stuffy, uptight faith ... *mutter* *grumble*"
[/Halgo]


----------



## arwink

Appologies dear dwarf, but [forshadowing]we can't really call Yip a Cuthbertite anymore[/forshadowing], and there is only so much space that fits onto one of those titles 

Does the new title suit you any better?


----------



## Capellan

arwink said:
			
		

> Does the new title suit you any better?




Its is at least more accurate, though "Two Cuthbertites, a Kobold and the Devilishly Handsome and Amazingly Intelligent Dwarf Who Actually Runs Things" would be even moreso


----------



## The Padre

arwink said:
			
		

> Does the new title suit you any better?





I think;

"Sir Geoffrey Cromwell, the Greatest Cuthbertite in the Realm, and his Cohort of zany followers"

-or-

"Cromwell's New Model Army"

 

Dave


----------



## Durhon

How about Captain Blarth and his non puny followers


----------



## arwink

A quick exploration of the other path reveals the cult's treasure room, a small chamber filled with sacks of silver and copper as well as a small urn of gold coins.  Scattered among the wealth are a few lesser potions, but the rest appears to be scattered rubbish the orcs have stored as "treasure."  Half-eaten rats, scaps of parchment and various mundane tools are littered across the floor, none in particularly good condition.  

As they scour the rest of the complex, ensuring that no one has escaped the righteous anger of the Justicar and his comrades, they found a second stash of coins among the hellhound den.  Also there is a long piece of darkwood, a staff with a silvery crystal bound to one end and numerous teeth-marks along its length.  Halgo examines it, and discovers that it glows with divinatory magic.  Fortunately, it appears to work despite the fact that it’s been used as a hellhound chew-toy.  Also among the magical loot is a pair of enchanted gloves, worn by Gromeck.

In high spirits they return to Cadloren with news of the cults destruction and collect the reward.  To their joy, they find that Yip is at the temple waiting for them – released from his months of messenger duty for the church in order to become part of the force being sent to Borr.  Over the next few days they meet with the rest of the St Cuthbert worshippers making the journey; a relatively small group, a little under 60 individuals, who will be expected to found the first Temple of Law in the northern continent.  

Geoffrey is one of only four Justicars making the trip, two of his fellows being relative novices like himself under the command of the fourth – High Justicar Camar Vengallar.  Vengallar is a tall, burly man with sandy blond hair and a grim sense of humor.  Unlike most Justicar’s, he’s left aside training with the mace and instead carries a greatsword the measures nearly six feet in length, glowing with the rigid lawful energy of St Cuthbert's blessing. There are nearly a dozen Yip Monks on the journey, and eight Drakkarim who will serve as bodyguards and elite warriors for the newly formed church.

The group is given but a day and half to recover before their ship, the Fist of Justice, sets sail.  Everyone is put in the same cabin, cramped quarters that offer little space away from one another. 

As early days of the trip pass, Halgo takes the time to scribe new spells and cast identify on the newly acquired magic.  The Hellhounds chew toy turns out to be one of the _Explorer Staves of Melekoth_ – a low powered staff that allows the user to detect magic and use both object loresight and creature loresight.  The gloves, made of supple leather and bearing the holy symbol of Aphora (The lady of Luck) are _Gloves of the Swift Kill_, able to give a short-lived bonus to Str, Dex or Con once a day when the tide of the battle needs to be turned.  Halgo keeps the staff, and the gloves are given to Blarth after Geoffrey declines to wear anything bearing the holy-symbol of another god.

The trip takes the better part of five weeks, traveling over an empty expanse of sea that gradually gets colder and stormier the further north they travel.  Halgo takes to spending the latter half of the trip on deck, watching the weather conditions.  Whenever anyone asks what he’s doing, he explains that the weather as they head north should be getting warmer rather than colder.  Most of the sailors assure him that the Whitewall sea has always been this way, and promptly ignore him for the rest of the trip, occasionally muttering something about his mental state as they walk past him.  The dwarf grumbles, pointing out the illogical weather patterns to his companions, but everyone else seems to content to take the sailors word for it.

At night, people dream of land and a firm bed that doesn't rock with the sea beneath.  Bland meals are eaten twice a day, washed down by magically conjured fresh water.  No-one is happy, and there is little excitement on the voyage.  Everyone is edgy, bored, and tired of the cramped quarters.  The only member of the mission that seems undisturbed by the endless expanse of ocean is Vengallar, striding back and forth along the ship barking orders at the other members of the mission.  

"We'll get there," he says happily as the ship sails through yet another storm.  "And then we'll teach them what Justice truly means."


----------



## Lela

> "We'll get there," he says happily as the ship sails through yet another storm. "And then we'll teach them what Justice truly means."



 Somehow I doubt this guy is someone we're going to like.


----------



## randomling

Mmmm, seconded.   

I'm liking the daily updates! And I even remembered to subscribe to the thread yesterday. 

*does a happy dance*


----------



## arwink

randomling said:
			
		

> I'm liking the daily updates!




I'm becoming quite fond of them myself, but they wont last.  

I have the attention splan of a drunken kobold when it comes to writing projects


----------



## Khynal

And we _all_ know what drunken kobolds are like.


----------



## randomling

arwink said:
			
		

> I'm becoming quite fond of them myself, but they wont last.
> 
> I have the attention splan of a drunken kobold when it comes to writing projects




LOL. Being subscribed to this thread is funny - that's NOT what it said in my inbox!!

I'm yet to find out what drunken kobolds are like, K.


----------



## Durhon

Khynal said:
			
		

> And we _all_ know what drunken kobolds are like.



Nothing to see here.....


----------



## Lela

Durhon said:
			
		

> Yeah but you don't have to kill one if it gets out of line!!!



 That entirely depends on what it's wearing.  C'mon Durhon, you know that.


----------



## Durhon

Nothing to see here either!!!


----------



## randomling

We're killing drunken kobolds if they get out of line?

Poor little Yip.   

*draws sword* I will defend you, little kobold!

*sees Blarth*

*runs like hell*


----------



## arwink

“Land Ho!”

The call echoes across the ship, taken up and passed along by sailor and church guard alike until it reaches the cramped cavern where the Copperheads are berthed.  They can hear the rush of footsteps across the deck above as people mob the railing, and Yip can feel the subtle tip to the boat as it leans slightly to that side.  The four heroes pause for a moment as they hear the news, as though waiting for it to sink in.  As they hear the buzz of conversation above, the cry of the watch in the crowsnest repeating the joyful news, they belt on weapons and head topside.

Land ho.  After nigh on a month at sea, it almost seems to good to be true.  Climbing onto the deck, they can see the cause of the commotion – a coastline filled with rugged cliffs and tall trees, with mountain ranges stretching off into the distance.  Everyone gathers at the railing and stares, breathing in the chill morning air.  Apart from a small cluster of buildings, scarcely larger than Bellhold where their adventures began, the four members of the Copperheads can see nothing but wild coast and a dangerous coast.  The air has a sharp bite, colder than anything they’ve felt before, and a few of the church guards point at small chunks of ice floating in the water.  

The northern continent.  The town of Borr.   The possibility of danger, respect, and the chance to make a diffirence. 

They had arrived.

It takes the Fist of Justice the better part of the day to navigate its way into Borr’s harbor, the heavy ship having to tack back and forth to avoid being stuck on sandbars or colliding with larger chunks of ice.  The majority of the church soldiers head back below deck, leaving the Copperheads, a few shivering Yip’s, and Camar Vengallar to watch the land get closer and closer.  They stand at the prow of the ship, the town growing larger , saying nothing and eager for the voyage to end.  

“This is it,” Vengallar breathes with a sigh.  “Seven settlements, a hundred miles of snow and half the youngest nobles from all corners of the empire.”

He cracks his knuckles with a satisfied grin.

“I look forward to breaking the lot of them.”

With a curt bow, Vengallar turns and returns to his quarters.

The boats in Borr’s docks are mostly modified longships, a design favored by the Reldenfolk in the empires north.  Sleek ships that rely on sail and oar to make their voyage, buoyed by the magic of savage Reldenfolk clerics that loom taller than most man.  The city beyond the docks is crude, seemingly carved from the ice and snow of the surroundings and painted with thin veneer of wood and stone.  As the Fist floats into the harbor, the tall forms of a dozen sailors can be seen moving back and forth along the decks.  Occasionally men pause in the midst of their work, waving a greeting as the warship floats past.

The Fist of Justice docks.

Borr isn’t used to visitors arriving towards the end of summer, the cold waters and inhospitable climate causing most sea captains to leave the long voyage for the spring.  People flock from the crude dwellings to see the Fist unload, a small crowd of women and children gathering along the edges of the dock calling out greetings to the arriving clerics.  Vengallar leads the churches servants off the boats, his four justicars and primary servants behind him.  He talks briefly with the dockmaster, then points to one of the three streets running up and into town.

“We set up in a building that way,” he announces.  “Start unloading, and have everything indoors by nightfall.  If anything’s left out, you stay out here with it.  It gets cold here, ladies and gentlefolk, so I recommend you move now rather than later.”

The Head Justicar’s slate-grey eyes scan the jostling church soldiers, clerics and monks as they start to move.

“You four, Copperheads,” he calls.  Geoffrey snaps to attention, marching down the gangplank with his companions in tow.

“This is Gunnar,” Vengallar announces, pointing at a lithe northman who waits among the crowd.  Gunnar nods, his blond beard shaking with the movement.  
“Go with him,” Vengallar orders.  “He needs Halgo to go see the king, preferably with some companions who know how to handle themselves.  You got volunteered.  Any objection?”
“No sir,” Geoffrey says quickly.  He heaves his pack onto his shoulders and gestures to his companions.  As the rest of the St Cuthban mission unloads the crew, the Copperheads follow a slouching Gunnar through the city streets.

“Don’t piss him off,” Vengallar yells as they leave.  “And report before you leave the city.”

Gunnar leads them up the sloped streets of Borr, towards a small manor house set on the edge of a crude market square.  A pair of mailed guards stand at the ready by the doors, both leaning on great-axes and glaring with bored anger at the street.  Nither seems to react as Gunnar leads the Copperheads through the manor's front doors, down a hallway and into a large dining hall.  The hall is more utilitarian than regal, the walls devoid of any war trophies or markings beyond a simple battleaxe and the pale white fur of a giant wolf.

There’s a trio of man standing around a map laid out on the table – a young, blond man who wears a plainspun tunic and cloak, an elderly bear of a man wearing the holy symbol of Arezz, god of war, and a muscular man of middle years who rises to his feet as Gunnar and his charges enter.

“Gunnar, I see you found them,” he says, and his voice holds a rich timbre and strength.  “Welcome, noble servants of Lord Justice, to Borr.  I’m King Oleg.”

He circles the tables and shakes everyone hand, looking them up and down with an appraising eye as he does so.  When introductions are made, he turns and nods to his two advisors before gesturing for everyone to sit.

“I regret summoning you here so quickly after your arrival, Lads, but I find myself in a situation where speed is more important than courtesy,” Oleg says.  “You look like good men, and truly you serve a noble god, so perhaps you would care to share a meal and see if you can help my people.”


----------



## arwink

Servants run in with warmed mugs of honey-mead, carefully spiced with cinnamon and cloves, and everyone settles into the heavy wooden chairs that surround the king's talbe.  Every except the Arezzite War Cleric, whose aging visage hovers over the kings shoulder and glares at the group - his expression speaking volumes about his attitude towards the new blood to have arrived.

“Borr is not an easy place to live,” Oleg begins, ignoring his advisors glare.  “The ice and snow have been particularly harsh in recent years, and the Goblin’s in the hills north of Ulgar's Steading have been getting more belligerent of late.  None of this is new.  We have faced these problems for decades, since Borr was first settled, and have not been bowed by them.  What worries me now is the sudden raids by the beast-men that live in the forests to the east.  They have been quiet since our arrival, rarely sighted and only occasionally raiding the outlying villages, but now their attacks have become more common and they wield steel-forged weapons rather than the uncivilised bows and clubs of earlier years."  

"We don’t know whether these weapons are being forged by a traitor among the towns, or if the beast-men have simply learned the art of forging them by examining those blades they’ve stolen from their raids, but it is the concensus of my council that this bodes ill. Sterna has used magic to divine the future, and the indicators point towards war.  Even now some of my hunters have reported hearing war-drums in the wilderness, and the beast-men have recently started attacking larger settlements rather than outlying farms.  We do not assume that Sterna's divininations are infallible, but all signs point towards the possibility they are correct.  The Beast-man are driving towards war, looking to push us back into the sea.  If this is the case, then Borr may well fall – many of our settlers are farmers and fishermen, not warriors.  We have the manpower to hold our towns against the terrors of the wildnerness, but we cannot fight an extended campaign.”

Oleg pauses, letting his words sink in.

“Our one hope, as I see it, is to forge a treaty.  We know there is a dwarven settlement of considerable size in the mountains to the north, although the journey to their caves is difficult at best and the dwarves have shown little inclination towards negotiating with us.  In desperation, I’ve sent two diplomatic groups to the dwarves in recent weeks, but magic has shown that neither has completed the journey.  Among those groups were my mentor, a warrior who spoke the dwarvish tongue, and the sole member of the earth-born willing to undertake the mission.  Among the people left to me now, none stand even the slightest chance of negotiating with the dwarves – they either do not speak the tongue, lack the grace and tact necessary for such negotiation, or simply refuse to go.”

Oleg stands and looks directly at Halgo.

“I turn to you in the hopes that you will agree to go, as one who shares a common kinship with the dwarves.  Borr is still poor, still struggling, but I can offer you gold and land should you succeed, with similar rewards for any who choose to accompany you.  The Justicar who leads your mission has agreed that you may go if you wish, but will not force such a mission upon you, so I ask it of you.  Will you go?”

The Copperheads look at one another uneasily.

“Um, exactly what is it that got the other missions?” Geoffrey asks cautiously.

“We don’t know,” Oleg says honestly.  “The ice and snow is treacherous at the best of times, and the creatures of the wilds dangerous enough for any man.  Possibly the beast-men, possibly the sabrekin, potentially anything.  I will not lie to you – Borr is a dangerous place, and the journey you’re being asked to make leads you through territory that is only barely charted.  It is still wide, and even before the beast-men became hostile they were known to kill travellers who passed through the mountains.  I know that even the reward I’m offering may not be enticement enough, but if you need me to beg your assistance, simply ask and I’ll do so.  I do not lie when I say Borr has little other chance of survive beyond alliance, should the Beast-man horde emerge from the mountains and forests we will be wiped out - man, woman and child.”

“I’ll do it,” Halgo says, his face thoughtful.  “I mean, we’ll do it.”

He looks at the others.  They stare back, momentarily stunned by his altruism.

“Land, fame and power,” he says with a shrug.  “Isn’t that why we came here?”


----------



## Krellic

A very slick adventure hook, your DM should feel proud of himself!


----------



## randomling

Indeed. *applauds Arwink*


----------



## Mathew_Freeman

Excellent plotting.

And all credit to the players for going along with it, too.


----------



## arwink

Unfortunately, I get to claim no credit for the hook.  It'sfrom an old dungeon adventure (in this case: King Oleg's Dilemma by Lee Shepherd, first published as a 2e Dungeon module and later republished in the Dungeons of Despair collection).  The weird part was that two of the players (Geoffrey and Capellan) had read the module, Geoffrey's player quite recently, and we all kind of thought through the events and realised it didn't make much difference 

Essentially, A Heroes Tale and the Dungeons of Despair modules are both sets of 2e adventures that I've always wanted to run, but rarely got the chance to under the old system.  The one upside of the trip to Borr was that it gave me the excuse to slot Oleg's Dilemma, easily one of my favorite adventures I never got to play, in on short notice.  I'd already stolen the name of the northern continent from the adventure, so it kind of made sense.  

Later I worked out that I'd planted the seeds to run Olegs at least seven times in various campaigns over the years, and this is the first time anyone's taken the bait that would lead to me running it.

For that, I almost forgave them from going north.  

Almost


----------



## arwink

Lela said:
			
		

> Somehow I doubt this guy is someone we're going to like.




On the "You know, I really hate that NPC" metre, Vengallar only really comes in at about a 6 for the players.  Maybe not even that.

Compare him to someone like Kelpreth (who'd probably come in at around an 8), and some of the people that're coming up, he's not someone the PC's really concern themselves with.

More interestinglly, Vengallar was one of those people who started out as an ally for the party on paper.  It wasn't until I started running him, easily within the first couple of seconds, that I realised that wasn't ever going to happen 

Of course, now one of the PC's will show up to point out that Kelpreth is a totally charming fellow and I'm completely misinterpretting their relationship with him


----------



## arwink

“Excellent,” Oleg says with a wide smile.  “Gunnar will serve as your guide – he’s one of the few hunters left that has traveled that far inland.  My servants will provide you with quarters for the evening, and you can leave at dawn.”

Quarters are found, and everyone immediately sets about enjoying their only night on a bed that doesn’t sway before they return to the pleasures of camp sleeping, trail rations and the stony ground.  Yip amuses himself by curling around the small jug of mead that sits by his bed, slowly sipping the honeyed liquid and grinning blearily into the evening.  Halgo revels in having a room of his own, quickly sorting through his possessions and ensuring the contents of his chest remain unharmed by the crossing.  Only Blarth and Geoffrey leave their rooms at the King’s lodge, heading across the darkened township of Borr to find the small tavern where the St Cuthbert delegation has found lodging.

“Report,” Vengallar barks as soon as they enter.
“They wanted Halgo,” Geoffrey explains, snapping to attention.  “There’s some trouble with beast-men in the woods around here, gradually getting more militant and dangerous, and they want us to head north and negotiate a treaty with a native dwarven kingdom.”

Vengallar thinks on this for a few seconds, his cold eyes glaring into the flame of a candle.
“Do you think it’s sincere?” he asks.  “Or are they simply seeking to thin our forces before the church is fully established?”
Geoffrey starts for a moment, surprised by the Head Justicar’s line of reasoning.
“I assumed it was sincere,” he says hesitantly.  “I sensed nothing but concern from Oleg…”
“But?” Vengallar coaxes.
“The Priests of Arezz,” Geoffrey says quietly.  “Sterna Omenson.  He didn’t seem pleased to see us, and he is part of the kings council.”
“Did it seem like the Kings idea, or the Clerics?”
“The King,” Geoffrey says quickly.  “Definitely the Kings.  I think much of the Arezzite’s displeasure centered on the fact that we were being sent.”

Vengallar nods once more, grunting.  Eventually he gets up and starts pacing around the room, his chain armor clinking softly with every step.

“I take it you’ve agreed already?” He demands.
“Yes,” Geoffrey says.  
“Good.  Be careful, and hope your instincts about the king are correct.  If nothing else, the church will be able to use the land you get as a reward, and having some influence over the negotiations may well prove to be…useful.”

With a wave of his hands, he dismisses them.  A light layer of snow is slowly beginning to fall on the town, settling gently on the heavy armor of the two Cutherbertites.  Blarth strides on, unconcerned by the events of the evining.  Later, as he dreams, he mutters the words "Puny beastmen" in his sleep.

Geoffrey considers things carefully as he lies in bed, considering the delicate balance his church is forced to walk in this town.  It takes longer than normal for sleep to find him.


----------



## Lela

Amazing.  I've found myself drawn into this more than I ever have before.  Every bit of me itches for an update.  Stunningly done Arwink, don't get board too fast.  I'm not sure I could take it.


----------



## arwink

Well, the good news is that there's at least one more week of updates to come before I slack off again.  This weekend had no gaming whatsoever, so I went into withdrawal and prepared another week of updates   

So at the very least, by this time next week, we'll have seen gnolls, big nasty things, and the dreaded dwarven bathtub of doom!


----------



## arwink

Gunnar wakes everyone before sun-up, gathering them together in the small courtyard of the King’s manor.  The first few rays of the sun are slowly starting to sneak over the horizon, and a fresh layer of snow has covered the city.  

Standing by the gate is a small pile of gear.
“Warm cloaks and clothes, and snow-shoes,” Gunnar explains.  “I’m assuming you folk don’t have magic to counteract the cold, and you can’t walk easy through the snow drifts in normal boots.  There’s a snow-tent in there as well, and some shovels.  Your Half-orc can carry the tent, but none of you should be without a shovel.  If there’s an avalanche in the mountains, you’ll be wanting to dig free as fast as you can.“

He pauses, shifting his lean frame to consider all four adventurers.

‘Unless you particularly want to wait underneath it all until the next spring thaw.”

Everyone quickly hauls the thick cloaks over their shoulders, and begins strapping the other equipment to packs and belts.

“I thought we were coming into summer?” Halgo asks Gunnar as they pack.  “Why the extra stuff?”
“Snow doesn’t melt in some places,” Gunnar explains, showing the wizard how to bind the snowshoes to his boots.  “And weather here hasn’t ever been warm. Sides, you’re more likely to get hit by an avalanche now than in the dead of winter.  Everythings as close to melting as it gets, so there's big chunks of ice up there just waiting to topple.”    

Once everyone has stowed their gear to Gunnar’s satisfaction, they set off.  The townsfolk of Borr line the streets, watching the five men walking to the front gate, and for the first time the Copperheads get a sense of how important the king truly does treat their mission.  Standing at the front gate is Oleg, with both Vellandar and Sterna standing at a shoulder.  They offer a solemn nod as the party passes, and both the clerics offer a mumbled blessing.

Gunnar quickly sets the pace of the days travel, a cross-country trek that takes the group through snow covered fields and plains.  For the first few hours, farmhouses are visible in the distance, but by mid-morning the fields have given away to stunted hills and the awesome grandeur of the black-stone mountains to the north.

“Three days,” Gunnar says, pointing to a peak that spits smoke into the air.  “Near as we can tell, the Dwarves live in that volcano.  If nothing goes wrong, we’ll be there in three days of hard travel.”

“It not look that far,” Blarth says, hand over his eyes to cut down on the snows glare.

“It isn’t,” Gunnar says with a shrug. “But we haven’t traced a path through the mountains.  I know a few short cuts and mointain tracks, but it’ll still take at least two days to find our way through the peaks, and that’s assuming we can follow the river right up to the volcano.  I've never gone that far in, and we may have to backtrack.”

“What river?” Geoffrey asks, looking over the snow-covered hills and seeing nothing.

“The Streel,” Gunnar says.  “We should hit it by late afternoon.”

He falls silent for a moment, his eyes never leaving the horizon.

“If I fall before we get there, follow it as far as you can,” he says eventually.  “And my spirit will pray that one of you has the woodcraft to get you where you need to go.”

By late afternoon, the river is found.  It still flows, despite the cold, but there are heavy chunks of ice bobbing along its surface.  Everyone breathes a sigh of relief, their breath steaming in the cold air.

“Should we make camp?” Geoffrey asks, his limbs aching after the hours of cross-country walking.

Gunnar shakes his head.

“We’ve got another five hours of sunlight,” he says resolutely.  “I figure we can make at least another three or four miles in that.  I want to be at the foot of the mountains by nightfall.”

“Five hours?” Halgo asks.  “We’ve been since sunup, and that was easily eight or nine hours ago.”
“Ten, easily,” Gunnar says, looking at the sky.  “It looks like sunset will come early tonight.”
“Early?  How many hours of daylight do you normally have here?”

 Gunnar thinks for a few seconds.

“During the summer, around twenty.”

Halgo barely manages to restrain a groan.


----------



## Lela

Oh, dear.  Dwarves and a bathtub.  Yep, regardless, you're all screwed.


----------



## arwink

The first beast-man attack comes an hour after they start following the river, the wolf-faced humanoids swarming over the bluff of a hill to charge down on the travelers.  They are tall, lean creatures, their fur white and pale as the snow they’re running over.  All carry gleaming battleaxes, and none get within thirty feet of the travelers before Blarth lets loose with the sonic whistle.  The shrill tone of his instrument rings through the air, a flurry of snow rising in the blasts wake.  

When he takes the crystaline whistle from his lips, the beast-man warriors lie dead on the groud, their ears bleeding.

Gunnar stares.

“There were over a dozen of them,” he says, slightly awe struck.
“Beast-man puny,” Blarth says knowingly.
"But there were..."
"Beast-man puny!" Blarth repeats slowly, putting emphasis on every word.
"Right."

Everyone jogs up the hill to study the scattered bodies, quickly pulling free small sacks of gold and a few silver armbands.  
“No archers,” Geoffrey says.  “That’s fortunate.  Bows could have made this ambush a lot more effective. “

Halgo is kneeling by one of the bodies, slowly examining the creature’s features.  He raises one furry paw and looks at it for a few moments.

“They look like gnolls,” he says eventually.  “Although I’ve never heard of them this far north.  Mostly they seem to lurk near Thilt, or Sulrathi.  Hyena-spawned, normally, but these are more like wolves.  Interesting.”
“ Does it tell you anything that could help us fight them?” Geoffrey demands.
“They’re probably capable of crafting bows?” Halgo offers.  “Not much else.  But it’s still interesting.”
“It can be interesting later,” Geoffrey says firmly.  “Right now, we’ve got a mission.  Blarth, you and Yip gather together the weapons.  We can’t take them with us, but we can store them to pick up on the return trip.  Should net us a few coins back in Borr, if war really is on the horizon.  Halgo, you’ve got till they’re done to prod and poke the corpses, then we’re moving.”

Yip and Blarth gather the weapons, quickly tying them together with the gnolls belts and storing them up a tree.  Yip scampers back to Geoffrey’s side as Blarth uses a dagger to mark the tree.

“Why in hell up a tree?” Geoffrey asks, staring up into the battle-axes that hang from the branches.
“Cold ground,” Yip explains.  “Yip no dig.  Easy to find later, after snow fall.”
“Ah,” Geoffrey says.  “Good plan.”
“Yip think so.”

“Thirteen gnolls,” Gunnar mutters as they set off once more.  “Arezz!  We may survive this yet.”

They march on for a few more hours, settling in to camp at the very foot of Borr’s mountain range.  Everyone stays quiet as they stare up at the dark-stone peaks to the north, listening to the howling wind as it rattles through the narrow valleys.

“Think the other missions made it this far?” Halgo asks Gunnar as the hunter cooks dinner.  Gunnar just shrugs.
“Hard to say,” he says.  “Normally the traveling isn’t to bad to this point, but those beat-men were waiting for someone to come along.  It’s possible they wiped out any travelers who came through this way.”
“You know any of the people in the other missions?”
Gunnar shrugs again.
“Some,” he says simply.  “Borr’s a small place, you can’t help but know people.  Nobody I was real close to though.”
“So why are you doing this?”
“Someone has to,” Gunnar says.  “And the king asked.  Hard to say no in those circumstances.”

Over dinner, Gunnar explains their route for the following day.  He names paths and landmarks, drilling the information into everyone’s heads in case he should fall in a sudden ambush.  Slowly the information sinks in, and Halgo and Yip are both able to list the various paths and their landmarks without too much difficulty.  

Everyone sits around the camp, listlessly preparing for sleep.  Only Gunnar slumbers easily, having volunteered to take last watch, but it is still light and many of the Copperheads have difficulty getting to sleep before darkness.  It is only after the sun sinks below the horizon that rest comes, leaving Yip on first watch.

Morning comes earlier than anyone would like, and travel becomes difficult within hours of setting off into the mountains. The river banks along the Streel start to drop away, becoming shear cliffs carved between the cold stone of the mountains.  Gunnar proves as adequate a mountaineer as he is a hunter, quickly finding a safe path and advising the heavily armored Blarth and Geoffrey as the days climbing wears on.  Blarth accepts the rigors of the journey with stoic acceptance, but every now and then the soft grumbling of the Cuthbertite Justicar can be heard as his mailed legs sink into another drift of snow.

It takes Gunnar the better part of an hour to find the ridge he’s searching for, a ten-foot wide ledge that he claims follows the river deep into the heart of the mountains.  In the distance, the sign of steady smoke rising up from volcanoes in the heart of the mountain range only serves as a cruel taunt to the cold travelers.  Everyone walks along the ridge in single file, clinging close to the cliff edge that rises up to the mountain peaks above.  At times the falling snow has banked thick against the cliff wall, forcing everyone to march closer to the ledge than they’d like.  Only Gunnar and Yip, agile and unencumbered, seem at ease as their feet come close to the downward drop.

“How far is it,” Geoffrey asks after one particularly tricky part of the climb, the cleric trying to work some feeling into gauntlet-clad hands that have been plunged into snow for balance for the past few minutes.  
Yip just shrugs.
“Long fall,” he chirps cheerfully.  “Long way down.  Yip not fall, be very bad.”

“At this point, nearly a hundred feet,” Gunnar says softly.  “By the time we reach the end of the path, we should nearly be seven hundred feet above the river bank.”
“Great,” Geoffrey says flatly.  

It is just after lunch when one of the small snowdrifts suddenly erupts in movement, long pale arms bursting out to grab Halgo as he’s walking by.  Everyone is tired and cold, bored from the endless drudgery of climbing the mountainside, so it takes a few moments for them to realize that they’re under attack.  In that time, one of the clawed arms has opened a gash in the dwarven Wizard’s chest, staining his robes with blood.  Halgo staggers back, watching a snow-white form emerge out of the snowdrift.  It stands nearly a dozen feet tall, lithe and long-limbed with a tangled mass of hair and eyes that glow with a cold blue flame.

“Troll,” Halgo gasps, breath pluming in the cold air.  “Snow troll.”

The creature simply roars and reaches forward with its claws again.


----------



## Capellan

arwink said:
			
		

> Compare him to someone like Kelpreth (who'd probably come in at around an 8), and some of the people that're coming up, he's not someone the PC's really concern themselves with.
> 
> Of course, now one of the PC's will show up to point out that Kelpreth is a totally charming fellow and I'm completely misinterpretting their relationship with him




Actually I'd say that, if anything, his rating is a little higher than that.  The only factors that have prevented open hostilities are fear (everyone's) and greed (Halgo's).

Once we're powerful enough to survive the repercussions of killing him, we should also be powerful enough not to need his help.  And when that time comes, all bets are off


----------



## arwink

Halgo’s call galvanizes his companions into action.  There is the steely whisper of swords springing from sheaths and morning-stars being readied.  The troll remains quiet as it attacks, so everyone can hear the sluggish slosh and clink of amored figures slogging through the snow drift to attack the tall beast.  Blarth and Geoffrey are determined but cautious, emminantly aware of the lip of the ledge not ten feet away, but Yip charges along with reckless speed, his small paws dancing across the snow, before launching himself at the troll with a level flying kick.  A claw flashes out to catch up, missing the fast-moving kobold by inches and plunching into the snow.  Yip smiles, paw connecting with troll shin, the blow eliciting a hiss of pain from the creature as he drops to the ground in a defensive stance.  The troll looks down at the kobold at its feet, reaches down to grab Yip with the other claw just in time to receive a sharp set of kobold teeth nipping at the fleshy part of its hand.  The Troll pulls its hand back in a panic, its attention distracted long enough for Blarth to blunder through the snow and slide a psionically charged sword into its ribs.  Troll flesh opens with the sound of wet cloth tearing, the blue-tinged blood spilling over the snow.  

“Unglat,” the troll rumbles, anger writ across its beastial features, its wounds already knitting together at a fantastic rate.  It lashes out with both claws, catching Yip across the shoulder and punching through Blarth’s banded mail.  Both fall back a step, sword and fists held high and ready to parry another blow, circling around to use as much of the remaining drift as they can for cover.  

A sharp hiss fills the air as Gunnar lets fly with an arrow, catching the troll in the upper chest.  Halgo clenches his teeth against the pain of his wounds, hisses out the words to a _mage armor_ spell as he tries to scramble out of the trolls reach.  His task is made difficult by the close proximity of the ledge, forcing him to adopt a sideways crab-scuttle, but Yip reckless attack seems to have drawn the trolls attention away from the wizard.  Geoffrey is quick to step into the space left by his comrade.  He holds his morning star at the ready, glaring at the troll with anger.

“St Cuthbert Guide Me,” he whispers quietly, then swings the weapon as hard as he can.  Holy energy seems to flow through his arm, lending him a fragment of his deity’s holy power.  The morning star connects, and there is a sickening gurgle of pain from the troll as a wave of destructive power floods through the mace and into its body.  Yip and Blarth press the attack, Yip twisting his way through the trolls legs to flank from behind, and Blarth lashing out with another powerful blow that almost cuts one of the trolls legs free.  The troll hisses in pain, a surprisingly soft sound given the blood that flows from its wounds.  The flesh and bone of its leg starts to fuse, letting it hobble uncomfortably, and it turns its glowing eyes to Blarth with a look of pure hatred.  

Both hands leap forwards, talons bared and ready to cut through flesh.  There is the screech of claw on metal for the space of half a second, then the claws seem to find purchase.  Blarth’s armor screams in protest as the trolls talons penetrate, almost lifting the half-orc off his feet as the creature pulls apart with all its strength.  Blood fountains across the snow as both clawed troll hands try to separate Blarth like a wishbone, then there’s a pained grunt as the half-orc is dropped back into the snow.  Torn bands of armor hang loose from their moorings, bloodied flesh evident underneath.

“Damn,” Geoffrey mutters, looking at the bloody mess that was once Blarth’s chest.  “Not good.”
The half-orc is still breathing, struggling to his feet, but blood flows over him like a tunic and the snow around his feet is gradually turning a deep crimson.
“Blarth mad,” he wheezes, but both sword and shield are held low and without his usual strength.  The troll blinks, momentarily taken aback by the fact that his foe is still standing after such a deadly blow.  One can almost see it's slow brain trying to process how it happened, running through the list of gnolls and mountain cats that have been felled by such blows.  

Halgo takes advantage of its confusion, hitting it with an _acid arrow_ that starts burning through the troll’s chest.  Gunnar fires a second arrow that lands only a few inches from the first, and Geoffrey hammers through the troll’s defenses again.

Yip flurries from behind the creatures, arming a series of short sharp blows at the Troll’s lower back where he guesses important internal organs should be located.  One of his strikes hits, drawing another grunt of pain from the wounded giant, but it does little to slow the creature down.  Blarth, swaying slightly with blood loss, reaches for the psionic whistle at his belt.  Next to him, Geoffrey bats at Blarth’s hand away from the potent weapon.

“Avalanches,” he grunts, the troll’s claw battering against his shield.  Blarth nods blearily, trying to make out the words through the haze of his wounds.  Instinct demands obedience, however, and he's subconsciously started to manifest _bio-feedback_ before he's even aware of what Geoffrey has warned.  The pain recedes, but his reactions are slowed and sluggish.  The troll’s claw slashes through his defenses even as he pulls his blood away from the wounds, and Blarth slumps down into the snow.  

“Dammit,” Halgo grunts.  He fires his crossbow bolt, watching it spiral into the snow above the trolls head.  “He dead?”
Geoffrey just shakes his head, cracking a few of the troll’s ribs with a carefully placed strike.  He’s close enough to see that Blarth’s still breathing, his chest rising and falling smoothly.  

“His manifestation probably saved his life,” Geoffrey thinks, and then the troll’s claws are slashing at his face.  He curses to himself, forces his attention back on his foe.  On the other side of the creature, Yip is battering at its lower back.  Geoffrey hears a muted squelch, a sound he’s often associated with something inside the body popping open suddenly and loudly, and he swings as hard as he can as the Troll rears in pain.  The morning star catches the creature under the chin, the bladed points tearing a huge rent in its throat and neck.  The troll staggers backwards a half-pace before falling to the ground, the wounds already beginning to close.

“It’ll be up again in a few seconds,” Halgo calls out.  “Move fast.”

Yip does.  Letting out a strangled roar of rage, the small monk leaps onto the prone form of the troll and starts hammering at it with his fists.  Within the space of seconds, the trolls face becomes a bruised and broken mess.

“So,” Halgo gasps, trying to catch his breath while Yip batters the troll further than its regeneration can heal.  “Anyone got some fire?”


----------



## Khynal

Ah, the mythical Blarth Almost Gets Eviscerated scene. So now we know...


----------



## Durhon

Khynal said:
			
		

> Ah, the mythical Blarth Almost Gets Eviscerated scene. So now we know...




From memory that was one of the toughest fights we have had.  I recall at various stages that it could have gone either way!!


----------



## Dungannon

Snow Troll definitely _not_ puny.


----------



## arwink

True, the Snow Troll was among the nastier things the group has fought (at least, fought until recently).

It's also one of the few things they've come up against that has had a strength score and damage dealing capability roughly equal to Blarth's.  It's difficult to challenge a 20 Str Psi-Warrior using Bio-feedback on a physical level, especially now he's wandering around with the AC from hell.  Most of the things that can do it, such as giants and other large beasties, tend to do enough damage that they can lay the party out in one or two strikes*, so I make a point of using them as sparingly as possible.  Even though the damage is unlikely to kill Blarth with the 5 points of subdual conversion bio-feedback grants him, big damage critters will render him unconscious and leave the group without a heavy hitter.



*(Note to the casual observer - Blarth and Geoffrey both use D8 hit die with +1 or +2 con bonuses, there is no tank fighter)


----------



## arwink

Everyone looks blank.

“No-one?” Halgo demands.  “None of us are carrying around torches these days?”
“I thought you guys could see in the dark,” Geoffrey says defensively.  “And I picked up a burning stone back in Petrev.”
Halgo blinks for a few moments, biting back frustration.  In the background, Yip is still hammering his fists into the troll. Thwack, thwack.  Thwack.
“Do something,” the kobold urges.  “Yip getting tired.”
“Heal Blarth,” Halgo suggests, then turns towards Gunnar.  “You carrying firewood?”
“Yes,” Gunnar says warily.  “But if we use it here, we won’t have enough for another nights fire.”
“If we don’t use it now, we’ll have to deal with this thing on the way home,” Halgo says.  
“It’ll be a cold night,” Gunnar insists.  “Colder than we can handle unless you’ve got some magic besides that there whistle.”
“That thing just about killed Blarth,” Halgo insists.  “You really want to face it again?”

Yip listens to the argument, letting out a sign even as he grinds the point of his paw into the trolls eye socket.  The eye pops with a sickening squelch.

“Help,” he demands.  “Yip fix.”
Yip starts rolling the troll’s body, a slow process made worse by the fact that he stops heaving every few seconds to strike the body or re-open some of its wounds.
“What are you doing?” Halgo demands.
“Throw over edge,” Yip grunts, straining his small limbs against the trolls weight.  “Big fall.  Cold water.”
“It’ll still come back,” Halgo grumbles.
“Not for a while,” Gunnar says with a grin.  “I’ve seen men turn blue the moment they dove into the Streel, and that was down near the coastline where the water’s not so cold.”

The lanky hunter runs over and starts helping Yip, slowly rolling the body towards the lip of the ledge.  Halgo shrugs and goes to join them, and they quickly send the troll bouncing down the rocky cliff.  There's a few meaty splats as it rebounds off random rocks.

The screams of pain and terror don't start until a few seconds before the splash.

“That had better work,” Halgo grumbles.

Geoffrey sits by Blarth, casting healing spell after healing spell.  The Half-orc is moving again after the first, but it takes the bulk of Geoffrey’s spells to get him to the point where he can move without pain.  The trolls claws had bitten deep, and the psi-warrior had lost a lot of blood.

The troll’s snowdrift has been built up around the entrance to a cave, obviously the creatures lair.  Yip is sent in to investigate, and he returns with a small pile of treasure and some human bones.  Scattered among the silver and gold are several potions, some marked with imperial runes, and among the bones are several rings and tattered scraps of cloth that identify the former owners as Reldanfolk.  

“The other diplomats,” Gunnar says quietly, examining one of the rings.  “This bears the mark of Oleg’s House, probably the warrior that was leading the last mission.”

The hunter swears softly.

“You knew him?” Geoffrey asks.
“No,” Gunnar admits.  “But I was still hoping that they’d made it through somehow.  Take the pressure off, that kind of thing.  I don’t like being the last hope.”

The Hunter swears again, gathering together the various personal effects and stowing them in his pack.

“Let’s get going,” he says.


----------



## Durhon

arwink said:
			
		

> *(Note to the casual observer - Blarth and Geoffrey both use D8 hit die with +1 or +2 con bonuses, there is no tank fighter)



Yeah but I've had some pretty arsey rolls.  Although Im sure the law of averages will catch up to me.


----------



## Durhon

arwink said:
			
		

> “If we don’t use it now, we’ll have to deal with this thing on the way home,” Halgo says.
> “It’ll be a cold night,” Gunnar insists.  “Colder than we can handle unless you’ve got some magic besides that there whistle.”
> “That thing just about killed Blarth,” Halgo insists.  “You really want to face it again?”



Damn... so that things still floating around.  Lets hope it hasn't gained a few levels of Rogue!!!


----------



## Lela

Wow, super evil Troll of doom.  Scary thing, that.

 I was thinking  a moment before I read the whole "No Fire" thing that it would be an RBDM thing to do if, once they got to this new land and tried to buy Alchamist's Fire (or whatever your campaign terms it)  only to find it to be a foriegn comcept to these people.  The snow covered land and all, I would have gone looking for Fire stuff.


----------



## arwink

As far as Borr goes, alchemists fire isn't a terribly common commoditiy anyway.  Essentially anything that's not a fish, animal fur, subsistance level foodstuff or fighter type military tool (eg, chainmail, helmets, battleaxes and swords, longbows, shortbows and crossbows) is something that's imported from the empire two months travel to the south*.

Borr, as a nation, knows of such things, but it's primarily settled by a group of tall pseudo-vikings whose prefered method of dealing with things is hitting it with big axes rather than setting it on fire.  Coupled with the fact that the trolls haven't been anywhere near as big a problem as the goblins and gnolls have been, the city alchemist is one really bored guy.  

That being said, Halgo has (had?) alchemy, so they could easily have made it themselves if they'd wanted to.  And these days, despite their homebase in Borr, shopping for exotic goods isn't the problem it once was.


No update for the next day or two.  I've got to head north to game (woohoo!) and meet with some students, so I wont be in a position to put up the next part of the story until friday sometime (possibly not even until Sunday if Brisbane is amusing enough).





*Which does remind me - one of the things I forget to put into the storyhour was the groups mass purchase of as much wine and other luxury goods as they could find before they left Petrev.  They made a not-bad profit out of the trip.


----------



## Lela

arwink said:
			
		

> No update for the next day or two. I've got to head north to game (woohoo!) and meet with some students, so I wont be in a position to put up the next part of the story until friday sometime (possibly not even until Sunday if Brisbane is amusing enough).



 *Sadness*
 You said you already had them typed up.  I could take care of the posting (and, of course, reading them tell all hours in one fell swoop).   




> *Which does remind me - one of the things I forget to put into the storyhour was the groups mass purchase of as much wine and other luxury goods as they could find before they left Petrev. They made a not-bad profit out of the trip.



 Very good idea.  Did you make them pay to ship it or was that free?


----------



## arwink

I have them typed, but they aren't readable yet 

My drafts tend to go through a fairly substantial last minute edit just before they get posted, and if I try to rush it I get sarcastic e-mails from Capellan about my lack of spelling, grammar and general mistaken sequences of events that make Halgo look bad 

The wine was basically packed into their cabin on the Fist of Justice.  There wasn't a great deal of it, but the rarity of wine in Borr pretty much made up for that.


----------



## arwink

The third day of the mission is the worst yet, the black smoke of the volcano starting to loom large in the sky.  To the relief of everyone, the narrow ledges slowly widen and the sheer drop to the water slowly becomes a long, steep slope – possibly fatal, but with far more chance of catching a lower ledge or grabbing onto something before you hit the bottom.  Gunnar pushes the team hard, the tangible proof of the previous mission’s failure forcing him to focus more intently on reaching the dwarven kingdom.

It is about midday that Yip suddenly pauses in the middle of a short climb, his ears standing on end.
“What?” Blarth asks, standing beside the tense kobold.  Yip waves for him to be quiet, quickly hisses at everyone else to stop and lay low.  A few silent seconds are spent carefully listening to the empty silence of the mountains, the dull roar of the river several hundred feet below.

Then they hear the snort of something exerting itself, the subtle slosh of something forcing itself through the snow.  Yip and Gunnar both drop to their stomachs, crawling through the snow to look over the lip of the ledge.  Nearly three dozen feet below, on a twisting part of the trail the group passed by a few hours earlier, are a small horde of gnolls marching at full speed.  Yip quickly takes a head-count, putting the number at nearly thirty, and counts at least three archers among their ranks.

“Not good,” Yip mutters.  “Furrymen coming.  Bowman.  Swordsman.  Many.”
Everyone proceeds to swear in a variety of tongues.  Gunnar slumps onto the snow, his features bleak.

“Can we ambush them?” Geoffrey asks, surveying the path dubiously.  It’s wider than the site of the Troll’s ambush, but there is still a dangerously long fall should they be outnumbered and thrown off.
“We can send Yip as a runner,” Halgo suggests.  “He might make it, if the rest of us hold the gnolls off.”
“There’s nearly thirty,” Gunnar points out.  “Even with your friends whistle, that’s to many for us.  Even if he can use it without setting off an avalanche that tears down half the mountain, they’re going to know better than to charge like the last lot.”
“Then we need someplace we can fight,” Geoffrey says sternly.  “Someplace where we can even out the advantage of numbers.  You know the area – are there any caves?  Anything that’s more defensible than a damn slash of pathway between the mountain and a three hundred foot fall?”
“Yeah,” Blarth says.  “Gnolls puny.”

Gunnar looks incredulous, but when he sees the calm resolve on his comrades faces a faint glimmer of hope starts to form in his eyes.

“There’s a fort,” Gunnar says eventually.  “It’s old, almost ruined, but we think the dwarves made it.  It might keep them from swarming over us.”
“It’ll have to do,” Geoffrey says.  “How long have we got before they catch up?”
“Two hours,” Gunnar shrugs.  “Maybe three?”
“How long until the fort?”
“An hour.  Less if you’re willing to run it.”
“We can run it, then,” Geoffrey says.  “Halgo, you’ll be slowest.  Set the pace as fast as you can manage, the rest of us will follow.  Gunnar, show him where he’s going.”

Everyone nods silently, their faces grim with resolve.

“Lets get moving, people.  Those gnolls are only getting closer.”


----------



## arwink

With the pace set by Halgo the journey takes a little over half an hour, Gunnar cutting a path up steep slopes and through a series of rough stone ridges to get them there as quickly as possible.  The fort isn’t the most inspiring sight, with two gaping holes in its walls and only a single tower set into the rear fortifications.  Worse, its interiors are sized for creatures whose height normally averages at 4 feet, so everyone but Halgo and Yip are forced to stoop as they do a precautionary sweep through the remnants of storerooms and barracks.

“How long have we got?” Geoffrey asks Gunnar.  
“An hour.  Maybe two if we’re lucky.  I don’t know if they’ll take the same path we did, and they may know something about the area I don’t.”
“Then we stand here,” Geoffrey says.  “We’ve got an hour to come up with some defenses and a plan.  Everyone dump missile weapons here, Gunnar and Yip can work out where they’re going.  Halgo – take a look at the stone and see what’s going to hold together.  I’d prefer to fight this from the top of that tower, but I don’t want to fall through a patch of floor by accident.  Blarth – clear as much of this rubble away as possible.  All going well, we’ll be firing from the top of the tower, and we want the furry bastards to have as little to hide behind as possible.  Go people.”

People go.  

The missile weapons are among the bad news.  Blarth carries his magic longbow and Gunnar has a shortbow, but Gunnar has used nearly a quarter of his ammunition in the fight with the troll.  Geoffrey’s ranged weapons are limited to javelins, and Yip has but a small hand-full of throwing blades. Only Halgo, armed with a crossbow and a nearly full quiver, has a weapon suited to the cramped quarters required of sniping from the arrow slit on the second story of the dwarven tower.  

The tower is slightly better news – the stone as sturdy as the day it was laid.  The bottom story is a simple storage cellar, with no access to the stories above, while the second is still blocked by a thick wooden door that can only be accessed along a single narrow walkway by the battlements.  Halgo contemplates the door for a few seconds before using a spell to walk up the side of the tower.  

“I’m going over to look for a key,” he reports.  “We’ll probably want the door in one piece.”

The roof is similarly sturdy, untouched by the destruction wrought on some of the other buildings in the fort, although the trapdoor here has been eaten away by time and mould.  Halgo disappears inside, eventually emerging from the locked door with a silver key in his hand.

“I think we have a strong point,” he announces, pleased with himself.  Everyone nods in agreement, slowly moving their tasks inside.

“Anything we can use here?” Geoffrey asks, his voice hopeful.  Halgo shrugs half-heartedly.
“There’s an old bath in the store-room beneath the tower,” he says.  “Cast iron, very heavy.  I can’t move it, but if you and Blarth can get it onto the roof of this thing, we’d be able to dump it on anything standing in front of the door.  There’s a small barrel of oil in the bottom story which we should move – the towers made of stone, but some of the supports are wood.  There’s also this…”

He leads the cleric to the top of the roof, and points to an ornate bone horn that’s lying amidst the scraps of a wooden frame.  The horn is easily six feet long, and there are a small series of dwarven runes carved inside its mouth.

“How does that help us?” Geoffrey asks.  “We’re going to play Thiltian opera and get Yip to take them down while they’re confused?”
“The writing,” Halgo says.  “There’s some differences between these and the runes we use in the Empire, but I think this reads _For fear of stranger, in iron am I cast, to warn of danger, with thrice formed blast._”
“Warning device?”
“Warning device,” Halgo says.  “This place hasn’t been used in a few years, probably not in a few decades from the looks of it, but they might still come out to investigate.”
“Works for me,” Geoffrey says.  “Go ahead and call on anything you can find to help us.  We’re going to need it.”

Halgo blows the horn, his dwarven lungs working like a bellows.  The clear, crystalline note of the horn echoes across the mountains, and there is a distant rumble as some ice cracks off the side of a mountain and tumbles to a valley far below.  Halgo blows again, then thrice, before setting the horn down.

“You know,” he muses, “That’s probably just going to bring the gnolls coming sooner.”
“Then we’d better get planning.  Blarth, come with me.  We’re moving some furniture.”

A rough battle plan is formulated.  Gunnar is given Blarth’s weapon, the lithe hunter looking awed as he nock’s an arrow to the glowing weapon’s string.  Yip takes up Gunnar's bow and his ammunition, and he joins Halgo on the second story of the tower.  They share a small arrow slit, a single space wide enough for them to snipe on people in the courtyard below while retaining some cover from return fire.  Gunnar, Blarth and Geoffrey are set on the roof.  Blarth keeps his whistle in hand, a small pile of rubble at his feet so he can throw stones if nothing else.  His main task is to decimate the force as best he can, then ensure they don’t break through the door below.  Geoffrey has his javelins lined up and ready to use by one of the battlements, readying few other missile weapons beyond those three strikes.  The people on the battlements of the tower are more exposed to arrow-fire, the crenulations only coming up to their waists, and the Justicar’s main task will be healing his companions should they take heavy fire.  When he’s sure the weapons are laid out as he’d prefer, he takes up a position on the ladder.

“When you hear them coming, shout,” he orders.  “I’ll be calling down St Cuthbert’s blessing to aid us, but I need to be able to see everyone.”

Everyone nods, nerves tense and waiting.


----------



## Durhon

Ah I remember this well!!!  *rubs hands eagerly then prepares whistle*


----------



## arwink

The gnolls swarm the fort in two groups, one charging each of the breaches in the wall leading into the courtyard.  Even with the archers, there is little subtlety to their approach.  The air fills with wolfish howls and the sound of armor jingling as they sprint, sunlight reflecting off the raised battle-axes, swords and spears that are distinctly of Reldenfolk make.  Gunnar and Yip are both firing as the creatures come into range, their arrows striking one of the gnollish attackers in the ribs and dropping him to the ground.  His companions swarm over the body and continue on, covering the space between the stone ridges that lead towards the fort and the courtyard faster than anyone could have thought.

Geoffrey’s blessing echoes out over the din of the charging gnolls, a pale blue light washing over everyone.  Ragged nerves are instantly calmed as the clear, focused energy of St Cuthbert the Lawgiver fills everyone mind.  
The first group comes through the eastern wall of the courtyard, lead by a giant of a gnoll that has two battleaxes in hand as he runs.  They move without pause to the stairs leading onto the battlements, obviously intending to charge the door to the tower.  The second group is larger, over a dozen gnolls in total, and they swarm towards the base of the tower and begin to ready ropes and grapples as three of their number ready bows to cover them.

Blarth leans over the edge of the tower, the sound of his whistle cutting through the air.  There are only a small cluster of the gnolls is within range of the weapon, the best he's likely to get from his vantage point, and although they reel in pain as the sound burst hits but only a few of them fall.  Further across the courtyard, a smaller number of gnolls suddenly slumps to the ground in a deep slumber, victims of Halgo’s _sleep_.  Yip readies a second arrow, targeting one of the stunned gnolls trying to shake Blarth’s sonic blast from their ears, dropping him to the ground.  Gunnar and Geoffrey do the same, but by then nearly half a dozen gnollish grapples have looped over the tower battlements and the armored forms have slowly started to climb.

Halgo loads his crossbow and looks for a suitable target, then hears the loud thump of something heavy and strong hitting the doorway.  His attention is distracted for a moment, looking over his shoulder to ensure the door holds, before he fires at one of the gnollish creatures.

“Door!” He yells to the top, but it seems no-one hears him.  

“Blarth, rope-cutting,” Geoffrey orders, and the half-orc immediately draws his blade and starts hacking at the thick ropes attached to the grapples.  Two solid blows cuts one of the grapples free, but looking over the battlement he can see the frantic forms of gnolls struggling against the weight of their armor.  It's a long climb for the gnolls, nearly thirty-five feet with the weight of the unfamiliar chainmail, but the beast-men have great strength to aid them.  He knows he has little chance of cutting them all free before one of the reaches the top.

Then Blarth spots a heavily armored form wearing a helm, too short to be a gnoll, drinking from a potion vial.  Blarth swats at a second rope as he watches the armored form, permitting only the briefest grin of joy when he notices a gnoll falling onto the small swarm of his comrades waiting below.  The armored figure throws the vial aside, looks up and offers Blarth a very human smile, and begins to scale the walls of the tower as though he were a spider.

“Human,” he calls, grabbing Geoffrey’s attention as the justicar spears one of the gnolls swarming towards the tower door.  Geoffrey looks and notices the human scaling the wall, a longspear on his back.  There’s a howl of approval as he passes the gnolls on ropes, and the creatures seem to redouble their efforts to follow their comrade.

“Crap,” Geoffrey yells.  “Gunnar, watch over the door.  Blarth, with me.”

The armored human reaches the edge of the tower, longspear in hand.  Blarth and Geoffrey are waiting for him, shields held at the ready to block the arrows of gnollish archers, sword and morning star held in a defensive stance.

The human just smiles, pale teeth visible behind the bristling red beard that juts out of his helm.  Even as the two Copperheads swing at him, he circles around the side of the tower and reappears on the opposite edge.  The tower is only fifteen feet wide, and as he appears on the horizontal surface he has the longspwear readied.  Letting loose with a gutteral war cry, he surges forward.  As if in response to his actions, the point of the longspear suddenly blazes with magical light...


----------



## Lela

Oh, cool.  What Halgo'd give for a _Fireball_ right now, eh?

 This is great Arwink.  I just hope no one dies.  Though I haven't gotten to know the newest Yip all that well, I still kinda like him.


----------



## Mathew_Freeman

Great stuff! I've always wanted to play in a siege situation!  Looking forward to reading the resolution!


----------



## arwink

The irregular thump of something hitting the tower door suddenly changes tone, switching from the meaty thwack of fists and shoulders to the heavy thunk of an axe hitting wood.  Halgo swears loudly, firing his crossbow at one of the gnolls on ground level.  Already half their number have taken to the ropes, the rest either sniping at the group from behind the cover of ruined walls or waiting around the side of the tower where the arrow slit offers no vision.  Yip is doing his best to pin down the gnollish archers, but the kobolds skill at archery work best at close range.  There's little Halgo can do from his position beyond shooting a crossbow, and there is no sign of someone coming down to hold the door.

He swears quietly.  With a great deal of reluctance, Halgo climbs the ladder and looks at what’s happening on the tower top above.

His head emerges into the chaos of a close-quarter melee. Blarth and Geoffrey are fighting on two fronts, trying to prevent the initial surge of the first gnollish wave from climbing over the battlement, while fending off the attacks of the spear-wielding human.  Gunnar is cramped up in the corner of the tower, one of the few places he can stand and still shoot without opening himself to an attack.  It’s a cramped place to fire from, however, and it leaves him open to attack by the archers below.  Already Halgo can see an open gash on Gunnar’s cheek, and an arrow puncturing the mans shoulder.  Blarth and Geoffrey have fared slightly better, but blood is visible through the torn rents in Blarth’s armor and Geoffrey bears a few cuts that stain the crisp white and blue of his tabard.

Halgo quickly realizes three things in rapid succession: that none of them are in position to guard the door, that climbing out of the trap door is inordinately dangerous, and that the iron bathtub is still at the ready over the doorway.  He offers a brief prayer to whatever gods are listening that his arcane defenses will hold and sprints across the tower to the bathtub.  Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Blarth cut down a pair of gnolls, but two more take positions on the battlements in their wake.  He can sense Geoffrey moving, closing with the spear wielder as best he can to provide Halgo some cover.  It’s barely enough, the spear point flashing skittering Halgo’s shoulder with a shower of arcane sparks.  Offering a silent prayer of thanks, Halgo digs his fingers under the bathtub and heaves.  The iron weight moves slowly, and Gunnar is quick to leap in to help the dwarven wizard.  With a grunt they tip the bathtub over the battlements, and are rewarded by the frightened shrieks of the creatures below.  Halgo looks over to see one of the creatures dead, crushed by the falling metal, while the axe-wielder and the doorway is knocked off the battlement and laying stunned on the courtyard below.  It’s not as effective as he’d hoped, but the gnolls that remain before the doorway are only armed with swords and spears so he comforts himself with the knowledge that he’s bought a momentary respite.  Gunnar has only paused for a moment before retreating to his corner, notching another arrow and firing at the confused targets below.

Yip comes flying up the ladder from below, his kobold paws seeming to dance on the thin rungs.  
“No arrows left,” he yells, ducking under the blow of the gnoll warrior standing over the trapdoor.  The kobold gives the gnoll an irritated glance, carefully spinning on the balls of his feet and hammering an iron paw into the creature’s stomach.  The blow is more stunning than painful, but as it wheezes and attempts to catch its breath Blarth solves the problem by opening the gnolls chest with a sword blow. 

Halgo uses one of his last spells to do the same to the spear-wielder, hitting him with an _extended daze_ that leaves him staring at Geoffrey with a glazed expression.  Geoffrey summons the destructive power of St Cuthbert and smites him with a morning star, staggering the spearman and sending him back towards the battlements.  Even as the spear-wielders eyes starts to clear from the effects of Halgo’s spell, Yip dances forward and launches a _stunning fist_ at his privates.  The spear drops to the ground as the human’s eyes bulge, and he is quickly thrown from the tower by a second strike by Geoffrey’s mace.

With the spearman gone, the momentum of the battle on the tower top changes.  Blarth and Geoffrey both leap towards the gnolls, their attention now focused entirely on a single front.   Blarth has done a good job of thinning out the gnollish advance on his own, but there are still nearly a half-dozen alive and pressed up against the corner of the battlement.  The cleric and the psi-warrior start cutting through them, and the happily yipping Yip dances along the foot-wide dwarven battlements to attack from the far side.  Gnollish archers target him as he tumbles over the crenulations, but Yip catches one arrow and neatly ducks the other.  Gunnar, out of arrows, snatches up the enchanted spear and joins the fight, making clumsy strikes over Geoffrey’s shoulder.  

Only Halgo avoids the melee, taking a position where he can snipe with his crossbow on the gnolls below.  There are still nearly a dozen of them, including the large one wielding battle-axes, and Halgo curses as he sees the axe-wielder make his way back to the doorway.  A crossbow bolt is fired straight down, catching the gnoll in the shoulder, but it isn’t enough.  Both axes lash out at the doorway, and the sound of splintering wood is heard by everyone.

“They’re through,” Halgo says needlessly.  

Blarth barely misses a beat.  His swings his sword in a wide arc, forcing the gnolls back a step.  It’s a flashy blow, unlikely to hit anything, but it buys him the time to manifest _Biofeedback_ and step into the trapdoor.  He doesn’t even bother with the ladder, simply dropping down and using a rush of blood to his feet to cushion the landing.  The giant gnoll in the doorway glares at him, but before it can charge Blarth has crossed the floor to fill the doorway.

“Blarth make door,” he yells, and firmly sets his shield at the ready.  Luckringer swings easily in his hands, it’s glowing point making wary circles in the space between Blarth and the axe-wielder.

Three more gnolls find their way onto the battlements in the half-orcs absence.

"I bloody hope he's right," Geoffrey grunts, and prepares to repell the invaders.


----------



## Mathew_Freeman

Blarth not puny!

Great stuff! Real acts of desperate heroism...


----------



## Lela

Very Cool.


----------



## Durhon

Lela said:
			
		

> Very Cool.




Yeah he really is making us sound good!!


----------



## arwink

Blarth looms in the doorway.  He's half a head shorter than the gnoll, but the bloodied half-orc is easily wider than his opponent and his eyes gleam with psionic power.  The gnollish leader swings a battleaxe and catches Blarth on the arm, and seems slightly taken aback with how little blood comes from the wound. He blinks a few times, hammering the half-orc with the other weapon and getting a similar result.  

Blarth swings his sword, and cuts a large gash in the gnolls chest.  The blow is easily as powerful as the two he's taken, and blood gushes out of the gash like a fountain.  The hulking leader howls in pain and frustration.  The half-dozen remaining warriors standing behind him start to think very carefully about charging into the frar.  At least one starts slinking back towards the stairway, getting only a few steps before he’s cut down by Halgo’s crossbow.  

The hulking gnoll lets loose in a furious assult, swinging both axes with a surprising degree of grace and dexterity given his size and anger.  One of the weapons reflects across Blarth’s shield, but the other cuts through the half-orcs defenses.  Blarth grunts, moderately surprised that he’s been hit by something nearly as strong as he is for the second time in two days, but kept alive and steady by his mental control.  He swings in retaliation.  

It’s a clumsy blow, one the gnoll easily ducks before righting himself and letting loose with a howl of glee.  Luckringer seems to flare with a golden light and the weapon bounces off the stone doorframe with unexpected force.  Blarth feels the sword twist in his hand, and by some twist of fate its blade ends up in the gnolls neck.



> (Authors Note: Luckringer is a +1 lucky longsword, which lets Blarth re-roll an attack once per day.  Usually he doesn’t use it, unless there’s a big momentous battle or he rolls a critical fumble, or the uses tend to dissolve into the general chaos of melee and I tend not to notice.  In this case, The attack roll came up two, with Blarth power attacking for all he was worth.  Deciding it wasn’t a good time to miss, Blarth used the luck power. The lucky reroll came up crit, and Razash the gnoll, who’d gotten away with damage rolls in the ones or twos from crossbow bolts, arrows and a falling bathtub up until Blarth fronted up, is suddenly dropped from 22 hit points to 1 in a single stroke.)




The gnoll grunts, lashing out with his axe before stumbling back into his fellows with blood spurting from his neck.  Halgo sees the gnoll stumbling back from the doorway and picks him off with a crossbow bolt.  Blarth emerges from the doorway, blade swinging twice and cutting down the next two gnolls in line.  The half-dozen gnolls that remain, already doubting the wisdom of a frontal assault after the half-orcs arrival, decide that there is only the possibility of life containing more than an endless succession of battle and bloodshed if they flee the fight and continue living.  To a gnoll, they turn and start springing.  

On the rooftop, Geoffrey and Yip have cut down all but two of the gnolls that swarmed up the ropes.  Both the attackers have taken grievous wounds, but are well armed and armored even by the standards of the band.  Geoffrey circles warily with a beast that wields a heavy morning star and a mithril shield, trading blows that rattle each others defenses.  Yip and the spear-wielding Gunnar fight the other, trying to punch through its defenses as it blocks blow after blow with paired hand-axes.  Blarth emerges from the trapdoor and distracts Geoffrey’s opponent, allowing the cleric to smite it down.  With the five defenders suddenly free to engage it in melee, the second gnoll lasts but a few seconds longer.

As the gnolls body falls, everyone looks at one another in a kind of stunned surprise.  The air is nearly still, broken only by the frightened shrieks of fleeing gnolls and the tired breathing of everyone.  The battle has lasted a little over two minutes, but everyone feels like they’ve been fighting for hours.

“You want chase?” Yip asks wearily, pointing in the direction of the fleeing gnolls.  There is a sudden sound of air igniting, and the frightened shrikes are suddenly cut short.  Halgo cocks and ear at the noise, trying to place where he’s heard it before.
“Fireball,” he sighs.
“Gods no,” Geoffrey says, although no-one is sure if he’s answering Yip’s question or simply expressing the sentiment they’re all feeling.  With weary determination, they pull themselves upright and prepare to repel the new threat.

“Into the second story,” Halgo suggests.  
“Close quarters if they can fireball us,” Geoffrey suggests.
“We can hide,” Halgo points out.  “They can’t hit us if they don’t see us.  And nobodies dropping a fireball at their feet after they’re ambushed at close quarters.”

Everyone descends into the room, taking up ambush positions and hiding as best they can.


----------



## Lela

> It’s a clumsy blow, one the gnoll easily ducks before righting himself and letting loose with a howl of glee. Luckringer seems to flare with a golden light and the weapon bounces off the stone doorframe with unexpected force. Blarth feels the sword twist in his hand, and by some twist of fate its blade ends up in the gnolls neck.



Nice one Pumba.


----------



## arwink

Several long minutes pass, the waiting dragging out until it becomes torturous.  Everyone becomes intimately aware of their hoarse breath, the pain in their limbs as the adrenaline wears off.  No-one has escaped injury in the gnolls assult, and the sharp pain of open wounds starts to take over now that the instinctual fear of danger and having one's head cut off wears away.

Then a lone shout cuts through the ear, calling out in accented Dwarven.

“Ho, the fort.  I am Ogath, Son of Argat, Shieldmage of Thorbeck.  We were patrolling this area, and heard the warning horn being sounded.  Stand forth and identify yourselves.”

“What’d he say?” Everyone asks, looking expectantly at Halgo.
“We found the dwarves we’re looking for,” Halgo says, relief evident in his voice.  “And now it’s time to negotiate.

The group emerges onto the top of the tower, looking down at a small platoon of crossbowmen that have weapons trained upon them.  Standing behind the array of crossbows is a dwarf wearing dark breeches and a gray vest, carrying a large shield in one hand.  In the other he holds a short-spear at the ready, obviously prepared to give the order to fire if needed.

“Greetings Ogath,” Halgo replies.  “I am Halgo, Wizard of Clan Torke.  I have come as emissary of the Oleg, King of Borr and Leader of the people who dwell on the coast of these lands.  I come representing Borr and the Seldarn Empire that birthed it.  We would make peace with your Clanhold, and come offering an alliance against the savage creatures of this land.”

Ogath examines Halgo carefully, studying the dwarven wizard’s aura and paying close attention to the wounds each of the party bares.

“Then in the name of Thorbeck I welcome you,” he says finally.  “We have a servant of _He Who Lives In Stone_ in our midst, and would offer you healing.  We encountered gnolls that fled as though the hosts of Thorbeck were chasing them down, and such is rare in these parts.  It would seem that you have a fight worth hearing about, and we would be glad to share the tale.”

The dwarven patrol lowers their crossbows, and they move into the courtyard of the ruined fort.  The Copperheads find their way down and meet with them, Halgo making formal introductions for his companions.  The two dwarves are from obviously different backgrounds, and there are differing accents, but the similarities are enough that communication is possible.  

“You have had a worthy battle here,” Ogath says, surveying the carnage.  “It speaks well of you that a force so few held out against so many.  Your comrades could almost have been earth-born.”

The dwarven cleric heals the party’s wounds as best he can, but he doesn’t carry enough power to stop any but the most life threatening of wounds.  The dwarven warriors sweep efficiently through the compound, removing items of value from the dead and carefully piling them near the wounded party.  Ogath and Halgo talk in serious tones, as Halgo explains the nature of their mission.  Every now and then Geoffrey makes a vague comment about what’s going to happen to the spoils of war, but Halgo ignores him.  

As the last of the Gnollish armor and weapons are laid out,  one of the warriors calls Ogath’s name and points.  The dwarven Shieldmage strides over and examines the corpse.

“Klegg,” he says with a smile.  “You have done us a great service this day, Halgo of Clan Torke.  One of those you have killed is the son of the creature’s leader, and a great thorn in the side of Thorbeck.  It will bode well when we introduce you to the Thane.”

“Ask him about heads,” Blarth mutters.
“The ugly one wishes to take the heads of the slain?” Halgo ventures.  Ogath simply nods.  Blarth lets out a grunt of glee, and promptly cuts the head off the gnoll that was identified as Klegg.
“Ask him about the loot,” Geoffrey repeats quietly for the fifth time.  
“Ogath, my comrade has a request,” Halgo says in dwarfish.  “The tradition of our lands is for the belongings of the dead to be taken by the winners after such a battle, and he seems anxious to know whether he should be allowed some portion of what’s being gathered.”
“Their wealth will be yours,” Ogath assures him.  “We are simply gathering their belongings before burning the bodies, and will remove anything which belongs to our people.  Obviously, the blades the gnolls carried were forged by a cruder race than our own.”
“We believe that someone among the humans is providing the weapons,” Halgo says.
“We know,” Gunnar says when Halgo translates the conversation.  “The guy with the spear?  That was Bjorn.  He was one of the weapon smiths for Borr.”

The gnollish equipment is eventually gathered, and the dwarves efficiently gather and burn the bodies.  Both Halgo and Ogath examine the equipment with _detect magic_ spells.  

The gnollish arsenal consists of a magic chain shirt, several masterwork weapons, a _cloak of resistance _and a mithril shield of Thorbeck make that Ogath hands over to Halgo as a gift.  The human that aided them has his magic spear, as well as a set of snowshoes that bare the magic to allow the wearer to traverse snow twice as fast as he could normal earth.  The items are quickly divided, and the bulk of the equipment is loaded onto Blarth for the trip to Thorbeck.

“Have you taken what you wish?” Ogath asks.  Halgo nods.
“Then let us go.  It is a two day march to Thorbeck, and it would be best to have a head start when the Gnollish King learns of his whelps death.”


----------



## arwink

The dwarven patrol escorts the group to Thorbeck with minimal incidents.  

Most of the dwarves stay away from the group of foreign humanoids, keeping a respectful distance unless otherwise ordered, and only Ogath makes any effort to communicate.  He makes use of a _tongues_ spell to speak with the group for a few hours every day, and answer as many questions as possible the group has about his home city.  

They learn that Thorbeck is a small dwarven city of roughly eight thousand residents, many of them belonging to one of the three dominant clans.  The city primarily mines iron, silver and Mithril, and has minimal contact with the surface world.  A rigid hierarchy of Thanes leads the city, starting with the Stone Thane (chosen by the dwarven gods), with clan thanes and religious leaders making up the bulk of his council.  

From what Ogath says, the dwarves of Thorbeck have a particularly strong relationship with the spirits of earth and stone – certainly stronger than any Halgo has heard of among his Dwarven brethren.  It’s eventually theorized that the Thorbeck dwarves may belong to the same racial stock as the empires Bloodstone Dwarves – a race with stronger connections to stone magic and technology than common dwarves.  Certainly Thorbeck sounds as though it’s rich in magic and psionic lore, with Ogath explaining that his order have learned the art of casting spells using shields as a focus while there are other schools devoted to the arts of arcane weapon crafting and lore gathering.  Halgo, used to being shunned or doubted by his own kind for his interest in magic, is understandably curious about how this comes about.  Numerous questions are asked, but Ogath remains guarded on the details.

It isn’t until the second day that Yip suddenly gathers his three companions together and points out something disturbing.

“Yip not hurt,” he says quietly.
“Me either,” Halgo says.  “None of us are?  So what?”
“Yip should be hurt,” the kobold explains.  “Much healing, but Yip hurt bad.  Dead almost.”
He raises the hem of his tunic, pointing at a space where he’d been speared by a gnollish blade.  Where there should have been the cleaned and bandaged cut, there is smooth scales.
“No hurt, no scar.  Yip healed while moving.”

“Everyone heals naturally,” Halgo says.  “We just aren’t used to it because we’ve been hanging around with Geoffrey for so long.  Magic healing is faster and…”
He pauses when he sees the expression on Geoffrey’s face.
“He might be right,” Geoffrey says.  “I mean, look at Gunnar.  He’s still limping from where he caught that arrow, despite two days of healing.  Blarth almost had his insides spilled over the tower floor, and he’s walking around fine.  We’re healing faster than we should, I think.”
“Blarth have healing factor?” Blarth says happily.  He pulls a mean face and swings his sword experimentally.  “Blarth really not puny.  Don't mess with Blarth.”
Everyone looks at him like he's taken leave of his senses, and Halgo quietly nudges him.
"The dwarves are looking," he mutters.  "Put the sword away.  Dwarves don't like Half-orcs at the best of times..."
Blarth blinks a few times, as though this is news to him, but grudgingly slides his blade back into its sheath with a satisfying snikt.

“I still don’t think it’s a big deal,” Halgo says.  “But I’ll test it.”
He makes a narrow incision on the back of his hand with a dagger.
“How long should that take to heal?”
“A day, maybe two,” Geoffrey says carefully.  “Faster if we dress it.”
“Then leave it be, and we’ll see how long it takes.”

It takes until just after dinner.  Everyone crowds around, looking at the smooth skin on the back of Halgo’s hand.  Yip wouldn't dare verbalise his emotions to his superior, but the kobolds expression clearly reads "I told you so."

“Okay, we’re healing faster,” Halgo says.  “Do we really want to worry about that, or should we put it on the to do list of things we don’t understand?”


----------



## arwink

The first thing they notice about Thorbeck is the giant cast-iron doors that block the entry between the dwarven kingdom and the surface world.  Ogath hails the guards as they approach, and within seconds a booming drum echoes from the far side of the portal.  Chains creak ominously as the gates creak open.  Halgo watches the gates mechanisms with admiration.

“Old,” he comments, “But still functional.  Easily a dozen or so improvements that could be made”
“The Surface Gates are the oldest untouched craftsmanship in the city,” Ogath explains.  “We barely come to the surface world anymore, and the gnolls have been little more than an irritant, so our defenses are focused more heavily on the entrances below ground.”

The second thing everyone notices about Thorbeck is the heat.  The tunnel that Ogath and his patrol lead them through is several hundred feet long, and everyone is sweating by the time they reach the far end.  Moisture seems to hang thick in the air, and sweat is beading on everyone's lip.  

Yip is the first to shed the heavy cloaks and snow gear he’s worn since they left Borr, but everyone quickly follows suit.  Even Ogath and his men set aside their heavier garments and make do with simple toga’s worn over their metal breastplates and tunics.  As they march down the tunnel, the group can make out the sound of smith-work and machinery echoing through the stone.  Yip can even feel the tremors in the ground beneath his paws.  The sound of moisture dripping from the ceiling serves as a subtle counterpoint to the distant echos.

Then the tunnel opens out onto the dwarven city, and the third thing everyone notices is the downward curve towards a lake of lava, and the orange light the magma casts over the city.  Thorbeck is built over the central core of an active volcano, the magma several hundred feet below the city level but still visible from their vantage point at the very edge of the cities downward curve.  There are huge gears set around the centre of the city, with metal plates facing inwards, but the bulk of the city seems to be a stone-carved hemisphere of houses that leads to a drop towards boiling stone.  Hundred of feet over their heat the volcano opens onto the sky, but the sunlight is filtered through a haze of mist as the falling snows of Borr hit the rising heat from the magma.  

For a few moments, everyone looks in awe.

“Behold the Upper City of Thorbeck,” Ogath says proudly.  

The style of the city is familiar, with the architecture similar to that used in Petrev.  The real difference is in the constant presence of stone, rather than the use of wood and thatch to create buildings.  Ogath leads them through the heart of the city, past small crowds of dwarves that stare and point at the odd assembly that follow the native wizard.  Blarth and Halgo, in particular, are the focus of many comments – Blarth for his race, and Halgo for his habit of wearing his beard in a short goatee.  Halgo makes note of the small number of non-dwarves among the crowd - occasional kobolds and goblins that wander freely, as well as more militant humanoid races such as hobgoblins and bugbears.  Several of these creatures seem to be trading casks of fungi for dwarven weapons.

“You will meet directly with the Thanes,” Ogath explains as they walk.  “A runner was sent ahead to gather them together, and the offer you bear is important enough that all the Council must be gathered together to hear it.  I would suggest that you put some thought into how you wish to be presented – the clan thanes in particular will be adamant that you have a strong linage to back up your position.”

Ogath pauses for a moment, his face slightly uncomfortable.  

“In many ways, your presence is going to force their hand.  The council has debated for nearly a year about contacting your settlement.  Although Kivak has been eager to establish contact, he’s been opposed by the clan thanes.”

They have crossed the open-air city before Ogath pauses in front of another tunnel entrance.

“The Chamber of the Thanes is above,” he states.  “It will be a short climb, but you may wish to rest before hand.  In the past, other races have had trouble with the steepness of the climb.”

“We be fine,” Blarth announces.  “Blarth tough.”

“As you wish,” Ogath announces.  

The climb is steep, a twisting staircase of a tunnel that almost has Yip scrambling up on all fours.  Geoffrey and Blarth are forced to stoop slightly due to the height of the ceiling, and they stumble occasionally as they follow the twisting formation.  Eventually, after nearly twenty minute of silent climbing, they find themselves in an opulently appointed lounge with huge mithril doors set at the far end.  A quartet of grim-faced guards stands at the ready, Ugrosh held at rigid attention, and the Stone Crown standard of Thorbeck is emblazoned on both panels.

“I go to report,” Ogath announces.  “It may take some time.  There are couches and water here, should you wish to refresh yourselves.  One of the guards will call you when it is time.”


----------



## Lela

Help arrives and the plot thickens.  Both expected and both appreciated.

Sorry for letting the posts get so far ahead of me.  I was out of town for several days and have much to catch up on.  First stop: here.  And glad I am for it.

Keep it up Arwink.


----------



## arwink

Amarin Yarrow sits on the balcony of the chambers the dwarves offered him, the Upper City of Thorbeck spread out below him like a child’s toy.  It’s a remarkable sight, one that he hasn’t gotten tired of since his arrival, and he’s in the process of sketching out the details of his balconies construction for the third time.  There’s some trick the dwarves have used to shape the stone so high on the volcano’s inner wall, an understanding of angles and architecture that's truly remarkable.  Even more astounding is the way they've blended the ornate stonework with the the heavy iron gates that stand ready to block the opening should an attack or an eruption seem imminent.  In many ways, the construction is an advancement on the works of his own people, despite the crude nature of the materials and the reliance of mundane science to achieve the effect.  

Amarin ponders the concept of a crude advancement for a few minutes, taking notes on how such a situation came to be possible in his notebook.  It’s an intriguing idea, and may well come in handy later on.  There may be a paper in it, although comparatory linguistic use and intellectual paradox aren't his specialties. 

It’s starts to snow on the surface, and Amarin watches the gentle snowflakes turn to steam with rapt fascination.  It’s the rising heat of the volcano that does it, he knows, but the effect is still very pretty to watch.  Almost as an afterthought, he makes note of how this effect may offer some additional protection for the dwarven city from above, obscuring its presence from flying predators.  He wonders what flying predators there are native to the frozen continent, and how they may fit into the mystery that is the icy continents dominant weather.  More notes are made in his book, and then there’s a knock on the door to his chamber.  

“Amarin of Charos,” a dwarven voice rumbles.  “The Thanes request your presence.”
“Oh my,” Amarin says, tripping over himself as he hurries to gather together his things and make himself look presentable.  “I’m coming, I’m coming.  Just let me find a good tunic…”

As an afterthought, he notes that this is the first time he's heard any of the dwarves refer to the council so irreverantly, and wonders what that may mean about the speakers position in the social structure of the city.

The young scholar is marched through the streets of Thorbeck and led up the spiraling staircase.  In the lounge before the Thane’s chambers, he can see a motley group of Seldarners sitting around in a disheveled heap.  Two of them bare the holy symbols of some quaint young-kingdoms religion, and they have a small pet scampering around.  They've dressed the dear thing in blue robes, and given it a small pack that makes it look like its sentient, but nothing so monstrous could possibly be capable of civilized through.  

Even as the dwarves try to hustle him along, Amarin digs out a notebook and quickly makes a note of the Seldarner’s descriptions.  There would be a paper in that when he got home, if he could just gather together enough information on exactly why the folk of the Younger Kingdoms insisted on keeping such strange pets.

Then the mirthil doors open, and Amarin is pushed into the Chamber of the Thane by the dwarven guards who are escorting him.

It’s the first time he’s entered the chamber since he arrived at Thorbeck, but that doesn’t stop the sight from stealing the young scholars breath.  There are Eight dwarves seated on imposing stone thrones, all of them clad in the finery of their station.  There are toga's woven of crimson cloth (where do they get the requisite vegetable matter, must ask about their farming habits), exquisitely worked jewelry, and most have the heavy weapons favored by the dwarves close at hand.  He can make out guards standing behind the thrones, dark-skinned angels that hover slightly and have a halo of whirling stones circling them at high speed.  His knowledge of the planes is slight, but he recognises the angels as a curious synthesis of elemental matter and divine energy - most curious.  

The thrones curve around the chamber, placing Amarin in the center of a glowering wall of dwarven stares.  Almost as a defense mechanism, he runs through the mnemonic system he’d set up to remember their names and ranks when he was first introduced.  Kivak, High Thane and High Lord of Thorbeck.  Bordan, Earth Thane and High Priest of Durkannan the Forger.  Arthas, Law Thane and Cleric of Kuth Hammerhand.  Heldar, War Thane and Cleric of Arezz.  Targul of Clan Karradak. Kuzzud of Clane Stoneheart.  Feldek of Clan Fellhammer.  Murdall of Clan Theanhell.  

It’s the black-bearded face of Kivak that leans forward, regarding Amarin with his slate-gray eyes.

“There have been strangers in our halls, Amarin of Charos, who claim to be from an empire across the sea.  Do you know of the lands called Seldarn?”

“Oh yes,” Amarin says cheerfully.  “I’ve traveled through there on my way here.  Its a new kingdom, very messy and disorganised, but full of interesting people.  Very quaint, really, although the food isn’t great, but…”

He pauses, glancing up at the stern eyes of the dwarven thanes.

“er… you had a question?”

“Is this empire part of the kingdom you call Charos?”

Amarin thinks about the small island he calls home, the socio-political differences between the that and the empire he passed through, and wonders how he goes about explaining such detail to the assembled dwarves.  Once again, he catches the High Thanes eye.

“Er, no.”

“Can you tell us what you know if it, Amarin of Charos?  We have heard you speak of the lands accross the sea, and vlaue your opinion.  We would know whether it is a good plan to trade with the Empire of Seldarn.”

“Well, I’m sure you’d want to,” Amarin chirps eagerly.  “I mean, then you could spend all your time digging."

The dwarves look unconvinced.

"And making things?"

More stony stares.

"I mean, once all your food is being brought to you....ah, perhaps not. Well then, you might want to consider the fact that they're kind of interesting.  Some primitive ideas to be sure, but they’re generally interesting to watch.  Almost like an ant farm, sometimes, although much less prone to hivemind-like behaviour.  And there’s all sorts of interesting things in there.  I mean, they have some strange foreign foods, and they have all those strange gods, and you’ll probably want to contact the other breed of dwarves that look like you do…”

"Other dwarves?"

"Well, yes, obviously.  There's the ones like that fellow that was waiting outside, and then there's a group known as the Bloodstone Dwarves.  Very respected in the empire, I think.  Much more in touch with their destiny.  I think there's a whole kingdom of them over on the western side of the country."

The eight dwarven Thanes look at one another, murmuring under their breath.  Amarin blinks a few times, watching them with a surprised expression.

“Other dwarves, who’d have thought,” he thinks to himself.  “I mean, they have all these dwarves right here….”

He shrugs and makes a note of their reaction in his book.  When he finishes writing and it looks as though their discussion will continue without him, he sets about scribbling a picture of the stone angels standing guard behind the thrones.

“Oh well, they’ll let me know when they need me again.”


----------



## Lela

Something still makes me wonder if this is a good thing or a bad thing.

Love the behind the scenes NPC stuff arwink.  We gonna get more of this?


----------



## arwink

Updates will likely be haphazard for the next few weeks.  A combination of marking and some medical dramas with my family at large.  

And I should probably point out that this isn't behind the scenes - Amarin is the new PC being played by Khynal


----------



## Lela

arwink said:
			
		

> Updates will likely be haphazard for the next few weeks.  A combination of marking and some medical dramas with my family at large.
> 
> And I should probably point out that this isn't behind the scenes - Amarin is the new PC being played by Khynal



 Got it.  Still cool.


----------



## randomling

FINALLY we meet Amarin!     

I love him already. Didn't you know I would?

*happy dance*


----------



## Mathew_Freeman

Aha. How interesting.


----------



## Khynal

And does a Neutral Good, scholarly character fit into a neutral party with such people as the calculating Halgo, the inflexible Geoffrey, the brutal Blarth and the rebellious Yip?

Heck no. That's half the fun.


----------



## Lela

Khynal said:
			
		

> And does a Neutral Good, scholarly character fit into a neutral party with such people as the calculating Halgo, the inflexible Geoffrey, the brutal Blarth and the rebellious Yip?
> 
> Heck no. That's half the fun.



 Are you kidding?  He'd find them fascinating.  He could write hundereds of papers and tomes on those guys!


----------



## Durhon

Lela said:
			
		

> Are you kidding?  He'd find them fascinating.  He could write hundereds of papers and tomes on those guys!




THE BOOK OF BLARTH

Chapter One
Page One

Blarth NOT Puny!!!

hahahahahha

The End


----------



## arwink

“I don’t think they’re going to go for it.”
“You don’t know that.”

Geoffrey grunts from his place on the soft lizard-leather couch, staring intently at the doorway into the thane’s chamber.  The quartet of dwarven guards ignores him, staring impassively forward.

“Then why is it taking so long to decide?” He demands.  “It’s not going to work.  I knew it as soon as they took the southerner in.”
“Not all the Old Kingdoms are opposed to the empire, you know,” Halgo points out.
“Most of them barely acknowledge the empire is there.  Either his people don’t like us, or he’s barely going to say a thing.”

“Blarth bored,” the half-orc says from the other end of the couch.  He scratches at his temples, looking aimlessly around the stone chamber.  Apart from the door, the guards, and Yip amusing himself by performing flips and balancing tricks, there wasn’t much to see.

“We don’t care,” Halgo and Geoffrey point out in unison.

“Blarth sorry,” Blarth says, his eyes dropping to the floor.

Then the Mithril doors open, and Ogath ushers them back into the Thanes chambers.

The faces of the dwarven leaders are impossible to read, all of them looking dour and unhappy as they stare at the small band from Borr.  Only the pale-skinned scholar in the corner shows any sign of emotion, happily making a crude sketch of the group as they stand before the council.

With great ceremony, Kivak High-Thane stands and looks down at the small group.

“We have spoken with our guest, Amarin from across the sea, and learned what he knows of your country.  Now we must know if he speaks truth, to make sure there is no confusion or misunderstanding.  He speaks of our kin among your lands, Bloodstone Dwarves like our people in Thorbeck.  This is true?”

Halgo nods slowly.
“It is true, although there are few among the folk of Thorbeck.  The People of the Blood Stones rarely emerge from their lands in the Empires West for reasons other than trade.”

The dwarven thanes trade glances, nodding slowly.

“Then we accept your offer of alliance,” Kivak says gravely.  “The People of Thorbeck shall fight alongside the men of Borr, and we shall trade freely with your country.  Representatives will be sent to your King to negotiate the details, alongside a small force of warriors as a sign of good faith.  In return you four shall remain in the city until the Festival of Stonefast, to share with us the ways of your people and learn something of ours.  Then, in the final night of the festival, the treaty will be sealed.  Do you agree?”

“We agree,” Geoffrey says quickly.  “Our thanks.”

“Then you shall stay as my guests,” Kivak says grandly.  “Ogath shall be your guide to the city, and will show you to chambers you may use during your stay.”


Ogath escorts the Copperheads back through the city while a second dwarf accompanies Amarin a few steps behind.  The young Charosian watches the other group with interest, carefully taking note of the way they interact and what they find interesting about the city.  Eventually Halgo drops back a few steps to talk to the young scholar.

“I believe we owe you some thanks,” he says.  “Assuming it was you that mentioned the Bloodstone Dwarves.”
“They found it very interesting,” Amarin says cheerfully.  “Most excited.  I’m not entirely sure why, though.  I shall have to look that up when I get home.”
“Ah…yes,” Halgo says.  There’s a strange gleam in the humans eye when he starts thinking about research.  “I take it you’re a guest here?”
“Oh yes,” Amarin says quickly.  “I found my way here near the end of last winter.  Someone said the dwarves might know why this land was so cold, so I set out to find them.  Interesting place, really.  Strange approach to architecture, and very reclusive, but sociable enough.  Almost welcoming, when they decide you’re worth talking too.”
“Did you find what you were looking for?”
“What?”
“The cold?”
“Oh, no.  Not yet.  The story was that they’d mined to far into the earth and broken into some fairy cavern.  Or was it the story about the dwarven wizard that built a demi-plane for his elemental love that accidentally leaked into the real world.  I’m not sure I remember, I shall have to check my notes, but they certainly remain close-mouthed on the topic of the cold.“
He pauses for a minute, thinking carefully.
“Although, with the heat in here, I’m not altogether surprised.  I doubt anyone except the warriors who patrol the surface even notice the cold weather.  Ah, here we are, my home away from home.”

Halgo looks around as the dwarven guards usher them into a large chamber.  The room is laid out like an opulent lounge and dining room, large enough to seat a large number of people.  Against the far wall are four sets of doors, all carved from white stone.  One of them has two guards standing on either side of it, a pair of dog-like creatures dressed in pale surcoats that watch everyone enter with golden eyes.

“Social chambers,” Amarin says cheerfully.  “Apparently the designer of these chambers thought it best if the non-dwarves that visited had something other than dwarves to socialize with.”

Halgo nods slowly, his eyes locked on the dog-like guards.  It takes him a few moments to place them, but eventually he realizes that he’s seen their likeness in a treatise on Planar Creatures of Pure Law.

“Are they yours?” he asks, his voice a little wary.
“Of course not,” Amarin says cheerfully.  “I’m in the next room.  Those two work for the trade delegation who was here when I arrived.  Attentive chaps, but not terribly sociable.  I’ve barely seen …”

Halgo stops listening to the young mans voice, stepping forward to nudge Geoffrey’s leg.

“You recognize those, right?”
“Hlarden,” Geoffrey says, his voice almost approving.  “Although I’m guessing they’re independent.”
“Certainly,” Halgo says.  “Otherwise they’d be wearing the Iron Cross.  The Charosian says they’re part of a trade delegation.”
“What kind of merchant hires Warden’s as guards?” Geoffrey demands.  
“The honest kind,” Halgo says carefully.
Geoffrey nods.

Before they get a chance to investigate further, Ogath shows them their quarters and the view from the balcony.

“Nice,” Yip comments, standing out on the balcony and gazing at the lava hundreds of feet below.  The kobold’s scales seem to shimmer in the rising heat, and he feels more comfortable than he’s been since they left Petrev.  “Yip warm.”

“It’ll do,” Geoffrey says, eyeing the carefully crafted furniture that litters the room and small passages leading off to private sleeping chambers. 

No one seems to notice Blarth looking at the balcony with abject horror, his eyes bulging as he realizes how far the drop is.

“Blarth not like heights,” he whispers quietly, but everyone ignores him.


----------



## Lela

> “Nice,” Yip comments, standing out on the balcony and gazing at the lava hundreds of feet below. The kobold’s scales seem to shimmer in the rising heat, and he feels more comfortable than he’s been since they left Petrev. “Yip warm.”
> <Snip>
> “Blarth not like heights,” he whispers quietly



LOL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!


----------



## arwink

For most of the Copperheads, their first week in Thorbeck is a joy.  Halgo immerses himself in the cities arcane culture, reveling in the opportunity to exchange lore and knowledge with people who share his learning and racial outlook for the first time since he mastered the arcane arts.  Thorbeck’s wizards prove themselves to be skilled and respected, well versed in the arts of magic and artifice, and Halgo is quick to seize the opportunity to learn new spells and trade away some wands and scrolls for new and more interesting magic.  The only drawback to the city is the constant cry of “Grow your beard” that seem to follow him wherever he goes in the city.

Geoffrey and Yip immerse themselves in the temple to Kuth Hammerhand, the dwarven manifestation of St Cuthbert.  Yip spends many blissful hours training with the Order of the Hammerhand, learning dwarven techniques of unarmed tunnel fighting, and spending the non-training hours sampling the wide variety of dwarven ales brewed by the order.  Geoffrey’s time is spent more constructively, engaging in hours of endless debates with Hammerhand's scholars in order to forge a common understanding of Law between the human empire and the dwarves.  As time passes he becomes conversant enough with Thorbeckian Law that he can represent non-dwarven victims in court, and earns a few extra coins from grateful merchants.

Only Blarth seems to dislike the dwarven city.  His nights are spent tossing and turning in his chamber, constantly aware of the sheer drop not twenty feet away on the other side of the cave wall.  His days are spent training with the dwarven Rhakadar, an order of warriors who specialize in protecting Thorbeck from the psionic creatures that lurk beneath the earth.  While the Thorbeck Dwarves have welcomed the others with something approaching courtesy, the natural xenophobia of the Rhakadar around psions causes them to shun the half-orc psi-warrior, and many of the training matches he takes part in come closer to real sword-play than he’s comfortable with.  As the bruises mount up and the week wears on, his evening cries of “Puny Dwarves” slowly start to sound less and less convincing.

At the end of the first week, the group settles in on the balcony.  In the distant, they can hear the rumbling hum of a dwarven hymn being sung in the cities churches, the baritone song echoing off the vast cavern.  Everyone drinks chilled drinks, served from an enchanted keg kept in the rooms, and Blarth hugs the rear wall trying not to look over the edge.

“Hello!” Geoffrey calls, and pulls himself to his feet to answer the door.  One of the canine wardens is on the far side, its body held stiff and to attention.

“Ah, Yes.” Geoffrey says, momentarily taken back by the creatures commanding aura.  “How can we be of assistance to you?”

(Yip, watching from the balcony and unaware of the creature's planar background, tries to remember what he’s learned about dogs.
“Yip scratch behind ears?” he wonders quietly, but the Warden shows no sign of hearing him.)

“My employers wish you company for dinner,” it announces sternly.
“And your employers are?” Geoffrey says, digging for information.
“You’re fellow guests.”
“Ahh.” He pauses, considering how far this can be pushed.  “What time?”
“They will meet you in the dinning room just after Sundown.”
“Before dinner?” Halgo asks, coming up to examine the outsider at close range.
“Before dinner,” the Warden says.  “We have arranged for food to be brought from one of the restaurants below.”
“Excellent,” Geoffrey says, casting a glance at Blarth.  “I shall start cleaning our bathwater.”
“Hey,” Blarth calls.  “Blarth not smell.”
“That just because you’ve got something up your nose.”
“It’s his finger,” Halgo points out.
“And Blarth can take it out.”
He does so, waggling his fingers in front of his face to prove his statement.
“Yip clean too.”
“It doesn’t count when you rely on your own spittle,” Halgo tells him. 
The kobold offers a pout.

The Warden clears its throat, and everyone remembers that it’s still standing there and listening.
“We’ll be there,” Geoffrey says.
“Excellent,”
The dog-like face looks at them all very carefully, as if cataloging their strangeness for future reference, then turns on its heel and returns to its post by the door of the trade delegates.

Everyone erupts into a frenzy of preparation, Geoffrey magically summoning bath water and cleaning himself, then forcing the less cleanly members of his team into something approaching presentability.  Halgo avoids bathing by the simple expedience of leaving, but he returns later with a fresh Thorbeckian Toga and a clean tunic.  Debate erupts over the politeness of wearing armor and weapons to dinner, with Blarth adamantly stating that there should be no problem and he has little else to wear.  Geoffrey tries to advocate smaller blades and light clothing, but eventually even he’s forced to admit that the half-orcs armor is probably the most presentable of his clothes and matters of politeness can be explained away by putting Blarth in the uniform of his order.

When preparations are complete, they head out into the communal lounge.

A large table has emerged from no-where, its top filled with bottles of wine and gold goblets.  Several copper serving trays hold steaming dishes of goat and rat meat, the staple diet of the dwarves, as well as thick slices of marinated fungi and strange fruit.
Geoffrey fills one of the goblets and sniffs it carefully.

“Goblin vintage,” he says carefully.  “Ichor wine.  Rare and expensive, probably the only thing the race got right.”
“You can tell that by smelling it?” Halgo asks, sniffing a second goblet dubiously.
“Practice,” Geoffrey says with a smile, and takes a cautious sip.

Another doorway opens, and Amarin steps into the room.  The young scholar has dressed up for the occasion, wearing a crisp blue robe that has several glittering crystals sewn into its fabric.  The style is unfamiliar to everyone, and it looks vaguely ridiculous as it hangs on the psion’s gangly frame.

“Hello again,” he says cheerfully.  “Are all of you here too?”
“Greetings,” Geoffrey says.  “I don’t believe we’ve been properly introduced.  Geoffrey Cromwell.”
“”Oh, hello,” Amarin says, his smile broadening.  “Amarin Yarrow.”

He shakes the clerics hand, looking from Geoffrey’s dress robes to Yip’s uniform.

“So are you the one with the kobold for a pet?”
Geoffrey tries to hide a grin.
“Yes, but don’t try to pet him, he’s not tame.”
“Yip resent that.”
“Oh my!” Amarin says, almost clapping his hands with glee.  “You’ve taught it to talk.  What else can it say?”
Yip snarls.
“Down boy,” Geoffrey orders.
“I think you’re upsetting our Yip,” Halgo says mildly.
Amarin looks taken aback.
“Really?”

He kneels down until he’s on eye level with the kobold.
“I’m sorry little fellow.  Here have a treat.”
Amarin fishes around his belt pouch.  Everyone else takes a step back from the oblivious sage and the angry kobold standing before him.
“Just so you know,” Geoffrey says.  “The Church of St Cuthbert takes no responsibility for any injury that may occur when dealing with our Brother Yip’s.”
Yip simmers for a few moments, training warring with the desire to beat down the oblivious human that has so casually insulted him.
“That also includes your hand, should you try to feed him something.”

Fortunately, a dwarf bearing a tray enters the room before anything messy should happen.  The waiter carefully lays out bows of soup, one at each table setting, before disappearing.  The two Warden’s barely blink as everyone looks towards the door, and an uncomfortable silence descends as they realize that the host is unlikely to attend before the meal is started.

“There are only five places set,” Amarin points out.  “Maybe he was held up by something?”
“Perhaps,” Geoffrey mutters, but it’s clear he’s put out by the absence of the man who invited them.  
“So,” he asks, taking a seat.  “What brings you here?”
“Well, there was a story that the dwarves dug down into the subterranean palace where Winter lived when it’s not winter.  When they got him angry, he decided that it should always be winter here.”

Geoffrey pauses, a spoon midway to his lips.  For a few seconds his thoughts wander to the holy symbol around his neck, and it’s magic that lets him determine truth from lie, but it seems inappropriate to use such extreme measure in polite company.    
“You don’t really believe that, do you?”
He narrows his eyes, searching Amarin’s face for some clue that he’s lying.

There are none.  

“Maybe,” the scholar says.  “I’ve heard a lot of stories, and it’s obviously very cold.  Colder than it should be, and so that’s one possibility.  There are others, a lot of them…”

He trails off, realizing that everyone has stopped eating to stare at him in disbelief.

“No, really,” he says earnestly.  “Look outside.  Most of the continents cold.”
“Not cold to Blarth.”
Geoffrey looks at the half-orc with a raised eyebrow.
“What do you mean, not cold to Blarth?  You were the one who was turning blue the other night.”
“And let us remind you,” Halgo says blandly, “that it isn’t a good reason…in fact, there’s never a good reason…for you to try and share blankets with the rest of us.”
“That not happen,” Blarth mutters sullenly, but Amarin has already pulled out a notebook and scribbled something down.
“Be quiet and enjoy your soup,” Geoffrey says.  “It’s good. I wonder what’s in it?”
“Rat,” says Amarin eagerly.  “Some mushrooms, but mostly rat-meat.”

Everyone suddenly becomes much less hungry.

One of the Hlarden’s coughs politely, drawing everyone’s attention.  It’s partner reaches over and opens the doorway to the trade delegations guest room.  

The being that emerges is tall, a little over six and a half feet, with chalk-white skin and black robes.  It’s pale eyes flash golden when they catch the light, and it carries itself forward with a stiff gait that reminds everyone of an insect.

“What in hell is that,” Blarth thinks.
“Undead,” Geoffrey thinks, hand wandering to his holy symbol. “Maybe vampire.”
“Not nice,” Yip thinks, and wonders quietly whether there is garlic in their meal.
“Crap,” thinks Halgo.

The pale-skinned humanoid looks them over carefully, his mouth breaking into a wide smile when he sees the dwarven wizard.

“Oh my.  Halgo” Kelpreth says.  “We must say, this city has been a place for surprises.”


----------



## Khynal

It _could've_ been Winter's palace. You never know.


----------



## arwink

Geoffrey glances across the table to the dwarven wizard.

“He recognizes you?” He asks.  It’s obvious from his tone that he isn’t going to like the answer.
“Yes,” Halgo says.
“Was he one of the living last time you met?” Yip pipes up, but everyone ignores him.

Kelpreth ignores their reactions, walking across the room in a smooth glide to stand at the head of the table.
“Well Halgo, would you care to introduce your friends?  I already know Amarin, we have had a long relationship with his family, but everyone else is unfamiliar to us.”

Halgo glares at the pale-skinned merchant, his face less than pleased.

“This is Geoffrey,” he says finally.  “He’s a priest.  Yip and Blarth.”
“They say don’t feed Yip,” Amarin adds helpfully.
“We wouldn’t dream of it,” Kelpreth says smoothly.  “We have met others of the same breed from other worlds, and they have proved to be quite cantankerous from time to time.  We would prefer to avoid offending them if at all possible.”
“There known to be a little surly on this world too,” Halgo mutters.  

“And you are?” Geoffrey says.  Instinct causes him to extend his hand, but he jerks it back quickly when he catches the golden gleam in the host’s eyes.
“You may call me Kelpreth,” Kelpreth says.  “Our organization serves as a procurer of goods for beings beyond this world.”
“Oh,” Geoffrey says.  
“Sounds like a lucrative business,” Yip suggests quietly, but for once a distrust of the creatures otherness overrides Geoffrey’s desire for gold.
“What that got to do with us?” Blarth asks.  
“Nothing,” Kelpreth says blandly.  “We were here to establish trade with the dwarves.  Their weaponscraft is excellent, they have access to mithril, and they have fewer outlets for trade than many dwarven clans.  It seemed that their isolation would work to our advantage – we have certain contacts that will pay handsomely for such weapons.”

He pauses, his eyes flashing as he considers the profit to be made from such a deal.

“You can imagine our surprise when we discovered young Amarin here,” Kelpreth continues.  “His parents had said nothing of his wanderings when last we spoke, and we must say that it is quite fortuitous that we have found Halgo and his companions here as well.”

Eyebrows shoot up around the table.  Halgo shifts uncomfortably in his seat as everyone turns towards him.

“So…where do you know Kelpreth from?” Geoffrey asks.  His tone is polite and controlled, but there’s a dangerous undercurrent to the question.
“From trading, of course,” Kelpreth says.
“Of course,” Geoffrey says.  His eyes don’t leave the dwarf.
“Of course,” Halgo says.  He coughs slightly and looks at Kelpreth.  “Fortuitous?  I assume this means that we have something you need?”

“Oh, trading,” Amarin says suddenly, his eyes lighting up.  “That reminds me.”
He digs around in his pack and pulls forth a coiled strand of wide thread.  He leans over the table and taps Yip on the shoulder.
“Could you put this along one of your toes?” He asks.  Yip glares at him.  
“Go on,” Amarin urges.  “Put it between your toes.  It’ll help me measure how long they are.”
Yip snarls, his tail starting to twitch dangerously.
“No, well perhaps you can answer some questions.  How tall are you?  Where you born in captivity, or did they train you from the wilds.”
“Just so you know,” Geoffrey says, his gaze still not moving from Halgo.  “If Yip attacks your face, I’m not going to pull him off.  As he claws his way into your brain, I’m not going to pull him off.  Understand?”

Amarin pauses, tape measure half-unfurled and pressed against Yip’s skull.  For the first time he seems to notice the kobolds angry gaze, and he slowly takes the tape away and returns to his seat.  Oblivious to the rising tension in the room, he starts taking notes.

“As you may have noticed, Amarin here has a curious streak,” Kelpreth says.  He smiles gently as he says it, and his tone slides towards the paternal.  
“We noticed,” Geoffrey says evenly.  “Tell me, Amarin, during your childhood did you ever find and ants nest and stick flaming rags in it?  Only to be bitten when they all came streaming out?  This ring any bells?”
“Well, not a flaming rag,” Amarin says.  He puts a finger to his chin and stares thoughtfully at the ceiling.  “I just shot things down the hole like this.”
He points a finger and the ceiling and fires a short burst of flame.
“That sends them boiling out.”

“Uh-huh,” Geoffrey says.  “And how many stung you?”
“Well, none,” Amarin says.
“Uh-huh.”
“I was hanging off a tree at the time,” Amarin continues.
“Uh-huh.”
“It’s just be silly otherwise,” Amarin finishes.  “I mean, you don’t want to be that close to some angry ants.”
“Right,” Geoffrey finishes.

“As you can see, he has a tendency towards the analytical,” Kelpreth says, the soft buzz of his voice capturing people’s attention once more.  “A thirst for knowledge that can lead to problems if left unchecked.  This wasn’t a great concern when he was among his own kind, Charos is relatively civilized as such things go and his family was close enough to keep watch over him, but Borr is something of a different circumstance.  As a favor to his parents, we were going to look for some dwarves that could keep an eye on him, but given your presence here and our preference for dealing with those we know, it seems logical to offer Halgo and the rest of you the job.”

He pauses, cocking his head to one side with an insectile buzz.

“Assuming Halgo is willing to vouch for your competence, of course.”

“Of course,” Geoffrey says.  “Now, if you’ll pardon me for being blunt, what’s in it for us?”


----------



## arwink

Kelpreth, for the really curious, was created after I picked up a book of BROM's art at a local bookstore and decided I really needed to use them as illustrations during games.  A copy of the picture that's essentially used for Kelpreth can be found here.


----------



## arwink

Geoffrey glances across the table, where Amarin is busy scribbling a sketch of Yip in a book.

“This does seem like a full-time job, you understand,” he says blandly.
“I don’t need that much taking care of,” Amarin says.
The response comes from Halgo, Geoffrey and Kelpreth in unison.
“Yes, you do.”
“Especially if you keep poking Yip,” Yip snarls.
“Well, it’s not necessarily full time,” Kelpreth explains.  “It’s hardly as though Amarin is without worth on his own.  As you’ve noticed, he does have a keen mind and a remarkable propensity for psionic powers.”
“Great,” Geoffrey murmers.  “I feel like I’m being sold a wagon.”
“Still, Kelpreth, you must see that the job requires some sort of sweetner,” Halgo says.  Recovering from the sudden shock of seeing the merchant, his tone becomes more confident.  
“Indeed,” Geoffrey says.

“They’re very mercenary, aren’t they?” Amarin asks.
“Such things aren’t unknown to happen,” Kelpreth explains.  “but I assure you they’ll be very skilled at the job.”
“Are you sure?” Amarin asks.  “Well, yes, I guess they well.  I mean, look, this fellow has a gnolls head on his belt.  That’s very impressive.”

“I vote we let Yip take him,” Geoffrey mutters to Halgo.

“Most impressive,” Kelpreth agrees.  
Blarth suddenly latches onto the conversation, the mention of heads and combat prowess giving him his first real moment of understanding since the conversation started.  

“Blarth has more head!” Blarth cries.   
“Really?  I haven’t seen the rest of them.”
“Look,” Blarth says, and he tips the sack of heads on the table.

Amarin starts poking around, measuring the width of skulls.  Kelpreth simply picks up the head of the cleric Blarth slew in the temple beneath the Tusk forest.  Long fingers tip the skull back and forth as the merchant examines the horns and mishappen jaw.

“Impressive,” he says simply, then places it back on the table.

“What was that one?” Amarin asks.  “I don’t recognize it.”
“Arrarch,” Kelpreth says.  The language he uses is strange and angular, but Amarin nods in understanding.

“Did you understand that,” Geoffrey asks Halgo.
“Nope.”
“I don’t suppose you’d want to explain what that was in common?” He asks Kelpreth.  The merchant looks him over.
“Not necessarily.”
“Someone you knew?” Halgo ventures.
“No,” Kelpreth says.  “More a breed we’re familiar with.  It is good that it’s slain, they are quite troublesome and difficult to deal with.”
“We found hitting it worked,” Halgo explains.
“Yes, that would,” Kelpreth says.  “It’s amazing the number of creatures that cease being a problem when steel is run through their stomach.”
“Repeatedly,” Halgo adds.
“Quite.”

“Magical healing,” Halgo says suddenly, and everyone looks towards him.
“Pardon?” Kelpreth asks. 
“Magical healing,” Halgo repeats.  “If you owe us a favor for taking in Amarin, we could use some.”
“That seems adequate,” Kelpreth says.  “What would you like?”
“What’s it worth to you?”

Kelpreth pauses for a moment, considering the question.

“The Yarrow family has been an excellent resource over the years,” he says finally.  “It would pain us greatly if something was to happen to cause them grief.  Let us say that it is worth quite a lot to keep Amarin safe.”

Halgo considers this for as few moments, weighing up his previous encounter with the planar merchant against what Kelpreth’s notion of a lot may be.

“Can you get us a scroll of _True Ressurection_?”
“Certainly,” Kelpreth says simply.  “We could arrange for something around that caliber, yes.  It may take some time.”
“We’ll be here for a few days yet.”
“Of course you will,” Kelpreth agrees.  “You simply must stay for the festival.  Quite an event – the opera is simply breathtaking.”
“Dwarves have opera?” Goeffrey mutters.  “I’m suddenly afraid.”
“We’ll be staying until the festival,” Halgo agrees.  “Are we agreed on the scroll then?  Just in case it proves more difficult to keep young Amarin alive than we previously thought?”

“I can take care of myself, you know,” Amarin protests.
“Of course you can,” Geoffrey says.

Kelpreth simply grins, his eyes flashing.

“So we are agreed.”
“Agreed,” Halgo assures him.
“Excellent.  I shall send Dukk with your payment when it is prepared.

Amarin blinks a few times, suddenly aware that his fate has been decided with very little input from him.  He stares at the Copperheads with renewed interest, his eyes suddenly shining as he notices Halgo and discovers a new line of inquirey.

“So, Halgo,” he asks, readying his note-pad.  “What did you get from Kelpreth?”
“What?”
“Well, I traded with him and got this tape measure,” Amarin explains, holding up the coiled device.
“Wow.  You did well,” Halgo says.
“So what did you get?”
“I got some useful information,” Halgo explains.  
“Yes?” Amarin urges.  His quill is on the page, ready to write.
“That I would prefer to keep secret.”
“Oh,” Amarin says.  His tone is disappointed.  “I wonder why?”

“Why do I have a feeling where going to regret this?” Geoffrey asks.
“Because you always regret dealing with Kelpreth,” Halgo explains, eyeing the merchant carefully.
“This is the first time I’ve dealt with him.”
“Hopefully not the last,” Kelpreth adds.
“Its rarely a great idea,” Halgo says.  “But the gains are always so tempting.”

Geoffrey scowls, turning his attention to Amarin.
“So,” he says, “If we’re stuck with you, perhaps you’d better tell us what you can do.  What is your claim to fame?”
“Well,” Amarain says, “I think that call’s for a demonstration, doesn’t it?”


----------



## Lela

Well, I admit, Amarin does grow on you.  He's kinda interesting.  I can't wait to see more.

 [At last, cought up with all the SH's that got updated over the weekend.  Now to get back to . . .Crap.  Okay, somebody update!]


----------



## arwink

Ask and you shall receive 
____________
Amarin smiles, his eyes suddenly flashing with white fire as he concentrates.  The psion’s skin takes on a silvery sheen before there is a loud pop.  Standing on the table, crouched directly in front of Yip, is a three-foot tall kobold crafted from translucent silvery slime.  Yip jumps, his seat falling back as he drops into a defensive stance.  As he watches, the silvery kobold slowly grows wings, then launches itself into the air where it hovers and stares down at the startles Yip.  Slowly the features of the hovering kobold shift and warp until they match Yip’s own.

“Astral construct,” Amarin says proudly.
Yip studies the construct carefully, his eyes flaring as he recognizes the features.
“Amarin try to make Yip mad,” he snarls.  “Or Amarin not that smart?”
“Pardon?” 
Amarin looks confused.

Blarth reaches over and pokes a finger at the hovering construct.  The construct is squishy to touch, his finger disappearing into its bulk.  When Blarth jerks his hand back, a thin layer of ectoplasm covers his finger.

“Yuk,” Blarth says, sniffing at the ectoplasm.  “Feel like snot.”
“Just don’t lick it then,” Halgo reminds him.

“OK, let me get this right,” Geoffrey says.  “You can make little gray men out of snot.”
“It’s interesting though,” Halgo points out.  “He didn’t use magic.”
“On up side,” Blarth says, scratching his head.  “Now Yip can mate.”
“Shut up, Blarth.”

Yip moves closer to the hovering construct, standing on his chair to reach it.  His moves are measured, careful to avoid alarming the strange being, until he’s close enough to touch it.  He pokes the construct carefully.  It doesn’t react.

He lashes out with both hands, attempting to shove it away.  

Yip moves fast, but the construct seems to be faster.  Even as his hands shoot forward, it launches itself straight up and out of his grasp.  Yip snarls, preparing to jump after it, but the construct has already wheeled around in mid-air and launched itself at the kobold.  It darts past the monk’s defenses, using his lack of preparation against him, and tackles Yip to the floor.  There is a loud clatter as the chair goes flying.

“Yip, that not how you mate,” Blarth offers blithely.
“You know, I’m worried that Blarth knows how Yip’s mate,” Geoffrey offers.
“Blarth knows how everything mates,” Blarth says proudly.
“More than we wanted to know.”

Amarin starts humming to himself as the construct and the kobold tussle on the floor.  Yip has the advantage of training and weight, but the construct uses its wings to maintain leverage.  It pins him on the floor, ignoring the awkward flail of his fists as he tries to push it off.  Finally, he lashes out with his tail, plunging it deep into the constructs head.  There is a sucking noise as he pulls it free, and the constructs features look distorted and wavy in the aftermath of his attack.  The construct retaliates with a fist of its own, but Yip’s attack has left it confused and it smashes a blow into the floor instead.

“You may wish to cease and desist,” Geoffrey mentions to Amarain.  “Or it could be the last thing you’ll ever do.”
“Once Yip kill silver-kobold,” Yip grunts, finally succeeding in pushing the construct off him.  “Yip going to kill you.”
The small kobold throws a flurry of fists at the construct, many of them hitting it with loud splats that cause ectoplasm to splash across the room.  

“Really, perhaps you’d better stop now,” Geoffrey suggests.
“But he looks like he’s having such fun,” Amarin says.  “Are you having fun little fellow.”

Yip launches a flying kick at the construct, which dodges out of the way.  His face is covered with ectoplasm, and occasionally he’s forced to snort to clear his nasal passages.  His teeth are bared, and he makes small shrieks of frustration as yet another strike misses its target.

“See, he’s having fun.”
“Enough,” Geoffrey says.  

The cleric pulls a mace from his belt and steps across the room.  As the construct and Yip circle one another, he hammers the mace hard on the constructs head.  The entire construct shimmers, then slowly melts away.


----------



## Lela

Amarin's really bringing out the personalities of the other party members.  Sure, I know Blarth pritty well ("puny snot") but everyone else can't be so simple.  Amarin's interaction is helping to define everything a little.  Especially Yip.  Very cool.



> “Yip, that not how you mate,” Blarth offers blithely.
> “You know, I’m worried that Blarth knows how Yip’s mate,” Geoffrey offers.
> “Blarth knows how everything mates,” Blarth says proudly.
> “More than we wanted to know.”



_LOL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!_


----------



## arwink

Geoffrey looks at the figure of Yip, sprawled out on the floor next to the table.
“Are we finished now?”
Yip simply glares at Amarin, flicking a fist-full of ectoplasm at the smiling psion.

“Have fun?” Amarin asks eagerly.  When Yip doesn’t answer, he turns back to Geoffrey.  “Anyway, that’s what I can do.  Well, some of what I can do…”
“I’m glad its only some,” Halgo mutters.  “Perhaps you could just _tell_ us about your other skills.”
“Well…”
“Leave the practical demonstrations for our enemies,” Halgo suggest firmly.
“Or you may find yourself joining their ever-shrinking numbers,” Geoffrey adds.
“Well, alright,” Amarin says, but he’s clearly uncertain.  “Wait, I can do a demonstration on myself.”

He breaks into a wide grin, and a slick sheen of ectoplasm suddenly appears on his hands and feet.  As everyone watches, Amarin starts to climb up the walls of the chamber, then slowly makes his way across the ceiling.

“See, I can do this too,” he announces.

“Gee I wish I had my crossbow,” Geoffrey mutters to Halgo.
“We are being paid to keep him alive, remember,” the dwarf reminds him.
“I’d only wing him,” Geoffrey says.
“That’s what you said about the boy.”
“That wasn’t me,” Geoffrey says sullenly.
“_Don’t worry, I wont hurt him,” _Halgo says in a half-hearted mimicry of the clerics tone.  “Next thing we know, he’s in a coma.”
“I healed him,” Geoffrey says in protest.  “And he came back to attack us, remember?”
“I’ll bet,” Amarin says, climbing back to the floor.  “Are you always this friendly?”
No-one offers an answer to his question.

The rest of the meal passes silently.  Kelpreth remains pleasant, talking amiably with the group and passing on lots of local gossip about Thorbeck.  He eats nothing, but sips quietly at a glass of ichor-wine from time to time.  Although everyone enjoys the meal, they are left wary by the merchant’s insectile movements and casual deflection of any questions regarding his business.  As the final course of thick honey-bread and sweetened dwarven candies are served, Kelpreth offers a toast to the companions and thanks them for agreeing to watch over Amarin.

“And thank you,” Geoffrey says.  “The meal was exquisite.  We should do it again some time.”
The merchant’s eyes seem to flare at this, the first inkling of an opportunity igniting his senses.
“Of course,” he says smoothly.  “During the festival, perhaps.  We could take you to see one of the opera’s in the great hall, organize for a meal at the Drop afterwards.”
“We shall see,” Geoffrey says.  He pauses for a moment, trying to wrap his head around dwarven opera.  He fails.  
“What the drop?” Yip asks.  “Sounds scary.”
“It’s one of the cities better taverns,” Kelpreth says.  “Set into a giant stalactite that looks out over the lava.”
“We should do that, then” Halgo says.  “Thank you for the meal.”
“Thank you for your company,” Kelpreth says.  “Expect Dukk to arrive in the next few days with the scroll.”

The pale merchant bows low before gliding silently out of the room.  The Copperheads sit at the table, looking at one another in silence.

“So,” Geoffrey says eventually.  “That’s one of your friends?”
“I wouldn’t go that far,” Halgo says.  
“Okay.”
“He’s a business associate,” Halgo says.  “Useful to know.”
“Yes, I imagine so.”

Two days later, there is a business-like rap at the door to the Copperhead’s chamber.  Geoffrey crosses the room and opens the door, revealing a dwarf with a flabby belly and horns.  The creature scratches at the layers of grime that covers its girth while looking up at the cleric.  The cloying smell of overly sweet honey fills the air.

“Well, this place just goes from strength to strength,” Geoffrey says blandly.
“Ye were lookin’ fer a scroll?”
“Yeah, why not?” Geoffrey says.

The dwarf-creature digs through a pouch at his side, eventually pulling forth a roll of parchment that looks ominously normal.

“Here,” he offers, holding it out.

Geoffrey looks at it carefully, not entirely sure he wants to touch it.  
“Oh, damn it,” he mutters beneath his breath, and reaches out to take the item.

“Ye keepin’ the young Charosian chap a’right then?” the dwarf-creature asks.
“Yes.”
“Good t’ ‘ere.  Get in contac’ with Kelpreth if’n ye have any problems with the whelp.”

With that, there is a faint buzzing sound and he disappears.

“Why do I feel like I’m so getting the bad end of this deal,” Geoffrey asks the empty doorway.  He holds the scroll carefully between two fingers and takes it back into the quarters to show the others.


----------



## Khynal

This Yip really does have anger issues, doesn't he?  

Poor Amarin. He was so happy to meet everyone, too.


----------



## Lela

Yes, a good fellow to know.  But a dangerious one as well.

 I like him.  A lot.  I'd have to steal him if my players weren't already complaining about how there seems to be too many smug and ubber powerful men/devels/vampires around.

 Then again, maybe that's enough reason to steal him right there. . .


----------



## Mathew_Freeman

Amarin is the sort of character you know is going to do something incredibly annoying like save the party repeatedly from certain death. Am I right?


----------



## Lela

Tallarn said:
			
		

> Amarin is the sort of character you know is going to do something incredibly annoying like save the party repeatedly from certain death. Am I right?



 You gotta hate that.


----------



## arwink

Amarin....saving the party...let me think...um, no, not quite 

Amarin is almost exactly as he appears - innocent and oblivious.  A lot of it came out of our last campaign, where Khynal played a character that was callous and willing to sacrafice the entire party if he thought it'd meet his goals.  After a break from playing, he made the decision to go the exact opposite direction with this game.  there was a moment of celebration the first time the young scholar actually harmed the enemy - and that was three or four sessions after he was introduced.

But he does get up to a few important hi-jinx sooner or later, but none of it is really focused on *saving* the party...


----------



## Lela

Well, that's good news.  We can't have people going around and keeping the party alive.

 Be a darn shame if that happened.


----------



## arwink

The beginning of the Stonefast festival draws near and one evening as the group is gathered on the balcony overlooking the city they can see long parades of dwarves moving through the city streets far below.  
“I wonder what’s going on down there,” Geoffrey says, glancing over the balcony.  

Seated nearby, scribbling notes on Yip’s training regimen, Amarin pauses and looks down.
“The high priests of the three main temples have to enter the sacred caves,” he explains.  He arches an eyebrow as he tries to remember a tit-bit of information.  “They aren’t allowed to take weapons or food, and they have to stay there for the duration of Stonefast.  I think the parades are the escorts leading them to the sacred caves.” 

“So they’re kicking all the powerful clerics out of the city?  And that’s the start of their celebration?” Halgo asks.  He glances at Geoffrey and offers a wry grin. “I can understand their reasoning.”

“What exactly happens at this festival?” Geoffrey asks.  “I know it involves eating, and contests of some kind, but not much else.”

“Let me check my notes,” Amarin says.  His fingers dance through the pages of his notebook, searching through various scribbled notes and annotations.  “Here it is.  Well, primarily there’s a lot of feasting – dwarves invite others to their house and lavish food and gifts on them in an attempt to out-do one another.  It’s likely that none of us will have to cook a meal for the duration of the festival.  Oh, and a rat-hunt – people who catch numbered rats released through the city earn prizes.   As for the contests, well, there are rather a lot of them.  IT seems they turn nearly everything into some kind of competition while the festival is on – weapon crafting, eisteddfods, martial skill, a chess competition and a foot race.”

“Do any of them offer prize money?” 

Amarin frowns and looks through the notes.

“Most, actually.  The sporting events offer the greatest rewards though.”

“Sporting events?” Geoffrey asks, suddenly very interested.  “Like what? Anything we could enter?”

“There’s a melee competition,” Amarin says, looking over the assembled weapons being cleaned on the balcony.  “I think the prize is a thousand gold.”

“Warrior race, you haven’t got a chance,” Halgo reminds Geoffrey.
“I know, but it might be worth a try,” Geoffrey says.  “We might impress some of the locals enough that we can find work after the festival.  What else is there?”

“There’s another competition based on…it largely translates as tunnel fighting. Rather like the weapons list, but they send everyone into a tunnel maze and the last man standing is the winner.  Focuses on stealth and underground lore in addition to fighting skill.”

“Yip could do that,” Yip says, his eyes lighting up.

“What else, what else,” Amarin mutters.  “ah, here.  Goblin-squash.  It’s a team sport – four people push a giant boulder through some caves, with a fifth man giving them directions.  The goal is to squash more goblins than the opposing team.”

“Uuuum.  I think we’ll sign up for that as well,” Geoffrey says.  “Yip scouts, the rest of us can push.  What do you think?”
“You just want to squash goblins,” Halgo says.
“It sounds interesting,” Geoffrey says.
“Did you pull wings of flies when you were young?”
“Don’t you bring my childhood into this,” Geoffrey says.  

“There’s also a competition called Bhal’Meral,” Amarin says.  “Basically a ball-sport played in a cave formation, where magic is used to aid competitors in gaining the ball and scoring goals.  It’s sponsored primarily by the wizards guilds in the city.”

“Not us,” Geoffrey says blandly.
“They use magic to move the ball around?” Halgo asks.

“As near as I can tell, its a little more physical than that,” Amarin says.  “There appears to be physical contact between the players called “tackling,” and they allow weapons and maiming of opponents.  The only real rules on magic is that you’re not aloud to magically alter the goal posts, and there are limits on casting spells on other players depending on the position you play.  Some can cast spells on the other team, some can cast them on your own team, and some can cast spells on the goals.  Everyone can cast spells on themselves, though, and on the ball and open areas of the field.”

“So, any type of magic is free to be used?” Geoffrey asks.
“There are no limits mentioned in my notes.”
“What if someone gets killed?” Geoffrey asks.
“The area is magically treated,” Amarin says, frowning at his notes.  “Somehow it renders the magic non-deadly as long it’s cast without the intent to harm.”

“We’ll give it a go,” Halgo says.
“We will?”
“It’s a cultural interchange,” Halgo says reasonably.  “We should do it for the empire.”

“All of these have prizes?” Geoffrey asks.  “Gold?”
“Some have arcane items,” Amarin says.
“Do you know where we sign up?”


----------



## GreyShadow

arwink said:
			
		

> “All of these have prizes?” Geoffrey asks.  “Gold?”
> “Some have arcane items,” Amarin says.
> “Do you know where we sign up?”





Sounds like a normal adventuring group to me.


----------



## Lela

I love the interaction between Halgo and Geoffrey.  They're great together.


----------



## arwink

It’s the first day of Stonefast, and the Copperheads are walking along one of Thorbeck’s longer streets as the sound of merriment fills the air.

“Festive people, aren’t they,” Geoffrey comments blandly.  “I thought dwarves were supposed to be dour and grim?”
“Maybe they just like to party,” Halgo says.  His badger-familiar, Wraith, ambles happily in front of him with a rat in its mouth.  Dangling from the rat’s ear is a leather tag bearing a small number.  Jogging behind them is Yip, carrying a second rat under his arm.

“Yip caught rat real way,” he mutters occasionally.  “Ran after rat on his own.  Didn’t need badger-familiar to catch it for him.  Yip earns barrel of dwarf-beer all on Yips own.”

No one pays much attention to him.    

“So what do we start with today?” Geoffrey asks.
“Bhally and Goblins squash,” Amarin says.  
“We need to decide positions for the Bhally game,” Halgo reminds them.  “They’ll want to know who is what when we show up.”
“What do we need?” Geoffrey asks.
“One Heal-Caster,” Amarin announces, looking through his notebook.  “They’re the player permitted to cast spells on their own team-mates.”
“Me,” Geoffrey announces.
“One Attack Caster, who can cast spells on the opposition.”
“Me,” says Halgo.
“Two Mute-runners,” Amarin says.  “They can cast spells on themselves, but they’re also the only people who can make contact with the other team.”
“Blarth and Yip,” Blarth announces.  “We hit hard.  Blarth sledgehammer one, Yip sledgehammer two.”
“And someone who can cast spells on our goals,” Amarin announces.  “They have to stay close to the goals.”
“Which is going to be you,” Halgo tells him. “Unless you’ve got something that’ll be useful in some other position.”
“Not that I can think of,” Amarin says.  
“How many games do we play in a day?”
“Just one,” Amarin says.  “It should be interesting.”
“We’re letting Blarth take out his frustrations by attacking the other team,” Geoffrey says.  “It should be a bloodbath.”

“Is it a timed match?” Halgo asks.  “Or first to score wins?”
“The first to reach three,” a gruff voice announces.  “Or until the other team is annihilated.”

Ogath breaks away from a nearby group of dwarves and joins the group, the shield-mages face breaking into a wide grin.  He’s dressed in dark blue robes, and holds a heavy mug of ale in one hand.

“Heard you folks had signed up to perform in the Bhally games,” he says with a smile.  “Among other things.”
“Its in the name of bonding our two cultures,” Geoffrey says smoothly.  
“Of course it is,” Ogath says, his smile widening.  “I have to tell you, though, you’re not the favourites.”
“We weren’t really expecting to be,” Halgo says.  “It’s more for the experience than anything else.”
“As you say, but I’ll put a few gold on you regardless.”  
Ogath offers them a wink.    
“I’ve seen the results of your handiwork on the gnolls,” he says.  “I have faith.”
“You figure we’ll be the first to three?”
“I figure you’ll wipe out the other team,” Ogath explains.  “You’re playing against the team sponsored by the Fellhammer clan – they’re good, but they’re mostly new players who haven’t made it into the academy teams.  I figure you could wipe the floor with them without much trouble if you’re as tough as I think you are.  Why don’t I show you to your starting area, and you can ask me any questions about the opposition you can think of...”


----------



## Lela

Oh, this should be fun.  And brutal.

 Is this from a module arwink or did you come up with all this yourself?


----------



## arwink

All of the sporting events come out of Tournaments, Fairs and Taverns (and bits I didn't write, at that), so I can claim no glory there.  

Stonefast originally started as a reason to make use of the sporting rules while a bunch of priest murdering and other skullduggery went on in the background.  
Instead it became the session where we spent an hour or so introducing Amarin and letting him irritate the other characters, then four hours playing dwarven football and Goblinsquash.  Everyone was having fun with the festival itself, so I ditched the subplot and let them run riot for a while.

On the whole, it was a strange kind of session


----------



## arwink

The dwarven maze is hidden deep beneath the earth, a chamber hundreds of feet wide with a complex maze cut within.  Yip and Blarth both pause as they enter, looking at the vast array of full seating set in place around the edges of the maze.  Dwarves fill the area, a horde of bearded faces leading off into the dark recesses of the cavern.

“Lots of people watching,” Blarth says. 
“A couple of thousand,” Ogath says.  “All the popular games are held here – tunnel fighting, Bhally, goblinsquash.”
“Nothing like having a home-side advantage,” Geoffrey mutters.
“Set yourselves up around your goal,” Ogath reminds them.  “The game starts when the balls dropped into the centre of the maze.”
“Thanks,” Geoffrey says.  
With a wary look, he drops into the maze with the rest of the Copperheads and takes his position around the wide tunnel that serves as the goal.

There is a brief roar of approval as the Fellhammer team takes positions on the far side of the complex.  Blarth and Yip stand ready, looking down one of the long corridors that leads towards the far side of the maze, mentally marking off the side passages that can be used to reach the ball.  Halgo stands by Yip’s side, watching the faint flicker of movement at the end that shows there’s Fellhammer dwarves down there.  Halgo mentally counts off the distance, figures its only a hundred and fifty feet.

Everyone breaks out into a cold sweat, listening to the sound of a thousand dwarves screaming encouragement to the opposition.

Then the sound of a gong echoes throughout the chamber, and a stone ball drops from the roof of the chamber.

Everyone seems to react at once, Halgo webbing those members of the opposition he sees as everyone else scrambles for the ball.  Only Amarin seems to be immobile, the young psion standing by the goals and staring intently as he sculpts a winged construct in the air before him.  He listens to the sound of combat in the distance, hears Yip let out a fearsome yell as he stuns one of the enemy players, and then the winged construct appears in the air before him.  There’s a roar from the crowd, and Amarin assumes this means someone has been hurt.  Another roar sounds a few seconds later, following after Blarth’s war cry and the sound of a dwarf screaming in pain.

The construct appears in the air before Amarin, a shimmering form shaped like a winged kobold.

“Fly up, and look for a ball,” Amarin thinks, forcing his thoughts onto the construct.  “Then go get it.”

The construct shoots off to obey, and Amarin manifests spider climb and scales the goals to get an overview of the playing field.  He sees the flying construct shoot down over Yip’s head, scooping up the ball before taking to the air.  A billowing cloud of mist fills the cavern, a dwarven wizard grinning confidently from the far side.  Yip smiles back, diving through the obscuring cloud to lay the wizard low with a single blow to the head.  Halgo is manifesting strangely colored lights that render the opposition slack-jawed and awestruck, and Geoffrey is trailing behind the group with a grin on his face.

There is little opposition as the construct flies through the goals.

“I think we have a tactic,” Amarin thinks to himself with a smile.  He manifests a second winged construct, and has it in place at the central chamber by the time the second ball comes into play.  In the distance, he can hear Yip and Blarth screaming as they scramble for opponents.


----------



## Lela

I admit, this is very cool.  I'd get the book if I ever thought there'd be a point I'd use it.  I'm tempted nonetheless.

 Did you write part of it arwink?  Or did I misread?


----------



## arwink

I did a few locations for TFT.  Most of the truly cool stuff in the book comes from the ENworld community at large


----------



## Mathew_Freeman

Copperheads! Copperheads! They're so cool!
They always win that is the rule!
If Yip doesn't stun 'em, Blarth will smash!
Then they'll win and get the cash!

GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO Copperheads!


----------



## arwink

Don't encourage them.

Khynal's already had the bright idea of Yip-shapped constructs in cheerleader outfits, standing along the sidelines as fights progress.

Giving them something to chant will only make things worse...


----------



## Mathew_Freeman

Mwahahahahahahahaaaaa...!

Although I can imagine that someone that stood up and said "Gimme a C! Gimme a O!" would be fairly unpopular.


----------



## arwink

“We could have won on points,” Amarin protests, trying to be heard over the sound of several singing dwarves that are trying to harmonize with Yip and Blarth.
“I know,” Geoffrey says calmly, sipping at a mug of ale.  In the corner, Halgo and Ogath are talking about the game as the Sheildmage enthusiastically recounts several of the groups triumphant moments.
“Then why did we try to wipe them out?”
“There wasn’t any try,” Geoffrey reminds him.  “Blarth and Yip wiped them out before they could get near the ball.”
“But it’s unsporting,” Amarin says, appealing to the priests sense of fairness.  “We didn’t need to over-power them – we could out-run them.  I don’t think these people have had to deal with constructs before – they don’t have much to counter them flying.”
“You’re probably right, but there’s no need to let them know that now.  You scored the first goal, and we know the tactic works.  We should keep it in reserve for when we play a tougher team tomorrow.”
“I suppose,” Amarin says.  His face is uncertain.
“Trust me,” Geoffrey says, raising his glass to the young scholar.  “It’s a sound plan.  I’ve studied battlefield tactics, and they apply to this game in much the same way they do the battlefield.”

He pauses, frowning slightly.

“Without the killing, of course.  What have we got on tomorrow?”

Amarin looks at his notebook.  “You and Blarth are in the sword lists, and we move to the next round of the Bhal’Meral tournament and goblinsquash.  And Ogath and his clan want us to celebrate with them for the duration of the festival.”
“Only fair,” Geoffrey says with a shrug.  “He won a lot of money on our game.”

Ogath’s generosity extends beyond a simple meal; the dwarf gifting his newfound friends with ornately crafted daggers at the close of the meal.  Each of the simple weapons is gilded in silver, and bares Ogath’s own rune as the craftsman’s mark.  More intriguing are the veins of mithril that run through the pommels of the weapons, the glittering metal reflecting a silver-white sheen when held up to the light.  

AS the festival progresses, the Copperheads draw a great deal of interest from the dwarven locals.  Ogath and his clansmen seem to follow the group everywhere, an impromptu cheering squad that is vocally supportive of every move the group makes.  While the other dwarves are initially hesitant to support the outlanders, the groups successes quickly draw attention.  

The Copperheads prove a fair hand in the first round of Goblinsquash, defeating their opponents in the first match through a combination of raw enthusiasm and Blarth’s superior strength.  Although they are defeated in the second round, the dwarves prove greatly impressed by the groups performance.

“Goblinsquash is a game of finesse and skill,” Ogath explains proudly.  “It takes a rare skill for outsiders to win against even the most novice of dwarven teams.”

Geoffrey and Blarth prove adept in the melee lists, Geoffrey’s skill with the mace carrying him to final twelve contestants while Blarth’s training earns him a win.  Ogath and his clansmen are in attendance for the finals, and their roars echo throughout the chamber as the half-orc is declared the winner.

Yip takes an early lead in the Tunnel Run, his kobold scamper easily out-distancing the short-limbed dwarves.  For all his pace, he is quickly regulated to last place when he reaches the first obstacle – a rocky outcropping that must be climbed to continue with the race.  The frantic kobold scrambles at the base of the climb for several minutes before the closest competitor catches up with him, and all the dwarves offer him a roar of encouragement as they smoothly scale the outcropping.  Yip eventually withdraws from the race in frustration once even the slowest of dwarves have overtaken him, although his good cheer in the face of the dwarves mocking earns him several pints of ale as the evenings celebration wear on.

The kobold then proceeds to re-claim some of his lost dignity by placing fifth in the tunnel-fighting melee, his speed and agility in the narrow tunnels giving him an edge over the slower dwarves, and his skill at the arts of subterranean ambush letting him defeat many competitors with more skill than himself.

Geoffrey then places highly in the chess competition, defeating three opponents before he faces someone with a greater understanding of the game than himself.  Once again, dwarves congratulate him on his fine performance against an obviously superior foe.

“It’s rare for an outsider to do so well against a dwarf,” he’s told, and everyone begins to wonder if perhaps this will be the refrain of the festival.  Then he remembers the results of the Bhally matches, and the young cleric smiles.  The dynamic team of Blarth and Yip, each enhanced by Geoffrey’s spells, have annihilated all opposition they’ve faced after Halgo has distracted them with spells and illusions.  Amarin has grumbled, pointing out the needlessness of the violence, but Geoffrey can’t help but savour every victory as it comes.

The time would come to finesse, he knows, and Ogath will let them know when that is.  

“The Copperheads against the Laughing Stones,” Ogath says, leaning over his tankard of ale as they celebrate yet another victory in the Bhal’Meral arena.  “The outlanders against the greatest Bhally team Thorbeck has seen in the last fifty years.  Ye’ve done well, lads, make no mistake, but ye’d best find some kind of plan before tomorrow’s game.  Ye have made it to the finals on brute force and power, but the Laughing Stones aren’t likely to be taken down anywhere as easily.  Ye’ll be needin’ goal’s in the mornin’, three of them, if’n you want to win.”

Geoffrey looks at Amarin and winks.

“I think we’ve still got a trick or two up our sleeve.”


----------



## Lela

That is definitally entertaining.  Might be fun to try it out.  Did you run across any problems during the session?


----------



## arwink

Problems?  Well, i didn't get to assassinate anyone for the subplot I'd worked out...

Seriously, if I had a chance to run this again, I'd probably change a few things.  One would be the inclusion of slightly more plot elements and NPC interaction to break up the sporting action.  While we enjoyed the session, it tended to be carried by  the excitement of new thing (sporting events) which gradually wore down as they became less new.  

The three big things I have written down in my notes after this session were these:

* Bhally games are very timeconsuming to play out.  I'd made a few changes to the rules ont he fly to make it more dwarvish, and one of those considerably lowered the timeframe of the game and eliminated the use of substitutes, but it still took quite a while to get through a three point match.  In many respects it's like a combat, but with more rules added in.  Next time we do something like this, I'm making copies of the rules and handing them out before the game.  

* The players are much sneakier than me.  In terms of doing sneaky things with the powers and generally being able to rough up the opposition, they had it all over most of the dwarven teams for the competition.  There wasn't really much point in playing out the entire festival's worth of games, because it'd largely come down to six rounds of "I chase him, I do something weird, Blarth and Yip beat him into a pulp..."

In the end I used the law of averages to work out who won what, and we only played out the really important matches.  For Bhally, that essentially came down to the first match and the last one - because the usual tactic of beating the opposition into the ground wouldn't have worked on the Laughing Stones.

* The only other problem lay with me not really knowing what the group was capable of.  In Bhally, this turned out to be a good thing.  In the obstacle course, not so good - it was essentially put in as an event that Yip could really shine at (being a monk-rogue with better speed than the opposing dwarven monks and rogues), but I failed to take into account that everyone's favorite kobold doesn't have climb ranks


----------



## Lela

I've always found that to be a problem for me too. The players know their charactes so well it's very difficult to pull one over on them. Be it in battle, political situations, or competitions. They just have a major advantage in that one character against my 5, 10, or 15. I think it might be a lot closer if two teams of players faced off. Each would have that special advantage and the game would be much more a spectator sport.

 Hmmm, I wonder if a General forum discussion could turn up some good tactics and teams. Might be interesting to find out. I'd post the opener but I don't have the book (yet). Anyone else care to make a go?

  This is one of those things that could turn into a fun RPA style minigame. You know, fun at first but it can get old fast. 

 As a thought, has Halgo considered starting a team back home? Might be great for relations and could very well be excellent for magic use among the local dwarves. All that gawking and hero worship. You'll have new magic recruits signing up by the dozen (and one or two might even have talent).

  Hold a compitition between the clans and see about pumping some life back into the languishing dwarves.

  A lot of it may be dreams, I admit.  But isn't that what D&D is made of?


----------



## arwink

Amarin sits perched on tip of the goals, the roar of the crown echoing in his ears as he watches the game in progress.  The stone ball has dropped from the ceiling, and both teams have started surging through the stone maze in search of it.  From his vantage point, Amarin can make out nearly everything.  Yip and Blarth are charging up the two long corridors that link both sides of the play area, their counterparts from the opposing team charging forward to meet them.  Halgo and Geoffrey follow at a much slower pace, both of them in the process of casting spells as they move.

On the far side of the field, through the shimmering haze of moisture created by thousands of sweaty dwarves watching on, Amarin can see his counterpart.  The Laughing Stones goalkeeper appears to be a black-scaled kobold, flying in front of the scoring area.  Amarin remembers what Ogath told him of the opposition, of the kobold in particular, and Amarin permits himself a brief smile.

He focuses his will as both teams reach the drop-chamber at once, the air in front of him slowly coalescing into the form of an astral construct.  With a thought he gives it dwarven features, adds a set of wings, and gently guides it in its task.

“Grab me that ball.”

The drop chamber becomes a zone of melee and spell casting almost immediately.  Yip and his opposition counterpart reach it first, both of them leaping to the attack without bothering to draw weapons.  Yip’s flying kick seems to shake his foe, but the back fist delivered in retaliation leaves the kobold stunned and bewildered.  Before the dwarven mute-runner can pick up the ball, Blarth is there to fight him off with sword and spiked shield.  As the second mute-runner arrives, Amarin can see Yip recover and press the attack.  Both teams seem evenly matched – the speed and strength of Blarth and Yip easily countered by the opposition’s inherent toughness.  The ball lies on the ground, untouched.

Amarin manifests a second construct, identical to the first, and smiles as he sees his initial creation scoop the ball from its cradle and fly towards the gaol.  The kobold standing guard seems distracted, preparing to fend against a thrown ball, but the construct simply flies past and through the goal with ease.

The crowd goes wild, but Amarin can barely tell whether they support his tactics or decry them.

Halgo and Geoffrey start firing spells at Blarth and Yip.  Both the Copperhead Mute-runners are closer to the ball, and they’ve managed to wound one of the opposition badly enough that he’s retreated to the Heal-caster.  Amarin spots the opposition Attack-caster covering the area around the ball-drop with a layer of grease.  Yip seems barely phased by the magical obstruction, smoothly skating across the area of effect as if it were ice before hammering a paw into the dwarf’s throat.  The dwarf drops to her knees, choking.

A whistle sound as the second ball is dropped into play.  It never hits the ground.

Amarin has three constructs at the ready, hovering eagerly beneath the drop-point.  One of them manages to catch the ball before it lands, flinging itself towards the goal at high speed.  The area around the goals suddenly fills with mist and fog, obscuring vision, and one of the dwarves throws a spell at the construct as it streaks towards the gaols.  Amarin can fill a faint tickle on the edge of his consciousness, the slight mental link that allows him to communicate with the construct letting him know that the opposition has tried a mental effect of some kind.  

Not for the first time, Amarin wonders at the people beyond his homeland and the poor knowledge they have beyond their backwards “magic.”  The second ball goes through the hope.  Blarth and Yip don’t even bother trying to hold the drop-zone, joining Halgo and Geoffrey in trying to force the opposition back towards their own goals.  There is a shower of sparks as Halgo tags an opponent who tried to turn invisible.  A loud cry as Geoffrey boosts Yip’s strength and speed in preparation for an offensive.

The third ball drops into a waiting constructs arm.  Amarin sits on the goals, waiting for victory to come.  Halgo webs one of the mute-runners.  The other collapses Blarth with a well-placed kick to the groin.  There is a brief flare of light as a lightening bolt is fired down a corridor, narrowly missing Yip and Geoffrey, and the construct flies for goal.

It never makes it.

Amarin isn’t entirely sure what happened, all he can see is the construct suddenly thrown off course by an invisible force.  He scans the field, searching for the opposition Attack-caster, but she’s barely conscious after Blarth has attempted to club her.  

“Wind wall,” Halgo yells.  From his vantage point, he’s close enough to see the spell being cast.  “The constructs can’t fly through it.

The construct circles away, aimless and uncertain now its goal has been impeded.  Amarin hurriedly reaches out with his mind and instructs it, letting it drop the ball into Yip’s waiting hands.

“Clear a path,” Halgo yells.  Geoffrey and Blarth do just that.  Heavily armed and armoured, they are an imposing sight by anyone’s standards.  Blarth charges down the corridor, brimming with enhancement magic that Geoffrey casts time and again.  Opponents scatter or try to block them with magic, but Halgo does his best to counter the spells and keep them moving.  It works well enough, although Blarth is hit with a _hold person_ half-way down the corridor.  Within seconds they have driven their way towards the goals, forcing themselves through the defences.  Yip runs at high speed, his feet seeming to dance on the rocky floor.  When the opposition kobold flies down to stop him, Yip simply leaps and catapults him off the floor.  For a moment he’s caught in the updraft of the wind-wall, momentarily suspended in mid-air, and he lets the ball fly in a single fluid motion.

The Copperheads win three-nothing.  The dwarven crowd is shocked, then uproarious, then a single roar that repeats the groups name over and over again.

“COP-PER-HEADS! COP-PER-HEADS! COP-PER-HEADS!”

From his vantage point on the Goals, Amarin simply smiles.


----------



## Mathew_Freeman

*celebrates*

Well played, lads!


----------



## Lela

Very nice.


----------



## The Padre

We are the Champions, We are the Champions, .....  of the world!!!!


Geoffrey Cromwell

aka

Dave


----------



## Lela

Ah, yes.  It's time for drinking, isn't it?


----------



## arwink

Lela said:
			
		

> Ah, yes.  It's time for drinking, isn't it?




In a party that has this Yip in it, it's always time for drinking 

Seriously, the next update is quite short:

_There is much rejoicing, and the alcohol flows like Thorbeck's magma as dwarven wizard and smith alike revel in the outlanders victory.  Amarin takes notes.  Geoffrey is gracious in victory, but quietly excuses himself to discuss exactly what kind of magic items the group is best served taking as its price.  Yip proves that a kobold liver is just as effecient at processing dwarven peat mead as dwarven livers are.  Blarth probably starts a fight._

Something light that.  It was getting late, and we kind of glossed over the aftermath by this time.  During the period between games, we worked out who was buying what with the prize money, a few odds and ends that occured during the celebration and other stuff via e-mail.

Hence, the next update will start at the beginning of the next session, and all the celebration will be conviniently glossed over because I'm lazy.


----------



## arwink

“Why do they always have to give us stuff we can’t sell,” Geoffrey grumbles.  He turns the burnished helm over in his hands, examining the workmanship that has gone into it.  
“Because it’s a gift,” Halgo says blandly.  “Not a reward.  There’s a fine difference between the two.”
“Yeah, but a helmet made of copper?  It’s not like we can actually wear them.”
“I don’t think it’s actually copper,” Halgo says.  “The metal’s to hard, and the colour is slightly off.”
“Mithril and adamantine alloy,” Amarin says eagerly.  “I heard one of the smiths talking about it at the party.”
“Just as hard as normal steel then,” Halgo tells Geoffrey.  “Good, solid dwarf work, fresh from the king’s forges.  What more do you want?”
“Gold,” Geoffrey says.  “Spell-forged armour.  A small keep to call my own.”
“You’re never satisfied, are you?” Halgo asks, eyeing the bulky suit of fine full plate that Blarth and Geoffrey both commissioned as their prize for winning the Bhal’Meral tourney.  
“The better the equipment, the greater service I can be to my god,” Geoffrey says piously.  He takes a pose of resigned nobility and spurs his horse forward.  Halgo and Amarin, sitting on a merchant’s wagon as it rattles along the road, watch him go.  The merchant caravan is small, little more than three wagons and a half-dozen guards, but it was the first human contact to be made with Thorbeck since the trade treaty was hammered out over the festival, and the Copperheads were eager to catch a ride home.  

“Is he always like this?” Amarin asks.
“Sometime’s he’s worse,” Halgo says.  “Wait until you see why we’re going to leave the trail tomorrow.
“Why would we leave the caravan?” Amarin’s tone is surprised, and full of curiosity.  “I mean, the Reldenfolk are fascinating in their own way.  Sven over there has told me a dozen stories about his homeland that I simply have to verify one day.  Surely it’ll be safer to stay…”

Halgo cuts him off.

“You’ll see.”

The group parts company with the caravan around noon the next day, shunning the overland route in favour of trekking along the river.  It’s early autumn, the air starting to fill with the slight bite of winter, but the fast-flowing river cuts an easy path through the thick redwood forest.

“Hope troll not down here,” Yip comments as they follow the banks.  “Not want to fight again.”

Amarin’s eyes shine as he hears.

“A troll?  Here?  I thought they were only native to the northern swamps.  Well, I guess they’d be the southern swamps to you people, what with you all being northerners.  What kind of troll was it?  Was it big?”

“Can somebody shut him up?” Geoffrey asks from the front of the column.  Nobody answers Amarin’s questions, which seems to do the trick.  The young scholar sinks into silence, contenting himself with conversing with the small crystal he carries in one hand.

“Hey, boss, check this out – that tree looks kind of like a sword,” the crystal explains, forcing its observations directly into Amarin’s brain.
“Wow,” Amarin thinks back.  “It does to.”
“And in the dirt around that tree – I bet those are badger tracks,” the crystal says.  “Maybe we should tell Halgo?  He’s always carrying a badger around in that cage he made, trying to keep it out of danger?”
“Maybe,” Amarin says.

Then both the crystal and its master see the sight at the same time, and think the same thought in unison.

“Oh look, a battle-axe tree.”

Amarin pauses, mentally running through his notes on botany and nature.  As far as he can remember, there shouldn’t be a tree that grows battle-axes.  Actually, wait, no, there were elven communities that do that, but they sing to the wood.  And they don’t normally make battleaxes.  Especially made out of metal.  It’s strange.  Definitely strange.

He wonders if he should mention it to somebody.

“Yip, Blarth, up the tree,” Geoffrey orders.  Both follow without delay, clambering up the smooth trunk and throwing metal axes to the forest floor below.

“We’re harvesting the Battleaxes?” Amarin asks.
“Geoffrey stored them here,” Halgo explains.  “Killed a bunch of gnolls near here, and he thought the weapons and armour could be worth some coins when the mission was over.  So now its over, and the weapons have to be taken back to town.”

“And you make money doing this?” Amarin asks.  He looks confused.
“A little,” Halgo says.  “Although it’s debatable whether it’s worth enough to justify the effort.  Geoffrey just has something approaching a mania.”
“Really?” Amarin says, suddenly perking up.  “Do you think I should try doing something about it?  I mean, in theory I should be good at manias, with the psychic surgery I mean.  Not that I can actually do that yet – no-where near powerful enough, but I’m good at laying the groundwork.”
“Perhaps not,” Halgo says. 
Amarin opens his mouth to say something else, but he catches the strange look on the dwarf’s face and stops without speaking.


----------



## arwink

They ride into Borr to a hero’s welcome, the people of the small city yelling congratulations and thanks as the Copperheads pass through on their way to the palace.  Already there’s a small number of warriors walking around wearing dwarf-steel weapons, and there are Thorbeck dwarves selling their wares in the town market.  While everyone is acutely aware that the alliance hasn’t made the fledgling kingdom safe, they are at least safer than they were several months ago.  The people have hope, even though they’d not truly realised it was missing.

The group is taken directly to the King’s Hall.  Gunnar is already there, dressed in a velvet doublet and leaning against the wall just outside the King’s Table.

“I’ve been paid to act as the kings tracker,” he announces without noticeable enthusiasm.  “Not much of a job, but the retainers good.”

Before anyone can ask a question, Oleg and his advisor can be heard arguing through the door.

“I know what you want to do to them, Cammar,” Oleg’s voice booms, “But the kingdom isn’t in a position to punish them.  Our position is tenuous, and whether you like it or not One-Eye and his band are essential for our survival.  Alienate them, force them from these shores, and many of the outlying settlements will die.”

“Death is a part of life, your majesty,” Cammar’s voice replies calmly.  “But Justice is eternal.  The three of them have killed, murdered, and they will die for their crimes.  It is the emperors law, not mine, but I will enforce it.  You have your alliance now, an alliance forged with my people I remind you.  You no longer need to rely on rabble such as these mercenaries.”

“Rabble?” A third voice wheezes.  “One-eye and his band are Reldanfolk born, warriors and soldiers of skill and daring.  You insult them, myself and all Reldenners by calling them rabble and mercenaries.”

“Do I?” Cammar asks blandly.  “How careless of me.”

“Enough,” Oleg orders.  “I have guests…no, I have heroes to greet.  We will continue this conversation later, when the two of you have had time enough to calm down.”

There is a murmur of consent, and within a moment High Justicar Cammar and the stooped form of the settlements War Priest both exit the room.  Cammar catches Geoffrey’s eye and nods curtly, subtly letting the cleric know that an immediate report will be expected the moment he’s freed from the King’s presence.

“Enter,” Oleg calls, and everyone filters into the room.  Oleg stands at the head of his table, his lean framed stooped slightly as his legs rest against the tables edge.

“It is good to see you all once more,” Oleg says, and although his voice retains its usual direct tone there is a note of trepidation there.  “The four of you have done all that was asked of you and more, giving more hope to my kingdom than it has ever had.  You have my gratitude, and my eternal thanks.  Know that from this point on, all of you will be regarded as true friends of Borr.  Your time in the city shall be taken care on, indeed you are welcome to share the hospitality of my guest lodge should you wish it.  While you stay with us, you will be treated as well as any imperial noble.”

Oleg permits himself a wry smile, and claps his hands twice.

“Beginning right now,” he says warmly.  Within seconds the table is covered by all manor of food, the best that Borr has to offer.  Robed servants hurry about the room, filling wine glasses and ale mugs with silent enthusiasm.

“Let us eat,” Oleg says grandly. “And you can tell me all you can of your adventures...”

They talk, they eat, and through it all everyone can sense the undercurrent of worry that’s gnawing at the king.  Well, almost everyone.  Blarth seems strangely oblivious to the subtleties of the situation, and it’s possible Yip is far to drunk to comprehend, but the others are slightly more aware.  Even worse, they can sense that another royal request is coming.

Sure enough, at the end of the meal Oleg stands and regards them all gravely.

“My thanks for you service,” he says simply.  “And my regret of asking you for more help so soon after your return, but I need the kind of aid that only men of your kind can provide…”


----------



## Mathew_Freeman

It's always the way. No-one in command in fantasy settings can ever resist the temptation to offer you more work.


----------



## Lela

The respite can only be brief.  Afterall, they're famous now.


----------



## Dungannon

I just hope there're no gravy stains on Geoffrey's report.


----------



## Graywolf-ELM

It took me a couple of days to read through all 19 pages of posts, but I finally caught up.  I like the story form you've put the sessions in. 

Question?  Did they use the magical earring during the games for passing commands, or did the new guy up on the goalposts not know about it?

Thanks for the enjoyable read.


----------



## arwink

The group is, indeed, famous within Borr's boundaries.  To make matters worse, when I ran the numbers on the country, the Copperheads are one of only a dozen or so characters higher than 4th level and the only group of such characters (the others rule towns, run a mercenary company,work independently for the king or serve as High Priest of Arezz or the High Justicar).

And, to be honest, I figured that if you want to go adventure in a gods-forsaken frozen wasteland with a total population the size of a single large town back in the empire, you get used to being asked to undertake new adventures constantly with little chance of pay.  If you want to get rich the conventional way, you stay in the empire and kill people for money 



			
				Graywolf-ELM said:
			
		

> Question?  Did they use the magical earring during the games for passing commands, or did the new guy up on the goalposts not know about it?
> 
> Thanks for the enjoyable read.




Great to have you aboard.

The earring gets slightly more use than I mention in the storyhour, mostly when Blarth is seperated from the group.  It's generally agreed that I'll just submerge the buzz of it into the background unless someone says something important about Blarth. 

Mostly, for the match, they relied on the time-honored sporting tradition of shouting at one another.  Blarth may have heard them a little more clearly through the confusion, but mostly they didn't worry to much about secrecy.


----------



## arwink

Cammar Vengallar chews his mutton slowly, glaring at the door.  The two kobolds that stand on either side of the portal hold themselves at stiff attention, unwilling to meet the aging clerics steely stare.  Vengallar barely notices his guard’s rigid nervousness.  He reaches a gauntleted hand out and snatched the mug of dirty Reldannar wine, swills it over his palate.

It’s been three hours.  Why hasn’t Cromwell reported.

The High Justicar of Borr tries to force such thoughts from his mind, spears another slither of mutton on the end of his fork and tears it free with his teeth.  He gains a small measure of satisfaction as he scrapes the metal of the form along his lip, feels the points’ slowly teasing the thin skin.  Geoffrey is a soldier of the church, a warrior and a justicar that had served with distinction in his novitiate.  The unruly nature of his companions, the strange reports the other kobolds made about his Brother of the Fist, none of these were necessarily the clerics fault.

Cammar Vengallar twisted free a chunk of bred and soaked it in the watery stew.  The heavy sound of gauntlet against door echoed just as he forced the sodden lump into his mouth.  He swallowed quickly and glared at the portal once more.

“Justicar Cromwell, ready to report,” the voice on the other side announced.  Cammar permitted himself a brief smile.

“Enter.”

Cromwell strode into the hall, the Drakkarite on his heels.  Both men held themselves at rigid attention as the High Justicar watched them.

“I take it your mission for the king was a success.”  

“Sir,” Cromwell said.

“Report,” Cammar ordered.  “Tell me anything that may be of use.”

Cromwell speaks, running through the group’s actions with military precision.  Cammar returns to his food, eating slowly as he listens.  Most of the events are fairly mundane, the kind of danger and combat any justicar faces in the wild.  It isn’t until Cromwell begins to speak of Thorbeck, and the acquisition of the Charosian citizen that had followed them back to civilization, that the High Justicar gives them his full attention.

“You say that you were paid to protect the psion?” He asks.  Cromwell nods cautiously, and for a moment Cammar thinks he can see a flash of fear in his eyes.
“Yes.”
“Was the trade worthwhile?”
“Merchant give us scroll,” Blarth announces eagerly.  “Bring us back from dead.”

The flash of fear behind Cromwell’s eyes is replaced by a look of anger.  Cammar Vengallar permits himself to arch an eyebrow and looks to Cromwell in surprise.

“Let me see it,” Cammar orders.  With a wary look, Cromwell digs through his pack and produces the roll of vellum.  Cammar unfurls it and scans the sigils written there.  They are jagged and harsh to look at, obviously the work of a crude culture.  Even worse, the texture of the parchment seems strangely odd.  The High Justicar pulls one hand free from its gauntlet and runs it over the scroll.

“Are you aware of what this is written on?” He asks.
“I thought leather,” Cromwell replies, but the look in his eyes reveals that he’s not entirely sure that’s true.
“That’s human skin, Justicar,” Cammar announces sternly.  “And those runes are like nothing I’ve seen forged by human hand.  I’m holding onto this for the moment – it will be returned to you once its origins are ascertained and I’m assured that it contains no lingering evil.”

“Agreed, sir,” Cromwell announces.  His blue eyes blaze with carefully held anger, the kind of emotion that would almost be imperceptible to anyone who hadn’t spent their life learning to read the most subtle cues.  Cammar smiles to himself.  The rage would be good for the young Justicar, give him the strength to get the job done.  He nods at the young cleric to continue and soaks in all he can about the dwarven kingdom.

“Very well,” Cammar says.  “Now tell me about the meeting you just had with the King.  Word for word, I wish to know what was said…”


----------



## arwink

And just as I was getting back into the swing of daily updates, I swan into the thread to announce that it'll be at least a week until the next one.  Long Weekend in Oz this weekend, so I'm heading south with Capellan and Geoffrey's character for a Con.

But, given that we've finally covered all the "Coming Up" events that I'd announced way back on page seven or so of this thread, I'll leave you with some of the high-lights of the upcoming updates.

Coming up, we've got:


Low-down skullduggery at the city forge

Yip killing something three times his size all by himself

Some Very Angry Goblins

An Even Angrier Half-orc

And the Tomb of a Dead God.

Although first we'll find out exactly what they were asked to do at the King's Dinner


----------



## Lela

Go YIP!


----------



## Agent Yip

Alas, I can't recall Yip's old password and have no response.  Thus, Yip's been promoted, donned a black suit, sunnies and an earpiece. 

You're slowly catching up there Arwink.  We'll have to try harder now.


----------



## the Jester

Ah, finally caught up!

Great story, Arwink!  Now if only I can catch up on the mega-module jam...


----------



## arwink

Blarth exits the room on Cammar’s order, leaving Geoffrey alone before the Head Justicar’s table.  Geoffrey adjusts his stance and looks Cammar in the eye.  He can see something hard and dangerous in his superior’s expression, and the younger Cuthbertite knows he will require all his diplomacy to get through this without breaking his commitment to the king.

“The king spoke mostly about the prisoners you’ve taken,” he says evenly.  “The mercenaries.  He wanted my advice on how to handle the situation.”

“And what did you tell him?” Cammar asks.  His voice is just as even as his subordinates, both of them keeping their emotions controlled and their opinions neutral.

“I gave him the best advice I could after hearing only his version of events,” Geoffrey says.  “That justice must be served, and I could give no clear opinion without investigating the matter on my own.  In such cases as this, your word is the voice of St Cuthbert and the will of the law.”

“Excellent,” Cammar says, and Geoffrey catches the vaguest hint of a victory smile on the pale-haired man’s lips.  “This is a crucial moment in our relationship with the crown here.  He hopes for leniency where none should be provided – the men in question murdered openly, cutting patrons and our own clerics down in the very streets of the capital.  Their claims of innocence are immaterial, and political expediency will do little to sway our course.”

Geoffrey’s eyebrow shoots up, the first show of emotion he’s made.

“They cut people down in the street?” He asks.  “With witnesses around?”
“Indeed,” Cammar says smugly.  “They pulled swords in a bar fight, killed six people before the Temple Guards arrived, and we lost three men while disarming them.  These men will burn, Justicar Cromwell, and I will be damned before I let the crown decide otherwise.”
“Is it wise to alienate the crown so quickly?”
“Wisdom is irrelevant,” Cammar barks.  “We are a church devoted to duty, Justicar, and obedience.”
“As you say,” Geoffrey agrees.   “I would look into this, with your leave.  The king appears to trust me, and it would ease his troubles to know that my conclusion is the same as yours.”
“You doubt my findings?” Cammar glares at his subordinate, hand dropping to the hilt of a dagger.
“From all reports, violence is common to the mercenaries of these lands, but murder is out of the ordinary,” Geoffrey says calmly.  “And as I told the king, I can give no clear opinion without investigating the matter on my own.  If I return and simply say I agree with your judgement, he is shrewd enough to know I am simply repeating your words.  My goal is to serve the church, to strengthen our position, and that cannot be done without looking into things on my own.”

Cammar glares at him.  

“A sound move,” he says finally, but the hint of steel in his voice tells Geoffrey he’s far from pleased.  “Take your team and investigate, but do so quickly.  You have but three days before the murderer’s burn, and such leniency goes against my better judgement.”

“My thanks, Justicar,” Geoffrey says.  He bows low, and turns towards the door.

“Cromwell?” 
Geoffrey turns.
“I have one further question,” Cammar announces.  “About your Kobold.  The other Yip’s say he’s out of place, that they can sense something wrong with him.  Have you seen any evidence that he may be disloyal? Straying from the path of his order?”

Geoffrey casts his mind back to the King’s Guest Lodge, the sight of Yip disappearing into the bedroom with a grin on his face and a bottle of wine clasped in one paw.  The brief war between duty to the church and duty to his allies is quickly won.

“None, Justicar,” he says.  “He has served admirably in every instance I have placed him in.”

Cammar watches Geoffrey carefully, searching out some hint that he’s not telling the truth.  The second’s stretch out into infinity, the Head Justicar’s grey eyes like an unyielding line of stone.

“Very well,” he says finally.  “But watch him carefully.  The discontent he brings to the others troubles me.”

***

“This isn’t going to be easy,” Geoffrey explains.  He spears a crisped slice of bread on the end of a fork and dumps it on his plate, spreading it with a thin layer of freshly churned butter.  Blarth and Amarin are both listening intently, while Yip nurses a slightly aching head and some dry bread.  

“There are three mercenaries, all of them under suspicion for murder, and a dozen witnesses that saw them massacring townsfolk and members of my church.  All three claim to be innocent, not remembering the violence and having no control over their actions.  Cammar doesn’t believe them, and Oleg can’t afford to have them executed without loosing control of the major mercenary factions.  We need to find out what happened.”

“How isn’t this easy?” Amarin wonders.  “We can just pull what happened out of their heads.”
“You can do that?” Geoffrey asks, slightly taken aback.
“No, but surely you can.”
Geoffrey pauses, unsure of what to say.
“It might be a little beyond my abilities.”
“You mean you can’t read minds?” Amarin asks.  “What kind of lawman are you?”
“Imperial,” Geoffrey says curtly.  “The kind that makes do without mind-reading and settles on investigation.”

“Where we start?” Blarth asks.  He tears a chunk of mutton off the bone with his teeth, slowly chews it while he thinks.  “Blarth can’t see much room for doubt.”

“Maybe swords cursed,” Yip says, mumbling through his hangover.  
“No such luck,” Geoffrey says.  “I examined them after Cammar dismissed me last night, right after I talked with the prisoners.  Normal weapons, local steel.  Good work, but nothing out of the ordinary.  Halgo might have been able to tell if there was some kind of hidden magic there, but it was beyond my abilities to detect.” 
“We could ask him when he gets back,” Amarin suggests.  “The King’s mission should only take a few weeks to complete.”
“Not enough time,” Geoffrey says.  “The mercenaries die in three days.”
“What about the smith?” Amarin suggests.  “He might be able to identify the weapons, let us know if they were sold to any known wizards or such around town.  If they were local blades, we could track him down and ask.  Did you see a forge mark?”
Geoffrey nods and quickly sketches the mark on a sheet of parchment.
“I guess we ask around and find out who that belonged too,” he says.  “Damn it, I hate not having enough to go on.”
Amarin looks the paper over, frowning slightly.
“I recognise that one,” he says slowly.  “I needed a new dagger when I first arrived here, dropped the old one overboard on a stormy night during the crossing.  I just need to remember the smiths name…Bjorn something, I think.  Ugly man.”
“Bjorn Harnotha?” Geoffrey asks.
“That’s it,” Amarin says, grinning.  “You know him?”
“Cut him down a few months ago,” Geoffrey explains.  “He was selling weapons to the gnolls.  He’s the reason we were working for the king in Thorbeck.”
“So we can’t talk to the smith?” Amarin says, slightly deflated.
“No,” Geoffrey says grimly.  “But the merceries claim the swords were only a week or so old, so there’s someone in town using his forge mark.”
“Shouldn’t we question him then?” Amarin asks.
“Yes, I think we should.  Everyone finish up, I think we need to have a chat with this new smith.”


----------



## Horacio

Thanks for the update


----------



## Lela

A new smith of evilness?  Something about that fire pit must be currupting them.

_IT'S A PORTAL TO THE NINE HELLS!!!!!!!!!!_

 BURN DOWN THE TOWN!!!!!!!!!


----------



## arwink

“Chat” is quickly translated as “Watch” when the Copperheads arrive at the forge.  The exterior of the building is streaked with dust, the wooden shutters over the windows latched down and the door locked.

“It looks unused,” Amarin points out needlessly.
“Normal, too,” Yip says with a shrug. 

Amarin’s psi-crystal is hoisted onto the rooftop of a nearby house and kept in a position to watch the doorway.
“That thing will let us know when something happens?” Geoffrey says.  He doesn’t sound confident in the plan.
“It’ll do it,” Amarin assures him.  “Assuming that I’m close enough to hear it.”
“How close do you need to be?”
“About a mile,” Amarin explains.  “We should be fine as long as we don’t leave the city.”
“You sure it see something?” Blarth asks, poking the crystal.  “It not have eyes.”
“Boss, you should see the grime under his fingernails,” the crystals voice says, reverberating in Amarin’s head.  Amarin smiles to himself and nods.  
“The crystal is observant by nature,” he explains.  “It holds the part of me that is purely interested in seeing things, a fragment of my personality unobstructed by other emotions and thoughts.  If there’s something to be noticed, it’ll notice it.”
Everyone decides to take Amarin at his word and falls back.  Blarth and Amarin huddle around the table in the guest lodge, Amarin focusing on his crystals communications.  Geoffrey and Yip hit the streets, getting ready to question witnesses to the murder and find out anything they can by Bjorn’s smithy.

Hours pass.  

It’s the first time Amarin has ever had to focus entirely on his crystals communication with him, listening to every word it thinks, and it proves to be an interesting experience.  

“…Hey boss, check out that cloud, it looks weird, and that bug jumping across the guttering is all striped, and they really should be more careful when they build their chimneys here, I mean check out those cracks in the metal, you’d think they’d make it out of crystals like they do back home, and that guy walking past has a really big nose, and those two look like they’re in love, and that guy with the shovel is covered in soot, and there’s something shadowy lurking behind the chimney…”

Amarin sighs audibly, doing his best to keep the sound out of his thoughts.  The crystals constant monologue on the state of the world was something he thought he was used to, a subconscious buzz that he only registers when it notices something important, like interesting runes or…ah…wait…

“Did you say there was something hiding behind the chimney?” Amarin thinks to the crystal.  It lets out a gleeful mental nod, and shows Amarin the image of something small and lean hiding behind the metal construction.

“Blarth,” Amarin says cautiously, “Something’s watching the crystal.”
“Crystal pretty,” Blarth says blandly.  His head is resting on the table, boredom writ upon his features.  “Blarth see it on roof, Blarth watch it too.  Blarth bored.”
“This is something that’s hiding, on the roof, watching the thing we’ve left to watch the potential smith of evil,” Amarin says cautiously.  “I can give you the power to climb like a spider, do you think you can make it across town and rescue the crystal before whatever is watching it decides it might be worth making off with?”

Blarth perks up a little.

“Blarth can do that.”

There is a surge, and a web of ectoplasm appears on Blarth’s hands.

“I’ll meet you there,” Amarin says.  Blarth is already running through the door and crawling up onto a nearby rooftop.


----------



## Lela

Oh, irony.  Brilliant, really, Arwink.  The watcher is being watched.

 The best part is that you didn't shove it in our faces, as many a lesser author would.

 But back to the sticky Blarth.


----------



## arwink

“It’s moving, Boss,” Amarin hears in his head.  

He wheezes as he sprints after Blarth, his lungs working furiously as he tries to reach the building opposite the smithy.  He dimly remembers his brother once showing him a trick with his own psi-crystal, teaching it to grow ectoplasmic legs and scamper around the room.  Amarin curses himself for not having mastered the knack of doing it with his own yet.

“Wow, the half-orc guy is moving fast,” the crystal sends.  “He’s on the wall, crawling like a spider, on the roof.  The swords out – you know it’s empowered, don’t you boss?  And…hey, where’d the shadow go.”

Amarin slumps against the wall of the smithy, watching Blarth as the half-orc prowls across the rooftop with sword drawn.  The building shakes a little as Blarth moves along, the wooden frame barely holding up to the weight of an armoured warrior.

“Nothing here,” Blarth calls out.  “Crystal safe.”
“There was something there,” Amarin insists.  He pictures the image sent him in his mind, trying to pick out new details.  “It almost looked like Yip.  About the same size, anyway.  I wonder if Geoffrey sent Yip as a second watch.”

“Geoffrey didn’t.”

Geoffrey’s voice echoes from a nearby alleyway.  He steps into the light with Yip at his side.  His scowl is far from pleased.
“Why exactly is Blarth on the roof when we’re trying to discretely watch over the forge?” he asks.

“There was something up there, watching the crystal,” Amarin says.  “Maybe the door, but the crystal definitely thought it was watching him.  I thought it was important to make sure the crystal was safe.”
“And you’ve done it so discretely,” Geoffrey says with understated calmness.  “Didn’t occur to you that rushing in here with swords drawn would give a watcher plenty of time to run?”

Amarin thinks about that for a few seconds.

“Um, no, it didn’t.”

Geoffrey rolls his eyes and looks down the street.  Already the townsfolk are starting to gather, watching the argument and waiting for Blarth to fall through the roof he’s walking on.  Stealth wasn’t much of an option anymore.

“Blarth, get the crystal and get down here,” he orders.  “Yip and I picked up a few things about the Smith.  Seems its being run by Bjorn’s apprentice, and even then it’s barely opened.  The kids got the skills necessary, but he couldn’t do work like Bjorn’s so things are going bad.  One-eyes men had commissioned swords off Bjorn, but ended up with this kids work instead when it became apparent Bjorn wasn’t coming back.  From the sounds of it, the apprentice is in pretty bad shape – the mercenaries may not have been responsible for killing people outright, but they had no problems roughing up a kid because they weren’t pleased with the deal.”

“So what do that mean?” Blarth asks.

“It means we break in and look around,” Geoffrey orders.  “Yip, get the window and slip inside – quietly and without drawing attention to yourself.  Wait until the crowd gets bored, then let us in.  We may as well look around before anyone shows up – it’s not like they aren’t going to know where here.”

Everyone nods in agreement, slowly getting off the main street and scouting the outside of the forge.  It’s a fairly sizable building as Bor goes, thick wood on three sides with a stone wall for the fireplace and forge.  Yip has no trouble lifting the latches on the window and quickly slips inside.  Everyone waits a few seconds before they hear the sound of something twisting in the door-lock, and a minute later it swings open.

“In,” Yip announces from the doorway.  

“Spread out, search the place,” Geoffrey orders.  “If there’s something in here, I want it found.”

The room doesn’t have much by way of hiding places – several weapon racks with scattered blades cover most of the walls, while the anvil, forge and fireplace take up much of the remaining space.   Geoffrey watches as the group spreads through the room, poking and prodding in search of secret locations or hidden alcoves where secrets could be kept.  There doesn’t seem to be much success.

“Nothing?” Geoffrey asks.  Everyone shakes their head.

“Uh, Boss?” Amarin’s psi-crystal interjects, forcing its words into the psion's head.  “There’s something you might want to get the guy with the spiky armour to check.”
“What?” Amarin asks.  Everyone turns towards him.
“Down in the forge,” the Psi-crystal explains.  “There’s something weird about the ash.”
“What about what?” Geoffrey asks, privy to only half the conversation.
“The crystal says there’s something odd about the forge,” Amarin explains.  

He walks over and looks into the huge stone fireplace, trying to spot what his crystal has already noticed.  It takes a few seconds, but eventually he sees it too – a slightly regular disturbance in the ash and soot that could represent a groove in the surface of the fireplace.  Amarin digs a rag out of his pack and quickly wipes at the soot, gradually revealing a strange symbol carved into the stone that makes the hearth of the forges fireplace.

“I think this could be something,” Amarin announces.  Geoffrey looks over his shoulder.

“It’s Gauntian,” he says simply.  “I don’t know which cult, but the design is close enough.”
Yip and Blarth both crowd in to have a look, examining the twisting design.

“Stone move,” Yip says suddenly.  He skips from foot to foot, suddenly excited.
“What?”
“Stone move,” Yip says, pointing at the edges.  “Not connected to walls.  Chimney have mortar holding together, bottom stone doesn’t.  Very heavy, but it move.”

The kobold pulls a pair of tools from a nearby rack and holds them forth.  Both are thick, hooked rods of black steel.  Yip gestures to two holes near the edge of the stone.

“Use this, lift stone.  Maybe something underneath,” he says simply.

Geoffrey looks at the marked stone, covered by a thin layer of ash.  It’s easily three feet wide, lord knows how thick.  Probably beyond the ability of most people to move easily.  The kobold’s plan makes sense.

“Blarth, it’s yours,” Geoffrey announces.  “Think you can lift it?”

Blarth just gives a hideous grin and cracks his knuckles.  He slides the metal rods into place and starts to heave, trying to lift the stone upwards.  It’s heavy and tightly wedged into the stone, harder to move than the half-orc expected.  Blarth closes his eyes and strains against the stone, heaving with all his strength.  Breath seeps through gritted teeth in a heavy hiss, and he can hear his companions saying something but the strain of lifting drains everything else out.

Then the sensation of being hit breaks Blarth’s concentration, and he opens his eyes to see a four-foot tall creature made of stone and steel where the stone was laying, an elemental shape with three-foot sword-blades where hands should be.  Blarth watches one of the hand-blades rearing back, ready to lash out.  He drops his shield into place, ready to deflect the incoming blow, and looks for the second hand.

It’s then that he realises the creature has skewered him neatly through the stomach…


----------



## GreyShadow

Blarth have tummy ache.


----------



## arwink

For those of you wanting a slightly clearer picture of Bor, I've recently posted a map and rough outline on my website (link in sig).  It includes two sites of interest that don't yet have a place at the time of the storyhour (It's done with an eye to campaign time, which is still twelve sessions and nine months ahead of the storyhour), but apart from that is fairly accurate.


----------



## Lela

See, this is why people need to watch Blarth eat.  He sometimes gets a little confused.


----------



## Dungannon

arwink said:
			
		

> (It's done with an eye to campaign time, which is still twelve sessions and nine months ahead of the storyhour)



I suggest you get to writing, then.


----------



## arwink

Yip is moving before Blarth has slid off the elementals blade, tumbling beneath the second flailing sword-limb and hammering the stony hide with a flurry of blows.  Pain darts through his paws as he makes contact with the granite surface, but he’s rewarded with a few flaking chips of stone flying free.  The creature swings wildly at Yip, catching the kobold with a glancing blow.  The other arm pulls itself free from Blarth's innards and swings high, the sharp edge whistling towards Blarth's head. The half-orc stumbles backwards, sword-hand clutching at his stomach, but his shield arm still moves with a swiftness born of instinct and keeps the elementals blade-limb at bay.  Blarth can hear Geoffrey chanting, and then feels someone catching him as he stumbles backwards.  A warm glow fills his body, and the rasping pain in his guts starts to fade a little.

“Amarin, Yip, it’s all yours,” Geoffrey orders.  “I’m trying to keep Blarth alive.”
It proves a pointless request.  Blarth is partially healed, and that’s all the half-orc needs to return to the fray.  
“Blarth not happy,” the half-orc announces.  He draws Luckringer and steps back towards the elemental.  Drops of blood drain out of the wound in his stomach, but at least they're not being followed by intestines.
“Puny rock.”
His overhand strike shatters a large portion of the stone creatures chest and shoulder.  

“Or we can just hit it,” Geoffrey shrugs, his voice laden with resignation.  

Blarth and Yip both circle the creature, looking for a place to strike.  Yip finds one quickly, his paws beating against the stone but doing little damage.  The stone-blades lash out once more, sending Yip reeling and slicing open Blarth’s freshly healed wounds.  Beside him, Geoffrey notices Amarin is concentrating and forming some kind of ectoplasmic construct, but it’s still half-formed and unlikely to ready in time to save Yip or Blarth.  

Geoffrey readies his mace and recites the litany of duty and law, his holy symbol starting to glow blue against his breast.  He steps forward as the chant reaches its crescendo, the blow glow creeping along his arm and surrounding his weapon.

“In the name of St Cuthbert, prepare to be destroyed!” Geoffrey shouts as he lashes out.  His mace catches the elemental creature solidly, the blue destructive energy he’s channelling from his god slowly infusing the elementals body.  Everyone one watches the blue lines forming through the body, hairline cracks that spread within the space of a few seconds, and then the creature crumbles into a pile of rubble.  Geoffrey slumps slightly, sluggishly stumbling over to Blarth to administer more healing magic.  Yip makes do with a potion and some long swigs from his hip flask.

“Yip not like forge,” he mutters.  “Stupid rock.  Silly weapons.  Bad smith.”

“W-w-w-what are y-y-y-you doing here,” a nervous voice demands.  Everyone turns towards the doorway, where a young man stands with a look of absolute terror on his face.  He wears a scorched leather apron, and his skin is a patchwork of light burns and bruises.

“Who are you?” Geoffrey demands.  He pulls himself to his full height, the subtle menace of his spiked armour and military bearing all it takes to terrify the intruder even more.

“I-I-I-I’m M-m-m-m-malden,” the stranger announces.  “I’m the w-w-w-w-weaponsmith.”
“Evil more nervous than Yip remember,” Yip mutters.


----------



## Capellan

arwink said:
			
		

> the *subtle* menace of his spiked armour and military bearing




 


Yeah, that's Geoffrey.  'Subtlety' personified


----------



## arwink

Capellan said:
			
		

> Yeah, that's Geoffrey.  'Subtlety' personified




What, your the only one alowed to use irony in storyhour updates?


----------



## arwink

“Right,” Geoffrey announces.  “You’re coming to talk with me.  Amarin, Yip, you two figure out what that thing was guarding.  Blarth, watch the door and make sure we aren’t disturbed.”

Malden pales visibly as Geoffrey issues orders, scratching nervously at the back of his hand.

“W-w-what are we t-t-t-talking about?” he asks, shaking with fear as Geoffrey strides over to him.
“Murder,” Geoffrey says simply.  “And three men who claim they don’t remember doing it.”
“Mm-m-m-murder?” Malden squeaks.
“Oh, this is going to take forever,” Geoffrey says bitterly.  He reaches for his holy symbol and mutters a command word, filling the area with the pale aura of absolute law and honesty.
“Do you know what this is?” Geoffrey asks, holding up the glowing holy symbol.
“N-n-n-no.”
“It’s the mark of a Justicar, and its magic demands honesty from all who speak in its presence.”
Geoffrey pauses, leaning closer to the frightened smith.
“Don’t attempt to lie,” he orders.
“I w-w-w-won’t.”
“You were the apprentice of Bjorn Harnotha?” 
“Yes.” Malden frowns, his expression suddenly very nervous. “Were?”
“He’s dead,” Geoffrey says simply.  “Killed while trying to betray the crown.”
“R-r-really?”
“Really.”
For a few seconds, Malden almost looks relieved.  Then he catches sight of Geoffrey’s scowling face once more.
“You look happy about that.”
“Bjorn w-w-w-wasn’t a g-g-g-good master,” Malden stammers.  “He k-k-kept secrets, didn’t t-t-teach me much.  Told m-m-m-me to stay away some days because old friends were visiting.”
“What old friends?”
“I d-d-d-don’t know,” Malden wails.  “Some old comrades, he s-s-said.  V-v-veterans from his unit in the w-w-wars.  W-w-w-we used to work for them a lot, making weapons.  H-h-he h-h-hit me if I asked anything more than that.”

Amarin appears at Geoffrey’s shoulder, his expression filled with sympathy for the frightened boy.  He reaches out to tap the cleric on the shoulder.  When Geoffrey doesn’t notice the light gesture, Amarin tries hammering on the shoulder plate with a fist.  
“What?” Geoffrey says, turning swiftly.
“Under the forge,” Amarin says.  “It might be relevant.  Gold, a box containing some reddish ore, a sword and this.”
Amarin holds out a note.  Geoffrey snatches it from his hands and reads.



> _Oleg may wish to turn the people away from the glory of our lord, but between the gnoll raids and the murderous lust the steel raises over time, we should be able to keep him off-balance.  Know that you shall be smiled upon on the afterlife for your service, and your place among the battle-throngs is ensured for your loyalty.  While Oleg and our countrymen go weak, we are the ready blades that holds firm against the wilds.
> 
> The next meeting with the Gnoll Chieftain is set for two months time.  Take them another dozen axes, and a selection of arrowheads.  Oleg has started talking of forming an alliance with the dwarves, so it’s imperative the gnolls well armed.  I have included details of the route they will take. Make sure the beastmen know their eventual fate if any of these diplomats get through.  That should do the job.  You might want to suggest their heads be staked just outside the nearest township, to deliver a message to our “puny Human leader.”
> 
> Use the blood-steel to forge weapons of quality; Dirazz will give you the payment for them.  I don’t care what you forge, but be sure to sell them into the community slowly.  Target One-eyes men and guardsmen if you can, that should cause the most havoc.  If any of the damned Law-Priests Oleg talks of arrive, feel free to include them among the number.  Sell to them at a loss, if you must.  I will repay you for your losses.
> 
> S._





“Damn,” Geoffrey says.
“Something bad?” Blarth asks.
“Bloodsteel,” Geoffrey explains.  “It’s a guantian ore, alchemically cursed.  Slowly causes the person using it to fall into a rage.”
He turns and stares at Malden, still cowering against one wall.
“Do you know which weapons he made with this?”

Malden shakes.
“N-n-n-no,” he squeaks.  “B-b-but we could check the ledger.”
“People forging cursed weapons tend not to keep records about it,” Geoffrey sighs.
“B-b-b-Bjorn would,” Malden explains.  “M-m-m-military training, a-a-a-and he marked some blades and t-t-told me not to sell them unless he was t-t-t-there.  I g-g-g-g-guess they’re probably the ones he u-u-u-used the b-b-b-b-”
“So most of them are still here?” Geoffrey asks, cutting into Malden’s stutter..
“N-n-n-no,” Malden says, his expression crestfallen.  “W-w-w-without Bjorn here, I h-h-had to sell old stock.  I d-d-don’t work f-f-fast enough to make a living, and it’s been m-m-m-months.”
“Damn it,” Geoffrey swears.  “Grab me the blades you’ve got left, the ledger and anything that was in that forge.  We have to go see Cammar.”
“We help the king?” Blarth asks.  “Stop mercenaries dying?”
“It should do it,” Geoffrey says.  “But the bad news is that there’s more of those swords out there, waiting for the owners to use them.”

Everyone rushes around the store, following the stuttering directions of Malden as he reads from the ledger.  When everything is ready, Geoffrey shackles the smith with the power of his holy symbol and starts marching him towards the St Cuthberitte headquarters.  As soon as he’s sure the frightened smith wont try to run, Geoffrey drops back beside Amarin.

“By the way,” he asks, trying to be descreet.  “Exactly how much money did he have hidden with the ore?”


----------



## The Padre

arwink said:
			
		

> “By the way,” he asks, trying to be descreet.  “Exactly how much money did he have hidden with the ore?”





Damn I like Geoffrey   

Dave
aka Geoffrey


----------



## the Jester

Was that a stone spike??


----------



## arwink

the Jester said:
			
		

> Was that a stone spike??




Close enough to that it barely matters.  I was looking for something nasty to use on a trapped forge, and the image of an elemental with sword-blades for arms came to mind.  From there I searched old dragon mags for the sword-spikes stats, gave it a better crit range (wave to Blarth everyone), and the ability to merge with stone so it could hide in the forge-stone. 

This was the 8th session since we'd started the campaign, and it was starting to click that for the first time just picking some of the more obscure creatures in the monster manual wasn't going to be enough to catch the players off guard.  It's mostly Capellan's fault, and naturally the first adventure where I make a point of working around this is the one where he's absent 

It does bring to mind one of the real lessons I've picked up from this campaign: You never know how lazy you are as a DM until another DM joins your group.


----------



## arwink

“So you’ve arrested him for selling cursed weapons he didn’t know were cursed?” Amarin asks.  “Isn’t that a little…unfair?”

Geoffrey grits his teeth, pulling his cloak closer to fend off the incessant questions as much as the crisp cold of the afternoon wind.  Amarin’s horse keeps pace, the young psion looking worse for wear after three days of hard riding, but the discomfort isn’t enough to keep him from badgering Geoffrey with questions.

“The boy will be let go,” Geoffrey explains, “If and when High Justicar Cammar decides his role in this affair was entirely innocent.”
“Okay,” Amarin says.  “And whose checking to make sure Cammar is right?”
“Cammar is the High Justicar,” Geoffrey explains.  “His voice is the voice of St Cuthbert in these lands.”
“It’s not his voice that worries me,” Amarin says.  “I don't like the way he thinks.  I just think someone whose the voice of god should be a little more compassionate.”

Geoffrey sighs and tries not to listen, his training telling him that compassion is a luxury he cannot afford, but he begins to wonder if he believes that with quite the same force that he once did.  Three days on the trail of a merchant named Teag, tracking the four swords that Malden sold off that could possibly bear the taint of Guantian alchemy.  Amarin badgering him about the mission the entire way, Yip warming himself with quiet nips of alcohol and Blarth cheerfully singing as he urges an overburdened warhorse forward.  He enjoyed it more than he thought he would, the constant travelling and need – it felt right in some way, as though the constant battle was forging him into the kind of cleric he should have been when he first converted, but it also led to some decidedly unusual thoughts when it came to duty and the righteous path of the Justicars.

Maybe, Geoffrey ponders, there is something to what…

“Fight,” Yip says suddenly.  

Everyone reigns in their horses, ears straining to catch what the alert monk had already detected.  After a few seconds, they hear it to – the sound of metal against metal, men screaming, horses whinnying in terror.  It’s distant, probably a little over a mile away, but it’s there.

“Ride,” Geoffrey orders.  “They could need help.”

He kicks the flanks of his horse, urging it forward.  Blarth does the same, although his stallion moves slightly sluggishly with the weight, and Yip dances across the snowdrifts that line the road with the enchanted snowshoes taken from Bjorn Harnotha.  Only Amarin hesitates for a second, a troubled expression coming across the youth’s face.  An internal war goes on inside the young psion, conscience battling with fear.  For all his desire to help whoever may be under attack, Amarin is keenly aware how unprepared he is for fighting creatures in the wild.  Even the crossbow and morning star the group picked up for him in Bor isn’t enough to give him confidence if he's involved in an armed battle.

The internal struggle takes a few seconds before his conscience wins, and he tries his best to urge the horse forward.  It takes a few clumsy kicks to get it to move, but his mare has less to carry than the others, and eventually he catches up with the speeding forms as they head towards the sounds of melee.  

The caravan they find at the end of their gallop is truly in need of aid.  As they round the edge of a hill and spot the row of wagons, the group can already make out the fallen forms of a dozen warriors scattered around the halted vehicles.  There appears to be only two survivors, both of them taking refuge atop one of the wagons while enormous, catlike creatures stab at them with spears twice as long as a man.  The survivors, such as they are, are visibly wounded and struggling to hold off the beasts, and there are few cat-like corpses among the scattered dead.

Everyone drops from the saddle, sure that their lack of experience in fighting from the saddle will work against them here.  That cat creatures have size and reach, but any advantage of height from given by their mounts would be undone by the horses lack of experience with combat.  

Yip barely pauses to allow his comrades to keep up, sprinting across the snow-covered ground.  He reaches the first beast in the space of a few heartbeats, getting his first look at the tawny hair and the foot-long teeth hanging from the creature’s mouth.  The creature whirls to face him, looming over him at three times the kobolds height.  Yip just gives a bloodthirsty smile and jumps, twisting his lithe body in a wide arc and lashing out with one of his foot-paws.  His kick connects with the creatures face, drawing a mouthful of blood and staggering it.

To his own surprise, Amarin finds himself hot on the kobold’s heels.  He fumbles with a bolt for his crossbow, trying to remember how to load it and barely managing while running.  He knows he has little chance of actually hitting one of the creatures with it, but perhaps…

*…Amarin finds himself standing in a vast artic wasteland, ice and snow as far as the eye can see.  Despite the frigid appearance, he doesn’t feel uncomfortable here, quite the opposite.  He hears a snarl behind him, whirls to see a great sabre-tooth cat standing but thirty feet away from him.  The creature is huge, nearly three men high at the shoulder, but its eyes glow with a dangerously intelligent light as it ponders him.  Amarin is momentarily taken aback, he momentarily wonders how long its been since he was in a mindscape, then he finds himself wrapped in heavy layers of armour and wielding a huge sword.  The cat lunges at him, but Amarin merely gestures and hammers it back with a thought…*

…he looks at his opponents, searching out the psion among the giant cat-folk.  He finds it in the leader, seeing the masked cat-man’s brief tremble of fear when he spots Amarin looking at him.  Amarin stops running, mentally forming an image of a cat-like construct appearing in the air before him.  The cat-folk leader reaches out with his mind, hoping to cloud Amarin’s awareness of his surroundings with a _daze_, but its mental force isn’t enough to overcome Amarin’s defences.  

The other three attackers are clustered around Yip, their great size making it difficult for them to lay a hand on the swift kobold.  Spears and long talons lash out as Yip’s dancing form, but only one light scratch sneaks past his defences before Blarth and Geoffrey thunder into the combat.  Both arrive like rolling engines of destruction, spiked armour gleaming as their weapon-arms swing through the defences of the sabre-toothed catmen.  Blarth staggers one of the beasts almost immediately, while Geoffrey follows up on the target of Yip’s initial assault.  Yip uses the distraction caused by Geoffrey’s arrival to slip behind the creature, flanking it and hammering it with a series of rapid punches that target pressure points and vital parts.  The cat-creature howls in pain, a line of blood running from its nose and a wheeze coming from its lungs.  

There is a soft pop as the astral construct appears, still resembling a winged kobold.  It flutters back and forth around Amarin, a bodyguard as he loads his crossbow and …

*… Blarth suddenly manifests on the mindscape, a giant warrior with the physic of an ogre and carrying a glowing sword longer than most lances.  Together Amarin and Blarth run towards the cowed spirit of the cat-creature psion, mentally picking apart its defences until its instincts are laid bare.  Both are suddenly aware of its plans to attack, can read some of its movements as easily as it thinks it, and they draw back and circle in preparation for another assault…*

…Amarin fires his bolt, coming within a hairs breadth of catching the enemy psion.  He curses to himself, especially when the masked cat folk sprints the seventy feet between them and launches itself at Amarin with a vicious pounce.  The construct lashes out with its tiny paws, but they barely seem to bruise the creature’s hide.  Claws slice through Amarin’s cloak, but his momentary glimpse of the creature’s intent gives him just enough warning to roll out of the way of a fatal strike.  Even so, he finds himself badly wounded by the sharp clews of the beast.

The other three creatures close on his comrades, all of them opening wounds, but they take heavy damage as a result.  Blarth continues his assault on his first target despite a vicious rake across his arm, lopping the cat-creatures head from its shoulders.  The blow follows through to send a second assailant reeling, just in time for Geoffrey to bludgeon it in the ribs with his mace.  Yip circles wide, launching a spinning kick that catches both remaining cat-creatures off-guard.  One of them falls to the attack, the other stumbling back in the snow after being clipped by the follow through.  Everyone in the close melee can hear the panicked sound of combat occurring between Amarin, the construct and the cat-folk leader, Amarin feebly batting at it with his weak limbs and morning star…

*…even as his form in the mindscape hammers the creature brutally.  Amarin’s mental avatar fights with a singular purpose, a singular goal – break his opponents defences often enough that he can keep himself safe from the cat-creatures physical blows…*

…and it seems to work.  His flailing opens a shallow gash on the creature’s arms, but luck and mental victory manages to keep Amarin out of harms way as the sabre-toothed warrior slashes away with tooth and claw.  One great arm lashes out towards the construct, destroying it with a rending hiss like air seeping out of a balloon.

Geoffrey looks towards the psion, painfully aware that there’s an angry giant of a cat-creature between him and the one-sided melee.  Yip and Blarth have both taken positions on the far side of their current opponent, closer to the melee.

“Someone go help him,” Geoffrey orders, striking out at a cat-warrior.  He catches the creature on the arm, distracting it just long enough for Blarth to finish it off.  The half-orc spins, ready to run and take out the psionic cat-man, but he’s sure that Amarin cannot last the few seconds he’d need to cover the distance in his armour.  

Yip runs, the snow kicking up in a series of small flurries as his shoes hit the ground.  A dog-like snarl starts deep in his throat as he sees the giant creature preparing to strike Amarin down with a long-spear, its masked features twisting as it hissess dangerously.  Yip can see Amarin’s pale face looking at the spear-tip in something approaching terror, and knows that there’s no chance for the psion to avoid the blow.  His growl rising into a snarl, the kobold monk launches himself feet-first at the triumphant cat-creature.  The air whistles past Yip’s ears for a split second before he feels himself impacting against something fleshy and resilient, a sharp crack filling the air.  He twists as he falls, landing on all fours with his eyes locked on the form of the cat-creature before him.  

It takes him a moment to realise that the cat-creature is lying on the ground, twitching slightly, and that Amarin is staring at the fallen form in something that approaches shock.  Geoffrey runs up behind, his armour creaking softly with the movement, and the cleric hurriedly dispenses healing to everyone in the small group.

“Ah…Hello?” An uncertain voice calls from the caravan.  “Good morning?  My names Teag, and I owe you a debt of thanks.”


----------



## Mathew_Freeman

Excellent write up with the mental/physical combat mixed up like that. Very good work! 

Funny, I'd kind of forgotten Blarth's Psychic Warriorness. I tend to think of him more as a straight fighter.


----------



## arwink

This is only just starting to hit the point where Blarth's psychic warriorness is an issue.  Everyone is hovering around 4th to 5th level here, which means the sole powers Blarth has at his command are Biofeedback and Hustle.  Biofeedback was getting a lot of use, from memory, but I always forget to include it in the write ups 

These days Blarth is more noticably psychic.  He tends to stack a power called Construct Toughness (immunity to crits) on top of his Bio-feebacks, and he's more than willing to use psionically empowered strikes against opponents when he needs to.  Between his natural strenght, defensive items and powers, he's a challenge to hurt in most combat.

Sidenote: For those wondering about the wealth of daily updates, especially when I have that annoying habit of neglecting the hour for weeks at a time, there is a reason  

My current plan is to get the updates through to the end of session nine by Monday next week, largely due to the fact that session 9 was somewhat dire (in the "bad game" sense rather than the "giant animal" sense) and will likely be covered by three short posts.  

After that, I get to start updating session ten, and that's when things really go to hell for the party


----------



## Mathew_Freeman

*rubs hand in a Mr Burns style fashion*

Excellent!


----------



## Lela

Tallarn said:
			
		

> Funny, I'd kind of forgotten Blarth's Psychic Warriorness. I tend to think of him more as a straight fighter.



 Yeah, I do that all the time.  Sometimes I swear he's raging too.  It drives me nuts.

 But this time it really came forward.  I think I'd like to see more of that.  It'd be great fleshed out.


----------



## arwink

Among his other talents, the merchant Teag proves to be a fair cook and eager to help after he’s rescued.  After the dead bodies are cleared away, many of them loaded onto a wagon so they can be returned to the Steading for burial, he offers everyone lunch while they explain why they were searching for him.  The danger of the swords is quickly explained, and the tall Reldanner looks concerned.

“Five days to late, I’m afraid,” he says sadly.  “Sold all four of them on my way through to the Steading.  One of them’s with a farmer out near Vallar, but the other three where only taken off my hands a day back.  Two of them to a pair of elven twins, part of an adventuring band looking to go hunting goblin ears for Ulgar’s reward.  The last one’s with Tak, the captain over at Heldar’s Stand.  He was at Ulgar’s for some reason, didn’t think to ask why.”

“We should get moving then,” Geoffrey says, polishing off the last of some stew with a crust of bread.  “If three of them are only a day away, we might be able to get there before anything goes wrong.”

“True enough,” Teag agrees, “But whose going to stop that farmer?”
“Blarth will go,” Blarth announces.  “Take horse, have best chance of surviving on own.”
“Agreed,” Geoffrey says. 
“Well the, before you go,” Teag says, digging through the back of his wagons.  He emerges with several small sacks, distributing among the party.

“What’s this?” Geoffrey asks.  
“Gold,” Teag says simply.  “Probably about five hundred or so each.  About two-thirds of my profits for the last run.  Figure you’ve got as much claim to it as I have, what with me probably being dead if you didn’t come along and half the swords I sold being cursed an all.  Do as much as you can to help the victims with one of the pouches, and keep the rest.”
Geoffrey looks at the coin-purse, slightly stunned.  
“Thank you,” he says as he recovers his speech.  “That’s very generous of you.”
“It’s slightly scheming of me too,” Teag announces with a wry smile.  “I figure if I offer you a reward, it may make you a mite more inclined to helping me get these wagons back to the Steading by nightfall.”

It works.  As soon as the lunch dishes are stowed, everyone takes up a position on a wagon and turns them around to make the journey back.

In any other realm of the Empire, Ulgar Steading would be little more than a military outpost, but after weeks in Bor it’s tall wooden palisades and hilltop keep are an imposing site.  The wide range of defences pointing towards the Frost-stone Hills are a constant reminder of its purpose – holding back the goblin natives that infest this corner of Bor and ensuring they don’t swarm over the smaller communities to the south.  There are few people in the small township that don’t have something to do with the military, and there are mercenaries and adventuring parties aplenty infesting the small inns tucked against the town walls, all eager to earn the bounty on goblin ears paid by Lord Heiron Ulgar.  The small town square is bustling with movement – men and women alike wandering around armed as merchants hawk their wares from the backs of wagons.

“You three meet me at the Severed Ear,” Teag suggests, pointing to an inn across the square.  “I’ll have a word with some of the locals and see if I can find out something about our elves.”

Everyone does as Teag wishes, stowing his wagons and heading for the taproom where they can pass the time.  It’s a bustling place, filled to the rafters with blond, broad-shouldered Reldanners and the dark-skinned Thorbeck dwarves.  The group starts sidling its way through the crowd towards the bar, when Amarin’s crystal spots the familiar face of Halgo among the crowd.  He’s sequestered at a quiet table with a tall human, a Seldarni soldier from his appearance.  In no time the group has gathered together and related the tales of their adventures, and Halgo does his best to explain what he’s done in his absence from the group.

“The king had me here easing the agreement between the steading and the dwarves,” Halgo says.  “The human merchants are going to take a hit with all the dwarves providing weapons for the place, and we needed to convince the Thorbeck delegates of how important this place is.  Brind here was one of the guards for the delegation.  He’s handy with a sword, and not unintelligent when it comes to conversation, so he helped me fill in time.  Regardless of what the king thinks, my jobs mostly waiting around for people to talk.”

“How much longer will the agreement take?” Geoffrey asks.  “We could use your help in the near future.”
“I think we can safely say I’m no longer needed,” Halgo announces.  “And if we’re after a spare blade, we can probably convince Brind to come along.  There isn’t much to do here if the goblins aren’t attacking.”


----------



## Lela

WOOT!!!!

 *Happy Dance*

 Yay, Halgo!


----------



## Mantreus

arwink said:
			
		

> “And if we’re after a spare blade, we can probably convince Brind to come along.  There isn’t much to do here if the goblins aren’t attacking.”



Hey! That's me!


----------



## arwink

Teag arrives back at the tavern after a few hours, a grave look on his face.
“We’re too late,” he says.  “Tak and the elves are already gone.  I’ve sent a messenger after Tak, warning him to keep the sword out of sight and not use it, but the elven twins were part of an adventuring group who went after the Goblin King.”

“Goblin King?” Geoffrey asks.  “I didn’t think they were that organised?”
“They’re not,” Halgo explains, “but there’s a tribe out there full of berserkers, and they tend to brow-beat the other tribes in line.  Their leader has been terrorising these parts for years, his wolf-riders running down travellers.  Heiron’s come face to face with him twice and not managed to kill him, and Heiron Ulgar is probably the best warrior around these parts.  All he’s gotten for the effort is a scar the length of a sword-blade across his stomach.”

“People started calling him the Goblin King cause he doesn’t die,” Teag finishes.  “Lords it over the other tribes like he’s a king, even if he doesn’t wield any real power over the masses of them.  What I don’t understand is why a group of adventurers was willing to go out after them.”
“The tribes been robbing graves lately,” Halgo says.  “Hitting the cairns just outside town.  Picked through the corpses of some fairly important people, including Ulgar’s father, and taken a fair amount of weapons and armour.  People have gotten a little more nervous about the Goblin King and his tribe than they used to be.”
“So we’re heading for a graveyard?” Geoffrey asks.
“If your serious about tracking those elves,” Halgo says.  “Unless you can pick them up with your Symbol.”
“It doesn’t have the range, and I haven’t ever seen the targets.  I guess we should all get some rest while we can, it looks like we’ll be spending most of tonight awake.”



The graveyard for the steading is set in the heart of a shallow valley, the snow-covered ground littered with stone cairns that tower almost as high as a man.  The Copperheads move among the stone piles as the sun sets, searching for any signs that goblin raiders have come in recent evenings.  There are several tumbled cairns, the stones scattered across the valley floor, but no real signs of goblin tracks.

“This probably works to our advantage,” Geoffrey says, surveying the area.  “It means they’re more likely to hit the place soon.  It’ll be a cold couple of nights out here if we have to wait.”
“Not easy to see,” Geoffrey mutters, looking through the maze of stones.  “Why they not burry bodies like normal people.”
“To cold,” Brind explains.  “It’ll take to long to dig a grave while the grounds frozen, so they pile stones on top of it instead.”
“Makes it easy for them to sneak up on us,” Amarin says.  
“Or for us to ambush them,” Geoffrey says.  “We can hide among the stones and take them when they get close.  From what we heard at the Steading, they’re likely to have archers and ranged combat is not our forte.  This works to our advantage.”
“Assuming they don’t see us hiding,” Amarin mutters.
“I think I can fix that,” Halgo says.  “Minor Image can make it look like this entire place is uninhabited, even if we’re standing in the centre of it.  Wont hold up under close inspection, and we’ll have to be quiet, but it’ll work until they get close.  All we have to do is stay close to me…”

Everyone considers that for a few minutes, and since no-one has a better plan they go with it.

It’s a long wait into the Bor evening, the rapidly shortening days getting colder as darkness falls.  Everyone takes a position among the stone graves, huddling under winter cloaks and doing their best to keep their teeth from chattering.  Yip lets out the occasional whine of self-pity, his scaled body suffering in the cold no matter how many layers of clothing he wears, but everyone else bears the chilly conditions with grim determination.

A few hours after sunset their patience is rewarded, Blarth, Yip and Halgo all spotting a crude rope sliding down the side of the valley with a lean goblin warrior coming after it.  Halgo nudges Geoffrey and Amarin, letting them know that there are enemies coming in through the dark, and Geoffrey tenses with the words to a light spell on his lips.

“Give it time,” Halgo whispers, his voice little louder than an insect's buzz.  “Only one.  Wait for the signal.”

Three more goblins join the first on the floor of the valley, while two more of the creatures take covering positions with bows.  Halgo puts his hand on Geoffrey’s arm, just below the shoulder plate so it can still be felt, and waits until the last warrior is halfway down the rope before removing it with a cry of “Now.”

Geoffrey’s light spell springs into existence, casting a blue-tinged illumination over the graveyard.  The rest of the Copperheads are already moving, Yip and Brind running to engage the goblins on the valley floor while Halgo uses a colour spray to blind the archers.  Amarin’s brow is furrowed in concentration, a construct appearing in front of him, but it hardly seems necessary.  One of the archers stumbles and falls over the edge of the cliff, two of the warriors fall to the combined assault of Yip and Blarth, and the final archer is so frightened by the spell that his shot flies far wide of the combatants below.  

“We need a prisoner,” Geoffrey orders, noting the speed with which the goblins are falling.  Yip immediately complies, hammering his paw just below the ribs of a goblin, then quickly snapping a blow onto an artery that sends it into unconsciousness.  Brind wraps one hand around the goblin rope and uses it to hoist himself up the steep incline of the valley wall.  It’s a short climb, and he’s cut down the second archer within moments of reaching the top.

The fight takes less than ten seconds, and all the goblins are dead save one.  Amarin looks at the three foot construct he’s manifested, shrugs when he realises it’s unlikely to be of use, and orders it to sit on the prisoners chest while the others ready rope.

“So what do you actually do when the fighting starts?” Brind asks, slightly sarcastically.  “Stand around and look constipated?”
Amarin refuses to answer.

“Don’t bother with the rope,” Geoffrey suggests.  “I’ve got a better idea.”
He reaches for his holy symbol and uses one of its greater powers, shackling the goblins spirit to his own.

“That should do it,” Geoffrey says.  “Wake him up.”

Some of Yip’s whisky is splashed on the goblins face, jolting it back to consciousness.  Its catlike eyes dart wildly as it surveys the group that has it surrounded, a hiss seeping through its lips.  Everyone watches as it hands grope for weapons that are no longer there, the darting eyes searching for weak spots or points of escape.

No-one reacts when it spots one, darting to its feet and sprinting as fast as it can.  It makes it ten paces before it collides with an invisible barrier, bouncing backwards and skidding across the stone.  A trail of blood drips from the creatures nose, attesting to the force with which it’s collided with the limits of its movement.

“I’m betting that hurt,” Brind suggests blandly.  No-one argues with him. “Does anyone actually speak goblin?”
“Yip does,” Geoffrey says.  
“Great,” Brind grins.  “This could have been embarrassing otherwise.”
‘Shut up,” Geoffrey says.  He turns to the goblin.  “Tell it it can’t escape.”
Yip does, and the goblin stops struggling against the invisible barrier long enough to turn and glare at the cleric.
“Tell it it can’t lie either,” Geoffrey orders.  Yip does so.
“Now ask it where we can find its lair.”

The creatures face contorts, the lie caught in its throat by the magic of Geoffrey’s holy symbol.  It chokes on the words, its hand trembling when it tries to point in the wrong direction, and eventually it gives Yip directions in a broken, guttural version of the goblin tongue.

“Those the directions?” Geoffrey asks.  “All of them?”
Yip nods.
“Excellent.”

His morning star flashes out, breaking the shackling spell that keeps the goblin close.  The goblin has a half-second to revel in the fact it can move further than a few paces from the cleric before a sharp metal spike shatters its skull.


----------



## Horacio

Wow, Arwink, how are you able to do so many updates in so few time? 
You're my hero, slacker Australian Pokemon!


----------



## Lela

arwink said:
			
		

> “Those the directions?” Geoffrey asks. “All of them?”
> Yip nods.
> “Excellent.”
> 
> His morning star flashes out, breaking the shackling spell that keeps the goblin close. The goblin has a half-second to revel in the fact it can move further than a few paces from the cleric before a sharp metal spike shatters its skull.



Heh, gotta love Geoffrey.


----------



## Dungannon

I'm betting that Arwink is writing updates as a way to avoid his markings.   Not that I'm blaming him, or complaining.


----------



## arwink

Dungannon said:
			
		

> I'm betting that Arwink is writing updates as a way to avoid his markings.   Not that I'm blaming him, or complaining.




Nope, no marking at the moment.  Heck, no teaching at the moment, hence the free time.

It all starts to go downhill once more at the beginning of March though...


----------



## arwink

It takes the better part of the evening to follow the goblins directions, and it’s ludicrously easy to ambush the lairs guard in the dim light of morning.  The creatures have taken refuge in a natural cave formation, barely bothering to tunnel through the stone or shape the rooms to make it more comfortable.  Although the lair is cramped and sized for goblins, the taller copperheads manage to make it through most of the tunnels with a great deal of cursing and scraping of steel.  Occasionally they meet pockets of resistance, small alcoves in the tunnels where goblin warriors have clustered together, but while the height of the caverns are to the goblins advantage both Brind and Yip are born for close-quarter combats.  They mow through resistance with a minimum of fuss, even when the cramped conditions reduce them to clumsy strikes or daggers.

From time to time the tunnels turn into narrow crawl spaces, large enough for Goblins or Yip to crawl through, but a tight squeeze for everyone else.  Geoffrey and Brind are both forced to take off their armour in order to advance, the metal spikes forged by the Thorbeck dwarves to bulky for such cramped conditions, but after sending Yip through to scout it’s quickly determined that there is little resistance on the far side of the crawl ways.

“These goblins are either very overconfident, unbelievably savage or entirely stupid,” Halgo complains after they pass through the third crawl way without meeting resistance.  “They find one of the more defensible natural cave formations that I’ve seen, and proceed to put guards posts and living quarters on the wrong side time after time.  I wonder if it ever occurred to them that attackers tend to come inwards, rather than starting at the centre and working out.”

“Most of them are wearing bad leather and wielding clubs,” Brind points out.  “I think savage could be on the mark.  Their fighting style certainly doesn’t have much sophistication.  Charge in, fight on pure rage, hope you win.  Doesn’t exactly have a long life-expectancy.”

“And they all do it,” Halgo marvels.  “I wonder how this tribe survives?”

His musings are broken up by another room of goblins, all screaming and chanting unintelligible war-cries for the fifteen seconds it takes for them to be cut down.  

After a few hours of exploring, the group finds a crude rope bridge suspended over deep crevice in a long, wide cavern.  They can hear the sounds of chanting from the far side, echoing off the cavern walls, and everyone is dubious as Yip tests the bridge.

“Not strong,” the kobold reports.  “Hold weight, but easy to tip.  Be careful.”

Geoffrey grumbles quietly as he takes his armour off once more.
“I hate this,” he mutters as he inches across the walkway.  His mood isn’t improved when Yip walks in front of him on his hands, the kobold monk’s balance near perfect on the swaying ropes.



> _(Authors Note: This part of the storyhour takes place on fast-forward because, quite honestly, it’s the one session of the campaign that I don’t think many of us were fond of.  It uses the module Depth’s of Rage from Dungeon 83, and is one of those adventures which is a good premise but poor execution.  What you miss in the retelling are the arduous hours of skill checks for no reason, the lack of variety in the opponents “Oh look, another room with 12 goblin barbarians,” and the palpable dislike many of the players had for the session.  It’s about this point in the game when I actually hit the fast-forward button on the module itself, and proceeded to get us to the good part.)_





There are far fewer twisting strands to the cave on the far side of the crevice, and the dim sound of goblin chanting gets louder as they crawl further through the winding tunnels.  The breath of relief when the group actually finds a sizable chamber, large enough for all of them to stand at their full height, is loud enough that it echoes off the stone walls.  Tunnels lead off in all directions, but the sound of goblin chanting is distinct from one leading to the north east.

“What are they saying?” Geoffrey asks Yip.
“We take gift of swords and spirit,” Yip translates.  “We make strong with death of enemies.”
There is a bloodthirsty scream, noticeably elvish.
“I take it we’ve found some of the people we’re looking for?” Brind asks.  No-one justifies his question with a reply.

“The way I figure it,” Halgo says, looking around the chamber, “we can either go in after them and try to ambush them while their performing the ritual, which will probably fail because the only person whose fitting through that tunnel with anything approaching stealth is Yip and he can’t take them on his own, or we can make a really, really loud noise and taunt them into coming here where we’ve got the space to fight and cast spells.  Anyone got any objections to plan B?”

No-one does.  Geoffrey looks at Yip and gives him a single order.
“Get their attention.”


----------



## Lela

Woo Hoo!  Yip gets to shine again.


----------



## Horacio

Once again, Yip rocks!


----------



## the Jester

Gotta love your Yips.


----------



## arwink

Magical enhancements are shared among the waiting Copperheads as Yip tries to think of suitable insults in goblinish that will draw the chanters attention.  Geoffrey _bulls strengths_ Brind and Yip, while Halgo readies several shields and gives the kobold a _mage armour_ to cover his own.  Amarin’s constructs start popping into existence, taking positions around the mouth of the cavern with their ectoplasmic wings fluttering furiously.

At Geoffrey’s nod, Yip takes a deep breath and lets loose with the most heinous curse he can think of.

“Urac Thela Gharg, pherag naraq lar od dearishon,” he yells in goblinish.  It doesn’t have the impact it would have had in imperial common, and certainly there’s nothing of the grating contempt that can be mustered when it’s spat in draconic, but it sounds vile none the less.  Yip readies himself, hands held in a defensive posture, sure that the horde of enemies will be responding to the curse in a matter of seconds.

They don’t.

But at least the chanting stops.

“That got their attention,” Halgo comments blandly.  “What did you tell them?”

“Their spirit weak, a betrayal to their order and their brothers,” Yip says with pride.  
“Yes, well that should do it,” Geoffrey offers.  “No way a savage group of goblins could possibly resist an insult like that.”
Unfortunately, Yip has learned something of irony since he left his monastery, even if he’s still hazy on the protocols of insulting goblins.  He glares at Geoffrey, and everyone waits for some other indication that the goblins are moving.

“We eat your bones,” a shrill voice yells back, its common broken and barely legible.  “Kill you and feast on blood.”
“Tough talk for someone at the other end of the tunnel,” Brind yells back.  “I think your scared, little goblin.  Was your father an elf, or are you just acting like one.”
“What elf?” the voice calls back, obviously confused.
“Tree-f**kers,” Brind calls.  “They soft and squishy, weak and puny.”
“Skrok not puny,” the voice screams back.

“New plan?” Geoffrey offers.

“If your not an elf, maybe you just a weak dwarf,” Brind yells.  “Cowering in stones, afraid of a fight.”

The goblinish voices on the other end of the tunnel roar in anger, and the sound of pattering feet echoes through the tunnel.

“That does it,” Geoffrey says happily.  
“I spent a few years hunting goblins back home,” Brind says with a grind.  “You pick up a few of the weak points.  Never heard of one that didn’t hate elves though – I always thought they were born that way.”


----------



## arwink

Only a short update, but I wanted to post something to cap off the weekends gaming-related activities


----------



## Lela

Brind. . .Some kind of Ranger/Rogue?


----------



## Capellan

Brind is a single-classed Fighter twinked out with the Bastard Sword.

He's also one of the few Mantreus-characters that the dice don't seem to hate.

Not that Mantreus spent the whole of the last Hextor game sucking, or anything.


----------



## Mantreus

Capellan said:
			
		

> Brind is a single-classed Fighter twinked out with the Bastard Sword.
> 
> He's also one of the few Mantreus-characters that the dice don't seem to hate.
> 
> Not that Mantreus spent the whole of the last Hextor game sucking, or anything.



Oh! Ho! Funny! I spent the entire last session of Hextor rocking... but I won't say how much because that'll give things away...

By the way, I only played the one session of Copperheads, which was a bit disappointing for me, but time commitments meant I couldn't really play all the time, and it wasn't fair on the rest on the group.

Brind was the beginnings of an experiment (for me anyway). I tend to play sneaky characters (Mantreus, Gwin Goodspeed) or outrageous characters (Gnorric, Brodnak). Brind was an experiment in a hard core, sword swinging death on legs type character  I'd actually like to play him again sometime.. he was very effective.


----------



## Graywolf-ELM

arwink said:
			
		

> “Urac Thela Gharg, pherag naraq lar od dearishon,” he yells in goblinish.
> 
> “Their spirit weak, a betrayal to their order and their brothers,” Yip says with pride.




Be careful who you have doing the insults.  He could have said "May you live in Interesting times" An old Chinese (I believe) Proverb/curse.

Still tops on my list Arwink.  I can't wait to see where this leads.


----------



## ConnorSB

Whoa! 2 days and I finally got through all 21 pages! Nice one, Arwink! I'm actually running Of Sound Mind right now, and your story gives me a bunch of ideas. I really like that your campain runs so slowly- its been like eight adventures and they are still only 5th... And I like how well you move from one adventure to another. Keep updatiting!

Connor


----------



## arwink

The goblins are upon them before anyone can comment on Brind’s observation.  There are dozens of the creatures, being led by a trio of warriors that seem to glow with mystic strength and speed.  Halgo’s vision is prepared to see magic auras, and he quickly identifies several _bull’s strengths_, an _entropic shield_  and an _aid_ effect among the attackers, in addition to the leader wielding a magic blade that blazes with power.

For a second it appears that the goblins may have numbers and magic on their side, giving them an edge over the party.  Then the goblins realise that the party has bottlenecked the tunnel that leads into the chamber, limiting the front line to but two goblins at a time.  Sword, mace and fists flash, spells are cast, and hovering constructs let loose among the first goblins to arrive, and the goblin ranks are quickly whittled to the point where the goblin leaders are forced to try and bull-rush their way into the chamber.  Blood, blades and goblin drool flies in all directions, and both side inflict grievous wounds upon one another.  

Then the sound of a distant bell or gong being struck echoes through the chamber, a sound so soft that only the keenest of ears pick it up.  Amarin pauses in the midst of ordering his constructs, his keen intellect racing as he tries to work out where the sound is coming from.  Yip simply registers it, and dismisses it as less important than the raging goblin barbarian trying to carve off his face.  Halgo squints at the goblins, vaguely concerned that this could be the manifestation of some new magical trick he doesn’t recognise.  Everyone else fights, barely giving the matter a second thought if they hear the sound at all.

Until the floor of the cavern starts shaking, knocking Copperhead and Goblin alike off their feet.  The deep wrenching noise of grinding stone can be heard all around them, and large cracks start to appear in the ceiling of the cavern as the shaking continues.  Dust trickles down from the cracks, suddenly followed by pebbles and stones as the shaking gets worse.  A stalactite  
crashes to the floor, crushing a goblin skull as it falls.

Halgo barely has the time to yell “Earthquake” before it hits in full force.  Everyone reels on the shaking floor as stone crumbles and breaks, throwing people about as if they were toys.  The ceiling collapses in places, filling the chamber with debris.  Copperhead and Goblin alike scream as they are crushed by the onslaught of stones, and only the most nimble manage to avoid being sucked into the deep cracks that form in the floor.

When it’s over, Yip is the only person who seems to have escaped harm, the nimble kobold’s training let him run and dodge despite the churning stone.  His nostrils flare as he tries to snort out the scent of stone dust, his small eyes squinted as he scampers back and forth across the rubble to find survivors.  His first discovery is a goblin, trapped under a pile of rubble and quickly dispatched by a sharp blow to the temple.  Next are Geoffrey and Brind, both men pushing their way free from heavy piles of debris that trap their arms and legs.  Halgo and Amarin require more effort, both scholar and wizard trapped deep within the rubble, and Amarin is barely breathing when he is eventually dug free.

Geoffrey takes command immediately.

“Brind, keep searching.  Take out any goblins, and recover the magic sword if it’s possible.  Yip, try and find us a way out of here.  An earthquake that bad, I’m betting its closed off a lot of the caverns, right?”
Geoffrey looks at Halgo, who nods.
“Make it fast – you haven’t found anything in five minutes, get back here.  With any luck, we should have Amarin awake and the rest of us in something that resembles a condition to move.”

Yip scampers, and he quickly discovers that Geoffrey is right.  The way they came is closed off within a couple of dozen feet from the chamber, although there is a large rent in the ceiling that may well lead to the surface.  He retreats back to the chamber and searches down the remaining passageways that survived the quake.  Two of them close off quickly, ending in a pile of rubble.  The last narrows to the width of a crack, little more than a foot wide in parts.  Yip squeezes in sideways, his lithe frame barely halted by the narrow conditions.  

Then he sense something wedged in the passage ahead of him, something large and green and holding a dagger in one hand at around the kobolds head height.

“Hello little Yip,” a guttural voice says, its imperial common accented.  Yip looks up at the sight of a half-orc, obviously easing its frame through the crack and trying to maintain a defensive stance.  As Yip takes a half step forward, the half-orc eases backwards through the crack to a point where its movements are a little less constrained.  Yip notes that the humanoids chest still brushes against the cavern walls when it breathes in, but the dagger-point is still held at the ready.

“So, little Yip,” the half-orc says simply. “I’m guessing if you’re here, you’ve got yourself a Justicar here somewhere two.  You got the kind of authority to make a deal, or did ‘e manage to survive the cave in?”


----------



## Mathew_Freeman

Verrrrrry interesting!

Was the _earthquake_ part of the module, or something you cooked up yourself?


----------



## arwink

The Earthquake was part of the module, and the main reason I used _Depth's of Rage_ here instead of the original module in the progression for _A Heroes Journey_.  I ditched the original because it was based around capturing the PC's and nerfing their abilities.  Unfortunately, I picked a module that nerfed most of the PC's abilities to replace it with (Except for Yip, who had a fine old time making skill checks to squeeze through cracks others couldn't even make by taking off their armor).

At the time, though, everyone was far to distracted by the massive amount of damage they'd taken and the events coming up next to look into the significance of what preceeded the earthquake.  It's only around now that they're starting to realise that something was up there...


----------



## Mathew_Freeman

The bell? Is that what you're referring to?


----------



## Lela

And now we see this bad-boy Yip take a little tempation.  *JOY*


----------



## Capellan

arwink said:
			
		

> At the time, though, everyone was far to distracted by the massive amount of damage they'd taken and the events coming up next to look into the significance of what preceeded the earthquake.  It's only around now that they're starting to realise that something was up there...




Not true.  We realised it was significant.  We just didn't care, because of the massive amount of damage we'd taken 

In all honesty, I'm still not sure if we care.  There are so many more immediately interesting things you keep putting in our way


----------



## arwink

Capellan said:
			
		

> In all honesty, I'm still not sure if we care.  There are so many more immediately interesting things you keep putting in our way



_looks mournfully at the file of ignored plot hooks from this campaign_

Bastards, the lot of you


----------



## arwink

“The accent is Guantian,” Halgo comments, staring at the crack in the stone.  “If that means anything.”
“Everything,” Geoffrey snarls.  His fingers clench reflexively over the hilt of his mace, jaw throbbing with barely restrained anger. “I don’t think he can be trusted.”

“I think that goes without saying,” Halgo agrees.  “I just think we might want to consider letting him go without making a big deal about how untrustworthy he is.  Sure, he was staying with the goblins, and he’s admitted to working for some guantian wizard studying arcane phenomena, but he hasn’t actually _done_ anything evil that we know of.  Maybe we can let him go for now and hunt him down when we’re at full strength.”

Geoffrey stares intently at the stone wall, his grim features leaving no question as tow hat his answer may be.  Yip crouches on top of a stone pile, watching the argument go back and forth between the cleric and the dwarf.  Brind sits next to him, the battered fighter sharpening his blade as he waits for a decision to be made.  His sole contribution to the debate has been to point out that the half-orc is offering a sizable amount of money for not fighting, and quite a bit of healing magic as well, should he be given access to the ceiling crack Yip thinks will lead outside.  He also took the time to point out the heavy double-axe the orc has holstered across his back – a weapon requiring a great deal of training and finesse as well as brute strength to use adequately.  

Yip eyes the fighter carefully, wondering why an ungodly mercenary is making more sense than his Justicar.  He shakes his head at the complexities of the outside world before taking a swig from one of its few saving graces.  When he's done, he catches sight of the questioning look in Brind's eye and hands the hip-flask over.

"We can take him," Geoffrey argues, his harsh whisper cutting into Yip's thoughts.  "If we close in on him in closed quarters, we can limit him to daggers instead of that axe."

"Not likely," Yip says calmly.  "Brind injured.  Geoffrey injured.  No-one else strong enough to keep half-orc contained at cave.  Break free, walk through cave.  Use axe easy.  Yip could try and take half-orc in cave - but Yip probably die."

He adds the last comment with a hint of nervousness.  His training always told him that any order should be followed, and death in the line of duty is the most glorious any kobold could ask for, but suddenly it seems a great deal less glamorous than his masters made it sound.  Yip folds his arms and waits for an answer, idly wondering if St Cuthbert has alcohol in his afterlife.

“So what are our choices?” Brind sighs finally, fed up with the debate.  “One – we let him go and take what he’s bargaining.  Two – we pretend to take what he’s bargaining when he comes back, then jump him.  Three – we send your tunnel-fighting kobold to try and jump him while he’s preparing to come through.  Four – we try to leave before he gets back.”

“Two,” Geoffrey points out.  “Three is a desperate plan, and while I have faith in Yip's abilities I'm not willing to risk him against an unknown enemy."

"Nice to know you're willing to risk all of us at once," Brind mutters under his breath.

"Ambush is the safest alternative.”

Geoffrey looks from face to face as he finishes, but his companions don't look convinced.  Brind pushes himself to his feet, every muscle aching.  He holds out an arm that is hastily splinted, still sprained after being crushed by stones.  Fingers waggle back and forth, but there is a grimace of pain on the fighters face.

“Ordinarily, I’d agree with you,” Brind says.  “But in case you haven’t noticed, we’re not exactly in great shape for a fight.”
“We have the advantage of numbers, and surprise,” Geoffrey says.  “And at least ten minutes before he arrives that can be used preparing the area for ambush.  I know none of you consider it wise, but we must strike now.  If he gets to the surface, we’ll loose him in a manner of hours.”
“Just as long as you know I object,” Brind comments.
“Me too,” Halgo says.  Geoffrey wheels on him, a look of surprise on his face.
"I'll still help," Halgo points out.  "But it's not like this is the brightest course of action.  There are times when survival should come before convictoins."
"This isn't one of them."
"Maybe not," Halgo says, frowning.  "But sooner or later we'll run into one, and I'd like you to get used to the idea before you get us all killed."
“So we’re agreed on this?”
“Agreed,” Halgo says.  “Except for the question of who explains it to Amarin.”
“No question,” Geoffrey says.  “We just don’t.  He hasn’t got the stomach for this kind of ambush, and he hasn’t the guile to avoid betraying our intent if he knows its coming.  As far as he’s concerned, we’re letting Murkad through.”

Everyone nods, then finds a comfortable place to wait for the half-orcs return.  Eyes scan the cavern floor, looking for stable areas where it could be safe to fight.  

Yip can hear him coming long before anyone else does, the kobold’s keen sense picking out the quiet footfalls as they crunch through the gravel left after the earthquake.  His darkvision makes out the half-orcs heavy cloak and hat through the crack of the passageway, the sound of metal blades being drawn from sheaths.

“He’s here,” Yip whispers.

“So,” the half-orcs voice calls.  “You made a decision?”
“You can go,” Geoffrey says.  “Five hundred gold, and three healing potions of moderate strength, and we give you safe passage to the way out.”
“Susposed way out,” the half-orc reminds him.  “My agreement was until we find a way out – and even then I want at least ten minutes head start before you start chasing me.  I know what you Justicars are like – lets nail down the finer details before we make the deal.”
“Fine,” Geoffrey says.  “Until an exit is found, we work together.”
“Where’s the Yip,” Murkad asks.
“Why?”
“I want to hear it from 'im,” Murkad says.  “I don’t necessarily trust you, Justicar.”
Geoffrey nods at Yip, who scampers to the side of the crack.
“It’s safe,” he lies.  “We let out.”
“Alright then,” Murkad calls back.  “Tell everyone to stand away from the entrance, and have no bows ready.  I’m a better shot with a knife than you’d think, and I’d rather avoid any misunderstandings regarding intent.  Not that I distrust you, but arrowstrings have a habit of slipping occasionally.”

Everyone waits quietly for Murkad to crawl through the narrow crack in the stone, the sound of his passage echoing as he negotiates the narrow confines.  He’s got a knife in his hand as he emerges in their cavern, poised and ready to throw.  He wears a chain shirt, the uncovered arms gleaming in the light of Geoffrey’s church.  Halgo notices a faintly silver sheen to the shine, evidence that the half-orc has undergone some kind of magical enhancement to his already considerable bulk.  Evidently his lack of trust has manifested itself in preperation.  Halgo tries to hide his concern and hopes that Geoffrey is aware enough to notice.

No one moves.

“Your side of the bargain?” Geoffrey asks, holding forth a hand.
“Is still back there,” Murkad says, gesturing towards the crack with a toss of his head.  “Hidden.  Trapped.  I’ve got a map and directions for disarming the trap written down in here.”
He holds up a small pouch.
“You get this once I’m climbing free.  Kill me, and it’ll cost you to get the price.  One life for one life may sound like a good deal to you, but I don’t think whoever gets volunteered to go after the gold is really going to be all that thrilled with the prospect.”
“You don’t trust us?” Geoffrey asks.
Murkad shrugs.
“Like I said, I’ve dealt with Justicars before.”

They move through the cavern as a group, everyone standing well clear of the half-orc, but the cluster of armed adventurers keeps pace with him as he moves.  EVeryone is tense, maintaining careful footing on the rubble.  The half-orc does his best to keep an eye on everyone, back against one wall.  Geoffrey’s eyes watch his progression, carefully judging the best moment to spring the ambush.  He silently curses when he realises Murkad is smart enough to avoid being surrounded, but takes some pleasure when he sees a path of unsteady rocks in the half-orcs path.  Keeping his features neutral, Geoffrey slowly tightens his grip on his weapon and prepares to spring the ambush.  Murkad either has to step away from the wall when they can cut off his escape, or give some attention to keeping his footing.

Luckily, the half-orc chooses to skirt the unstable rubble.  He circles wide, moving slowly and carefully.  Geoffrey sees Yip cicling casually in the opposite direction until Murkad is directly between the cleric and the kobold.  GEoffrey give a brief smile of triumph.

“Now!” he screams, and Geoffrey is running forward as he yells.  He can hear the sound of someone crying out in surprise and slipping on the loose stones, but unfortunately it’s Amarin loosing his footing with the sudden suprise.  Murkad is, however, caught off guard by the sudden movement and takes a heavy blow from Geoffrey’s mace in his chest.  Geoffrey smiles with grim satisfaction as he hears ribs snap and sees the half-orcs eyes narrows in pain.

“Now,” he screams again.  “Get him.”

They don't get a chance to obey the order.  Instead they watch in stunned surprise as Murkad smoothly sheaths his dagger and unfurls his double-axe in a single movement.  The weapon circles in a wide arc as he draws it free, one blade biting into Geoffrey’s leg with sickening crunch.  Brind takes half a step forward, but he gets no further before Murkad neatly pivots the weapon and brings the second blade down on Geoffrey’s head.  Blood fountains from the wound, and Geoffrey drops to the floor.  A crimson stain slowly spreads from his body.

For a moment, no one moves.  Amarin is lying on the ground, still stunned by Geoffrey’s sudden attack.  Brind and Yip are both tense and on the balls of their feet, ready to strike but afraid of the half-orcs gleaming blades.  Halgo blinks twice, then takes a step towards the half-orc with both hands raised.

“Terribly sorry about that,” he says smoothly.  “He gets a bit over-exited at times.  As you said, you know what Justicars are like.  The exit is over that way, feel free to make your way there without any further trouble.  Yip can show you, if you like, although I’m sure he’s willing to keep a nice, safe distance away from you.”


----------



## Mathew_Freeman

OK, game details please! Just how badly did that go?


----------



## arwink

Tallarn said:
			
		

> OK, game details please! Just how badly did that go?




On the whole, badly. I don't have exact notes on how badly, but I'll give you a rough idea. 

For starters, Murkad is a ranger with favored enemy- humans, so he had bonuses to damage and sense-motive rolls there.  His level of distrust for the situation, coupled with Geoffrey's not terribly high Bluff score, meant he was fairly sure they were going to pull something.

When it came to the hitting, Murkad had the phenomenally high strength you'd expect from a half-orc, with a potion of bulls strength on top of that.  I don't think I critted, but I do remember Murkad did max-damage with both strikes.  His feat list basically read: Quick Draw, Exotic WEapon Proficiency (Double Axe), Ambidexterity, Two Weapon Fighting.

Everyone watched the half-orc take something like 12 points of damage from Geoffrey's hit, then watched Geoffrey take twenty or thirty points in retaliation.  At the time, Geoffrey was the healthiest person in the group, so all of a sudden they weren't big on continuing the ambush.  At this point everyone was still 4th or 5th level, so they were feeling kind of fragile 

Strangely, I was more or less expecting Murkad to die.  And I keep expecting Murkad to die every time I use him in an adventure, but somehow or another he doesn't.  One of those strange rules of DMing - the NPC's you put in as background color and cannon foder are always the ones to survive.

Edit: and I've just noticed that this points me at the half-way point of the story to date.  W00T!


----------



## Lela

Well done Halgo.  Assuming Geoffry survives I'll bet he's a little more willing to listen to you.


----------



## Capellan

*falls off his chair laughing *

Um, no.  No he isn't.


----------



## Lela

Yeah, I guess I should have figured.

His loss though.  Just keep telling yourself that.  His loss.

Eventually you might even believe it.


----------



## arwink

Murkad leaves, his treasure is recovered, and his healing potions are applied to Geoffrey to ensure the head-wounds don’t lead to his death.  The first potion barely brings colour back to the wounded clerics face, but the second is enough to return him to consciousness.

“Did we get him?” he asks.
“No, not in the slightest,” Halgo says cheerfully.  “But if it makes you feel better, the healing potions he promised us for safe passage are what’s keeping you alive at the moment.”
“He still gave them to you after a fight?” Geoffrey asks, still a little slow on the uptake.
“Sure,” Halgo says agreeably.  “If by fight you mean apologised for your rash behaviour and showed him the door.  You were our best bet for taking him down, Geof.  We saw how fast you fell and reassessed the situation.  I’m sure you would have done the same thing were you not face down on the floor and bleeding to death at the time.”

The dwarf’s irony is lost on Geoffrey as he sinks back into unconsciousness.  That, or he’s feigning the condition in order to avoid being further disgusted by his companion’s lack of loyalty to his plan.

“He’s going to be cheerful when he feels better,” Brind comments.
“I’m sure he’ll forgive us,” Halgo says blithely.  “After all, we _did_ get the gold and we _will_ promise to help him take Murkad down next time we meet.”
“You think there will be a next time.”
Halgo looks at the white scar starting to form on Geoffrey’s brow.
“I’m almost sure of it.”

There’s a slight pause as both men consider their situation for a moment.

“Weren’t we here looking for some elves?” Brind asks.
“Swords, apparently,” Halgo explains.  “Tainted steel.  Carried by elves.”
“We’re giving up on that?”
Halgo points towards the rubble-filled passageway that leads to the goblin-kings lair.
“I figure it’s that way,” he says.  “You want to start digging?  We found the sword used by the Lords of the Steading – that should count as a win for now.  If someone goes to the effort of excavating a crudely constructed, mineral free goblin caves in order to get a cursed sword that’s not even magic, I figure they deserve it.”

Brind considers this for a few minutes.

“Yeah,” he says.  “You’re probably right.”

The evening is spent in the caves, nursing the group’s wounds and making sure Geoffrey will be ready to travel the following day.   Everyone tries to sleep, but no one rests easy with the thought that Murkad may return to slit through throats in the night.  The next morning Geoffrey is fully conscious and relatively lucid, albeit tinged with a wounded sense of betrayal every time someone tries to talk to him.  After a quick breakfast of dry rations, the group sets about making the long climb back to the surface.  Yip and Amarin scout the tunnel leading upwards with the aid of a spider-climb, reporting that its nearly two hundred feet of winding rock, a risky climb for an reasonably strong commoner, but near fatal for the wounded Geoffrey and Brind in their armour.  With numerous complaints the pair remove their armour and start to climb up the ropes secured by Yip on the rocky outcroppings.  It takes the better part of a few hours, but eventually they reach the surface and haul their gear and armour up after them.	

The journey back to the Steading is uneventful, although Geoffrey is constantly distracted by divots in the ground that may be half-orc tracks.  Their arrival is low-key, barely acknowledged by anyone other than Teag.  This lasts all of an hour, before Halgo returns the ancestral blade of the Ulgar’s to the lord of the Steading, and the group is suddenly the focus of a great feast and a few thousand gold coins reward.  For all the extravagance Heiron Ulgar attempts to heap upon them, the Steading is a military outpost where luxuries are rare.  The group dallies for a few days in the name of politeness, but soon hurries back to the town of Bor where the gratitude of the king lets them live a lifestyle of a slightly higher calibre.  

Weeks are spent training and item crafting in the luxury of the kings guest house, and no-one chooses to notice the slow creep of time leading into winter.  Yip learns more of the warrior’s craft from Brind before the mercenary heads north to the Steading once more, while Halgo spends his days poring over a spell book, honing his skills with magic.  Geoffrey finds precious little time to work on his skills, quickly finding himself pressed into dull clerical work at the temple by the High Justicar, chasing minor criminals and passing judgements over neighbourhood disputes.  Despite showing a public face of gratitude to Geoffrey for easing the tension caused by the conflict with the crown, it’s obvious that Cammar has little intention of forgetting or forgiving having his will defied.

The person who is kept most busy, however, is Amarin.  The young psion spends his days travelling through the town, gathering stories and information about the cold and attempting to aid those most harmed by the business with the swords.  He tracks down Malden and gives him a well-crafted dagger taken from the goblin caves in order to help get his forging business re-started, and when it becomes obvious that the young man has only the most rudimentary of forging skills the psion gets him a job in one of Teag’s warehouses as a quartermaster.  There Malden proves to have a better head for figures than he does skill with the forge, and settles into a comforting career.  By night, Amarin tries to hone his psionic powers, stretching them in new directions that he’s rarely considered in his sedentary scholars lifestyle.  Many of his attempts are failures, but there are enough positive results that he thinks he could master new powers in the very near future.

All in all, time passes easily.  There are few incidences of violence, beyond an unfortunate incident at the Church when a visiting Amarin tries to study some of the other Yips and has to be rescued from the horde of furious kobolds that descended upon him.  It isn’t until the bulk of their work in town is done that someone notices the shorter days and cold chill of late autumn in the air, and the question of where to spend the winter comes up.  They have nothing but warnings to go on when making the decisions, but they take it on faith when they are told that travel during mid-winter is risky at best – the snowstorms are fierce and the long nights bring humanoid creatures of all kinds out of the mountains.  Any settlement in Bor would be pleased to host the heroes, paying them for their services over the winter months if only they would agree to stay and fight alongside the militia when raids occur.  The possibility of sailing back to the Empire is raised, but quickly over-ruled – boats leaving during the late burn of autumn are rare, and the voyage is treacherous to say the least.

In the end, only one choice truly seems to be open to the group should they wish to spend winter in anything remotely resembling comfort.

“Thorbeck,” Halgo suggests, and everyone is quick to agree.


----------



## Khynal

arwink said:
			
		

> Everyone watched the half-orc take something like 12 points of damage from Geoffrey's hit, then watched Geoffrey take twenty or thirty points in retaliation.  At the time, Geoffrey was the healthiest person in the group, so all of a sudden they weren't big on continuing the ambush.  At this point everyone was still 4th or 5th level, so they were feeling kind of fragile




This is what you get when you follow a lawful neutral god and you break your word. And, of course, he'll _never_ live it down.


----------



## Lela

Khynal said:
			
		

> This is what you get when you follow a lawful neutral god and you break your word. And, of course, he'll _never_ live it down.



 Yeah, what he said.


Yay!  The Dwarves are back in town!

Or, um, more accurately, they're back in the Dwarves town.  But still.


----------



## arwink

Lela said:
			
		

> Yay!  The Dwarves are back in town!
> 
> Or, um, more accurately, they're back in the Dwarves town.  But still.




Yeah, but it's just a holiday, a place to get a way from it all while the land is covered in ice and snow.

What could possibly happen while they're on holidays?


----------



## Khynal

arwink said:
			
		

> What could possibly happen while they're on holidays?



 says the evil DM.


----------



## arwink

Winter in Bor is a harsh and dangerous time, a season where night hangs over the land for sixteen hours of the day and humanoid creatures ravage the countryside under the light of a blood-red moon that drives the goblins and beast-men mad.  In the outlying towns, fierce battles a fought in the darkness as villager and farmer alike try to drive off the crazed bands of warriors that throw themselves against the town walls.  Goblin arrows and spears cause almost as many deaths as the cold, and the only thing that allows the battered population of the fledgling nation to survive is the stout heart, muscled sword arms and deep pockets of their leaders.  Especially those that have had the foresight to hire dwarven mercenaries from Thorbeck to keep their people safe.

Of course, none of this is of great concern to the various members of the Copperheads, who spend the cold months among the blissful heat of Thorbeck and its volcanic core.  They join the various merchants who have made the same decision and make the cold trek to the dwarven gates, and are delighted to find that they are still considered guests of the Thane when they arrive.  With little ceremony, but a great deal of warmth, they are returned to their quarters that have a view of the city and are quickly drawn into the daily life of the city.  Geoffrey spends more time in the dwarven courts, Blarth and Yip spend their time drinking and brawling throughout the city, Amarin spends some quality time with the stronghold’s sages and Halgo hones his skills at the forge as well as learning more secrets relating to the craft of arcane items.  As the months wear by he rapidly creates many marvels for his companions, crafting boots that allow the wearer to cling to the walls for Yip and Geoffrey as well as embedding defensive magic into the clerics armour.  Amarin returns from the market one day with a strange staff, crafted from petrified wood and garnished with small crystals.  His psi-crystal sits in a crook at the tip of the strange device, and he gleefully demonstrates the staff’s ability to focus his control over the strange crystalline familiar, sending it scurrying around the apartment on thin, ectoplasmic legs.

Months pass idly; the cold winter snows raging outside while the Copperheads rest in the lap of dwarven luxury.  Battle-weary muscles slowly start to relax, old wounds no longer have the slight ache that they normally do, and everyone slowly becomes well rested and exceptionally bored.

Then in the late hours of one evening a dwarf wearing brown robes suddenly appears on their balcony, wearing the holy symbol of Durkannan the Forger around his neck.  A pair of armed dwarven warriors suddenly appears behind him, their ornate ceremonial hook-hammers glowing with arcane energy.

“You will come with us,” the first dwarf intones, his voice leaving no room for argument.  “A grave crime has been committed, and you five are all that stands between us and utter destruction.  Gather your equipment – I will take you to Yurgar Forgeson, and he will explain all.”

Everyone looks at the dwarf lazily.

“What?” Geoffrey asks.  The robed dwarf sighs in exasperation.

“You’re needed,” he says, this time with less grandeur.  “A great evil, end of the world, great secrecy, you’re our only hope.  There’s probably a lot of money in it, if that helps.”

The Copperheads are ready within minutes.

“How exactly are we getting there?” Halgo asks.  

“Step off the edge of the balcony,” the robed dwarf explains.  “The skiff is cloaked from sight.”
“Uh-huh,” Halgo says carefully, looking dubiously at the empty space.  “And if we step in the wrong place?”

Amarin has clambered over the lip of the balcony before the dwarf can answer.

“Wow,” he says, his voice coming from empty space.  “I can see you all, and there’s a metal flying thing here, and more dwarves.  I should take notes…”

Soon the entire group is loaded onto the dwarves flying skiff, the stealth and secrecy of their passage marred only by the wailing of Blarth as he clings to the centre of the strange metal barge, letting every waking dwarf in Thorbeck know exactly how much he hates to fly…


----------



## arwink

The Holy Forge of Durkannan is the largest temple in Throbeck, and its resources are considerable, but even with this in mind the Copperheads are surprised by the secret door built into the side of the very volcano that allows their flying skiff access to the temple.  The dwarf seated at the centre of the skiff flies straight towards the wall with a determined grimace, and the metallic flying machine and its passengers pass easily through the stone.  The skiff is guided through a series of stone passageways, then lands gently in the midst of a small underground stream.  The group is guided off, and lead by the three dwarves to a small chamber.

“Wait here,” the robed dwarf orders.  “Do not wander the temple – our guards have orders to kill anyone they don’t recognise.  The Forgeson will find you shortly, and everything will be explained.”

Then the dwarf leaves, and the group is left alone and without light.  They wait a few seconds, wondering if perhaps this was a mistake, but when no further light-sources or visitors manifest themselves they settle for regarding one another in the dim light shed by Luckbringer and the Warhammer Geoffrey collected from the renegade Justicar beneath the Tusk forest.

“What do you think they want?” Blarth ventures finally, after he grows bored with examining the dwarven runes carved into the walls.  “We do something wrong?”
“Not that I’m aware of,” Geoffrey says, mentally running through the groups recent activities.  “I’m not fully conversant with the differences between this church and the worship of Durkannan in the empire, but I’m fairly sure we’ve avoided most of the major taboo’s.  It’s likely they really do have something for us to do.”
“Why us?” Halgo wonders.  “That’s what bothers me.  Why not local heroes?  There are a dozen dwarves in this city more skilled than we are, and dozens more just as good as us.  Why bother getting us involved?”
“Politics?” Amarin guesses.  “Maybe some kind of religious problem?”

“The gravest kind of religious problem,” a voice whispers from the doorway.  Everyone turns to see a middle-aged dwarf standing in the doorway, his grey skin worn to a stone-like smoothness and his reddish beard flecked with the beginnings of white.  He carries a heavy hammer and pick at his belt, and the holy anvil of Durkannan forged from mithril is resplendent on his chest.  It seems likely that this is Yurgar Forgeson, High Priest of the Holy Forge of Thorbeck, and that he’s arrived in a room of unarmed strangers without any visible armour or escort only serves to make everyone more nervous.

“The church apologises for gathering you at this late hour,” Yurgar begins.  “Had we the time and luxury of going through more diplomatic channels, I assure you we would have done so, but this situation warrants such breaches of protocol in the name of expediency.  To further complicate matters, I must ask that you agree to this task before I can explain it to you.  You stand on the very edge of a grave secret, one that belongs not only to the church but also to Durkannan himself, and we cannot bring you into this without knowing that you are willing to help us.  Even by offering you this opportunity, I am on the very border of shattering a thousand years of Church dogma, so I urge you to consider this very carefully before you agree.  I will not lie to you – the task I would ask of you is dangerous, potentially deadly, but there is no other in the city who can undertake it and we risk the very lives of everyone in this city and in your over-land towns if it is not dealt with.  Will you agree?”


----------



## Mathew_Freeman

> “The church apologises for gathering you at this late hour,” Yurgar begins. “Had we the time and luxury of going through more diplomatic channels, I assure you we would have done so, but this situation warrants such breaches of protocol in the name of expediency. To further complicate matters, I must ask that you agree to this task before I can explain it to you. You stand on the very edge of a grave secret, one that belongs not only to the church but also to Durkannan himself, and we cannot bring you into this without knowing that you are willing to help us. Even by offering you this opportunity, I am on the very border of shattering a thousand years of Church dogma, so I urge you to consider this very carefully before you agree. I will not lie to you – the task I would ask of you is dangerous, potentially deadly, but there is no other in the city who can undertake it and we risk the very lives of everyone in this city and in your over-land towns if it is not dealt with. Will you agree?”
> 
> *"No pressure, though."*



I'm sure that what the rest of the group THOUGHT he said, anyway.


----------



## arwink

Tallarn said:
			
		

> I'm sure that what the rest of the group THOUGHT he said, anyway.




Actually, not as much pressure as you'd think.  Yurgar was kind of needy, true*, but that's because he's looking at the situation from the perspective of a dwarven priest rather than a DM.

I've gamed with some members of this group for years, and I know exactly how well the big, bludgeony adventure hooks tend to work.  I try not to be too heavy-handed with things, and I try to have a back-up plan if they turn their back on things.

Of course, I figure they're also smart enough to know what happens when they turn their back on things for too long...



*although whether he was quite as needy as he appears in this write-up I'm not quite sure - I'm working of dim memories and rough notes.


----------



## Lela

Let the world end.  I want money!


----------



## Capellan

You know, it'd be really nice if there was an update waiting for me when I got back from New Zealand


----------



## Zaruthustran

arwink said:
			
		

> Soon the entire group is loaded onto the dwarves flying skiff, the stealth and secrecy of their passage marred only by the wailing of Blarth as he clings to the centre of the strange metal barge, letting every waking dwarf in Thorbeck know exactly how much he hates to fly…




Reminds me of a certain other muscle-bound fighter member of a certain other adventuring group.







"You ain't gettin' me on no plane, Hannibal!"


----------



## arwink

“Sure,” Amarin says cheerfully.  

As one, everyone else punches him.

“What?” He says.  “It’s a secret!  A big secret.  How can you not want to know?”
“Because it could get us killed,” Geoffrey says through gritted teeth. 
“Only some of us,” Amarin points out.  “And we’re likely to die anyway, if what he says is true.  What’s the big deal?”
“What will you give us?” Halgo asks, ignoring the argument between his companions.  “For doing this?  What’s it worth to you?”
“The churches favour,” Yurgar says.  Noticing that this does little to sway the dwarf, he lets out a sigh.  “And healing magic.  Whatever we can make is yours for the asking – five thousand gold pieces worth of scrolls, potions, wands.”
“You’re paying for the crafting,” Halgo says.  “We want five thousand gold pieces worth of crafted items at cost, not what you’re selling them for to your followers.”
“Agreed,” Yurgar says, barely batting an eyelid.
“And you owe Copperheads favour,” Blarth orders.  “Raise anyone who die in mission.  No charge.”
“Agreed,” Yurgar says.  “I shall cast the spells to restore lost spirits personally.”
“And we want your flying skiff,” Amarin tries, figuring they’re on a roll.  “The one that got us here.  It was interesting.”
“It is not ours to give,” Yurgar says.  “It belongs to one who serves the church, but it is his property.  I could, perhaps, convince him to sacrifice it if necessary, although we would be forced to kill him whether he agree or not.”
“That’s not our problem,” Geoffrey mutters, but Amarin is already hastily apologizing and saying that it’s not necessary.

“We agree,” Halgo says.  “All of us.”
Everyone mutters in agreement.

“Then we may yet be saved,” Yurgar says.  “Although know that what I tell you now must never past between your lips after you leave this room – the secret you will carry is priceless beyond belief, and to speak it will mean your death.  I am going to ask you to visit a place that our people regard as sacred beyond belief, a place that no dwarf of Thorbeck has stepped foot within for over a thousand years.”

Yurgar pauses, shifting uncomfortably as he gazes at everyone.

“There was a time, in the ancient records of our temple, that speaks of a time when the gods themselves roamed this land among their children.  Their presence was not felt through prayer and magic, but through the majesty of their power as they walked among the people.  It was a golden time, when Thorbeck wasn’t a city on its own, but part of a thousand clan-holds that filled the mountains.  We were not in decline, as the city you see outside is, but the masters of an empire as mighty as your own, ruled by the favoured of Durkannan and guided by the most powerful of his children. 

And yet, even then, there were forces in the world that did not favour us, and the gods of the goblins and the orc, the troll and the gnoll, were among their people even as Durkannan marched alongside us.  And while the dwarves would clash with the children of evil, the gods themselves abstained from the glory of war. It was a time when the lands were lush and green, not covered by the ice and snow, a time when we had allies among the surface dwellers just as we have allied with your people now.  This time is long lost, just as it has been a thousand years since we last felt Durkannan’s touch, and it is for the best that many of my people have forgotten it.  

We have no records of why the gods left, of why the world above does not match the world that is written of in our oldest tomes, but there is one edict that remains from the time of the great change.  There is a cave, two days travel from here, hidden deep within the earth.  It is a sacred place to us, one of the last places Durkannan was known to have walked before the Cataclysm that decimated the lands and destroyed our Kingdom.  Durkannan himself has built doors there, great portals of mithril and adamantine with heavy chains to hold them shut, and declared that no-one shall enter it, lest they know his shame and that shame may destroy the Thorbeck and all trace of the dwarves.  For a thousand years my temple has guarded it, kept its existence secret even from the Thanes of Thorbeck, and we have kept the secret of Durkannan’s Shame well.

Yesterday the entry to the Caves was violated, and the guards we had placed there slain…”


----------



## Lela

See, someone always gets in those places.  And usually you're lucky if it's just someone like Amarin.  You'd think the gods would catch on after a while and just destroy them.

Then again, perhaps the good deities find it hard to destroy truth; no matter how damaging it is to themselves.  So they content themselves with hiding it, knowing that oneday it will be found again.  That's when they bring in their heros.


----------



## arwink

Yurgar pauses to let the full import of his words sink in, but the Copperheads are more resistant to the gravity of the situation than most.  Their minds quickly process what he has said, looking for information that may become necessary to survive the upcoming mission.

“So you want us to go in and kill the violators,” Halgo asks, his tone reasonable.  “I can see a problem with your logic there.  Won’t we be violating the caves as soon as we put foot in there.”

Yurgar nods solemnly.

“This is true,” he admits.  “But we have communed with Durkannan and learned that you are his choice – even if this were not so, there could be no other.  The doors to the caves can only be opened by the divine power manifested by a true cleric, and the trespass of any dwarf of the city would be far greater – Durkannan’s Shame is ours by birthright, and the secret hidden within may be far less grave if learned by outsiders.  We hope that your position as emissaries of the church will protect you, and we are certain that those that intrude upon the sacred caves are engaging in far worse crimes than you would break in following them.  To leave the violation unanswered would be unpardonable, and we have faith that they have not yet reached the inner chambers of the caves, and the grief bourn by a dwarf of the faith would certainly result in his death should he learn the truth’s hidden behind the portals.”

“How do you know they haven’t broken the inner chamber?” Geoffrey asks.

Yurgar can only shrug.

“We are still alive,” he says.  “If such violation had occurred, then certainly we would be doomed. The shame of a god is a terrible thing, and our lives are but a trifling when compared to keeping Durkannan’s secret.  You would, of course, be required to submit to a geas upon returning from this mission, for to leave you with free knowledge to speak of what you might find would be to dangerous to allow.”

“This gets better and better,” Halgo mutters.  Yurgar watches the dwarven mage carefully, but his confused expression makes it obvious he hasn’t heard Halgo’s comment.  

“So essentially we go in and kill everyone we find,” Halgo says.  “That’s it?  That’s all we need to do to save everyone?”
“And remove their corpses,” Yurgar says.  “To leave them within the caves would be unpardonable.”
“Quite.”

Everyone considers things for a few moments, trying to find any other points to question.

“Okay, lets go,” Geoffrey says.  “No time to waste.”

Yurgar pulls the hammer from his belt and offers a quick blessing to the group, then summons a small group of warriors dressed in the livery of the church – Steel Grey togas over burnished black breastplates, with axes and shields at the ready.

“These men are some of the churches finest warriors,” Yurgar explains.  “They know the path to the caves, and they were comrades to those who were slain. They will guide you, but the trip will be hard – it two days march to the caves, and you will attempt to make it in one.  They have been provided with potions that will enhance your endurance for the trip, as well as a small supply of healing to assist you in your purge of the caves.  May Durkannan’s Eye be on you, and may you walk safely on the paths we cannot travel.”


----------



## Khynal

arwink said:
			
		

> It was a time when the lands were lush and green, not covered by the ice and snow...




See? I knew Bor wasn't always covered in ice and snow for three quarters of the year.


----------



## Lela

> “And remove their corpses,” Yurgar says. “To leave them within the caves would be unpardonable.”
> “Quite.”




Hmmmm, seems there are a lot of things in this church that are "Unpardonable."  Interesting aspect of a LG church.


----------



## Black_Kaioshin

Wow! Great game you have there. I've been lurking in the shadows for a while now, but I felt that I should finally speak.


----------



## arwink

Lela said:
			
		

> Hmmmm, seems there are a lot of things in this church that are "Unpardonable."  Interesting aspect of a LG church.




What makes you think the church is LG?  Clerics can be up to one step removed from their deities alignment, so even if Durkannan is LG the church may have radically different ideas.


----------



## Lela

Point taken.


----------



## arwink

“This is interesting,” Amarin says, staring at the great adamantine door.  “There’s faint traces of power in the metal.  That’s not supposed to be possible – usually psions just store it in crystals.”

His eyes glow with a rainbow sheen as he examines it in detail, the telltale sign that he’s searching for traces of psionic energy imbued in the portal.  Everyone else just nods, standing a little further back from the god-forged doorway while Halgo and Geoffrey are debating the meaning of various runes inscribed across its length.  

Even with the potions to assist with the march, people are tired.  The dwarven soldiers maintained a brisk pace, and pushed some of the weaker members past their normal capacity of endurance, but despite the lack of sleep and the hard march the Copperheads are still awake and relatively healthy.  Even Amarin, easily the member who felt the exertion the most, perked up to his normal self when he saw the imposing sight of the doorway to Durkannan’s Shame – a shining disk that stands over five men high, with glowing runes running along its length.  Everyone else gave the door a wide berth while divination magic’s were used upon it, but the Charosian scholar quickly ambled up for a closer look.

“Do you see any sign of defensive powers imbued?” Halgo asks.  Amarin just shrugs.
“Nowhere near that kind of power,” he says.  He walks back over to his companions, notebook in hand.  “And there isn’t anything particularly dangerous about what I’m registering.  Mostly seems to be related to the doors ability to open and close.”

“The runes say the same thing,” Geoffrey says.  His head hurts as he tries to remember the meanings of the hundreds of small inscriptions, but his training serves him well.  “Most of them will only react to the power of the gods, so everything more or less agrees with Yurgar’s description.  It looks like we’ll be getting in and out on St Cuthbert’s blessing.”

“That’s good news,” Halgo mutters.  “We should probably try to leave the door open then, just in case whatever is in there decides to eat you and let the rest of us go.  I don’t much fancy the rest of my life in a giant cave I can’t leave.”
“Your concern is touching,” Geoffrey says.
 “Just don’t die,” Halgo tells him.  “I know there’s nothing usual in that plan, but we should probably stick to it a little closer than usual in there.  Especially you.”  

Halgo falls back to explain the difficulty of opening the door to the others, mentioning the importance of keeping Geoffrey alive if the rest of the group wants to leave.  Geoffrey just readies his holy symbol, faces towards the door, and begins to pray.  The warm energy of St Cuthbert’s blessing starts to wash through him, flowing through the holy symbol and towards the metal portal.  Runes start to flicker and light up as the energy caresses them, but they quickly die.  Geoffrey feels the energy stop flowing abruptly, as though there was something blocking the flow.  It isn’t an unfamiliar feeling – the channelling of divine energy has always been an inexact art – but for a moment he considers that St Cuthbert himself may be hesitant, holding back his divine energy in order to protect Durkannan’s secret.

“As ever, Lawgiver, I am your servant,” Geoffrey reminds his deity, just in case, and he starts the process again.  This time the flow of energy flow freely, igniting all the runes with a pale blue glow.  In the distance, the sound of moving chains can be heard, and slowly the doors to Durkannan’s shame slide open.  

Geoffrey walks forward, mace at the ready and holy-symbol in hand, while the rest of the party follows close behind.  Inside the caves, the walls and ceiling are streaked with black soot, although here and there patches have been brushed away by a slight contact.  The floor is similarly marked, but there is sign of several creatures passing through, their footprints marking the blackened surface.  Yip gently squeaks to catch everyone’s attention and points to one of the footprints.  Halgo looks, puzzled as to what’s exiting the kobold – it’s a human footprint, much like the others.  Then he takes a closer look at the blank spot, and sees the texture of the stone underneath.

“Damn,” he mutters, leaning over to examine it more closely.  Yip is quietly tapping on the shoulders of Geoffrey and Amarin, pointing his find to both of them even as Halgo is confirming his opinion.

“What’s up?” Blarth asks.  The half-orc has his sword out, its coppery light spilling over the strange cavern.
“The stone,” Halgo says “On the floor, and on the walls.  Something melted it away – it’s turned liquid and then reset.”
“Like lava,” Amarin says eagerly.  “I’ve seen books about what happens when a volcano erupts – the stone turns into hot quicksilver I think.”
“Not quite,” Halgo says.  He stands up, a smudge of soot staining his cheek as he tugs his short beard.  “The stone here isn’t volcanic, not this low.  Something happened in here, probably long ago, but whatever it was caused the kind of heat that convinces granite to melt like candlewax.”
“Magic?” Blarth asks.
“Nothing I know about,” Halgo says.  “Fireballs aren’t this hot, and even the ninth sphere of spells are unlikely to generate this kind of heat.  We’re talking about something on the level of ancient red dragons, the flames of some of the nastier parts of hell, Elder elementals and the divine servants of fire gods; that sort of thing.”

Everyone thinks about this for a few moments.

There is an ominous clang as the adamantine doors swing shut behind the party, another row of runes marking the interior.

“Oh yeah,” Geoffrey says.  “Anyone else getting a bad feeling about this?”


----------



## Lela

I think "Screwed" is an exellent term for this.  I mean, they're in deep do-do.


----------



## arwink

The doors are quickly examined, but the interior shows no sign of any locking mechanism besides the runes.  

“It’ll probably open when you channel divine energy at it,” Halgo points out.
“Probably,” Geoffrey agrees.
“We should check to make sure,” Blarth says.
“Maybe, but it might be worth assuming we’re right,” Geoffrey says.  “We have no idea what might be lurking in here, and St Cuthbert will not be pleased if I squander his power so freely.  If I open the doors for no reason, I may not be able to turn back any undead we encounter.”
“I thought you were supposed to be good at this?” Halgo asks.
“I am,” Geoffrey says cautiously.  “But I’ve never really tested the limits of my ability.  In theory, I should be able to turn several times more, but the doors require great energy and it may take more than one attempt.  A single check may tell us or we need to know, but we may well be forced to squander the ability in order to be sure.”
“Squander away,” Halgo says.  “I’d rather know that we could get out – if we come up against undead, we can negotiate with them the same way we deal with everything else.”
“How do we negotiate with things?” Amarin asks, oblivious to the dwarf’s irony.
“We let Blarth hit them,” Halgo says cheerfully.  “Several times, if necessary.  It usually does the trick.

Geoffrey channels yet more divine energy towards the portal, just to be sure that they open as easily from the inside, and everyone breaths a sigh of relief when the portals crack open once more.

Outside, the quartet of dwarven guards are watching impassively.

“Just checking,” Geoffrey tells them, tucking the holy symbol under his armour.  One of the guards nods in understanding as the doors shut once more.

“Cheerful, aren’t they?”  Amarin asks.
“We’re violating the inner sanctum of their gods greatest shame,” Halgo reminds him.  “They’re hardly happy about it.”
“Well, there is that,” Amarin admits.  He lets out a short sigh.  “I just don’t understand this religion thing, you know.  We don’t really believe in gods back home.”

“That could be a very sensible decision,” Halgo says.  “Remind me of that after all this is over.”

There are tracks leading deeper into the caves from the entry chamber, the smudged patches of soot an easy path to follow.  By the light of Blarth’s sword, they can make out another passage leading off from the far side of the room, but it shows little sign of use.  Their minds on the task, the Copperheads set off after the obvious sign of intruders.

The stone corridor twists and turns for a while, and every now and then Halgo pauses to check the stone hidden beneath the layers of soot.  It still has the half-formed, curved look of melted stone that has re-set and it quickly becomes obvious that the entire cave network is likely to have suffered the same fate.

“Is this better or worse?” Amarin asks curiously, his pen paused over his notepad.
“We’ve travelled nearly a hundred feat,” Halgo points out evenly.  “Whatever power or magic did this has covered at least that much, probably more.  Let’s just say I don’t want to run into it.”

After a few minutes walk, the corridor splits.  The group gathers for a few minutes at the intersection, examining the scuffmarks that lead off in both directions.  The question of right or left is easily decided.

“Right,” Yip says sagely.  “Yip hear noise, smell something down there.”

No one can think of a reason to oppose the kobolds advice, and no pressing reason to take the left passage manifests itself, so they quickly advance down the corridor with the small kobold in the lead.  It opens out into a wide cavern, dimly lit by a stream of lava that runs through its centre.  In the dim shadows, Yip can make out giant statues that bear a passing resemblance to orcs, as well as a stone bridge over the fiery liquid.  Further details are lost, however, when his keen ears catch the sound of a bow being fired.  His quick reflexes let him snatch a missile out of the air, a pleased expression coming over his face as he uses the arrows momentum to spin it like a marching baton before tossing it aside.

His glee lasts all of a second, before a second arrow burries itself in his stomach.


----------



## Mathew_Freeman

Nice use of channeling power, Arwink. I've always thought that clerics should have a chance to use that more often than they do.


----------



## arwink

Tallarn said:
			
		

> Nice use of channeling power, Arwink. I've always thought that clerics should have a chance to use that more often than they do.




Yes, well, um...look, over there  

As close readers may have noticed, I'm not real big on using undead as opponents.  This is just a trait of my games for some reason - a hold-over from previous editions where I didn't like level drain and a kind of mental block regarding the dead whenever I start flipping through a monster manual.  In a game like the copperheads, where characters like Yip and Halgo are fairly reliant on fighting opponents with a physiology (for sneak attack) and a Will save (for Halgo, and to a lesser extent Amarin's, major spells), the undead are even rarer than normal for my games.

So it was around this point that I decided to start paying attention to the characters abilities and ensure they get to use some that were laying by the wayside - so Blarth was getting a bunch of low-HD bad guys to cleave, Halgo was getting weird magic and in-character sneakiness to engage in, and Geoffrey was getting a chance to...er...use the extra-turning feat he'd taken way back at 1st level?

So naturally, when I eventually clicked that Geoffrey had a feat that he was never getting to use, I set about designing an adventure designed to cater for that.  As I told people at the start of the game, I really wanted to make sure he used up every single turning attempt he had for the day.  I've since allowed him to shift it out, seeing as there's really not much point in having it with my style of game (although I'm not sure he did, and I should probably write another turn-check intensive adventure if he didn't). 

As a side note - A large part of the reason I used the Depth's of Rage adventure was because it had so many skill checks that Yip was good at - balance, escape artist, tumble, etc.  Yip's player is usually the guy whose running around playing barbarians and gnolls, so I really wanted an adventure that showed off the advantages of being a monk (or monk/rogue/fighter, as the case may be).  Unfortunately, the skill checks weren't really necessary for the adventure and instead of being a bunch of cool moments for Yip, they were just an endless succession of annoyances for everyone else.


----------



## Khynal

arwink said:
			
		

> As close readers may have noticed, I'm not real big on using undead as opponents.




The Hordes of Hell, on the other hand...


----------



## arwink

Yip coughs a small mouthful of blood onto the ground, one paw groping for a healing potion as the other pulls the arrow free from its place in his flesh.  He can hear the distinctive metal clank of his comrades coming up behind him, the sounds of spells being cast.  

He’s even distantly aware of more arrows coming out of the darkness, but with his instincts honed by pain he nimbly stumbles aside.  Geoffrey and Blarth are both charging towards the lava-pool, Amarin and Halgo letting loose with spells and psionics.  Then he catches sight of a potion vial spinning through the air, its reddish contents sloshing dangerously as it moves.  His own potion stoppered with one of his fingers, Yip leaps to the side mere seconds before the thrown vial lands and billows into a fireball.  

The pain in his stomach is intense as Yip tumbles, beating at a few clinging sparks with his free paw, and even as he rights himself he brings the healing potion to his lips.  Flesh fuses together, the taste of blood recedes into a memory, and the empty potion vial smashes against the floor.

The wound in his stomach healed, Yip gets his first real look at the field of battle.

_Glitterdust_ suddenly flares into existence around a figure lurking on the shoulder of one of the statues, a lean humanoid wearing a silvery facemask that resembles a serpent.  One of Amarin’s constructs, this time crafted to resemble a silvery mongoose with wings, suddenly skitters across the sky towards another archer with a similar mask that hides on the head of a second statue.  Geoffrey has leapt onto the wall, his _slippers of spider climbing_ allowing him to avoid the lava and travel along the wall.  Blarth is faced with a more difficult path – the stone bridge is crumbling and requires anyone crossing to jump from place to place.  Despite his great strength, the half-orc seems discouraged from making the attempt by the lava’s great heat and a pair of mask-wearing warriors waiting on the far side.  Both the warriors are armed with large, curved swords that require two hands to use, and they stand ready to knock anyone who lands on their side of the bridge back into the water.  Yip spies a third archer, on the far side of the from Geoffrey’s advance and the fluttering construct, so the kobold quickly leaps onto the wall with his own slippers and starts scurrying towards the final archer, his paws flexing angrily as he sees the shortbow swinging in the direction of Amarin.  As he sprints, Yip hears the telltale roar of Blarth using his flute, and the sickening sound of one of the sword-wielding warriors falling into the fire as his eardrums rupture.  The other warrior merely screams, as does the glitter-dusted archer. 

Two of the archers fire, their arrows far less accurate when the targets are aware of their presence.  The third swings his bow widely, trying to aim by sound alone, and Halgo watches with delight as the missile goes wide.  Even as the archer attempts to slink back into the shadows cast by the statue he’s standing on, it’s obvious that the _glitterdust_ has blinded him as effectively as it highlights his position, the sniper stumbling as he takes a tentative backwards step and almost falling from his perch.  Yip reaches his target and flicks out a paw that paralyses the snipers arm, drawing a cry of surprise from his opponent as he whirls and tries to draw a dagger to keep between the kobold and himself.

Blarth leaps over the crack in the bridge, his armoured form landing noisily next to the still-staggered swordsman.  _Luckringer_ flashes in the reddish light of the lava, and the second swordsman follows the first into the molten liquid.  Geoffrey and Amarin’s construct start teaming up against the third archer, the wall-crawling cleric and the fluttering mongoose taking turns to batter at the snake-masked enemy.  Although the snake-mask is quick to draw a long knife, his haste to avoid his opponents proves to be his downfall.  Like the other two snipers, he has taken a position on the shoulder of a statue nearly thirty feet high.  Unlike his companions, he isn’t as sure-footed, and he slips from his perch and bounces noisily to the floor.   The construct dives downwards towards the prone form, delivering a final blow that ensures he never regains his feet.

At the rear of the combat, Amarin is struggling to load his crossbow.  He’s dimly aware that there are snipers out there, and that he has little chance of hitting either of them, but something about trying to load the weapon makes him feel better about his situation.  His bird-thin arms struggle with the crank, pulling back the bowstring and trying to place the bolt in at the same time.  Whether Amarin is as surprised as the blinded sniper when he accidentally misfires the crossbow is debatable, but in the fleeting moments of pain the sniper has after the misfired bolt pierces his thigh is certainly a clear indication that he got the raw end of the accident.  Fortunately the sudden shock of being shot is enough to distract him from his more immediate problems, and at least he never has to watch the ground rushing towards him.  

Or, at least, that’s the thought Amarin consoles himself with as the sudden pang of guilt over killing his first human being seeps into his soul.

The final archer, barely holding his own against Yip, does little to live up to the devastating effectiveness of his first attack.  Skilled as he is with the bow, the sniper is no match for the kobold monk in hand to hand, and once both Geoffrey and the construct move in to assist the kobold and split the archers guard, the kobold’s small paws are quick to snap leg bones and send the archer tumbling to the floor.  This sniper does have to watch the floor rushing to meet him, but he handles it stoically and with a minimum of screaming.


----------



## arwink

Khynal said:
			
		

> The Hordes of Hell, on the other hand...




True enough, although I have occasionally nerfed my own access to demons and devils in order to force myself to find new bad guys.  

The last time it happened I used my first mind-flayers, and I think it was generally decided that demons were preferable...


----------



## arwink

“Right, who were these bastards?” Geoffrey demands, applying healing magic to Yip.  Although the wound in the kobolds stomach has closed, the pain has returned almost as soon as the adrenaline from the fight wears off.  Everyone else is already two steps ahead, gathering together the corpses and pulling free any treasure and identifying marks.  Their small supplies of gold, marked with the sign of a serpent, are set aside as are the silver snake-masks.  More importantly, two vials of amber liquid similar to the one thrown at Yip are found in one of the archer’s pouches.  The liquid is quickly dubbed a fireball potion, and they are given to Yip to ensure they are thrown with accuracy when needed.  The valuables divided, the more important of who they are is returned to and addressed in force.

“We only have the archers to go on,” Halgo says, “but I’d say they’re Sulrathi.  Dark skin and hair, the style of the swords, and the masks.”

“Southern Sulrathi,” Amarin pipes up.  “If you look at the robes, they’re different to the style worn by the nomads that keep trying to invade your countries.”

“What’s the difference?” Geoffrey says, picking up a snake-mask and a holy symbol that resembles a coiled serpent.  “A sulrathi is a sulrathi?”

“Well, they’re generally more organised,” Amarin says, his eyes rolling back slightly as he tries to remember some obscure texts.  “And, to be honest, if the southerners had invaded your empire none of you would have an empire to stand in.  They’re more driven, and their magic is almost as powerful as the Seldarni academies of the time and they’re more skilled in the arts of tactics.  The Imperial states, particularly Thilt and Chulduur, were in no state to…”
“It’s okay,” Geoffrey interrupts.  “We get it.”
“You did ask,” Amarin says.  “In any case, the southern Sulrathi tend to build cities rather than live in nomad clans, and their religions tendencies are known to be slightly darker than their northern kin.”
“They worship dif’rent gods?” Blarth asks.
“No, but they have a different church,” Amarin explains.  “And the priests tend to be politically powerful, rather than some shaman or prophet struggling to keep feuding tribes united for a vision of conquest.”
“So why didn’t they win?” Geoffrey asks.  “If they could have done it, why didn’t they step in when the northerners invaded?  Why let the empire form?”
“Partially, its because they had to fight their way through the old kingdoms to invade the empire,” Amarin says cautiously.  “That’s not necessarily a fight they could have won.  Mostly, though, it’s because they don’t care. They do what their priests tell them to, and the priests aren’t big on temporal power.”

“What they want then?” Yip asks.
Amarin shrugs.
“I’m not really sure,” he says.  “I’ve never really made a detailed study of Sulrathi theology, or any theology really.  What little I know comes from historical sources.”
“They want entropy,” Geoffrey says.  He holds up the coiled snake symbol, it’s silvery surface catching the red light of the cave.  “The symbol of Set.  From what I remember, he’s supposed to be destroying the world and giving birth to all evil.  Chaos, destruction, devastation, lies; all of them are his stock in trade.  The Church has a standing order to execute any clerics found within imperial territory without benefit of a trial.”
“You do seem to do a lot of that,” Amarin murmurs quietly, but he’s quickly learning the wisdom of keeping such comments from Geoffrey in times of tension.

“The real question,” Halgo rumbles, his tone slightly concerned, “is what a bunch of desert dwellers, particularly sulrathi that live in an area further south than the borders of the empire, are doing in a cave half a world away from their homeland that contains some kind of gods secret, particularly when they don’t desire temporal power.”

Everyone thinks about this for a second.

“Actually,” Geoffrey ventures.  “The really frightening question is how a bunch of Sulrathi made it onto Bor, then cross country, and then into the tunnels, without being noticed by anyone other than the dwarves."
"Actually, to be fair, the dwarves didn't notice them - not for long," Amarin corrects.  "I mean, I'm assuming that guards that notice things tend not to end up dead without getting off some kind of warning..."
"He doesn't know us that well yet," Halgo mutters to himself, grinning, but everyone takes the psions point. It's not a cheerful thought. 

Geoffrey sighs. 

"We might have to have a conversation with Oleg about magical security on the docks," he says.  "And we should probably mention the prospect of border patrols sweeping the coast-line - I don't think the current method of relying on an impenetrable coastline, savage wilderness and freezing cold is really working as well as he thinks it is..."


----------



## Khynal

arwink said:
			
		

> True enough, although I have occasionally nerfed my own access to demons and devils in order to force myself to find new bad guys.
> 
> The last time it happened I used my first mind-flayers, and I think it was generally decided that demons were preferable...




Hmm, to be gutted by a demon or to have your brain turned inside out by a squid-head ... choices, choices ...


----------



## Lela

arwink said:
			
		

> "We might have to have a conversation with Oleg about magical security on the docks," he says. "And we should probably mention the prospect of border patrols sweeping the coast-line - I don't think the old defense of impenetrable coastline, savage wilderness and freezing cold is really going to hold much water in light of this..."




Well, I think the coastline will still hold the same amount of water.  But that might not be what he meant. . .


----------



## Graywolf-ELM

The Flurry of updates is appreciated.  

I am borrowing some of Arwink's enhanced kobold's for an update to the module B1.  The magic room with various magical liquids is now a room being used to breed different kinds of Kobolds.  Evil Kobold Sorcerer genetic manipulation, is how the Black Tongue Kobolds will make it into my world.  There will be a few mistakes around as well in the lower caverns.


----------



## Lela

A few mistakes?


----------



## arwink

Slight edit to the last line of the last update, to clear up a bad metaphor 

Glad your getting some use out of the kobold varients Wolf - may they go better than the first appearance of the black-tongue kobolds in my world...


----------



## Capellan

Would that have been two sessions ago, perchance?


----------



## arwink

Capellan said:
			
		

> Would that have been two sessions ago, perchance?




Nope.

They appear in about three to four updates time.

Very, very briefly.


----------



## Capellan

Not as briefly as the ones two sessions ago


----------



## arwink

After the bodies of the Sulrathi archers are stripped of valuables and piled close the tunnel leading to the exit for removal on the way out, the Copperheads turn their attention to the statues that frame the two pathways leading off into the darkness. The three towering figures are representations of orcs dressed in heavy armour, although it is difficult to be sure with the melted features and blistered soot that covers the stone.  The shadows cast by the lava give the statues an evil expression, and even when Geoffrey climbs to tip to shine the light of an ever-burning torch on the face the impression of anger and power isn’t quite dispelled.

“Anyone recognise it?” Halgo asks.  No-one does, so it is quickly filed as something of secondary importance and the important job of hunting Sulrathi takes precedence.  The sum total of their knowledge regarding the tactics and skills isn’t much, but it’s enough to let them know that they haven’t brought enough spells and antidotes to cure poison – it is common knowledge throughout the empire that where there are Sulrathi there are serpents, and Amarin cheerfully points out that while this isn’t necessarily true it’s reliably reported that many Sulrathi nobles, assassins and warriors are known to use poison.  This doesn’t cheer people up any, and it’s quickly agreed that if they are forced to rest in the caverns, Geoffrey will be memorising a few spare spells to help eradicate the effects of poison.  

Further pooling of resources doesn’t turn up anything out of the ordinary from your run of the mill evil-doers – the sulrathi are rumoured to consort with dark powers, serve the forces of evil, and kill the puppies of innocent Seldan youths.  All of which is unspeakably bad, but doesn’t really say much about their capabilities in a kill-or-be-killed melee.  The decision is made to press on, continuing to follow the tracks as they lead right.

The tunnel winds back and forth, a twisting tube through the stone.  Half-way along its length, an ornate rune covers much of the passage floor.  Yip takes to the ceiling and examines it from above, quickly identifying it as a glyph of warding that’s far beyond his ability to disarm.  He reports this to the others, and its decided that Amarin’s construct should be the person to trip it.  The construct moves forward, crosses the glyph’s border, and disappears in a haze of fire and smoke.

“At least not me,” Yip thinks to himself, the racial memory of his order giving him a shuddering sense of fear every time he sees something die at the hands of a trap.

He checks the glyph to make sure its unlikely to be set off again, and when he’s satisfied its magic has been used he motions the group forward.  It doesn’t take long for Yip to spot a second intersection up ahead, again being guarded by a small force of Sulrathi.  Fortunately, this time Yip is scouting by prowling along the ceiling with his slippers of spider-climb, so he manages to slip in behind the two Sulrathi standing guard with their mounts – giant scorpions that stand nearly as high as the kobold.  He signals his comrades before sneaking past them, and when the rest of the Copperheads come roaring into the clearing with weapons at the ready Yip is already positioned to take down the riders with a quick flurry of blows.  Although the scorpions prove more than willing to sting their way to freedom even without riders, they have neither the strength nor the raw instincts necessary to overcome the group.

“Convenient of them,” Geoffrey comments as they strip the valuables from the second group.  “We just follow the chains of rear-guards until we find the main group.”

Yip scratches at the scales on his tail as he considers Geoffrey’s statement.

“They not watch for Copperheads,” he says cautiously, mentally reviewing the fight.  He points at the tunnel leading left.  “They watch that way, not turn until they hear armour.”

“So they’re watching for something else,” Halgo says, gazing down the darkened corridor.  His darkvision lets him make out some of what lies beyond the range of the torchlight, but the tunnel quickly twists away into the unknown.  “This place might have some kind of natural guardian that they’re guarding against, or they might just be waiting for their comrades to circle back here for some reason.  The layout of the tunnels seems to suggest they may connect together sooner or later, if their anything like similar cave formations back home.”

“Is that good thing or bad thing,” Blarth asks, nursing an arm wounded by a scorpion sting.  “Blarth not want to fight things that scare scorpions.”
"Scorpions don't scare," Amarin points out cheerfully.  "They're mindless creatures."
"So is he, and he manages fear well enough," Halgo says.


“Enough.  If there's something out there, we’ll deal with it when we come to it,” Geoffrey says, his voice stern.  “Whatever else there may be, we know that the Sulrathi are here, and that they seem to be focusing their attention to the left.  They either believe their backs are guarded, or they fear whatever may be out there more than what may come after them.  Either way, it gives us an advantage, one that we should probably take.” 

He gestures down the right-hand passage with his mace, sending Yip scurrying back up to the ceiling.

“Lets go,” he orders.


----------



## Graywolf-ELM

Lela said:
			
		

> A few mistakes?




Yes, poorly engineered Kobold cross-breeds, There had to be some mistakes before getting the spells and mixtures just right.  Some will be dangerous enough. 

And I'm thinking some pods that burst open during combat in the vat chamber to add a little flavor to the combat.


----------



## Lela

I'm starting to think arwink is the master of foreshaddowing.

We never see the bad guys but we always anticipate them.  It's a definate talent.


----------



## the Jester

Geez, Arwink, you're hard to keep up with!  

Good stuff- I'm amazed that this Yip has lasted so long.


----------



## arwink

Graywolf-ELM said:
			
		

> And I'm thinking some pods that burst open during combat in the vat chamber to add a little flavor to the combat.




For even more fun, give the primordial ooze that's used to incubate the creatures in the pods some interesting little quirks on its own.  

Ooze based on troll-blood is always interesting - the regenerative powers mean that anyone wounded while standing on it is going to have....things growing out of it should their blood mix in (work out tiny versions of all the combatants, and slap the half-troll template on it).  

Fiery creatures may have an oil-based ooze that will light up should anyone use a fire-based spell or item.

Poison creatures may be incubated in the antidote for their own venom - so anyone bitten just needs to lap up some of the sickly stuff to get a save bonus to the second save...



			
				the Jester said:
			
		

> Good stuff- I'm amazed that this Yip has lasted so long.




So are we.  After all the rapid succession of Yip deaths at the beginning, this little blighter turned out to be remarkably resistant to death.

Well, mostly...


----------



## arwink

The next set of guards barely raises a sweat.  Yip spots them well in advance, reporting a trio of zombies and some kind of ghoul standing ready while a robed man with Sulrathi features watches from an alcove.  A second figure lies in the heart of the alcove, tossing and turning on a make-shift cot, and Yip’s keen eyes can pick out several burns and the damp stains of heavy sweating on his robes.  

The kobold briefly considers sneaking past the guards to help his comrades ambush, but decides against it in favour of a quick assult With knowledge of the kinds of undead, and Amarin’s ability to confirm the robed men are clerics upon being given a description of their robes, a quick plan is formulated and the Copperheads charge.

Geoffrey unleashes the power of his god as soon as he’s within sight of the undead, and although they are bolstered with the power of the Settite cleric, the unbending will of St Cuthbert is more than capable of wiping the zombies from the face of the earth.  The ghoul just barely resists the holy energy flowing through the caverns, but Geoffrey repeats his attempt as Blarth and Yip cut the cleric down, and soon the ghoul joins the zombies in becoming a pile of ash on the ground.

The man laying in the alcove doesn’t move during the melee, although both Amarin and Halgo notice him grip a knife in one hand as he waits for the parties victory.  When his comrade falls, the wounded cleric pushes himself up into a sitting position, the knife held loosely in one hand.

“Killl me quickly,” he asks, though his voice is little more than a croak.  “I know you will not let me live, but at least grant me the grace of a quick death.”

Blarth moves to comply, but Geoffrey restrains him.

“Answers first,” the Cuthbertite cleric demands.  “We need to know who you are, why you’re here?”

The Sulrathi’s rasping laugh rattles through the alcove.

“I am Yassam El’Ahyid,” he says.  “Cleric of the serpent lord, and servant of the Necrotheologist of El Herak, who now rests in Set’s scaled embrace.  We have come here in the service of my lord, Set, to do his bidding and seal the worlds fate in chaos and destruction.”

His body is wracked with coughs.  

“Obviously, we are failing."

"Who else have you brought in here," Geoffrey demands.

"The dim-witted fool you just killed is Etenus, a boor and an idiot who serves with spirit but not intelligence.  The dead were former members of our company, men slain by the burning guardian that is sapping my own life.  The living are simply dead men walking – servants of my master or mercenaries in his employ who simply do not realise the truth of our predicament.”

“And what’s that?” Geoffrey asks.

Yassam offers him a brief smile.

“That we’re all going to die in here,” he says simply.

There is a pause as his words sink in.

Amarin is the first to break the silence.

"You know, your common is nearly perfect.  I can barely detect your accent..."


----------



## Lela

Hmmm, that isn't quite as ominious as I thought it would be.  I mean, of course they're all going to die in there.  That's why Blarth and the gang came by after all.

Oh, right.  The gang.  Now I get it.

As a side note, it's been a while since the death of a Yip, which I think is rather interesting.  Guess the bad boys tend to stick around.

And what was that about racial memories?  Did I miss something?


----------



## arwink

Lela said:
			
		

> And what was that about racial memories?  Did I miss something?




In joke.  The first ever PC Yip died, rather spectacularly, while triggering a trap by accident.  The rest have sympathy pains whenever they see something destroyed the same way


----------



## arwink

"Doomed," Yassam murmers, ignoring Amarin's question.  "Doomed to die."

“We can speed that process,” Geoffrey says, his voice taking the tone of a dagger being slipped from its sheath.  Yassam merely smiles.

“I can only hope there is truth in your words,” he says.  “This place is cursed for us, for any.  With my masters death we face only a few options – the soul death of the burning guardians, the long-death of starvation, or the eternal death offered by my master’s pet now loose in the caves.  None of these have the same comfort of death by the sword, the dignity of an enemy’s blow.  We have already lost some to my masters Basilisk, mercenaries whose forms we cannot return from stone.  We seek to hold off the guardians while our magus seeks an escape, but all are aware that to Eyin we are but an afterthought.”

“What destroyed your master?” Amarin asks, his ever-present notebook in his hand.  

“He tried to open the second portal,” Yassam says.  “Channelling the energy of Set just as we entered the outer chambers.  The power required was beyond him, and his control was simply too weak to contain the energy passing through him.  Before our eyes, with Set’s power upon him, he withered and died.  My master’s pet has run free through the caves, decimating the ranks of the mercenaries we sent after it in the hopes of keeping it from turning on the rest of us.  Both Etenus and I tried to open the outer doors, but it is beyond our meagre abilities, especially weakened as I am now.  There was a time, before the guardian, that I wielded more power than Etenus did.  Now I’m forced to rely on his feeble spells to sustain my own existence...”

He pauses, lost in contemplation, and his eyes suddenly gleam with a wild light.

“You will kill me,” Yassam orders.  “Now.”

When no one moves to react, the knife in his hand lashes out like a vipers tongue.  It is a desperate strike, expected by everyone, but it has the desired effect.  Both Blarth and Yip move on instinct, and the dagger clatters across the floor of the tunnel as Yassam El’Ahyid slumps against the wall, eyes glazed.

“Well, that explains a lot,” Halgo says.  Everyone nods in agreement, then starts to raid the clerics equipment in a show of true pragmatism.  There isn’t much of worth between either Yassam or Etenus’ belongings – a few scattered scrolls and potions, a small silver serpent that Halgo recognises as a Serpent Token that will animate and attack the enemy on its own, and some daggers and light armour.  The one thing that captures everyone’s attention, however, is a crude map of the caves the Sulrathi have explored, with Yassam’s notes on where their troops are supposed to be stationed.

“Eyin,” Halgo says, pointing to the name written in the next room along their path.  “He was the wizard.  I don’t know who Dagrus is – maybe a mercenary leader of some kind given that he’s the only other person on his own– but we should probably expect him to come down and join in should a fight start.”

Yip is sent to scout, and soon returns with some news of the Sulrathi wizard’s defences.  Eyin himself is somewhat oblivious to his surroundings, his attention focused almost entirely on the writing that fills the room he’s inhabiting, but he has a small group of serpent-like kobolds standing guard for him, all of them robed in black and carrying sharp daggers.  

“Black-tongues,” Amarin identifies them.  “They’re like kobolds, but they’re bred with snakes.  Primarily used as political assassins, from memory.”
“I call them corpses,” Geoffrey says.  He nods to Yip.  “Sneak up and use one of the fireball vials to try and cut down their numbers, the rest of us will rush him when we hear the sound.”

Yip looks doubtful, his instincts telling him there is far to much danger in the plan.

“It’s an order,” Geoffrey says sternly, and with only a slight grimace Yip turns on his heel and starts crawling towards the wizard’s chamber.

His conviction that the plan is a bad one is only intensified when a glyph suddenly screams to life beneath his feet


----------



## Lela

I knew a Yip was going to die soon when I said that.  But I didn't want to get into superstition.

What was I thinking?  We all know that the dice like certain people and hate others.  Why would this be any different?

Sorry Yip.


----------



## Capellan

Lela said:
			
		

> I knew a Yip was going to die soon when I said that.




Pfft.  He's a monk/rogue with a racial Dex bonus.  That means he has an evasion and a Reflex save bonus of about +872.  He'll be fine.  Now if this was an attack-roll based trap: that'd be a worry.  Yip has a tendency to attract the 20s, for those


----------



## arwink

Yip throws himself forward, the glyph erupting into a shower of blue energy behind him.  He lands in a roll, spinning away from the glowing tower of energy.  He becomes conscious of the itch in his scales, a sure sign that his reflexes have saved him by the barest of margins, and he quickly kicks himself to his feet once more as the glyph goes dark.

Then he hears the sound of the wizard chanting in the next room, alerted by the detonating trap, and Yip’s shrill, Chittering whistle ensures that even the less aware members of the group know that their plan won’t work.  The sound of clanking armour echoes along the corridor as everyone charges, Yip scampering along in the lead with the fire-potion still cradled under one arm.  In the back of his mind Yip is dimly aware of how lucky he is the vial didn’t break when the trap detonated, but such thoughts are quickly discarded once the tunnel empties out into a sizable chamber.

The Sulrathi necromancer is waiting for them, multiple mirror-images shifting back and forth in the middle of a small force of black-scaled kobolds that hiss in anger at the intrusion.  Yip is filled with disgust when he notices the sharp fangs on the Sulrathi kobolds – a sure sign that their master has altered the creatures, and with a smooth throw he hurls the fire-potion at the small group.  The vial arcs into the very centre, passing through one of the necromancer’s images before smashing against the floor and flowering into a burst of flame.  The blast of heat is warm, even from the edge of the room, and in the fireball’s aftermath only the necromancer and his images remain standing. He looks at the charred corpses of his bodyguard, scattered about the room by the fiery blast, and a faint squeak of terror emerges from his throat.

Blarth, Geoffrey and one of Amarin’s constructs come charging into the room, and the sulrathi wizards squeak turns into a squeal of terror.  He cries out a name in his native tongue as the enemies approach, pleading for Dagrus to come to his aid, then quickly rattles off some words in accented draconic. A shield of yellow energy suddenly appearing around him, throwing off the lighter jabs and thrusts of his attackers, but it does little against opponents with Blarth’s strength and Geoffrey’s skill.  The Copperheads start work on his mirror images, quickly causing one after another to vanish, and it quickly becomes apparent to everyone that the Sulrathi will be lucky to get off a second spell.  He dodges backwards as best he can, readying a scroll, but Blarth cuts him down when the words are halfway out his throat.  A faint surge of energy passes through the room, but the magic is unfocused and incomplete, lucky to even carry enough force that non-spell casters noticed it being gathered.

“Bastard,” Halgo comments, prodding at the blank scrap of parchment with a crossbow bolt.  “I probably could have used that.”

No-one else is listening, their attention focused on a set of stairs leading up from the far edge of the chamber.  There are multiple tunnels leading off from here, but according to Yassam’s map the stairs will lead to Dagrus.  The same Dagrus the wizard called for in his last moments of life.

Weapons clenched tightly in their hands, the group waits for the wizards aid to come.


----------



## Graywolf-ELM

All dead in a single explosion of alchemist's fire?  Ouch, I understand your earlier comment better now.  I hope they'll last a little longer in my campaign.  If you are interested, I'll leet you know what happens, and how I use them.  I'll also be throwing in the Hornded Kobolds as engineered creatures as well to suit my campaign.  Cheers on the continued entertaining retelling of the parties' adventures.

GW


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## Khynal

Yip threw alchemist's fire and only hit the enemy? That actually _happened_?


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## Lela

I thought it was a _Fireball_ spell in potion from.


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## arwink

It's been a long and busy week, but hopefully I'll get the chance to prep another couple of updates over this weekend.



			
				Lela said:
			
		

> I thought it was a _Fireball_ spell in potion from.




It is.  But the effects are similar enough that it's easy to be amused.

Of course, Khynal's comment probably deserves some explanation:

[non-update digression]  Many years ago (at least three), before the days of Yip, at least half the Copperhead's members played in a campaign set around a large island city where the PC's were part of a prophecy that would allow access to the outer planes*.  It was only our second 3e campaign, and the first time Yip was experimenting with the magic using classes.  He quickly created Sven - wild elf druid who came to the city in search of his missing brother**.

Sven was great fun, but it quickly became apparent that Yip wasn't necessarily all that focused on areas of effects.  His entangles tended to be feared by friends as much as foes, and his darkness spells would often eclipse his comrades vision as well as his foes.  Still, in the tradition of all Yips characters, he was good fun to have around and drank a mean mug of ale.

Until the day the party uncovered a necklace of fireballs, and gave it to Sven.

This didn't go to badly at the beginning - hordes of Dragon-temple clerics and hextorite preists were exterminated, rambling hordes of kobolds in the undercity went the way of flames, and he even managed to resist using it when they got in trouble with the town guard.

Things went bad when the party got wind that Sven's brother was still alive*** and went to investigate.  They uncovered charmed sailors down in the city docks, old family enemies of Sven's in the upper rooms of the in, and an undead creature that turned into mist before they could kill it.

They head down to the cellar to investigate, opening the external doors and letting sunlight spill down the stairs.  They can hear the vampires hissing, eager to get at prey but unable to enter the patch of sunlight on the stairs.  The lead character works out where they are, The stairs are thick wood, and in the very centre of the room - the vampires are hiding underneath them to avoid the sun - and figures the party could be saves a lot of trouble should a fireball globe be thrown into the hiding space while the party uses the stairs as cover.

All in all, it's a good plan.

Then Sven ambles down the stairs, detaches a fireball globe from his necklace, and hands it to the scout at the bottom of the stairs.

"Here you go," he says.

The rest of us blink a few times, then I gleefully roll up the seven dice of damage and force everyone to make Reflex saves.  The vampires, with the stairs between them and the detonation, manage to take no damage.  The rest of the party is pretty banged up.  They retreat.

Since then, the maxim of "Don't give Yip fire" has been one of the key tenets of any adventuring party.[/non-update digression]

Please keep in mind that Yip has another one of those fireball potions 





*Err, yes.  Far to much Buffy in the time I was putting that together.  Why do you ask?

**That one of the other players had seen Sven's brother die in the first adventure seemed irrelevant, because it was Khynal's character and he didn't see much point telling Sven.

***Which confused Khynal completely, and turned out to be about as nasty as you'd expect in the long run.


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## Lela

Passing the perl to another player sets it off?  'Course, I've done something similar but that was more a toss.


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## Khynal

It's like pulling the pin out of a hand grenade, but there's no little lever to hold down.

I remember being stuck in a briar web of Sven's too.


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## Look_a_Unicorn

Hi Arwink- over the course of this last week I've devoured your story hour & become completely addicted. Fantastic work!

What I most envy about your group is that each character has a fun, distinct personality- although I'm sure at least some of the credit for that lies in your writing


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## arwink

Welcome aboard 



			
				Look_a_Unicorn said:
			
		

> What I most envy about your group is that each character has a fun, distinct personality- although I'm sure at least some of the credit for that lies in your writing




Actually, I'd say that I drop much more of the characters personality than I include - the curse of bad note-taking and long-distant gaming sessions.  Yip, in particular, becomes slightly more vocal during sessions where I've taped what's being said.  He also displays a much better grasp of irony and sarcasm


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## Look_a_Unicorn

arwink said:
			
		

> Welcome aboard
> QUOTE]
> 
> Thanks.
> 
> Completely offtopic, but I just noticed your from BrisVegas. I visited a friend there last year & it was such a beautiful part of Australia! Another reason to envy you. Loved the hundreds of birds flocking through the skies & everyone I met seemed to be just that little bit more friendly.
> {rant}
> Or at least I would envy you for that if I hadn't recently learned about QLD's ultra-conservative pot laws! You know (extreme circumstance, obviously) if someone smokes a joint while leaning against your fence-even without your knowledge, as they are smoking the demon-weed on your property an evil cop/judge combination could put you away for 2 years on first offense?
> {/rant}
> Sorry for the rant, but was reading about it last night & still can't believe it!


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## the Jester

Just thought you might find this amusing...

Look at the title of #559.

Damn things keep spreading!


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## Lela

LOL!!!!!!!!!!!

Like Vermin. Only better.


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## the Jester

I've just posted the first episode involving the Yips (though their nature as church-raised monks is not yet revealed) in 'Of Sound Mind the Halfling Way' (link in sig). [/pimp]


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## Graywolf-ELM

The Black Tongue Kobolds have fared little better in our session Friday night.  3 were killed in 1 strike each, (low init), 1 managed to get away to warn the others, for a more organized resistance.  Hopefully they and their 3rd lvl Rogue leader will be able to set up some nice traps for the party.  One of your other Kobold types actually did pretty well, with their high AC.

Sorry didn't know where else to post this.
GW


----------



## Capellan

arwink said:
			
		

> Weapons clenched tightly in their hands, the group waits for the wizards aid to come.




It's taking a bloody long time, isn't it?


----------



## Lela

Capellan said:
			
		

> It's taking a bloody long time, isn't it?



 A complicated mishap with a Wand of Slow.  I'm sure they'll get it sorted out soon.


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## arwink

They wait.

And wait.

And wait.

There is no sound of chirping crickets in the background, but they get the feeling there should be.  The entire cave is silent.  Whatever Dagrus is, he isn't punctual about providing aid.

"Maybe Dagrus already dead?" Yip wonders aloud.  
"We aren't that lucky," Geoffrey says.  He looks at the stairs warily, lowering his mace.  "It's more likely that he just doesn't care about his comrades fate."

(Halgo glances at the cold corpse of the sulrathi wizard.
"Good call," he mutters.)

"We keep waiting?" Blarth asks.
"No," Geoffrey says.  "Whatever's up there is probably waiting for our magic to run out, or its building up some spells of its own.  Lets not give it any more of an advantage."
"Yip go scout?"
"No, too dangerous.  It already knows we're here, and we don't want you being ambushed while we're to far back to help.  Take the lead and watch for spells, the rest of us will follow."

The cleric swings his arm a few times, working feeling back into tired muscles.

"Lets go meet this Dagrus," he orders, bringing the mace back into postition.  

One by one, they file up the narrow stairs.  The stairs are warped and melted, as though they were crafted from wax and have gone soft for a time.  Everyone is forced to pick their parth carefully to ensure they trip over the rough footing, or go to step where there is nothing but empty air.  Only Yip, short and agile, is comfortable taking the narrow climb with speed, and even then he moves cautiously, carefully watching for signs of trap or ambush.

There are none.  They make the climb without incident.  The stairs empty into a wide chamber, nearly fourty feet accross, with a crude camp set up in its centre.

On the far side, carefully expecting some warped runes carved into the stone, is a six foot obsidian creature.  Manlike and covered in scales, the jet black hair that rolls down it's back doing little to obscure the scabbarded Falchoin that juts over one shoulder.  When he turns to regard them, his eyes are cold and crimson, his tongue split.

"Greetings," the voice rumbles.  "I am Dagrus.  Perhaps we can reach an agreement..."


----------



## Dolza

*man i've missed this thread*

Arwink,
  i love this thread!  I forgot how much i missed the Yips.  Just read your update and now i need to go back and catch back up! Hope we dont have to wait quite so long for the next one.  Keep up the good work amigo.

Dolza


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## Lela

I was just thinking about this one over the weekend.  The Yips will soon be reappearing in my group and I'm happy to have something to refresh my memory.


----------



## arwink

Dagrus holds his hands wide, the blackened nails jutting from his spread fingers gleaming in the flickering light of Blarth's sword.  Everyone keeps their weapons ready, alert for any sign of ambush.  

"Know that it pains me to offer this parley," Dagrus continues.  "I am the child of the serpent god, and I have little to fear from Barbarians such as you.  I was ancient when your kin were but mewing savages, striking one another with bone and rock..."

"Yeah, we get it," Geoffrey says.  "So what?"

"I wish your aid," Dagrus says.  His voice is a low hiss, angry at the interuption.  "I am trapped here, losst and unable to return home.  

"Trapped how?" 

"By the leader, my massster."  The hiss of irritation when he says the word master sends chills down everyone's spine.  "A necrotheologist of great power - he found my true name and bound me to him, forced me into his service."

"So now you betray him?" Blarth asks.  

"Now he is dead."

Dagrus smiles widely, his snake-fangs gleaming in the flickering light.  Halgo watches the smile carefully, his mind quietly sorting through his knowledge of planeslore.  That the creature was bound with its true name means that its soul is truly on this plane, and thus its death will be final should it be necessary.  He can feel the whisper-soft touch of another trying to force their way into his thoughts, but he quickly rejects the touch and closes his mind.  

The only thing that worries the dwarf is that Dagrus is attempting to negotiate - the knowledge that there is something here that frightens the scaled creature more than the Copperheads or its former master minions.

"How did he die," Halgo asks, stalling for time while he tries to puzzle out the creatures intention.  

"He was destroyed by his own greed, his inability to control the power here.  With his death I am free, along with his other servants.   Only the magic of this place prevents me from returning to my home, traps me on this muddy waste you call reality."

Dagrus hisses, and there is a soft rasp as he flexes his scales.  No-one has lowered their weapon yet, and everyone splits their attention between the clawed hands and the sharp fangs.  That Dagrus has yet to draw his great Falchion soothes no-ones nerves.

"Then what do you need from us?" Geoffrey asks.  "Why betray the others?"

"They mean nothing to me.  In my home, they would be less than servants.  Here, they are merely prey - sustenance for my masters other pet."

"Pet?" Halgo asks.

"A creature from his homeland," Dagrus says.  "A basilisk-lizard, born of stone.  My master bound it with magic, but now it runs through these caverns destroying my masters minions, its bestial mind not comprehending its new imprisonment."

"You could slay it?" Geoffrey asks.

Dagrus smiles widely.

"Easily, but I choose not to.  It's antics amuse me."

"The wizard still expected you to help," Halgo comments.
"Then he was a fool," Dagrus rumbles.  "One who no longer understood that he serves no purpose. I have little interests in retaining his petty magics when the power to open the seal is so close at hand."

Geoffrey thinks on this for a moment, then lets out a grim nod.

"Then what do you offer us in exchange for your freedom?" Geoffrey asks.

Dagrus' eyes widen, as if this question was unexpected.  A sly smile comes to his dark lips, and only the tips of a pair of snake-like fangs can be seen.  Halgo thinks he can sense a faint undercurrent of nervousness in the creatures demeanor, but its alien nature makes it difficult to be sure.

"I can offer you wealth," Dagrus explains.  "Power, aid.  You can take your payment in the form of a favor, if you wish - I am a being of great power, and I am more than willing to apply that power of my own free will should you need it.  I carry magic crafted from my own world, more potent than your own, and I would give it to you...

"Don't believe it," Halgo says, interupting the cadenced monologue.  "It's a demon."

Everyone looks towards the dwarven wizard.  Four sets of eyes have raised brows, the fifth is narrowed to dangerous slits.

"Just thought you should know," Halgo says, nodding to Geoffrey.  "Cambion.  Son of demons, creature of chaos, liars and enemies of Law and all that."

There is a moment of silence as everyone comprehends the information, then realises that delicate negotiations are shattered beyond repair.  

"Damn," Dagrus says, his voice dropping to the demon-tongue.  Then his sword is drawn and parrying as the first wave of Copperheads strike.


----------



## Mathew_Freeman

Good call! Never negotiate with anyone that's so free with promises of wealth and power in return! Always a bad sign.


----------



## Lela

Unless it's the DM . . .

*Evil Laugh*


----------



## Ancalagon

I've just finished reading this... good stuff!   I like this group, very sympathetic 

How far behind are  you now?

Ancalagon


----------



## arwink

Near as I can tell, we're a little less than halfway through the campaign to date - probably about twelve sessions worth of updates from here to the game we played (For reference, this is halfway through the 9th session).

A period of too much work and too little free time set me back a bit


----------



## arwink

_Note:  I showed up today with the intention of writing another update, then discovered that I didn't really like the way the last update came together, so I re-wrote that to give a feel much more accurate to the way the exchange came accross in the session.  Feel free to re-read it if you haven't already. _

The Copperheads attack the Cambion like the seasoned veterans they are - Yip bouncing from wall to ceiling before running in to flank the creature from the far wall, Geoffrey and Blarth moving in from the sides to ensure the others have a clear shot with spells and mind-magic.  

One of Amarin's crossbow bolts flies towards the beast - not accurate enough to actually hit the creature, but close enough to hitting that everyone would agree it's an improvement on his previous attempts at shooting.  Halgo flings an arrow of pure acid that splashes against the creatures chest - faint steam rises as Dagrus' elegant robes are eaten, but the scaled chest seems unaffected.  

Geoffrey hammers at the creature with his mace, but Dagrus proves skilled at sword-play and easily parries the clerics blows.  Geoffrey pales when he gets a feel for the demon's strength - nearly twice the clerics own and easily a match for Blarth.  He offers a silent prayer of thanks that at least one among the group can come close the matching the creature.  Yip has more luck, his small paws hammering into the demons shoulders and drawing a snarl of pain.  

Then the cambion snatches a brooch from his robe and flings it into the air.  Everyone watches as the jewelry elongates and transforms into a giant snake, whipping wildly through the air before landing in the half-orcs arms.  Blarth tries to push himself free, but serpentine coils wrap around him in a matter of seconds and he topples to the ground, his sword skittering away as he struggles to keep the serpent from coiling around his throat.  

With Blarth down, the flow of the combat shifts a little more to Dagrus' favor.  Even the half-orcs might is barely sufficient to fight off the snake, and his thick scales prove effective against the heavy battering of Geoffrey and Yip.  Amarin fires again, his crossbow bolt coming close enough to graze the cambion's cheek, and Halgo's mind whirs as he struggles to think of another spell that could affect the creature.  Lacking any easy options, he casts a spell on Geoffrey that causes him to grow to the cambion's height, the added weight giving the clerics blows a little more power.  Blarth struggles against the snake, trying to get free.  He fails.

The cambion levitates to the roof of the chamber, some twenty feet in the air, to get out of Geoffrey's reach.  His two-handed blade strikes Yip as the kobold scurries up the wall to follow, and Yip squeaks as he realises the heavy blow has opened a gaping wound in his stomach.  One paw is slapped in place to keep the insides inside, the other thuds into the cambions solar plexus in an attempt to stun him.  

Dagrus laughs.

The _enlarged_ Geoffrey takes the edge of the laughter, his own _slippers of spider-climb_ letting him climb the wall and strike at the demon.  His mace glows with azure energy as he climbs, and he smites Dagrus with all the magically-enhanced strength at his disposal.  Dagrus feels ribs shatter, divine energy shredding his very essence, and his smile dims a little.  The wound isn't life threatening, but for the first time a flicker of doubt comes accross his face and he realises the mortals can hurt him.

Blarth struggles against the snake, trying to get free.  He fails.

Dagrus strikes Geoffrey, denting the cleric's dwarf-forged helm and leaving his ears ringing.  Geoffrey strikes back, his blow snaking through the Cambions defenses even as Yip shifts and launches a flurry of paws at Dagrus' exposed back.  Amarin fires.  His shot is a return to former glories, and it is only Yip's preturnatural reflexes that let him snatch the bolt from mid-air before it continues on its course to rupture the small monk's lungs.

Halgo watches the Cambion's wound close, healing the damage caused by Yip's strikes.  He can see the kobold faltering a little as the Cambion hits him again, and he knows that their chances of defeating the beast are slim if he cannot free Blarth.  Halgo looks at the brooch-born snake, wondering if he has any spell that would free the entangled half-orc.

Then he remembers the brooch taken from the necromancers corpse below, and things go very badly for Dagrus.

The cambion shrieks as he finds himself trapped by a second serpent, falling to the ground as the coils twine themselves around its limbs.  Geoffrey and Yip follow, hammering the prone demon as its twists and struggles, and Dagrus feels flashes of pain from its exposed flesh.  The demon starts to panic, realising that it comes dangerously close to death, and only a supreme act of concentration lets it focus past the pain and draw upon one of its most powerful natural gift - the ability to change to another form.  

Dagrus focuses his mind on the form of the demonic sphinx's that infest his homeland, bone and flesh knitting together as body shifts to match thought.  He can sense his attackers falling back, caught off-guard by this new magic and unsure how to counter it.  Dagrus permits himself a brief moment of hope - if he can frighten them off with this form, he has a chance to heal and recover, perhaps even hide long enough to avoid the mortals until they leave the complex.  It will be a long wait until others with the power to free him come, perhaps even centuries, but this is still better than death.

His new body, larger and stronger than his own, throws off the coiled serpent and the serpent-sphinx Dagrus lets a screech of pure rage fill the room.  Red eyes regard the cleric and the kobold as strong talons crunch against the stone.  Dagrus smiles in his new form - both kobold and human have taken defensive postures.  They obviously fear him.  The faint spark of hope grows into a small flame.

"Puny snake."

Dagrus wonders which one of his opponents says that - he can't see any of them moving their lips.  Then his keen ears hear the sound of a blade being dragged against stone, and he senses there is something coming up behind him.  Dagrus tries to remember how long the magic of the Brooch lasts, desperately tries to recall how long his struggle against the mortals has taken.

"Puny demon."

Something hard hits Dagrus, shearing through the spine of his new form.  Pain rushes through his body, and the focus needed to maintain his form is lost.  Dagrus feels pain, his flesh warping and shifting.  His mind reels, trying to focus past the pain and hold a new body in the centre of his mind.  He can't.  Another blow strikes him, hard, and Dagrus hears the crunch of broken bones.

It occurs to him, too late, that they are probably his own.


----------



## Ancalagon

Nice!

So, out of game, what did halgo do?   

Ancalagon


----------



## Capellan

What did Halgo do when?


----------



## arwink

Out of game, Halgo's actions over the last two updates consist of:

Capellan: I roll a rediculously high number on my knowledge (The Planes) skill.  Do I know what kind of creature it is?

Me: Yep.

Conversation with Dagrus continues.

Capellan: When it says its been bound by its real name, does that mean its been gated rather than summoned?

Me:  Yep.

Conversation with Dagrus Continues.

Capellan: His souls on this plane, and he can be permanently destroyed then, doesn't it?

Me:  Um...Crap.

Capellan: Cool.

Conversation with Dagrus continues.  Capellan finds the dramatically appropriate time to tell Geoffrey he's dealing with a non-lawful outsider.  Fighting starts.

Capellan runs through his supply of spells, which isn't terribly useful for fighting a demon with SR and immunities up the ying-yang.

Capellan: If I roll a Spellcraft check, what are the odds I can work out that the brooch we found is exactly the same as the one that's fighting Blarth and use it?

ME:  If you roll well.

Capellan: Cool.  Is another insanely high number enough?

Me: &%$#@*


----------



## arwink

For a demon who promised power and wealth, looting Dagrus' mangled corpse proves an unsatisfying experience.  The warped body is trapped between that of a sphinx and a man, making it difficult to pry free his belongings, and when Halgo and Blarth check the assorted belongings for magic they uncover only one item of interest - a set of silver bracers shaped like coiled snakes, radiating faint abjuration magic.  They're given to Yip, and even though he's warned of their function (_bracers of armor_), the kobold is still faintly disturbed when the silver creatures coil tight around his forearms.

Everything else in Dagrus possession is simple jewelry, well crafted depections of serpents and fangs, and his finely-crafted falchion.

"Almost not worth killing him," Blarth comments, drawing a glare of anger from Geoffrey.

Everyone is battered and tired after the melee, and a camp is quickly set up in Dagrus chamber.  No-one is pleased with the idea of sharing a room with the demon's corpse, but Halgo quickly points out that it's likely the other Sulrathi forces fear the creature enough to leave it alone.

"We're less likely to be attacked here," he says.  "Uncontrolled demons tend not to be the most reliable allies."

Yip glances down the tunnel, towards the chamber where the necromancer and his minions fell.

"No kidding," he thinks.

Dinner consists of the few food supplies the group had time to grab before being whisked away.  It isn't much, but it fills the stomach and keeps people from searching through the small sack that contains Dagrus' supplies.  As they eat, Geoffrey brings up the possibility of a rogue basilisk, loose in the tunnels and hunting prey.

"Anyone got any thoughts on how we can stop it?"

"Blarth can hit," Blarth suggests.  "Puny basilisk die."
"That's an option," Geoffrey says.  "Now, does anyone have any thoughts that don't involve getting turned into a stone statue?"
"I have a crystal with a power encoded in it," Amarin says.  "It was a present from my brother before I left home - it lets me transform sound into light."
"How is that useful?" Geoffrey asks, frowning.  There are still aspects of Amarin's mind-magic that trouble him, and he doesn't like not knowing the Charosian's capabilities.

"I see with my ears, not my eyes," Amarin says cheerfully.  "Khynal used to use it when he was hunting rats - he'd chase them into dark tunnels and hunt by sound."
"Doesn't sound like much of an advantage against rats," Halgo says.  
Amarin shrugs.
"I don't think he was looking for an advantage," he says.  "I think he just did it to give the rats a sporting chance.  And to keep in practice, you know, in case he ever had to hunt people in the dark."
"Your brother make good Yip," Yip announces.  "Yip train like that in sewers."
"Really?" Amarin asks. "I think Khynal used to able to shoot a rat at 30 paces.  What could you do - it'd be fascinating to compare the differing results.  It could give us some insight into the differing physiologies of..."
Yip gives a quick, sheepish grin.
"Yip not very good at it.  Not like other Yip.  Yip never got knack."
"Oh."

"With the stone...You still see, even if its by sound," Geoffrey says. A deep frown creases his forehead as he thinks through the tactic.  "So you'll still see the basilisk, yes?."
Amarin shrugs.
"I guess so."
"So it wont stop you from being turned to stone on sight," Halgo finishes.  "It might work, but it probably shouldn't be our favored tactic."

"I could give it to Blarth and let him use the stone," Amarin suggests.  "The pattern is a simple one, and it shouldn't take long to teach him to unravel it."
"Puny stone."
"We'll keep it in mind," Geoffrey says.  "The real problem isn't fighting it - we can use blindfolds if we need to.  It'll be tricky, but it's doable.  My concern is in tracking the beast down, if we come across it without being prepared.  With all the mercenaries out there, I'd prefer not to go out permanently blindfolded if we can avoid it."
"What about badger?" Blarth asks.  He points at Wraith, rusting inside a small cage at Halgo's belt.  "He scout, tell Halgo what in room."
"I'd prefer not to risk him," Halgo says.  

Suddenly a large grin comes over Amarin's face.

"I've got it," he says.  "I know how we can scout it out..."


----------



## Khynal

arwink said:
			
		

> Amarin fires.  His shot is a return to former glories, and it is only Yip's preturnatural reflexes that let him snatch the bolt from mid-air before it continues on its course to rupture the small monk's lungs.




Er, nice catch.


----------



## arwink

Geoffrey keeps his sheild raised and ready, trying to maintain his focus on the job at hand.  He knows its irrational to be bothered by something that's actually proving useful, that actually helps his team get through the mission, but try as he might he can't quite escape the feeling that Amarin's little rock is somehow...unnatural.

Familiars he can deal with.  Familiars, for all that they're the toys of wizards, make *sense*.  Sure, they're smarter than normal animals and speak directly into the wizards head, but at their core Familiars are really just like humans with claws and fure.  Familiar's have names, for the love of the gods.  hey're alive, and giving them intelligence is really just like sending through a very quick and easy education.  

Talking stones...that takes a little longer to deal with.  Especially when Amarin convinces the azure chunk of crystal to grow spindly, ectoplasmic legs and scurry ahead of them in the tunnels.

"Another empty chamber," Amarin announces, his head cocked to one side as though he's listening.  Geoffrey reminds himself that the psion isn't actually hearing anything - the crystal is transmiting thoughts directly into Amarin's head.

For a breif moment, Geoffrey understands exactly how the psychic purge happened.

It's been effective, to be sure.  Amarin's stone is small, fast and light - easily scouting the passages and reporting back.  It takes a while, certainly - the crystal needs to rest in Amarin's staff to recharge after every hour, so they're forced to rest and wait until the psionic energy has built up once more.  

Three hours in and they're doing well - ambushing two groups of living Sulrathi soldiers and finding the petrified remains of several mercenaries that were with the Sulrathi infiltrators.  No basilisk, but there was a statue that seemed so much like Blarth that everyone did a double take to ensure the half-orc was still standing, alive and unharmed, beside them.  The breaks were spent chipping at the feet of the statues, breaking them free of the soot-stained floor.

"We were told to get everyone out," Halgo reminded them.  "Living or dead, that's what we're going to do.  Lets not offend any gods unless we really have to."

"This," Geoffrey thinks to himself, "is not the kind of winter I was looking for."

Next to him, Amarin pauses and goes pale.

"We found it," he gasps, what little color he usually possesses coming back to his cheeks.  "It's...it's...huge.  The size of a horse, six legs, bearing done on the stone.  I can feel the gaze through the link...so strong....the stones fine, but..."

"But what?" Geoffrey asks.

"It just said _hey boss, check out those big white things coming towards me.  And how cool is this slide thing.  And the big squishy cavern._"

"What in hell does that mean?"

"Well," Amarin says, going slightly green.  "At a guess, I think the Basilisk just ate the crystal.  At least, if the sensation's its sending me are any indication, I'm almost sure that's what happened."

Everyone considers that for a few second.

"Sounds remarkably enthusiastic for something that's being eaten," Halgo says, breaking the silence.

Amarin shrugs.

"It's adopted part of my personality," he says, sheepish.  "The part that likes seeing and experiencing new things.  It seems quite...content..really.  Lots of new digestive juices in pretty colors, and the internal organs will fascinate it for a couple of minutes at least."

He pauses for a moment, a frown coming across his features.

"It'll probably get bored soon though," he says.  "We'd best do something, otherwise its going to whine."

"St. Cuthbert preserve me, he'd better be worth keeping alive," Geoffrey mutters.  He starts sorting through his belt-pouch and drawing the blindfolds free.

"Can the rock still see outside?" 

Amarin shakes his head.

"Not quite.  It can sense it's surroundings, a little, but being in the stomach is making things difficult.  It's like trying to look through thick mist."

"That'll have to do," Geoffrey orders.  "You wait here and call directions as best you can.  Everyone else, put the blindfolds on and lets get it before the precious crystal gets bored..."


----------



## Look_a_Unicorn

arwink said:
			
		

> "It just said _hey boss, check out those big white things coming towards me.  And how cool is this slide thing.  And the big squishy cavern._"




Funniest Rock Ever!

Seriously Arwink, your story hour is great- thanks for writing it


----------



## arwink

The Copperheads rush into the chamber, hearts pounding.  All of them are familiar with stories that revolve around conflict with basilisks, and even with the blindfolds there is a lingering sense of fear when they realize that even if it can’t turn them to stone, it can still take a hefty chunk of flesh with a single bite.

From his position on the far edge of the cavern, facing away from the beast, Amarin gives directions as best he can.

Within the space of a few seconds, everyone wonders if perhaps the stories they were told about basilisks were entirely untrue.

“Puny lizard,” Blarth says.  He’s leaning on his sword, one hand pulling at the blindfold in an effort to free his eyes.  Everyone else is doing much the same.

“That was…easy,” Geoffrey says.  “Too easy.”
“With good reason,” Halgo says.  “Look at its flank – its already been fighting something.  Something big.”

The wound in question explains a lot.  It’s as if a great claw rent the creature, then had the flesh burned around the wound in order to cauterize it.  No one is entirely sure what could have done it, but everyone is sure they don’t want to meet it.

“Right,” Geoffrey says.  “Keep alert and get ready to move out.  There’s still more mercenaries out there, and we want to round them all up before whatever did that finds them.”

Everyone nods, their expressions grim, except Amarin.  The young psion is looking at the beast, doing his best to catch someone’s attention.

“What?” Geoffrey asks. 
“Well, we…ah…we need to free the crystal,” Amarin explains.  “From the creatures stomach, I mean.”
“So free it,” Geoffrey says.  “You’ve got two minutes while the rest of us catch our breath.”

Amarin goes paler than usual at the very thought of taking a knife to the basilisks gullet.

“Well,” he says, coughing politely.  “I was hoping…”

Geoffrey fixes him with a level stare.

"Your not joking, are you," he says.  Shaking his head, the Cuthbertite cleric turns to Blarth.

"Cut the stone free, or we're going to be here all day."

Blarth just grins, pulling a knife free from his belt.

"Puny Amarin."


----------



## GreyShadow

Gooy Rock. 

More please arwink.


----------



## Lela

> "Puny Amarin."



Best Puny Ever.


----------



## Mathew_Freeman

Shouldn't that be "Best. Puny. EVAH!"


----------



## arwink

Freeing the psi-crystal takes some time, and everyone welcomes the rest as Blarth sets to work on the basilisk’s corpse.

“How many have we got left to go?” Geoffrey asks, handing Halgo the crude sulrathi map.  Halgo looks the rough parchment over, trying to remember his original translation of the document.  

“About seven,” he says finally.  “Mostly mercenaries from the looks of things.  Out here somewhere, probably hiding from the lizard.”

“Does it mention any kind of skills or abilities?”

Halgo scowls, annoyed.

“It didn’t last time, why would it now?”

“Because there’s something out there in the tunnels,” Geoffrey says quietly.  “Something that smells like brimstone.”

It’s obvious that the dwarf has a quick retort at the ready, but it stops a moment before emerging from his lips as he too catches the distinctive whiff of hell-smoke.

“Damn,” he mutters.  “Any idea what it could be?”
Geoffrey shrugs.  
“How many things can you think of that would smell like that?”
“To many,” Halgo says.  “And none of them are good.”
“That’s more or less what I was thinking,” Geoffrey says.  “It’s not moving in on us, so it’s either afraid of us or afraid of the basilisk and doesn’t realize what it was.  With any luck, it’ll just be some mercenary wizard who’s a bit to fond of his fireballs, but after that…thing…we encountered last night I’m not taking any chance.”
“So what do we do?”
“I’m going to stay here and see if I can work out what it’s doing,” Geoffrey says.  “You’re going to get up, very naturally, and give everyone some warning that we’re probably going to get ambushed before to long.  Stay calm, but stay alert.”

Halgo nods, folding the map and climbing to his feet.  He’s about to walk towards Yip when Geoffrey clears his throat.

“What?” Halgo says.
“Don’t tell Amarin,” Geoffrey says.  
“You don’t trust him?”
“No, not yet,” Geoffrey says. “But I’m more concerned by how he’s going to react if we tell him there’s a dangerous monster smelling of brimstone and hellfire out there.  He doesn’t really have the ability to _act natural_ at the best of times.”
“Right.”


----------



## arwink

Sorry for the short updates, but I'm trying to squeeze them in between work and some freelance stuff, so its either ignore the storyhour altogether or go for the snippets.  Seeing as it gives me something to think about other than rules mechanics, the snippets win


----------



## Khynal

Not complaining!


----------



## Lela

> “No, not yet,” Geoffrey says. “But I’m more concerned by how he’s going to react if we tell him there’s a dangerous monster smelling of brimstone and hellfire out there. He doesn’t really have the ability to _act natural_ at the best of times.”
> “Right.”



Now that's too true.



			
				Khynal said:
			
		

> Not complaining!



Nor I.


----------



## Capellan

It's funny ... I don't remember Geoffrey ever being quite this authorative, at the table. At least, not with anyone but Yip


----------



## Graywolf-ELM

Bumping to see if a snippet is forthcoming.

GW


----------



## Capellan

The game's currently on hiatus (it's difficult to play with one PC in England, one in the US, and everyone else in Australia  ), so I don't think it is high on arwink's priorities.  He's busy enough with the _Legacy of the Minotaur_ and _Dark*Matter_ story hours.


----------



## arwink

That more or less covers things, yes.  Capellan and Khynal left, a couple of new players were added.  The copperheads were fairly high level at the time, with a fair amount of rules-crunch that needed to be absorbed, so we starteda  new campaign to keep things fair to the newcomers.

Besides, everyone should find a standard kobold threatening at least once in their adventuring careers.

Updates will be forthcoming in the near future, once I'm on a break from teaching and have the broadband reconnected after moving in Decenmber.


----------



## Graywolf-ELM

Cool, I forgot Khynal was in GB as well.  So I'll watch the minotaur thread closer.  Every once in a while I visit the clockwork golem and see if anything new is going on. 

GW


----------



## Elder-Basilisk

Just discovered this thread. Great stuff! I look forward to seeing some updates someday.


----------



## arwink

Halgo tours the chamber, giving warnings.  Yip just nods, his kobold nose already twitching, while Blarth immeditely looks at the corridor and puts his hand to the hilt of his sword.

"Yes, subtle," Halgo mumbles.  "Very subtle."

Then he readies a handfull of spell components and settles down on a fold in the rock, pretending to study his spellbook.

He doesn't have to study long.

The creature that lurches into the chamber is wreathed in flames, its skeletal form dripping with boiling magma that sizzles as it hist the soot-stained stone floor.  It was, once, probably an orc but some fell magic animates its aging bones and allows it to burn.

Yip snaps into a flurry of movement before it has even stepped into the room.  Slippers of spiderclimb dance along the wall, carrying him to a vantage point over the burning skeleton.  He slams two paws into its head...

...and lets out a loud hiss of pain as the smell of burning flesh fills the cavern.

"Burns," Yip yells, cringing back.  One paw drops to his belt, pulling free a short dagger that he holds at the ready.  Blarth and Halgo plunge in, Blarth shattering a burning hand with his sword and Halgo firing a bolt of pure acid into the creatures chest.

Amarin stands blinking, his sholars eyes wide with curiousity.

Then Geoffrey holds the holy symbol of Saint Cuthbert High and calls upon the power of his god.  The chamber is filled with blue light for the space of a few seconds, and the burning skeleton crumbles into dust.

Geoffrey blinks a few times.

"Well," he says.  "Never had that happen before."

He glances around the chamber.  Everyone is still fine, apart from Yip's smoking hands.  Amarin is poking the smouldering remnants of the skeleton with his staff, listening intently to the psinoic report of his crystal.

"There's probably more of them," Geoffrey says.  "We should keep moving."


----------



## Sheltem

Takes too long to find it on page 4, so

Bump!


----------



## Piratecat

I'm finally catching up this -- I know, about damn time -- and I'm having a blast.


----------



## arwink

Geoffrey's statement proves to be mildly prophetic, as another two burning skeletons ambush the Copperheads within a few minutes of moving out.  The first of the creatures disintegrates under the divine light of Geoffrey's holy symbol, the second proves a little tougher.  Blades start to smoulder and warp as they are plunged into the burning form, but a combination of Blarth's sword, Yip's hastily readied club, and Geoffrey's mace makes short work of it.  The only wounds suffered by the group are minor burns, all on their hands and arms where they have come to close to the burning creatures.

They delver further into the maze of tunnels and chambers, following footsteps in the soot-covered stone.  Halgo carefully notes that wherever they go, the stone retains its melted-wax texture.  Whatever burned through these tunnels was powerful, and did more damage than anything he can master.

From his scouting position on the rooftop, Yip suddenly stiffens and drops low.

"Voices," he hisses, and starts to slink forward.

The next chamber is filled with statues.  None of them bear the snake-motif of the Sulrathi, so Yip quickly concludes that these likely make up the core of the mercenaries hired by the priest.  He can still here the murmur of voices, coming from the far side of the chamber.  He makes his way over quietly, making out a thin crevice in the wall.  To thin for the basilisk, certainly, but probably large enough for a desperate human to squeeze through.

He perches on the shoulders of one of the statues, standing ready as the rest of the Copperheads bring up the rear.  Geoffrey gives the kobold a questioning glance, then nods quietly when Yip touches an ear and points to the gap in the stone.

"This is Geoffrey Cromwell, Justicar of the Saint.  Lay down your arms and you will be treated fairly."

The murmur on the far side of the stone ceases for a moment.  Yip makes out the sound of weapons being pulled from sheaths.

"I am Sellanthiir, warrior of the Sulrathi people," an accented voice calls back.  "We refuse to surrender to..."

Another voice cuts in, this one speaking with a broad Thiltian drawl.

"Is the beast dead?" 

"You dare interrupt me?" the Sulrathi voice demands.

"It's dead." Halgo shouts.

"You will pay for this insolence," Sellanthiir hisses.  "I will suffer no insolence.  I will flay the very flesh..."

There is a series of sharp clinks, like a chain suddenly straitening.  Sellanthiir's threat ends in a gurgle.

"Bring the body when you emerge," Geoffrey says.  "It'll save you another trip back through."

Two mercenaries struggle through the crevice, doing their best to keep the body of a Sulrathi soldier moving.  The body has a large gash where his through should be, and one of the mercenaries carries a metallic whip over one shoulder.  As he pushes his way into the chamber, he shrugs the body to the ground.

"Sulrathi, never were good at knowing when to lay down a die," he says.  the man is short, with the swarthy skin and dark hair of all Thiltians.  He scratches at a silver hoop driven through his nose, and for a brief moment Amarin and Blarth both find themselves on a mental battleground shapes like a roiling ocean.

"Teppic," the Thiltian says.  "This is Nashir.  Pleasure to be your prisoner, and sorry about the mess I made of his nibs."

"You're taking this rather well," Amarin says.  

Teppic shrugs.

"The choices are surrender to you and get out of here, or lie down and day in these caves," he explains.  "Not much of a choice, really.  Besides, the beastie took down a team of eleven men in the space of a few minutes, you took down the beastie.  I know when I'm outclassed."

"Good," Halgo says.  "You won’t mind doing what you're told then.  Grab a chisel and start digging these statues free.  We need them all placed by the door, ready to be moved out when the doors eventually open.  And start with that one..."

Halgo points, and everyone’s eyes follow.  In the corner of the cavern, Blarth is standing next to a statue.  Every now and then he prods at its facial features, a disturbing likeness of his own.

"Hey," he says.  "Does this look like Blarth?"

Everyone nods in mute agreement.


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## Graywolf-ELM

Woo Hoo, we need PirateCat to come post here more often.    It was followed by an update shortly thereafter.

GW


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## arwink

Actually, you just need people to keep bumping the storyhour out of obscurity right about the time my net connection gets repaired (after nearly five weeks of spotty access so far).  Then the guilt of not-updating just gets to me


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## Graywolf-ELM

arwink said:
			
		

> Actually, you just need people to keep bumping the storyhour out of obscurity right about the time my net connection gets repaired (after nearly five weeks of spotty access so far).  Then the guilt of not-updating just gets to me




Gotcha, bump more often.

GW


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## arwink

"It's uncanny," Geoffrey says.  He taps the statue on the tip of its pug nose, as though expecting it to break.  "It looks almost exactly like you."

The other Copperheads murmer their agreement, Halgo and Amarin quickly scanning the petrified mercenary for signs of magic or psionics.  Apart from the obvious, there are none.

"'His name was Garuth," Teppic offers.  "Not to bright, but very handy with that axe."
"Resemblence just got more scary," Yip mutters, shaking his head.  Blarth cocks his head to one side, staring at the facial features.
"Do you have a brother?" Halgo asks.  "Or cousins?"
Blarth shrugs.
"Blarth not know," he says.  "Blarth father dissappear when Blarth puny.  Mother already dead."

To everyone apart from Blarth, this seems to come up as a yes.  Without the spells or ability to revert the statue to flesh, they decide to worry about the implications of its discovery later. It's chipped from the floor along with all the others, and escorted back to the entryway.  After giving the living some instructions, and informing them that they would not be released until Geoffrey was good and ready, the group takes stock of the situation.

"Only one person still unacounted for," Geoffrey says, looking over the mass of statues, dead boddies and huddled mercenaries.  "This necrotheologist."
"Teppic says there's nothing left of him except skin and dust," Amarin says.  "If that.  Whatever he tapped into in here, it didn't leave much behind."
"You think that matters to Durkannan?" Halgo asks.  "We said we'd get all the bodies, dead or alive.  And from the sounds of it, he's not the kind of guy whose remains you want laying in your sacred caves."

And so they return to the caves once more.  There are no more mercenaries, but there are still wandering skeletons covered in blue flames.  Most are destroyed by Geoffrey's prayer, one by Halgo's magic, and the last is pushed into a pool of boiling magma when it confronts the group on a narrow walkway.  As they watch the skeletal hands clawing at the surface of the boiling liquid, it occurs to Halgo to wonder if the creature could survive the heat.  

"Magma probably goes somewhere," he points out.  "If the skeleton isn't dead, it can just walk through the ooze and free himself."
They wait a few moments, just in case.  The burning skeleton doesn't emerge. Halgo shrugs.
"Better safe than sorry."


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## Peterson

arwink said:
			
		

> "Better safe than sorry."





And with that.......bump!

Peterson


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## arwink

Not an update, but a request. If you've posted in support of the storyhour up to this point, could you drop me an e-mail: arwink(little @ symbol)themadship.dhs.org before the end of January. Include your screen name.

I promise your e-mail address wont be sold to Spam merchants (well, apart from me, and I promise to only send you cool stuff )


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## arwink

There are more tunnels, moor soot, endless hours of darkness.  Even the occasional attacks by the burning skeletons starts to die off as the Copperheads venture deeper into the winding labyrinth.  Halgo’s experiences with caves are enough to keep them from getting lost, but the caves are so uniform that Amarin’s crystal starts cataloging the state of each individual chain link in Geoffrey and Blarth’s armor.

“Hey boss, check out the runes,” the crystal says.  Amarin is so used to ignoring it that he almost misses it.
“What did you say?”
“The runes, boss,” the crystal repeats.  “Around that passageway.”

Amarin looks around.  The group is standing in an intersection, a tangled knot where melted passages have met and separated once more.  Halgo and Geoffrey debate directions, looking at the Sulrathi map of the caves.  Amarin can hear Halgo saying something about one of the caverns ahead being the likely destination, but they aren’t entirely sure which tunnel will lead there.  Yip and Blarth are simply standing in wait, both leaning a soot-stained arm against the wall and cocking a lazy ear towards the tunnels in case something is hunting them.  

Following the crystals directions, Amarin heads over to one of the smaller passages.  It leads to the east, or so Halgo says, and likely away from the cave they’re searching for.  No-one has paid it any attention, except for the psi-crystal.  Amarin scans the wall for a few seconds before he sees it too, a circle of glowing runes around the portal leading in.

“Umm, guys?” Amarin says.  He pulls a small brush free from his belt and starts clearing the soot.  The runes burn with a sudden radiance once freed, filling the room with a crimson light.

Everyone is around Amarin in a flash, weapons drawn.

“What did you do?” Halgo demands.  Geoffrey has moved beyond that, glaring at the entry way with a mad gleam in his eye.  The fingers on his heavy mace flex menacingly, and he’s obviously expecting trouble.

“Look,” Amarin says, oblivious to the sudden tension.  “Runes.  Apparently there’s something down here.”
“You can read that?” Geoffrey says, eyeing the ugly script cautiously.  
Amarin shrugs.  
“It’s close to the trade tongue my family uses with its allies,” he says.  “But older.  Much, much older.”
“What does it say?”
“Something about this being a resting place,” Amarin explains.  His long, thin fingers trace the runes as he reads.  “Or a prison for someone called the Betrayer.  It warns against us freeing him.”
“All those runes say that?” Geoffrey asks.  The burning rounds surround the tunnel, easily eight feet wide.
“It’s hard to say, a lot of them have been damaged,” Amarin says.  “And it is very, very archaic.”

Geoffrey looks to Halgo.
“Do we check it out?” he asks.  Halgo strokes his short beard a few times, eyeing the runes cautiously.  It’s not draconic script, which cuts the chances of them being a warding spell by half.  Whatever is in there either needs to be moved, knows something about the caves, or is already dead.
“It could be new,” he points out slowly.  “Something the necrotheoligist kept here that isn’t recorded on our map. If it is, we can’t really leave it.  I just don’t think we want to disturb it if we don’t have too.”
“The crystal could do it,” Amarin says cheerfully.  “It’s feeling much better after its rest.”

Geoffrey blinks a few times.  
“Much…better…after…” he mutters, and then the crystal grows its spindly legs once more and leaps from the tip of Amarin’s staff.  It bounces back and forth a few times in front of Geoffrey, giving the impression of a small puppy waiting for someone to throw it a stick.

“Okay, let it go,” Geoffrey says.  “But tell it to be careful.”
The crystal is gone before Geoffrey has finished speaking.

“Don’t worry about it,” Amarin says.  “It’s small enough that no-one will notice it.  Once I left it inside a bat’s nest for three days, trying to work out why the slept upside-dow…”

His head and arms snap backwards suddenly, eyes rolling back in his skull.  Glowing runes suddenly appear around his head, circling back and forth like dancing fireflies.  Amarin lets out a high-pitched scream, and fire roars out of his eyes and mouth.

“BAHATH-ETU-SHELBATH-MATHU-NIKLU-TARVATH…” Amarin chants, his voice gradually becoming a guttural roar.

“Damn,” Halgo thinks, eyeing the runes that float over Amarin’s head.  “_Those_ are draconic.”

Then Amarin falls to the ground, limp and bleeding from his noise.  From down the corridor a deep voice chuckles.

“FREEEEEEEE!”


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## Peterson

arwink said:
			
		

> “Damn,” Halgo thinks, eyeing the runes that float over Amarin’s head.  “_Those_ are draconic.”
> 
> Then Amarin falls to the ground, limp and bleeding from his noise.  From down the corridor a deep voice chuckles.
> 
> “FREEEEEEEEEE!”





   Heheheh.  Excellent.

Another great update.  Nicely wrote and    update?  (Impatient?  Me?  Nah....)    

Peterson


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## Graywolf-ELM

arwink said:
			
		

> Then Amarin falls to the ground, limp and bleeding from his noise.  From down the corridor a deep voice chuckles.
> 
> “FREEEEEEEEEE!”




I think that falls under the old dungeoneering category of "OOPS."

GW


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## Khynal

Hooray! The Story Hour is getting updated again.


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## The Padre

As the player of Geoffrey Cromwell I just wanted to say after rereading a few of our old adventures I really wish the Copperheads was still running. Maybe after two of our esteemed members return from their international galavanting the game will return. I hope so. In any case, Arwink, keep up the good work of bringing back the memories 

A note to the unwary though, do NOT trust Halgo. I think the Copperheads exist sometimes only because Halgo has a use for us. If that were ever to change, we would all be lost......

Dave
aka Geoff


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## Khynal

The Padre said:
			
		

> A note to the unwary though, do NOT trust Halgo. I think the Copperheads exist sometimes only because Halgo has a use for us. If that were ever to change, we would all be lost......




Now, now, he's just goal oriented.


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## Capellan

Have you ever stopped to think that maybe he's just sneaky and conniving because you treat him like he is?   

Poor, misunderstood Halgo.  Does someone a huge favour, and all he gets is suspicion ...


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## Peterson

arwink said:
			
		

> Actually, you just need people to keep bumping the storyhour out of obscurity right about the time my net connection gets repaired (after nearly five weeks of spotty access so far).  Then the guilt of not-updating just gets to me





How about two weeks later?  Cause this is one of them "bumps".

Peterson


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## Sheltem

And this also is another


BUMP!


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## arwink

Yep, the bumps work.  At least, they work when I see them.  I really should subscribe to the thread again if the e-mail notification has been reactivated.

Good news: I found my notes for these sessions, so I'm no longer flying blind.
Bad news: The last two weeks has been kind of hectic.

I've got a short update ready to go, will try and get a longer one ready to post by the end of the weekend.


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## arwink

The corridor seems to stretch on forever, winding backwards and forwards towards the deep breathing of something LARGE and HEAVY in the distance.  Amarin is barely conscious, stumbling forward on pure instinct and following the mental tug of his psi-crystal.  Everyone else is on edge, weapons out, the bad feeling of impending doom settling into the pit of their stomach.

They make a long list of things they really don’t want to be at the other end of the tunnel as they walk.  An elder dragon.  One of the major demons.  Elementals.  Halgo exhausts his thorough knowledge of planes lore and the kinds of creatures that are commonly bound, trying to prepare the others for what they could find.  

“Maybe it go?” Blarth mentions hopefully at one points.

Amarin burbles a few times, and everyone can make out something about the psi-crystal being carried in the chaos of words.  

They feel the heat just before they find the stairs, a moist warmth that feels like they just stepped into a sauna.  There’s a complex pattern of runes at the bottom of the stairs, still glowing from the last shreds of power running through them.  Halgo and Geoffrey both identify them immediately as the building blocks of soul magic – a living spell born when a creature sacrifices part of its own essence to give it life.

Cautiously they climb the stairs, moving as warily as they can to avoid sudden ambush.  Up the stairs and into the chamber, heat rising as they climb.  There are the shattered pieces of ice scattered down the stair well, quickly melting into nothingness.  Halgo looks at it, judges the temperature in the air, and immediately figures that it probably originates from the para-elemental plane.  _That doesn’t,_ he thinks to himself, _bode well._

They reach the top of the stair.

The creature that waits for them is squatted in the shattered remains of an icicle, an aura of black and red flames flickering over its skin.  It looks like a giant orc, topping twelve feet in its crouched position, but the face is both more savage and more noble than any orc the group has seen.  Iron tusks loom from an oversized mouth.  Skin the color of burnished bronzewood.  It burns constantly, scalding the stone ceiling.  Steam and mist rise to the roof, gathering in a slow drip of condensation.  It rolls the psi-crystal across the back of one hand, mammoth muscles rippling beneath the polished sheen of its skin.

Baleful eyes fix on Amarin, and the cruel mouth opens into a gleeful grin.

“GREETINGS LITTLE KEY,” the creatures voice rumbles, echoing through the cave.  “HOW GOOD OF YOU TO COME.”


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## Graywolf-ELM

Bad Orc demi-god, get back in the crystal.

GW


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## Peterson

arwink said:
			
		

> “GREETINGS LITTLE KEY,” the creatures voice rumbles, echoing through the cave.  “HOW GOOD OF YOU TO COME.”




Little Key?  Oh, this _doesn't_ bode well at all!

Nice update, as usual, Arwink.

Peterson


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## arwink

Sorry about the lack of a follow-up update.  Landlords came around Saturday and asked us to move all the furniture in the house so they could renovate, which left me with fairly patch internet connection.  Then the two days we were supposed to live like that got stretched out ot the entire week, so things are only just getting back to normal.

I have the notes together though, so expect an update or two next week once I have my study and cable connection back.


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## Graywolf-ELM

No problem.  I'll be getting an E-mail when you post.

GW


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## Peterson

I'm all signed up too, so update when able - we're ready and willing!

Peterson


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## Lela

arwink said:
			
		

> Not an update, but a request. If you've posted in support of the storyhour up to this point, could you drop me an e-mail: arwink(little @ symbol)themadship.dhs.org before the end of January. Include your screen name.
> 
> I promise your e-mail address wont be sold to Spam merchants (well, apart from me, and I promise to only send you cool stuff )



 Did you still want the e-mail arwink?


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## arwink

Yep, go ahead.  You'll just catch the tail end of what I had planned when I asked for people to send them through (I'll leave it up to others to say whether it was worth it or not)


----------

