# Son of the Story Hour Sampler Thread



## el-remmen (Dec 27, 2008)

Over four years ago I started a story hour sampler thread, where story hour authors were invited to post their favorite Story Hour installment.

Basically, post a sample installment from your story hour creating a  place where folks can "taste-test" various story hours and see what they are like.

I considered just bumping the old thread, but I thought it'd be cool to have a fresh thread with samples of newer story hours. So if you already posted a sample in the old one, please don't repost it here, nor should you post something from that same story hour thread. Of course, new story hours, or old story hours that were not posted from in the former thread _should_ be posted here.

So here are the guidelines:

1) Choose your favorite installment from your story hour (not session or snippet, but you favorite complete post to your story hour - this will also give people a sense of how long your installment usually are).

2) Post it with a very brief explanation of why it is your favorite and any brief exposition required for it to make sense (keep this very short - there is no way to avoid a certain amount of confusion, and more than a line or three of exposition may cause eyes to glaze over).

3) Only post one installment per story hour/campaign, please - as to not crowd the thread with many posts from the same person. If you have more than one distinct story hour (not just more than one thread for the same story hour) then feel free to post one from each - but try to space them out so they are among others, instead of a block of posts all from the same person.

4) If a story hour reader wants to post a personal favorite of an installment please try to get the permission of the author in question, as he or she may have her own in mind to post (Some authors may be to busy to post something here, but may not be against someone else choosing and posting something). If you are a reader and not the author, please identify yourself as such.

5) Post a link to your story hour.

6) Comments and questions are welcome. . .

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So have at it. . .  I look forward to sampling some new story hours. . .


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## el-remmen (Dec 27, 2008)

_The following is part two (of two) of Session #17, and represents about average length of an installment in my "Second Son of a Second Son" story hour.  This is part of a very old school dungeon delve that eventually gets complicated in the ways things often do in my campaigns (though this particular installment doesn't get to the complication).  

I use a combination of footnotes and links to the Aquerra wiki to give additional information when needed or just interesting. 

There is a link to the story hour thread in my sig._

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*Session #17 – “Into the Moor-Tomb” (part 2 of 2)*

“It acts as a spyglass of sorts!” Victoria of Anhur called down with uncommon wonder in her voice.  She noticed a silver arrow between the two lenses and followed it with her eyes.  It revealed a lake set into a black hill surrounded by thick brush.  It went back several miles.

“That must be where the tomb is,” she said as she climbed back down.  Bleys had Falco climb up and look to get an idea of a route out to that place, while he produced the moor-tomb map and a quill.  He had Laarus read the inscriptions again, and this time he wrote them down, next to a quick diagram of the obelisk itself.

“Pointed tower keyhole to tomb,” Laarus said, remembering the map. 1

“Well, we looked through the keyhole and now we know where the tomb is,” Timotheus said with a smile.

Soon after Falco began to lead them deeper into the moors to the northeast. The insects grew unbearable making itchy welts on their face and necks that burned in the wet heat if scratched at.  At many points in the trek they had to wade though thigh-high muck, and cling to trees as they hurried along patches of what Falco thought might be quicksand.  It was nearly three hours later that they broke through the tall thorny brush around the black hill to find a clearing and the placid lake.  A gravel path led up to the lake edge and just beyond were five stone steps rising out of the water eighty feet in.  They led to a marble pedestal that held a great stained bronze bowl of some sort that looked as it was once at the foot of a statue long broken off its base.  Another eighty feet out past that was a metal door in an elaborate stone arch that was only reached by a narrow stone platform about five feet over the surface of the water.  It led into the tall cliff wall of where a great oval bite had been taken out of the hill.  The tops of the cliff walls were nearly one hundred and fifty feet up and crowned with sharp jagged rocks.

“Bes’ big-honkin’ cock!” Timotheus swore. “This looks like more magic stuff! Bah!”

“This is out of our league,” Telémahkos sighed.

“Why do you say that, Telémahkos?  Who is to say what is in our league?” Markos asked.

“Yes, magic is involved,” Bleys said. “Dalvan Meir, was of House Amber, he changed his name after he was banished by his family, but before that he was Dalvan D’Amberville, and he served Agon the God-King.  He ruled over the survivors and cast offs of Agon’s Realm after Agon was defeated by Sorlorn and Amarantha.  He built this elaborate tomb to protect his remains and his treasure, and his followers mimicked him in the centuries that followed.  There were once many such tombs to be found here, but most were long ago ransacked, or otherwise sunk into the swamp never to be found again…”

“If this is so simple we can handle it, why has no one else solved its riddles and made off with its treasures and the amulet of Fallon?” Telémahkos asked.

“I did not say it would be simple, but I still believe we can handle it,” Bleys replied. 

“We have the clues to aid us from the obelisk,” Laarus added.  “There are not many left who can read those runes…”

“You make a decent point, I guess…” Telémahkos’ voice still wore a tone of skepticism.

As it was getting dark and they were worried that they might be caught out in the open by more of the ‘mummy cultists’ as they took to calling the grappling adherers, they sent Falco off to find a defensible place to camp while they discussed the clues they had gathered so far.

“I bet we’re going to have to put money in that bowl out there,” Timotheus said.

“Desire for gold may secrets show, But giving stills the fatal blow,” Bleys the Aubergine read from the notes on his map. “My guess would be you are correct.”


Anulem, the 7th of Keent - 566 H.E. (637 M.Y.)

Uneasiness settled on them with the morning mist that cut down visibility to a few feet, and that roiled above their heads in and out of the speckled light of Ra’s Glory coming through the thicket they slept beneath.  They groaned and stretched as they awakened upon the damp heather and prepared their return to the entrance to the tomb of Dalvan d’Amberville wordlessly.

They marched back and soon enough Markos and Timotheus were rowing Bleys and Laarus out to the steps and pedestal on the _conjured boat_.

“Which one is your boyfriend?” Crusta asked Victoria as the latter watched the cliff for any unexpected surprises.

“None of them,” Victoria replied.  “They are my brothers in arms.”

”Bleys handsome…” Crusta said.  “Tee-Kay soft and mean like a girl… Me likes that…” She smiled her smile of broken rotted teeth and cracked black lips. Victoria shuddered. “You should tell him that,” she said.

“Boyfriend would get jealous,” Crusta said.

“It is not our fault if men get jealous,” Victoria replied with dead seriousness.

Just below the bronze bowl, carved into the rock were more runes, and Laarus did his best to translate them: _Respect this tomb, so firmly sealed / Most giving gain admittance / A noble gift will gain fair yield / A shocking due for pittance._ The bowl had a hole in the bottom, and Telémahkos was called over to check the area for any traps.  Markos fetched him in the boat, and Falco came along. The hole was not more than three inches in diameter and disappeared quickly to darkness sloping off to the north.  They could hear a faint buzzing coming from the metal door across the water.

“One gold piece each sounds about right,” Laarus suggested.

“That is an expensive experiment,” Bleys commented, but no one had any other suggestion.  Markos rowed back to the shore again to pick up Crusta, Victoria and Dunlevey.  Upon arriving the militant prayed to Anhur to reveal magical auras to her sight, but aside from _the Steel Whip_, only the metal door across the way was enchanted.  Telémahkos, Bleys, Timotheus and Dunlevey took the boat in two trips to the door and climbed up onto the stone platform, being careful not to touch the metal door.  They could feel a slight tingling coming off of it, and from here the buzzing was distinct and constant.  Bleys cast _radiant spark_ and willed it to follow Tim.  Markos waited in the boat by the steps, as Laarus stood over the bronze bowl with gold coins collected from those in the party that had any. 

The priest of Ra began to drop the coins one by one and when he reached ten, those by the metal door heard a loud clank on the other side and then sound of stone scraping against stone just behind it.  A few moments later there was another loud click and then the buzzing of the metal door stopped.

“Stop!” Bleys called back to Laarus, though the priest had already dropped an eleventh coin.

The watch-mage and the tall bastard of Briareus grabbed the handles of the sliding door and felt the sharp shock of electricity leap off of it and addle their bones.  Gritting their teeth they raised the door as the pulse of sparks grew steadily greater along with the pain.

“Hurry up!” Timotheus said through his teeth.  Laarus and Victoria leapt into the boat and were brought across, as Telémahkos did his best to quickly search the area just within the door.  Beyond there was a tunnel carved with long steps downward, the rounded walls and ceiling dripping with moisture.  He noticed a second door just within the metal one.  This one was made of stone and over a foot thick.  It must have been what they heard slide out of place when the coins were placed in the bowl.  He warned everyone that they would have to leap deeper into the tunnel once the metal door was let go.  When Laarus arrived and Markos went back to get Falco and Crusta, the priest switched places with Bleys who shuddered as he shook out the cramping pain in his limbs   There were long painful moments before everyone had finally clambered up to the platform and gone past the door into the tunnel. 2  Laarus and Timotheus let go of the metal door with a grunt of relief, and then leapt away, as the thick stone door began to slide down to doubly block the way they had come in. The boom of it sliding into place echoed down the tunnel. 

“That settles it then,” Telémahkos was startled by how loud his own whisper seemed in the corridor, he squinted into the shadowy illumination at the edge of the _radiant spark_.  “Forward and onward, I guess…” He sounded anything but sure.

“Well, Master Bleys, I hope we find what we’re looking for,” Victoria of Anhur said with some consternation in her voice.

“And I hope we are let out as easily as we were let in.” Telémahkos added.

“Easy? Eleven pieces of gold is a good deal of money,” Bleys said with total seriousness.

Timotheus led the way, Bleys’ _radiant spark_ still following over his shoulder. He was followed by Telémahkos, then came Laarus, Bleys, Tymon, Dunlevey, Victoria, Falco, and Markos and Crusta took up the rear.  “Hey! What’s this?” Tim asked, noting that the natural stone walls gave was to a narrow strips of grooves in the rock that reached from floor to ceiling.  Telémahkos yanked his cousin back with alarm and looked up.  The ceiling here was not round as the rest of the passage, but flat at about the same width as the groove.

“We are going to have to hurry past this four foot strip,” said to the others. “I think this is another door that will slide down when we have passed this step.  They did as he instructed, and as he suspected another wall of stone slid down blocking their egress.  They had to go forward.  Telémahkos hurried back to the front of the group again, and on they went.

And down and down they went.  The passage turned and dropped, and after every eighty feet or so another stone wall would slide down behind them, pressing them forward and making their confines all the more oppressive.  The uneasiness of morning had given way to a feeling of doom, though none wanted to put a name to it.  When they counted six walls sliding in behind them, they made one last turn to find the glow of green light filling the passage from a room beyond.  As Timotheus and Telémahkos came around that corner, they both noted another set of grooves in the wall and hurried everyone through.  There was only a narrow piece of passage, about twenty feet of it that they squeezed into, hesitating before entering the actual green-lit chamber.  Even back away from the entrance they could all sense a palpable evil that emanated from within.

Peering in they could see why the chamber glowed as it did.  It was sixty-five feet to a side and just off center, emerging from the stone floor was a shard of green rock over eight feet tall.  The green stone glowed dully in quick pulse, giving the room its light. The chamber’s ceiling was vaulted and the supporting arched held up by eight thick columns, a pair diagonally set in each corner.  Between the columns on each wall were great plaques of the green stone mottled with black carved with ornate images of bones.  The plaques were set into the wall a few feet from the floor and each one was about eight feet high and between three and four feet wide.  But the most fascinating part of the room was the skeletons.  There were eight of them in total, one in front of each column and wore a gold mask carved with a rune like those found on the trees. 3 Each skeleton was perfectly balanced in a different pose.  

From right to left around the room: One was dancing arms stretched, and a scimitar in one hand, one sat, resting its head in it hands and its hand on its bony knees.  It had a heavy steel shield resting on its shins, a longsword across its lap.  The rune on its mask was not visible. The next was laying back, arms folded behind its skull, a scimitar lazily cast aside.  The next stood perfectly straight, but its head was not on its neck. Instead it held its mask-bearing skull within a hole in its ribs.  The next skeleton also wielded a scimitar, and was in a pose of fierce combat, while its neighbor bore a longsword and shield, cowering out from behind them.  The last two were on the left.  One held a great sword pointed up, clutched to its chest, while the last had a longspear and held it out with both hands, as if in offering.

“Can we smash those things up or are they some other kind of puzzle?” Timotheus asked.

“No one touch anything yet,” Bleys warned.

Laarus Raymer stepped up to the edge of the chamber entrance and did his best read the runes without entering.  The first one was ‘happiness.’ He guessed the hidden one was ‘sadness.’ “Ya think?” Tim chided. There was ‘tranquility’ (or was it peace?), anger (or was it courage?) fear, avarice, and finally ‘generosity’ (or giving).  He could not interpret the rune on the one that held its skull in its chest.

They noted that more runes were carved and painted onto the floor of the chamber in front of the strange glowing stone.  Laarus translated these as well: _What guise would you wager to gain my master’s favor?  It leads to man’s grief at the end of my master’s leash._

“As there is no visible way out of the room, my guess would be that one of the masks must the key to getting past this,” Bleys speculated.  Telémahkos began to creep into the room with the others close behind, the watch-mage reminding everyone once again to touch nothing, but it would not matter.  Telémahkos had not gone more than six or eight steps into the chamber when green stone pulsed once with a sudden cold brightness. The skeletons sprang to some parody of life, stepping towards them with apparent hostile intention.

“Everyone form a line!” Timotheus commanded in a veteran’s voice that could not be disobeyed by those experienced in the rigors of melee.  Laarus raised his shield and fended off a heavy blow from a scimitar that made his legs shake.

“I’m anchoring this end,” Dunlevey said, moving to the left side of the entrance, and was surprised by how quickly the skeleton with the long spear brought it to bear, and staggered when it slapped his side hard.

“There must be a way to deactivate this stone!” Markos hurried towards the stone and left himself open to the skeletons still marching over from the other side of the room.  He cried out as a scimitar traced a line of red on his forearm.  As another came around him, a third rushed forward, swinging a greatsword with silent fury.  There was a jet of blood and Markos crumpled at the foot of the great green stone, dying.  Crusta began to shriek.

“Hide girl!” Victoria called to Crusta as she dropped her longspear and drew her morningstar.  She took her place in the line and smashed at one of the skeletons.

Suddenly the great stone began to hum and once again it sent out a shockwave of green light.  This time, the Signers of the Charter of Schiereiland felt as if some blot of evil grew within their very essence, devouring the light of life, and it pained them. 4

“May Ra send these abominations to cower in the darkness from when they were spawned!” Laarus cried out, clutching the ankh around his neck.  He felt the wave of divine energy wash out of him, but even as it did he could sense it diminish, the darkness of the tomb and the evil of the stone working against him and the will of Ra.

In the tightening cluster of skeletons and adventurers, two of the undead began to flee. Telémahkos was standing near Markos, and clicked his rapier at it as it hurried past him, but it did not seem to do much damage.  “Crusta! When there’s an opening come help me help your boyfriend!”  Bleys moved over to Telie’s side to help him fend off the skeletons.  Laarus moved over as well, pinning one of the skeletons between them.  The thing spun around, not sure which for to go for and the priest of Ra sent its head flying across the chamber, the skull cracking as it slammed the wall.  The skeleton fell to its knees, but immediate tried to get back up, it had no need of a head.  

“Nephthys! Bless my smashing!” Timotheus cried out and struck it hard with his heavy flail, so it did not get back up.  He used the momentum he built up to swing back up at another skeleton closing in, but it blocked the flail on the flat of its scimitar.  Another skeleton lost the grip on its long sword as it stabbed at Tymon and it clattered on the floor.  “I disarmed it, Master!” Tymon called proudly to Telémahkos.

 Victoria of Anhur hurried past the unarmed skeleton, leaving herself open to an attack from its claw-like bony hands.  She grunted in pain, but got past drawing the attention of the skeleton with the greatsword.  It turned to face her, its skull covered in the gold mask marked with the rune for avarice.  Crusta took off around the room trying to find a way to reach Markos safely, as he was still bleeding out.

And now there was a knot of furious melee.  Telémahkos and Bleys moved back and forth to keep the skeletons occupied while others smashed at them. Timotheus’ instincts made him notice an opening as Falco moved in, his scimitar sending sparks when it clashed with that of his undead opponent.  The tall and muscular son of Briareus crushed it handily, his usual grin growing wider as he spun to face the one who had sent Victoria to the ground.  The militant crawled through the chaos, a prayer to Anhur her lips, but before she could get the spell off, the skeleton with the great sword chopped down on her back.  She groaned and fell on her stomach, feeling the blood bruise swell up beneath her armor.  She looked up wincing with anticipation for another blow, but it did not come.  She leapt to her feet, noticing Timotheus running through a shower of bone fragments on his way to face the skeleton with the longspear.  He called Dunlevey off, sending him to help the others.

Laarus let out a satisfied grunt as he smashed another skeleton, is gold mask clattering on the floor. 

“Anhur, let this boy live to see another day,” Victoria finally had a chance to see to Markos unthreatened by the skeletal undead, but as she cast the spell she also noticed that Markos had stabilized.  Crusta was sitting with the sun-tanned mage’s head in her lap, stroking his hair and making murmuring noises.  “Isis, take care of my boyfriend,” she said, and he finally sputtered awake.

By this time Timotheus was charging the two remaining skeletons who were cowering away from Laarus in one corner, while Dunlevey and Tymon finished one last one.  As the chamber grew silent, the young nobles and their hirelings and followers took a collective breath, but the air down here was foul and they were filled with a sense that they should find the way out as quickly as possible.  The masks were collected and examined.

“Which of these emotions leads to man’s grief at the end of a leash?” Bleys asked.  “My guess is that the answer lies in that question.”

“But what of the clues on the spire?” Victoria said.  “Shall we not consider those?”

“It could be greed…” Bleys mused, not answering the militant. “Or perhaps serenity? As in the serenity of death?  Dalvan _was_ a necromancer…”

All this time the great green stone hummed softly, but suddenly it gave off a pulse of green light again, and again they felt the deep cold of evil in their soul.

“We have to do something to get out of here,” Telémahkos said, clutching his chest dramatically.

“If no one is sure then someone just take our best guess,” Timotheus said.  “If someone needs to put the mask on, I will do it…”

“Don’t be a fool,” Victoria admonished him. “It seems to me that whichever way we choose will lead to grief, so even the ‘right’ choice may be dangerous to us.”

“Well then, I am the best one to take it,” Timotheus said, smiling.  He began to gather the skeletons’ weapons, as Bleys arranged the masks on the floor and made ready to cast _detect magic_.  There was another pulse, and this time Falco, Crusta and Markos let out groans of agony, unable to hold back.

“Well, all the masks are magical,” Bleys said a moment later.  “I only had a chance to look at a few before the spell’s duration ended, but they seem to hold necromantic and enchantment dweomers.”

Timotheus picked up the mask with the rune Laarus had translated as representing happiness.  “I am going to put this one on, okay?” he asked.  “You think it is this one?”

“The never-ending search for happiness does sometimes lead to the end of a leash,” Bleys reasoned.

“Don’t put anything on, blockhead!” Telémahkos slapped his cousin’s shoulder.

“You know, maybe the last adventurers who got into this place put on those masks and they became the skeletons we just destroyed,” Markos offered.  As the speculation continued in earnest, Telémahkos began to search the area around each of the columns looking for some kind of secret passage out of the room.

There was another pulse and a sense of panic wafted in the room to mingle with the dread already found there.

Markos grabbed Crusta by the wrist and led her out to the narrow bit of hall that led into the chamber that was not blocked off, hoping it might keep them out of the range of the pulse of vile energy.  Falco followed, as did Tymon, once Telémahkos told him he might as well try.  Meanwhile, the blond Briareus was still searching, and it was over by the pillar where the skeleton wearing the mask marked with rune for anger or courage that he noted an unusual amount of moisture beading through a seam in the stone wall behind the great plaque of green stone there.  He dug at the wall with a finger and the stone flaked and gravely mud crumbled out from behind the seam.  He showed the others what he found.

“It looks like there is some kind of damage to the structural integrity of this chamber,” Telémahkos said.  “We might be able to pull this wall down, or at least a big enough chunk to get out of here without having to risk a mask…”

“Or we might flood the chamber and end up killing all of us,” Laarus replied. “Even if the water is not enough to drown us, the chamber may collapse…”

Bleys shrugged, “At least if we cause a flood and wash the masks away no other can enter this tomb and share in our folly.”

“We got Bes, that’s all we need,” Telémahkos said.

“We could try to break a wall where there is no water,” Bleys speculated aloud.

“It is only loose because of the running water,” Telémahkos replied.

Timotheus walked over and examined the wall flail in hand. 

“Don’t you go smashing anything, Moose!” Telémahkos slapped his cousin’s shoulder. “Grab on to the stone plaque there and pull instead.”

“Better a moose than a weasel,” Timotheus replied with a smile, and he began to pull on the green stone plaque.  Victoria walked over and aided him.  The whole thing shifted less than an inch, and a sputter of mud and grit poured out from behind it.  Telémahkos stopped them and examined the wall and then listened.  He gave them the okay to continue, and a moment later the entire plaque cracked into three pieces and fell onto the floor.  They leapt back as a torrent of mud made a pile on the floor.  A few more moments of digging and a natural passage of hollowed out mud was revealed beyond.  They could hear the steady beat of gouts of water from beyond.  The passage climbed sharply to the left, disappearing into darkness.

A rope was fastened about Telie’s waist and Timotheus held the other end while his cousin explored the sudden egress holding a lit lantern.  The muddy sides of the tunnel dripped and crumbled as he climbed, and about thirty feet in he emerged from the wound in the earthen wall of a natural cavern.  Here walls were tall and slick with mud, water was splashing down in a staccato waterfall along from a shaft in the one corner of the ceiling and disappeared down into a dark hole beyond.   Telémahkos carefully walked out into the middle of the cavern and noticed there was another way out, a narrow passage of mud that curved and disappeared down to the right.  He walked over and raised his lantern, but could see no further than about forty of fifty feet.  He hurried back, arriving in time to feel another of the evil pulses.

“I found a chamber you all can wait in while I explore a possible way out,” Telémahkos said, wincing.  “I think it will be far enough away from this stone to not have to worry about it hurting us anymore.”

“Well, it is either that or try the masks,” Laarus said.

“We risk Telémahkos’ way,” Bleys said steadily. Telémahkos climbed back up to steady the rope from that end as the others made their way up one by one to keep from collapsing the way out.  As Victoria, Laarus, Bleys and Timotheus waited their turns, being the last to go, the stone pulses once again, and once again they felt its soul-wracking cold pain.  Finally, they all made it up into the cavern, wary of its muddy walls and torrents of water.  They waited until enough time had passed that they thought the stone would have pulsed again, but nothing happened.  Out of sight of the stone, and feeling no foul pain, they had to assume they were safe for the time being.

*End of Session #17*

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*Notes:*

(1)	To see the map, click here.

(2)	Those holding the door had to make Fortitude saves or take increasing damage every five rounds. Thus, they took 1 point the first time, 2 points the second time, etc…

(3)	See Session #16.

(4)	They did not know it yet, but they were suffering _vile_ damage.  I don’t care what anyone says, I think _The Book of Vile Darkness_ was a great book.


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## el-remmen (Jan 6, 2009)

Okay, the holidays are over. . . So I am giving this a bump in hopes that other authors will participate.

Cheers!


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## Nebulous (Jan 6, 2009)

I loved the Book of Vile Darkness too! 

Appropriately enough, i'm picking an entry from my old Masks of Nyarlathotep campaign.  I've had to add the pictures back, they were stripped away due to server space issues.

What's happening in a nutshell:  

The investigators are in Cairo searching for clues, and have wandered to the plantation of a wealthy businessman, Omar Shakti.  They know practically nothing about him.  Which, in Cthulhu, can be a very, very bad thing.  Their ultimate fates aren't known until the next session, but it ain't pretty.  This was such a fun adventure because it was so unexpected, i didn't think the party would come here. 




Adventure #13: The Cotton Plantation of Omar Shakti

*Part 2: A Fatal Mistake*


March 31st, 1925
8:30 pm

_“These Americans—and a Chinaman—have accepted me 
into their group.  They seem to know more than they’re telling, 
and for some mad reason I trust them!”
--O. Blumpkin​_

While waiting for a taxi outside the Museum, a sensual woman approaches the four well-dressed gentlemen on the steps. [GiGi has already permanently exited the campaign by this point, and her character relegated to NPC status].  No one recognizes the stranger. Long hair dangles over her shoulders, and none can resist the sway of her breasts. However, she halts not far from them, her jaw set in anger. 

“RETURN what was stolen!  The scrolls are not yours to keep.  They belong to another, and only misfortune will follow.”

Chang, Morty and Nevelle assume that this must be who Oscar saw a few days ago, and subsequently tried to hit on. She is indeed quite beautiful. Oscar was right about that.

“This is your final warning,” she hisses. “There will be no more offers. Return the Black Rites to me, or suffer the consequences.” 

“Why?” demands Nevelle.  “Really, why? Who are you?  We…we have no qualms with you.  We only want to…to… study and use--”

But she stalks away into an alley teeming with cats, and the darkness swallows her.

“That was…rather odd,” says Doctor Blumpkin.

Morty sighs.  “Yeah. We get that a lot around here.”

After their encounter with the Cat Lady, the investigators decide that standing out here might not be good for them. They want dependable transportation, so bringing the doctor who is busy jotting notes, thankful that these fellows have taken the time to enlighten him, they borrow a transport truck from the museum’s loading dock.










With Chang behind the wheel, they drive to within a mile of the plantation, park, and walk the rest of the way. Morty has been here previously and has a good idea of the layout. Before long, they spot lights from the house. They reach the perimeter of the field and crawl through the cotton until they are within twenty yards of a back door and storage shed.

At this point, the group does not really know WHY they are here, only that Omar Shakti is possibly a bad person and a cult leader, although they're not positive. There is no solid proof. He is a well-known and respected Egyptian businessman. So, with only two flashlights for four people, a Molotov cocktail, several pistols and ammunition, and the good doctor with his notebook, they decide to break in.

All at the insistence of Neville Thornbottom, who says that this must be done! 

Three bright spotlights illuminate the exterior grounds. They see a single man exit the back door, enter the shed, and return inside. They watch for a while, see some lights flip on and off, and Chang finally sneaks to the shed to look around. Nevelle supports this strategy, so long as Nevelle is not in danger. Morty is nervous, and Dr. Blumpkin is so excited that he nearly hyperventilates. They are actually breaking and entering! Fantastic! It is wrong…but fantastic! 

Inside the shed, all Chang finds is a canvas bag full of small animal skulls. This is useless to him, although he wonders why someone would keep a bag of skulls. Are those…cat skulls? He peers closer, but isn’t sure. He just doesn’t understand the whole cat angle recently, and it worries him. 

Outside, Dr. Blumpkin scribbles in his notebook:  
_
“We have reached the plantation. Moving in! 
Searching for clues.  What did Ochenta see?”_

Chang leaves the shed and moves to a window, keeping to the shadows, and soon afterward he has disabled a window lock. He gives his companions thumbs up, and after considerable prompting by Nevelle (who is now treating the other investigators like malleable ninjas while he sits safe in the cotton field), they all gather at the window and one by one roll into a quiet, carpeted, immaculate hallway.

The first room they search is an impressive study, boasting a huge oil painting of their target, Omar Shakti. He looks unpleasant. 









But paintings are always suspicious, and sure enough, they find a sturdy wall safe behind it, but the combination is too tough to bypass. Blumpkin asks why Chang is trying to crack this man’s safe, and Morty tells him that there might be proof inside. 

“Proof of…what kind?” whispers Blumpkin, but Morty shushes him. 

Footsteps creak over their head.  Someone is above them.

They abandon the safe and enter the hall, navigating the dim corridor until they reach the kitchen. It is well maintained, with polished copper pots, hand towels, ladles, culinary knives, and a shiny waxed floor. 

There is a basement door here, and past the kitchen are stairs that lead to the second level. But they hear a rhythmic sound from the basement, a mechanical “whomp whomp whomp whomp whomp,” so they opt to investigate that first. Morty descends, his pistol out, his flashlight offering him meager illumination. It stinks of mothballs and gasoline, and they soon find a gas generator that provides auxiliary power to the house. It is quite expensive and high quality. Exhaust vents lead outside. But surely a man of Shakti’s wealth can afford power lines to his estate? 

[GM Note: I never thought these guys would actually break into Omar’s house, so this entire session was run off-the-cuff, aside from what the campaign book suggested. I eventually learned to stop assuming what they would do next…uh, near the end of the China chapter]

But almost immediately, someone tromps down the stairs from the 2nd floor, flips on the light in the kitchen, and turns on the water faucet. The investigators scuttle like frightened cockroaches, pressing themselves into the shadows, but no one enters the basement. Soon, the water and lights are turned off. 

Breathing collective sighs of relief, a plan begins to form. 

A plan of ambushes.  

Followed by plans of secondary and then tertiary ambushes. Of pots and pans and guns and…and…cleavers! Right! Cleavers to incapacitate the person upstairs! No, no, no, that won’t do, and they go back to the first plan, where they will hide under the steps and then run UP the steps and WHACK! But no, no, let's not do that. They can’t do that. But wait! Yes, let’s turn the lights off but make the NEW guy do it, but the new guy Blumpkin doesn't want to do it because he doesn't know why the hell he is here in the first place with three men he has never met before today, and first they were pushing a crazy man around in a wheelchair a few hours ago and now they’re waving pistols and flashlights and short-fuse volatile chemicals, and all Blumpkin has is a notebook, and he's getting really really really freaked out by the whole thing, but the others don’t seem to care and just keep saying “Dammit, help us here, Blumpkin!” With some well-worded manipulation, they force Blumpkin to consider it an initiation into their club. Chang, Morty and Nevelle leave and wait outside in the shadows, while Dr. Blumpkin, alone and terrified, pours sugar from the pantry into the generator’s gas tank.

This is their plan: break the generator so someone comes to fix it. 

Blumpkin performs admirably, and then skedaddles to the study and hides behind a plush chair, Omar’s oily eyes bearing down on him. While hunched there, covered in sweat, (his hands shaking so badly that he can barely scribble: 

“Sugar mission complete!” 

the doctor hears two voices discussing the damaged generator. They are in the room above him. He also hears a cat meowing. Apparently, they have already noticed the flickering lights, and one man is instructed to fix it.

Blumpkin listens to footsteps come down the stairs, pass through the dining room, into the kitchen, through the basement door, and then down to the generator. He springs up and slides to the door, braces a chair against the knob and locks someone down there, who he thinks is the servant and not this mysterious “Omar” fellow.

The doctor grabs an iron skillet and then motions for the others to enter. As a huddled group, they creep upstairs, weapons brandished. Blumpkin grips a pen in one hand like a dagger, the skillet in the other. 

At the top of the stairs, they spot a slightly open door, probably the room above the study. Light shines through a crack, flicking because of the failing generator. This is it. This is why they came here, to confront Omar Shakti and determine if he is an agent of Nyarlathotep. If not, they will apologize and leave; otherwise, he’ll get the same treatment as the Black Pharaoh! 

Desiring the element of surprise while they still have it, the investigators BURST into the room, guns and writing implements aimed and pointed, screaming, "Put up your hands you sonavawhore!"

Omar Shakti sits on a huge pie-wedge bed, wearing bright blue silk pajamas, petting a white Persian cat on his lap. Surprised, he raises his hands, very, very slowly. The cat stops purring. 












“Gentlemen,” he says in heavily accented English, “there is no need for violence. I will obey your wishes. Take what you want…” And he gestures around the bedroom.

But the white cat launches up in a blur of motion, streaking cheetah-fast to the nearest person:  Blumpkin!

“Yeeeaaah!” Blumpkin screams and whacks the cat out of midair with his frying pan. It splats against the wall and crumples to the floor, convulsing. 

Nevelle holds Omar at gunpoint. “Don’t move!” Omar’s hands are raised, but he shakes his head as if reprimanding a naughty boy. Blumpkin is about to have a heart attack when he sees the cat's tongue lash out from its mouth like a growing pink snake.

“Oh…dear…Christ God in Heaven.”

The barbed tongue strikes at Chang’s feet. The cat’s body is shaking now as if something beneath the skin wants out. Its flesh ripples and tears, spurting fluids and ooze to the floor.

"You should not have come here," growls Omar Shakti.

Nevelle Thornbottom answers him by pulling the trigger. The bullet rips through Omar’s shoulder, but in the next instant Omar’s flesh warps into stony rivulets. A split second after that, he utters a quiet word and Shakti vanishes from sight. Screaming non-stop now, Blumpkin swings his frying pan back and forth, but when he strikes a target that feels like solid rock, pain lances all the way up his shoulder. 

The cat begins to rise, but it is not quite a cat anymore, but something from a nightmare with distended jaws that drip viscous saliva, talons pushing from elongated digits, and these awful, awful ungodly eyes, and as it reaches for the doctor--








--CHANTING begins, the intonation of horrible syllables that mortal men were not meant to hear, and a foul wind sweeps through the room, as rank as an unearthed graveyard, and and and AND--

--and Jake had to leave so we stopped.


[GM Note: I told the group, “Don't forget to roll up new characters. Um…you're basically fighting a lich.”]


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## barsoomcore (Jan 9, 2009)

The following is from *Barsoom Tales II: Romance, Revolution and Bloody Revenge!*, which is the second thread of my Barsoom campaign.

Our heroes find themselves in *Castle Dannockshire*, home of the mysterious *Madame Yuek*, whose intentions are unclear. This story hour has just been completed, providing eight pages of entertainment. It's a good-sized novella of about 60,000 words, mostly of pulpy, horror-tinged entertainment, and lacks much in the way of a happy ending, it must be said.

*Our Heroes:*







> "Are you two okay?"
> 
> Elena smiled thinly.
> 
> ...


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## Mathew_Freeman (Jan 9, 2009)

This excerpt is from the Swordlands Story Hour, which is a fairly young sort of campaign at the moment.

I've chosen this entry because it has a real feel of the Norse about it - it's all about bold action, dramatic events and pride. Plus, it's got plenty of description and our favourite NPC (Serkeljof 'the sarcastic').

The characters have just arrived in Himimborg, the main city of the area, after defeating a group of raiders. They are challenged to a test of valour to mark their mettle - and of course they accept!
______________________
The party quickly decides amongst themselves how they intend to win the challenge in front of them – each playing to their strengths.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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