# Sins of Our Fathers II - New Art Uploaded - 1/25



## Destan

*Author's Note:  This story hour explores some decidedly mature themes. The following posts recount the exploits of a group of characters played by a handful of thirtysomething players. This is a "low fantasy" campaign, rife with moral ambiguities. I want to entertain, not offend. If I inadvertently accomplish the latter, please accept my apologies.*

* Thanks to EN World member Greyhawk DM, we've now got a complete and total archive of the first Sins of Our Fathers story hour.  The three Word documents attached to this post include all the updates from the original Sins story hour thread, and may make for easier reading for newcomers.*



If you're new to this tale, please head to the original *Sins of Our Fathers* story hour.  This thread is the second installment, and begins where the first left off.  There is no summary here of the story thus far, so new readers may be lost.  Of course, old readers may be lost as well - but that's part of the fun.

You can head to our *Rogues Galley - Fiends & Friends* thread to see some of the behind the scenes (read: stat blocks) info.  I'm going to attempt to update that thread more regularly than I have in the past, as I still have much of the game-related information from these more recent sessions.  Perusing some other threads on the boards seems to indicate readers like seeing the mechanics behind the tale - if this is not the case, let me know, and save me some time.

The Sins group gets together 2-3 times yearly.  Each session typically lasts from Thursday evening until the wee hours of Sunday morning.  There are seven PC's and myself (that makes for a lot of empty beer cans).  Our most recent players have been with us for nearly three years, and the Old Guard has been rolling dice and frolicking in nerdom since 1987.  We cut our teeth on 1st Edition, added so many house rules it becamse a wholly new (and wholly confusing) homebrewed system, and finally saw the light of 3E about 2 1/2 years ago.  We haven't looked back since.

This campaign, as it now stands, is entirely 3.5E.  There are some differences, of course, and I'll try to note those as we move along in the story.

Lastly, the mountain of notebooks and feverish scratching that comprises the campaign world has been published by Different Worlds just prior to GenCon Indy.  Some of the information in this story hour is at odds with what's in the published manuscript (namely the pantheons).  Um...enough about that.

Let's get to the story, eh?  It's been too long.


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## Nifft

Yay! More, please!

 -- N


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## Destan

*Chapter I*

_“I would rather have noise and thunder and storm-curses than this cautious, uncertain feline repose; and among all my minions, I hate most of all soft-walkers and half-and-halfers and thinking, hesitating puppets.  Steal, I say, only when you cannot plunder!  Revel in warfare as a means to more of the same!  Cast down the weaker and delight in the power of the stronger.  Would that my armies be filled with the blood-lust of birds of prey, and would that all conscience and compassion be erased from the red stones of the Rorn!”

           -  Loroth Witchking, Lamia Imperator, 30 B.E._



*Chapter I*

Raylin smelled onions.

He tried to open his eyes, but failed.  He tried to raise an arm, but failed.  He tried to open his mouth…and did _not_ fail.  “Water,” he croaked.  The single word rattled upward from his chest, a throaty groan.  

Raylin felt – _I can feel!_ - a hand squeeze his chin.  A moment later water splashed onto his face – wonderfully cold.  He tried again to open his eyes – most of the hardened mucous had disappeared with the deluge.  He squinted, albeit barely, and relished in the pain brought by the sudden sunlight.

The Larrenman feared few things, but he had been taught since a child to fear the darkness.  In the black of night was when the _vissiti_ would come to spirit away wayward youths.  Being held immobile by the poison of the spider wasp was not without its own terrors, but having been paralyzed with his eyes closed - trapped in complete and utter darkness..._that_ had been nearly too much for the clansman to endure.

“Water.”  Again his voice was nothing more than a rasp, but it was stronger now.

A face rose upward before him, floating in the multihued blindness caused by the sunlight.  It was a hard face, a mean face – but it was a man’s face.  “Please,” Raylin ran a parched tongue along his cracked lips, “water.”

The man exhaled heavily, the stench of onions once again flooding the glade.  The disembodied face turned to look above and behind Raylin.  “This one yet lives.”

A hand grabbed Raylin’s newly-sprouted beard, forcibly turning his head to either side.  “No wounds - other than the hole in his gut.  And that looks scabbed well enough.”  A pause.  “Malach!  Did you hear?  This one here is alive.”

“I hear you, fool – not so loud, eh?” came a distant, annoyed reply.  “And the others?”

“The dandy is dead,” answered yet a third voice, somewhat hushed, “but the bald one in the breastplate is still breathing.”

“Wake him up, Lans.”

“I tried - he just snores louder when I poke him.  I don’na think he wants to wake up.”

A second man stepped into Raylin’s blurred vision.  He wore a chain shirt beneath a green cloak.  “I am Malach mac Calahen.  Do you hear me?”

Raylin weakly nodded.  “Water…”

Malach squatted on his haunches and stared at Raylin like a huntsman taking the measure of his kill.  He reached out and rubbed crust from Raylin’s face with a thick thumb.  “He may be the one.  See his cloak?”  Malach swiveled his head to stare at someone outside Raylin’s sight.  “He’s a Larrenman, alright.  Or perhaps he killt one and stole his cloak.  Either way, we’ll be needin’ to bring him with us.”

The onion-breath man stood, scowling.  “Ain’t no Larren riding on my horse, Malach.”

Malach stood as well.  “Lans can carry him.”

“Like hell.  _You_ take him.”

“Fine, but there’ll be no turn at the watch for me tonight.”  Malach gave further orders without waiting for a reply.  “Lans, throw the bald one over your saddle – he ain’t no Larren, so don’na be givin’ me backtalk.”

“Aye.  And what of this here other one?”

“He’s dead, right?  We don’t need no dead ones to slow us down.”  Malach frowned, eyes glinting like coins.  “Did you strip him?”

“I did.  Had a bunch o’ crowns and bits in his purse, and more hidden in his boots. A walking treasure chest, he was.”

“Good.”  Malach drew on a pair of riding gloves. “We’ll divide the spoils tonight, not a moment sooner.  I want to push west as far as we can whilst the light holds.”

Raylin craned his neck.  It was difficult, but he was able to twist his head just enough to see a crumpled form laying in the weeds not ten paces from him.  A pair of green-cloaked clansmen stood over John’s body.  “I ain’t digging him no grave,” one of them spat.  “He looks like a southlander to me.  Looks womanish.”

One of the clansmen bent and grabbed something laying in the weeds near the half-naked corpse.  Raylin winced as the man plucked a single, discordant note on John’s lyre.  “’Lest I miss my mark, this little music-maker belonged to dead southlander.”

Yet another clansman strode into Raylin’s view, hand outstretched.  “Give it here.”  The man took the instrument and strummed a series of twangs.  “Oh no, oh no!  Here I lie dead as the gods, with no grave to be dug…um, shat in my breeches and was killed by a bug.  Oh no, oh no!”

The other Calahen clansmen erupted into a laughing chorus, their earlier attempts at stealth forgotten.  “Oh no, oh no! Killed by a bug!  Oh no, oh no!”

Raylin had seen enough.  He closed his eyes and - for once - welcomed the blackness.

***

The knock, when it came, startled the Archmage.  _Was I asleep?_

Destan stood, gathered his food-stained robes about him, and crossed the short distance to the arched door.  He opened it.  “Your Grace.”

Mariadon quirked a brow from outside the doorway.  “You only use my title when you are desperate.”

“Or when I am good and well drunk.”

“I smell no wine about you.”

Destan sighed.  “I know, damn it all.”  The Archmage surveyed the empty nave behind the priest.  “Come in, come in.”

Mariadon waited for Destan to close the door and join him at the small table before both men sat.  Destan hiked up his robes and itched a bony knee.  He squinted at Mariadon.  “Thank you for coming.”

“Yes, yes,” Mariadon waved a hand dismissively, “but I have many things to attend – you _do_ remember this is one of the holiest days of the Dawngod.  Please, do an old friend a favor – go against your nature and get directly to the point.”

Destan feigned being hurt for but a moment.  His face turned serious.  “None of them have arrived, and I have had all the roads watched since you had been able to _scry_ and exchange _messages_ with Sir Anar.  They should have been here by now – at least the three of them that split from Anar at Lonely Heath.”

Mariadon’s own face was smooth.  “I imagine the three of them would have skirted the Marches – those lands are unkind to foreigners.  If they did not use the roads, Destan, then they are not yet late.”

“Mayhaps.”  Destan’s reply held no sense of comfort.

“Friend, why summon me _here_?”  The Archbishop of Lathander looked about the small chamber.  “You could have discussed these matters with me at your own estates, at my Cathedral, or even magically.”

“My estates are watched, as you know.  And your Cathedral is filled this day with many faces unknown to me.”  Destan tugged on his gray-white beard.  “As for magic…did I tell ever tell you the story of the burrow gnome Pandit?”

By way of reply, Mariadon produced a small flask from his robes.  He pulled the cork and set the open bottle between the two of them.  The priest understood without doubt that his old friend needed to talk, and Destan had precious few people who would listen.

“Pandit?  No, I don’t believe you have,” Mariadon lied.

“Ah, yes, well,” Destan sat straighter in his chair.  “He was not unaccomplished in the arcane arts.  But Pandit grew overly fond of teleportation.  At first he would teleport only great distances, but soon he was bouncing from one town to another, one block to the next.  The little burrow gnome, near the end, even used to _dimension door_ from his den to his privy and back again, rather than make the simple walk.”

“You don’t say…”

“I do, I do.”  Destan’s gaze alighted on the flask as if spotting it for the first time.  “What is it?”

“Arn brandy.  Aged twenty.”

The Archmage could not hide his glee.  “Only a sip.”  Destan reached out, took a pull, and sat quietly while color invaded his cheeks.  “By the gods, that is _good_.”

“I know.  Take a care to leave some for me.”

If Destan heard the Archbishop, he made no reply.  “Well, as I was saying – Pandit grew old.  Even burrow gnomes grow old, Mari.  And his senses began to leave him.  One by one he forgot his spells, and his sight grew so bad he could barely read his books.  In the end, it is said, he soiled himself daily while sitting in his study.  Old Pandit forgot he couldn’t _dimension door_ as he once could – at least, he forgot until the smell reminded him.”

“Fascinating,” Mariadon deadpanned.  He watched Destan take a second, and a third, drink.  “Why here, then?  This is the house of Helm.”

“I know, I know.”  Destan smacked his lips and held the bottle before him as if reading a label, though there was none.  “Bishop Thular has always been our friend in this.  And smaller rooms are much easier to magically ward.”

Mariadon opened his mouth to reply but was interrupted by a discreet knock.  “Enter.”

A Helmite acolyte opened the door and stepped within, dipping his head low.  “Forgive me, gentlemen, but His Grace commanded me to come at once.”

“Speak,” Destan barked.

The acolyte blushed.  “Archbishop Mariadon, you are needed at your cathedral.”

“Who sent for me?”

“The Sun Brother Demetrius.”

“Did he say why?”

“No, Your Grace, only that it was urgent.  He awaits you on the steps outside the nave.”

Mariadon sighed audibly.  “Thank you.  You may go.”  The Archbishop waited for the acolyte to bow and depart before sharing a look with Destan.  “Duty calls.”

“Go, go,” Destan grumbled.  “We can talk later.”

Then, only after Mariadon was safely out of earshot, did Destan call, “Mari!  You forgot your flask!”

***

Mariadon strode purposefully from the nave to find his man standing upon the marble steps outside.  “What is it, Demetrius?”

“Your Grace, there is trouble in the temple.  Brother Daladon escorted two men into the catacombs.  You had bid me watch him, and so I have.”

“Who are these two men?”

“I do not know.  Both look sorely used.  They are filthy and could not walk without assistance.”

“What did they wear?”

“The one wears an old breastplate-”

_“Sunal!”_

And with but a single word, Mariadon was gone.

***

“I am Brother Daladon.”

Kellus tried to sit upright but could not – his joints were still stiff and painful from the recently faded paralysis and the hard ride to Val Hor on the back on a Calahen mount.  “I am Bro-…I am Kellus.  Of Tarn Cal.”

Daladon smiled.  He was a young priest, his face shining, his hair the color of the Dawngod’s nimbus.  The yellow robes of Lathander matched the amber hue of his eyes.  He steepled his fingers in front of him.  “I am glad I – _we_ – have found you.  Others look for you, Kellus.”

Kellus was beyond caring.  There was a void in his emotions where John had once been.

Daladon continued.  “I regret that I cannot heal you.  At the moment.  I must pray first.”  The priest, again, gave a silken smile.  “And indeed I shall, but first we must discuss issues of utmost importance.”

Kellus dragged a hand across his face.  “Something to drink.”

Daladon nodded.  “Guards,” he called.  A man wearing the burnished hauberk of Lathander opened the room’s only door and looked within.  “A bottle of wine, please.  Two glasses.  Be quick.”  The man nodded and shut the door without a word.

Daladon stood and walked around the table to hover over Kellus.  He pressed smooth fingertips against the Rhelmsman’s cheek.  “You have suffered.”

Kellus drew back.  “Not as much as others.  What is it you want?”

“There is a traitor in our midst.  One of our Order who has forsaken his vows.  You have met him.”

Kellus squinted with thought.  “Anar?”

“The very one.”  Daladon laid a cool hand upon Kellus’ stubbled pate.  “You are fortunate he let you live.  You could do great harm.  To his cause.”

Once again Kellus drew away from the priest’s touch.  “Anar is no traitor.”

“How can you be so sure?”

_Because I detected no evil in him._  “Because he gave us aid when none else would.”

Daladon sat.  “Yet, now I give you aid.  Do you trust me?”

_No._  “I might…provided I get some wine.”

At that, the door opened.  The guard placed a decanter and two goblets on the table.  Daladon walked back to his chair, sat, and poured two glasses.  He slid one across the table.  “Drink.”

Kellus ignored him and the offered cup.  “Where are the others of your order?  Why have my companion and I been separated?  We have made no slight against Lathander’s flock.”

“As to the first, doubtless they are preparing for our festival.  This is a holy day, friend, one of the holiest – for us.  As to the second, we must be sure you and your companion are who you say you are.”

“So…” Kellus looked about and recognized the room for what it was – a cell.  “This is an interrogation?”

“No, no,” Daladon laughed, his chuckle oddly reminiscent of a demon Kellus had seen loosed within Borbidon’s tomb.  “This is merely…prudence.”

_Very well, I will play your game._  “How has Anar betrayed his church?”

“His _former_ church.”  Daladon’s face clouded.  “He did not.  Anar – the true Anar – is dead.  A feratu has taken his place.”

Kellus mentally thumbed through memories from his Catechism.  _Feratu.  Demons?  Shapeshifters?  Both._  “Perhaps,” Kellus allowed.  He was on his guard, now.  “How does this concern me?  The last I saw Anar he was riding south from the Duskingdell.”

“Really?”  Daladon leaned forward.  “Truly?”

“Yes.”

“Are you certain he did not accompany you as far as…oh, perhaps, Lonely Heath?”

Kellus was quiet.  

Daladon licked his finger and rubbed the tip against the rim of the wine glass.  The sound was disconcerting.

But what Kellus found even more disconcerting was the fact that Daladon’s fingertip was _nearly_ touching the rim…but not quite.  There was a hair’s breadth of distance between the man’s finger and the glass’ edge.

Kellus sat back, composed himself, and _disbelieved_.*

Then – and only then – did Kellus see Daladon’s true form.  Or, rather, the true form of the demon that had doubtlessly slain the young priest.

***

Mariadon appeared from his _word of recall_ in a hidden room attached to the inner sanctum of Lathander’s Cathedral in Val Hor.  The Archbishop threw open the secret door – barely remembering to speak a word to pass the _symbols_ upon it – and practically sprinted down the corridor.

He prayed – prayed as fervently as he ever had – that he was not too late.

***








* When this session was ongoing, I still allowed PC’s to “disbelieve” illusions without “interacting” with them.  That’s the way we had played in the past, prior to 3E.  Unfortunately, as I began to toss more illusion-wielding bad guys at them, the PC’s would shout “Disbelieve!” whenever they met someone new.

Ever see the movie _Finding Nemo_?  Do you remember those seagulls that shouted “Mine! Mine!” incessantly?  That’s the memory I have of my players and the constant calls for disbelief.

So, eventually, I went with the rules – or, at least, what I interpreted the rules on illusions to be – and that’s the way we do it now.  No more seagull chatter of “Disbelieve!”  PC’s gotta interact with something before getting a save.  

Of course, some would argue that sitting across a table speaking with an illusion-shrouded demon _is_ interaction…bah!  Damned illusions.  Can’t live with ‘em, can’t make the half-orc pretty without ‘em.

I uploaded a cheap digital pic of a _feratu_ on our Rogues Gallery thread.


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## Nasma

Great to see the story back up again Destan.  It's also great to be seeing some more of it from Raylin's perspective.  I didn't expect this to be continuing for a long while yet, it's definately a pleasant surprise.  Looking forward to the sourcebook, and the new gods.


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## Old One

*Hooray!*

Destan,

Good to see ya back...off to a stellar start !

~ Old One


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## The Forsaken One

Rejoiced to see this on the road again  My appologies for never being able to email those critters, my laptop was stolen (again, second time this year by a burglar) and afterwards no internet for 5 weeks. Sigh.... and I was so hopen to see some creation of mine in a storyhour ...


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## pogre

I guess this means your done with the supplement - good for you! I'm sure that is a load off. Great start to the story hour.

If it is between spending time on an update or adding to the Rogues Gallery I vote work on the update.



			
				Destan said:
			
		

> Ever see the movie Finding Nemo? Do you remember those seagulls that shouted “Mine! Mine!” incessantly? That’s the memory I have of my players and the constant calls for disbelief.




It has never been more obvious that you have three children! The other day I had the Dwarves dig, dig song from Snow White running through my head for hours!


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## WizarDru

Destan said:
			
		

> Of course, some would argue that sitting across a table speaking with an illusion-shrouded demon _is_ interaction…bah! Damned illusions. Can’t live with ‘em, can’t make the half-orc pretty without ‘em.
> 
> I uploaded a cheap digital pic of a _feratu_ on our Rogues Gallery thread.



And while it's damned familiar, I simply can't place it.

A great start to the continuation of the story hour!  

That is one gutsy demon, to cuckold the followers of Lathander right in their own home.  I'll be interested to see who the new members of the group turn out to be. 

_Disbelieve!_  <snicker>


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## DrZombie

WOOOHOOO, GO DESTAN GO, GO DESTAN GO

D E S T A N, HE'S OUR MAN

(cheerleaders dancing and chanting in the back)



OK, I admit it, I'm a bit weird.


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## JDragon

Just jumping in to subscribe so I don't miss anything and say "Welcome Back!" its gotten a bit quite around here of late.


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## Seule

Here we go!  Wheeee!
More Story Hour goodness!

  --Seule


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## WizarDru

Hey, wait a minute!

Now I have to update my .sig!  

...

Ah, that's better.


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## Pyske

Glad to have you back.

 . . . . . . . -- Eric


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## weiknarf

Destan,

you made my day.


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## grodog

Woohoo!


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## dpdx

Good to see you back again, Destan.

I'll miss John of Pell, though. I suppose, though, that he got what he deserved, or he wouldn't have got it, ya know? I mean, how hard would it be to find a true criminal within 500 ft. of where you are at any time in Ostia Prim?

I'd love to see that Valusia PbP kick back up again, too, but that might be asking _way_ too much of our man.


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## Celtavian

*re*

Destan,

Good start to the new story. Already I am drawn in by the character interactions and intrigue.



> Some of the information in this story hour is at odds with what will be in the published manuscript (namely the pantheons).




I figured you would have to change the pantheons. I'm surprised you didn't integrate the names of the new gods into this story. I'm sure we'll be able to figure them out when the supplement comes out.


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## handforged

glad to see another story.  this one looks like it is off on the right track. can't wait for more.


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## Lela

Not to repeat myself, but

WOOOOOOOOOOOOOHHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO


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## shilsen

Not to repeat Lela, but

WOOOOOOOOOOOOOHHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

(Seriously, I didn't - there's one less O).


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## Lela

Always good to know I'm a bigger blowhard than shilsen. 

Regardless of how small the gap is.


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## shilsen

Give it time. I'm a quick learner


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## Lela

I have faith in you.

[Obi-One]Just trust in your feelings.  They will not betray you.[/Obi-One]


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## Darklone

Better if I don't express MY feelings about your "I have a _longer Wohoo_ than you!".


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## Destan

*Chapter II*

Baden took stock of the situation:  seventeen dwarves, seven serviceable crossbows – all of them of the dwarven kind*, eight hauberks, nine shields, two maces, twelve axes, and perhaps three score of unshattered bolts.  Nearly the whole lot of it was bloodied, of course, but cleanliness was far down on the list of _Things to Worry About_.  The accounting of gear did not include his or Tamil’s possessions…or the equipment upon the corpse of Bardo.

For Bardo, Tamil’s brother, had fallen but moments before Baden had slain the cave troll.

Baden closed the gate that had served as entrance to his kinsmen’s prison.  The muffled groans he had ignored on the way to meet the cave troll were, in fact, sounds issuing from his brothers.  He had thanked Moradin seven times that he had decided to investigate the noises prior to leaving Axemarch.  Doubtless he would thank the Forge Father seventy more.

_Nineteen of us, all told.

- You will get them home.**

I'll sure as hell try, Ilvar.  I s’pose 'home' is Ironfist, now, for there ain’t nothing but death and stink here._

Baden shared a look with Tamil.  The young dwarf was doing surprisingly well considering he had just lost his brother.  _Most like it ain’t sunk in yet._  “’Tis your call, Tamil.  We can try to bring him if you want.”

Tamil shook his head, eyes red from unreleased grief.  “We have a journey ahead of us, and one that…that would be easier done without my brother.”

“Then let us bury him in the manner of the _firdundurven_.”***

Baden, Tamil, and two hand-picked dwarves helped situate Bardo’s body within a narrow fissure in the cavern’s wall.  The rock was loose thereabouts, and would fall easily.  Which, of course, was the point.

Tamil silently accepted one of the maces.  “May your skin be ever ruddy from the glow of the forge, and may your beard grow below your knees.”  Simple words, old words.  Tamil struck the wall once, twice, three times.  The rock collapsed, sealing Bardo’s corpse in a rocky tomb, the only indication of his resting place a finger-thin crack near the floor.

Baden nodded, once.  “Now, let us move.  Tamil, you take rearguard.  I’ll be in front.”  Baden surveyed the dwarves they had rescued.  “Keep the wounded in the middle, stay tightly packed.  We move as one.”

***

Baden collapsed onto a bank of snow, his chest heaving with exertion.  The snow was red and white around him, littered with the bodies of hobgoblin ambushers.  He looked around, spotted Tamil, and stood.  There was no time for rest.

“We lost three, Baden.”  Tamil's tone held a hint of accusation.

Baden pushed past Tamil without reply, marching through snowdrifts toward the assembled dwarves.  For a long moment he stared at the three corpses.  Baden did not know the dead warriors, but recognized their faces.  They had been beardless when he left.  They were not beardless now.  _May Moradin forgive me._

“You.  What is your name?”

“Murbann.”

“Next time you pop a cork and feed a healing potion to one who is down, make damned sure he's still living.  Them vials do nothing for one already dead.  Do you understand?”

Murbann’s expression was a mixture of anger and shame.  “I understand.”

“Good.  You can help bury them.”  

Baden had no time to coddle hurt feelings.  Some lessons were better learned hard.  To tell it true, Baden was angrier with himself than the young dwarf.  He had neglected to place any flankers to either side of his small force.  The hobgoblins had surprised them, and three had died because of it.

“One of the hob’s I killed had extra horseshoes in his pack.  Another of ‘em had fodder.”  Baden squinted toward the precipice frowning upon them from above.  “Most like them hobs staked their ponies in the passes above.  Tamil, take two, and find their mounts.  See that stand of spruce yonder?  Meet us there.”

The march from Axemarch to Ironfist was proving difficult.  _Too damned difficult._  The bitter cold of the Balantir Cor did little to slow his dwarves, but even dwarven bellies needed food.  And food was scarce.  The hobgoblins’ ponies would be a welcomed blessing.  The beasts could carry their wounded and – more importantly – could be eaten.

Baden idly wondered if Anar would be upset they had eaten his borrowed horse.  _Probably not,_ Baden allowed, _the Lathanderite seems a man who knows necessity._

Baden sighed as he watched Tamil and two others disappear into a nearby crevice.  He walked toward a slight rise in the ground and kicked at the snow.  “Here.  We will bury them here.”

Then, without another word, he set to chopping the ground with Borbidan’s axe.  His men soon joined him, the land quiet other than the sounds of their labor.

***

King Thodorr of Clan Ironfist was a short dwarf.  The face above his beard was as craggy as the hillside outside his Hall, his eyes two pieces of coal.  He had lost the front of his nose to a cave orc’s scythe, the wound making his face appear flat as shale.  He would be intimidating to look upon, Baden thought, if not for his smile.

“Baden Dost, is it not?”

“Aye, Your Majesty.”  Baden dipped his head.  “Thank you for allowing us the hospitality of your Hall.”  Baden thought there were probably other words – formal words – he should be saying.  But he had never been one for ceremony, and knew them not.

“I remember your father.  He had traveled here a number of times.”  Thodorr stepped to one side to better reveal the pillared hall behind him.  “My son is away, else he would be here to welcome you as well.  I trust the thanks you offer me extends to him.”

“Of course, Your Majesty.”  Baden was unsure what the Dwarfking meant by mentioning his absent son, but that did not dent his gratitude.  “Ironfist has been a fast friend of Axemarch in these troubled times.”

Baden was about to say more, but remembered his men.  “I have wounded-”

“I know.  My people are attending your hurts.  Eat, rest.”  Thodorr’s smile faded somewhat.  “Ularta, Matron of your clan, has spoken of you.  She has had much to say.”

Baden remembered Ularta – an old, bent dwarf.  His mother had never liked her.  “I believe I should meet with her, Your Majesty.”

“Of course, of course.”  Thodorr smiled once more.  “But she has asked that we save your tale for a council, and has requested I convene a moot this very evening.”  Thodorr’s eyes softened.  “I know you are weary.  Will you be able to attend, or should I delay the matter?”

_Delay, by the gods._  “I will attend, Your Majesty.”

***

Baden felt, for the first time in a long while, embarrassed.  He was surrounded by the pomp of dwarven nobility, and he felt crude and base in comparison.  He had washed the grime from his face and hands, combed the burrs from his beard, polished the armor and axe of Borbidan…but such things did little to make him feel comfortable.

Baden knew, without a doubt, that there were those at the council who marked him a traitor.  A coward.  He had departed Axemarch against the wishes of his Dwarfking Droggi.  He had left behind his clan, not knowing his fellows would soon be overrun by the blackness of the Deepingdelve.  

_Had I known, I would never have left.

- They know this, Baden.

Do they, Ilvar?  I see acceptance only in the faces of the Ironfist dwarves.  Those of my own clan stare at me as if I were rûcken.

- Not all of them.

Bah!  This is to be a fight, Ilvar.  There be no axes and hammers, but a fight it is all the same.  I must be on my best behavior.  I swear it to you – I _will_ be on my best behavior._

Baden nodded respectfully toward Dereth Droggison, son of the missing – _dead?_ - Dwarfking of Axemarch.  Dereth’s mood was concealed behind a young and bushy beard, but his eyes were not nearly so cold as some of the others.

Ularta, in particular.  Baden returned her gaze evenly.  He had seen too much, endured too much, to wilt under the glare of a spinster.  _I have half a mind to knock that look off your wrinkled snout, you old prune-

- Easy, Baden, easy.

Ilvar, now is the time when you shut yer trap._

Baden made his way through the throng of spectators, bowed low to Dwarfking Thodorr, not quite so low to Matron Ularta, and made his way to stand behind the only empty chair.  The others were already seated around a great, circular table.  “Uh…may I sit, Your Majesty?”

Thodorr smiled.  “Please, Master Dost.”

Baden felt like a schoolchild surrounded by teachers.  He reached out to set his axe on the table, thought what such a move might imply, and instead leaned the weapon against his chair.  He sat straight, then leaned back, then sat straight again.  He began to sweat.  _For the love of mead, will someone please speak?_

Thodorr did.  “Thank you for coming, all of you.  Your Grace, the benediction, please.”

Odon Hammergarden, Moradin’s Word, stood.  His voice was sonorous and pleasing and asked for the Forge Father to grant divine wisdom to the assembled moot.  It was a long prayer, and Baden was thankful for it; it gave him time to frame his words.  Baden was unsure whether the council would be aimed at learning what little he knew, or whether they would accuse him of…

Thodorr nodded as Odon reclaimed his chair.  “Thank you, Your Grace.”

The Ironfist Dwarfking looked to Baden.  “I believe we should begin by asking you to relate your recent…adventures.”

Baden nodded.  “I returned to Axemarch but a tenday or more ago.  Alone.  I was met by three dwarves – Tamil, Bardo, and Katon.”

“Tamil and Katon we have seen.  But, I ask you, where is Bardo?”  Ularta’s voice was both wheeze and screech.

_You know he’s dead._  “He is with the Forge Father.”

Dereth frowned.  “This would go easier if we saved our questions until after he's finished, no?”

So Baden told his tale.  He told of the chance meeting with Wilan Whitefletch.  He told of his climb down the mineshaft, of the fight with the cave troll and its minions.  He spoke of Bardo’s and Tamil’s bravery.  At the end of his recounting, Baden named those dwarves who had fallen to the hobgoblins, and asked that their names be remembered by both Axemarch and Ironfist.  

He told _his_ story, but not that of his companions from Olgotha.  For some reason, he did not feel it wise to mention John and Kellus and those other non-dwarves he had befriended.

And, finally, he was finished.  In all, Baden took only a few minutes to recount days of hardship.

***

Thodorr looked around the table.  “It seems Master Dost has rescued many of those who might otherwise be dead.  He has done what he could to return our folk to the shelter of Ironfist."  The Dwarfking paused.  "For this, he should be commended.”

Dereth nodded.  “Indeed he should.  And the rest of us, to our shame, should question whether we fled our Halls too quickly.  Could we have saved more than Baden's fourteen, had we stayed but a few more days to fight?  I say again - leaving as we did, when we did, was an ill move.”

“Really, Droggison?” Ularta barked, eyes narrow.  “Would you have _all_ of us enslaved as these few were?  I ordered the clan to depart so that Axemarch might yet endure.  And have we not?”

“Endured, yes - I will give you that.  But at what cost?"  Dereth's face was red, but his words lacked conviction.  "Where is our honor?"

Baden hated to come to Ularta’s defense, but felt he must.  “Sire," he addressed Dereth, "forgive me, but there were many tracks leading from the Deepingdelve into our Halls.  Tamil, Bardo, and I fought but _one_ such group – doubtless there are more.”

“Let them be as numberless as the peaks, friend Baden, yet still it shames Axemarch to run from our warrens like gophers from wildfire.”

Baden knew he needed to tread carefully; he recognized Dereth as a friend to his cause, but the dwarf was yet young.  His enthusiasm needed to be tempered.  “I know, sire, I know.  Yet leaving a battlefield, only to pick better ground, is not cowardice.”

Ularta sneered.  “You are quite familiar with leaving the battlefield, are you not?”

_So it was out._  Baden felt a weight taken from his shoulders.

“I should not have left Axemarch, Matron, if such is what you imply.  I know that, now."

“Had you remained,” Ularta pressed, undeterred, “we may yet be sitting in our own Halls, rather than coming to King Thodorr like beggars for alms.  Perhaps our Dwarfking would yet be with us.  Perhaps-”

“I doubt,” Odon interrupted in a gravelly voice, “one axe would have turned the tide.”

Ularta scoffed, “We will never know, will we?  Dwarfking Droggi and his _loyal_ warriors never returned.”

Thodorr raised his hand for silence.  He drummed thick fingers on the stone table.  “Ularta, you are Matron in Droggi’s absence.  Your word is the word of the Axemarch clan, until such time Droggi returns or Dereth is confirmed in his title.  What say you to the news our friend Master Dost brings?”

Ularta sat back, clearly relishing her role.  “I say only this:  this dwarf, Baden, fled from our clan when he was most needed.  He did not heed the orders of his Dwarfking-”

“The _wishes_ of his Dwarfking,” Dereth corrected.

Ularta did not pause.  “Should this dwarf wish to recoup some of his lost honor, he will accompany Axemarch as it returns to reclaim our home.”

Baden realized he had been holding his breath.  At Ularta’s latest words, he exhaled loudly, the wisps of his beard blowing outward.  “I want nothing more than Axemarch dwarves living in Axemarch Halls…”

“Yes?” Ularta smiled, eyes glinting and hard.

“But we are not ready.”  Baden’s voice was firm.  “Axemarch is not ready.  Not yet.  I look about.  I see only the faces of the young and the old.  We have lost many, lost our best warriors, and I would not see us lose more.”

Dereth sat upward.  “We are young, aye, but we are determined.  I think, should you have the opportunity, you would be impressed with our skill.”

“I do not doubt your skill, sire,” Baden agreed in a softer tone, “and least of all your determination.  But I tell you – I tell all of you – that Axemarch cannot be reclaimed.  It is beyond us.”

“What if the axes of Ironfist aided you in this endeavor?”

Baden’s eyes widened.  He looked to Thodorr.  “You have done much and more for my clan, Your Majesty, but…but you should look to your own Halls.  There is a man in Val Hor, Destan by name, who was in contact with Dwarfking Droggi.  There is evil afoot, amassed and organized, and it threatens more than just Axemarch.  I fear your axes will be needed to defend Ironfist lands, and soon.”

“So we are to listen to some _human_ from Valudia?”  Ularta looked about the chamber, delighting in the gruff mumbling of the assembled onlookers.  “Tell me, would you have Axemarch beholden to the Three Popas?”

Baden bristled.  “There are things you – and I – do not yet understand.  We must learn-”

“Do _not_ tell me what I understand and what I do not, shirker!”  Ularta stood.  “It was not I, but you, who fled our Hall.  I watched as Dwarfking Droggi asked for you to remain.  I watched as you gathered your pack and walked beneath the Foggun Maw.  You speak of cowardice-”

“I speak of truth!” Baden thundered, knuckles white as he gripped the arms of his chair.  He no longer looked at Ularta – his words, when next they came, were for the Axemarch dwarves standing in the shadows of the meeting hall.  “I left you.  I did.  But I am back now.  I have seen much.  We dwarves are too quick to discount the advice of others, too readily do we ignore the humans of the lowlands-”

“Again, you speak of listening to some Valudian-”

Baden reached down, grabbed his axe, and slammed it atop the stone table.  In all, the move took little more than the blink of an eye.  “Matron Ularta…ifyouwouldbesokind, I should very much like to finish one of my goddamned sentences without you interrupting.”

_-  ‘Best behavior’, indeed._

***

Baden glowered at Ularta, hand still wrapped about the haft of Borbidan’s axe.  “I know a thing or two about war, Matron.  If you order these dwarves to return to Axemarch, you order them to their graves.  And – yes! – I would go with them.  I swear by my beard I would be the first to step into the blackness.”

Baden removed his hand from his weapon.  He looked about the chamber once more.  “We dwarves have always been good at dying, haven’t we?  But, should we die, let it be for reasons other than _we were ordered to do so_.  That thinking has got us nowhere – nowhere! – in thousands of years.”

“It has made us who we are.”  Dereth’s voice was soft.

Baden glanced, not unkindly, as the young son of his missing liege.  He wanted to say much – _so much_ – but it would take days and months, not moments.

Baden’s reverie was interrupted.  Someone was pushing through the press of bodies surrounding the meeting table.

Tamil stepped forward, framed in the breach, still bedecked with the blood and soot of travel.  “I cursed the name of Baden Dost, and all those who would leave Axemarch.  This you know.  Better to have an Axemarch dwarf die in Axemarch, I have said, than to have an Axemarch dwarf live in Ironfist.  This, too, you know.”

The crowd grew loud, rough, many voices lending support to Tamil's assessment.  Ularta’s head bobbed up and down in agreement.

Tamil continued, ignoring the murmurs.  “My brother Bardo was killed but a tenday past.  He had followed Baden Dost into the mines beneath our Halls.  It was a foolish thing to do.”

Ularta raised a palsied hand.  “Do not let your conscience be troubled, young Tamil.  Bardo’s spirit now rests with the Forge Father.”

“Indeed,” intoned Odon, frowning at Ularta's apparent usurpation of his priestly role.

“But,” Tamil continued, unabashed, “it was a foolish thing he had _wanted_ to do.  It was a foolish thing _I_ had wanted to do.  Then…then when the rest of you had left, when our Dwarfking did not return, I elected to yet stay.  I did not listen to the Matron, nor did my brother and Katon.  We have paid for our disobedience with our blood, and Bardo paid with his life.”

“You are forgiven,” Ularta stated magnanimously.  She did not look at Tamil, but rather at the crowd behind him.

“That may be, and I thank you for it,” Tamil answered, “but I am not standing here asking for forgiveness.  Rather I am standing here asking that you – all of you – listen to what Baden has to say.  He has seen the bootprints in the sands of our mine shafts, not you.  He has smelled the rûcken flesh in the lower warrens, not you.  And I say - if Baden Dost says Axemarch cannot now be reclaimed…then Axemarch cannot now be reclaimed.”

“What?!” hissed Ularta, surprise and anger warring across her face.  

But her words, feeble and shrill, were drowned out by the roars of agreement from the crowd.  Dwarves who had feared to speak their mind ‘lest they be branded coward were suddenly loud in their opinions.  

_- Why can’t _you_ talk like _that?_

Must be my charisma._

Thodorr let the tumult continue for a number of moments before, finally, he removed his ceremonial helm and rapped it upon the table.  “Enough!” the Ironfist Dwarfking called.  “Quiet, friends, quiet!”

The volume receded.  Thodorr looked to Ularta.  “You have heard Master Dost’s recounting.  What say you?”

Ularta’s face was a mask of barely suppressed rage.  Indignation dripped from her pores.  Baden hardly recognized her as a dwarven woman – she appeared sinister.

Ularta spat.  “Axemarch will remain here.  We shall remain so long as Your Majesty allows us to sup and sleep in his Halls.”

Thodorr nodded.  “You are always welcomed, Matron, as are your people.”

“But…”  Ularta held up a bent finger.  “One who betrays Axemarch must serve his sentence.  This dwarf, Baden Dost, has betrayed our clan.  He betrayed our missing Dwarfking, he betrayed me, he betrayed all of you.  There is nothing lower than a traitor, as the Forge Father teaches.”

“Indeed he does,” Odon, once again, agreed without emotion.

“Then, as Matron of Axemarch, I hereby decree Baden Dost to be _nil-thain_.  Axemarch shall not return – yet – to its Halls, but neither shall Baden Dost be of Clan Axemarch.  Let him wander this world amidst the humans he likes so much, just as his spirit shall wander this world upon his death.”

And, with that, the moot ended.

***

*From the journal of Baden Dost:*****

_10th day of Uktar, 1366 DR

Once again I find myself traveling away from dwarven lands, this time perhaps for good.  I am _nil-thain_, clanless - a punishment imposed upon only the worst of dwarves…An outsider would not understand.  My friends would argue that I chose to venture out amongst the humans and I have thrived there; _nil-thain_ is only a name, they would say.  It means nothing to anyone who isn’t a dwarf.  

But they do not understand.  To be _nil-thain_ is not only to be shunned by dwarves who live, but also shunned by dwarves who have died.  The spirits of my forefathers will not seek out my soul upon my death.  Without this guidance my soul is doomed to walk Ostia Prim forever - eternally searching for a way to enter Moradin’s High Forge that is forever denied me.

This is the true significance to the punishment and it weighs heavy on my heart._

***









* There are certain crossbows in our campaign, fashioned solely by dwarves, that are a bit deadlier (and a great deal heavier) than heavy crossbows of the core rules.  The crossbows Baden had assembled were of this variety.

** Readers may or may not recall that Baden is possessed by the spirit of an elf-child named Ilvar.  A hyphen is the syntax used to indicate when Ilvar is speaking telepathically to his host.

*** There are three strains of dwarves on the Valusian Isle.  The clans of the Balantir Cor, such as Baden’s Axemarch, are comprised of _stondurven_, or mountain dwarves.  In the southlands are a race of _hulldurven_, or hill dwarves.  Finally, there are the white-haired and black-skinned _dwem_, called delve dwarves or dark dwarves.  Dwarven lore claims that all races sprang from the same stock in the days when Moradin shaped the mountains atop the bodies of the Dead Child-Gods.  This ancestral race is known as _firdundurven_, or First Dwarves, in the dwarven tongue.

**** From time to time I will include snippets from Baden’s journal.  Baden is played by Josh (fronstrune here on the boards), and Josh has kept a meticulous and detailed journal of the campaign since his battle with the cave troll.  As I’m sure other DM’s can attest, there’s nothing quite so helpful as having a record of the _players’ perspective_ of past encounters.  The journal has helped me numberless times in the past, when preparing new adventures, as it lets me know just what the players know…and what they don’t.


----------



## shilsen

Excellent, as ever!


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## WizarDru

Sweet Baden goodness.

Another awesome update.  Man, I love that crazy dwarf.


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## Darklone

WizarDru said:
			
		

> Sweet Baden goodness.
> 
> Another awesome update.  Man, I love that crazy dwarf.



Sooo right.


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## dpdx

Word. Baden's a hero, nil-thain or no.


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## Celtavian

*re*

Baden, the coolest dwarf I've yet read about. Great chapter, very enjoyable.


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## Lela

Played my emotions like a piano yet again Destan.  I loved every minute of it.


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## The Forsaken One

Nice  Very enjoyable.

Best plot - Sepulchrave
Best individual encounters and opponents stuff - Piratecat
Best writing/feeling - Destan

IMHO


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## Celtavian

The Forsaken One said:
			
		

> Best plot - Sepulchrave




I would add Best Unique Material and Best Use of Epic D20 Rules as well. Then again, I probably haven't read enough story hours to be sure.



> Best individual encounters and opponents stuff - Piratecat




Haven't read PC's. Too damn big to start.



> Best writing/feeling - Destan




Agreed. Destan truly writes like a novelist.


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## The Forsaken One

Sep has a great epic feeling to it indeed but there aren't any other (IMHO) great epic level stories around so no real comparing. The plot and characters are awsome, as is all religiuos spiritual ingame conversation.

PC's plot and characters aren't to great compared with others IMHO but his traps dungeons NPC encounters are really fun and creative, that's what I like about them. In other games like this one encounters are mostly straight forward but its the players, plot and writing that make them. Just the other way around


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## WizarDru

The Forsaken One said:
			
		

> Sep has a great epic feeling to it indeed but there aren't any other (IMHO) great epic level stories around so no real comparing. The plot and characters are awsome, as is all religiuos spiritual ingame conversation.



Well, I won't pretend we're on the same level as Sepulchrave...but he's not the only Epic story on the boards. 

And Celtavian, I'd really make the effort to read PC.  It's worth the effort, and it's nice to _not_ be caught up on a story hour that keeps on giving as much as PC's does.


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## Greybar

In case it might help...

Celtavian: Speaking of WizardDru, I'm slowing catching up on his story-hour in the same way that perhaps you can catch up on PC's.  Dive in a couple pages back from realtime, read forward so you're good and addicted - then dive back to the beginning and try to catch up and get all of the references.

I'm simultanteously at WizardDru's current point, and a bit after Heart of Nightfang Spire... odd to be in two places at once, but fun!

john


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## handforged

Not to take the conversation away from other peoples' SHs, but this last post by Destan had me on the edge of my seat.  I was really worried for Baden, and I almost laughed out loud despite the tenseness when he said, "It must be my charisma."  I can't wait to see more of the story, including meeting more characters.  Great job, Destan!  Keep it up, please.

~hf


----------



## MACLARREN

To all of you guys here.  I play Raylin in this campaign and sure every story hour that handforged mentions is great and different in there own unique way.  However, this stuff going on that Destan is posting now isn't even beginning to touch the tip of things to come in the future.  In due time this whole thing will get more and more complex and involved and believe me there are many plots within plots and a lot going on that makes us all wonder how Destan keeps track of everything with all of us that play.  But, he does and you will see many things to come that will leave you wondering.  Not to give anything away but Destan is always has twists that test each and every one of us at different times.  There are a few new characters that are soon to be introduced that people are really going to love as well and believe me, Destan could continue this thread for a very long time with what we already have done and hopefully he will.  No one has even been introduced to what Loroth means to the campaign and what the whole thing is really about yet.  Up to this point he has been working off of scattered memories and feedback from us and with all of the new stuff from about here on, Frostrune aka Baden Dost has kept a journal for him to reference to and I can't wait to see the story to come.  Believe me, it is great and very involved and there are things to come that will blow all of your minds.  Not giving anything away though!  Till we play again in July!


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## MACLARREN

Sorry, with the first part of my last reply, I met the Forsaken One not Handforged.  Later


----------



## The Forsaken One

Then perhaps my opinion will change aye?


----------



## Nasma

Destan, nice way of allowing Baden to continue his adventures with the remainder of the group.  I was wondering about how many dwarves used to live in Axemarch, would Baden have made a difference if he had remained?


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## Nasma

Sorry, I'll rephrase that.
Is it _conceivable_ that Baden could have made a difference? Is Ularta totally full of $h*t, or could she have a slight chance of being right?


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## Destan

Nasma said:
			
		

> Is it _conceivable_ that Baden could have made a difference? Is Ularta totally full of $h*t, or could she have a slight chance of being right?




Should Baden have remained, he probably would have perished along with the others under Dwarfking Droggi.  Note that Josh introduced Baden "after the fact" - that is, Baden had already left Axemarch under "less than good" reasons.

Now, that being said, Baden's "problem" is not that he would have been a difference-maker had he stuck around, but rather that he never should have left.  Leaving the clan is, generally, a "bad thing".  It just so turns out that Baden's departure was horribly timed - shortly after he left, the Deepingdelve erupted with a bunch o' baddies.

To use an analogy:  Let's say you were to embark on a ship with some friends.  At the last moment, you decided to stick around.  Shortly after departing the harbor, the ship was wrecked by a storm.  Could _you_ have prevented the ship from sinking?  Most likely - no.  But do others look at you a bit differently because you survived whilst others perished?  Perhaps.  That's sorta what's going on here.

And, of course, Ularta has some of her own reasons for acting the way she does at the moot - but that doesn't really come out until later in the story.  In fact, her motivations have not yet become clear in the campaign even at its current point - though I suspect Josh/Baden may have some ideas.

Thanks for the question.

D


----------



## Lela

You mean she isn't just a selfish, bombastic, shrew who can't concieve of being wrong?

Really, Baden could be considered quite the threat to her power.  Given time to regain the love of those dwarves around him, it would be easy enough to wind up more beloved than she.  And that assumes he isn't already.


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## Darklone

Destan said:
			
		

> And, of course, Ularta has some of her own reasons for acting the way she does at the moot - but that doesn't really come out until later in the story.  In fact, her motivations have not yet become clear in the campaign even at its current point - though I suspect Josh/Baden may have some ideas.
> 
> Thanks for the question.
> 
> D



Given Kellus "host", I'd guess she's something similar. At least she behaves that way.


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## Nasma

Darklone said:
			
		

> Given Kellus "host", I'd guess she's something similar. At least she behaves that way.




Although that could be true, personally, I doubt it.  From the way Destan was talking, I think that one of his players would have tried to disbelieve her by now.  She could be allied with them though.


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## frostrune

First off... Thanks to all of you that heaped your praise upon Baden.  It was much appreciated.  



			
				Nasma said:
			
		

> Although that could be true, personally, I doubt it.  From the way Destan was talking, I think that one of his players would have tried to disbelieve her by now.  She could be allied with them though.




Well... not entirely true.

Baden isn't nearly so wise as his friend Kellus.  He also has a limited knowledge of magic.  Truthfully, the option to disbelieve never crossed my mind.  Baden was expecting some or all of her reaction, just not the animosity it was driven home with.  Baden may not have understood it but it was certainly 'believeable' to him.

Now the spoiler/hint Destan dropped a couple posts back:

There was indeed a more sinister force at work behind Ularta's charming exterior.  And 'disbelieve' would not have worked anyway had I tried it.  We only recently learned the truth of that encounter and it was shocking to say the least.  To say more would certainly earn me the wroth of an already evil DM so you'll just have to hang tight.

Keep bugging Destan to post.  Hehe  

Frostrune (Baden Dost)


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## Lela

frostrune said:
			
		

> Keep bugging Destan to post. Hehe



Hay Destan, *POKE*.


----------



## Destan

*Chapter III*

Moril Karrisbane, courtier of Valudia, followed the Oghmite priest down spiraling stone stairs.  

They passed a number of landings - each leading to vast, subterranean floors crammed with shelves holding all manner of books.  Moril glanced about in a world gone black and white - he and the priest both wore pendants of _darkvision_.  The Oghmites forbade fire within their library-temple, for flames were held to be the bane of knowledge collected on parchment and vellum.  

On his first visit, Moril had suggested the Oghmites utilize _everburning_ torches - for such items were both heatless and vastly less expensive than the pendants.  _Evidently,_ Moril mused, _they did not heed my advice._

The priest halted at the base of the stairs.  Moril stepped onto the wide tiles next to him.  This final level, unlike those above, was entirely bereft of books.  Empty shelves and reading tables spread outward beneath vaulted ceilings.  

The Oghmite, Reader Janul, gestured toward the cavernous room.  “We go this way,” he whispered, “as is written.”

Moril suppressed the urge to scowl – he disliked having to strain to hear some eccentric priest’s soft murmuring.  _Must these infernal Oghmites _always _speak in hushed tones?_ 

Their sandals whisked quietly on the flat stones as the duo traversed the vast undercroft.  Janul halted before a wall before pausing with insufferable drama.  "Here," he said, and reached outward to press his hand against the stone.

Where once there had been a wall, now there was an open archway.  Janul - quite unnecessarily - announced as much.  “Behold," he murmured, "where once there was wall, now there is an archway.  As is written.”

Moril, nerves chafing, followed the priest as he stepped through the archway and began yet another descent.  A adamantine door, covered in glyphs beyond Moril’s capacity to understand, greeted them at the base of the final stairwell.  

Janul paused – _of course_ - before touching the adamantine surface.  The doors swung inward.  “The doors have opened, and so now do we enter the final chamber.  As is written.”

Moril found most things in life unimpressive, but the Shadowgate was not one of them.  He had seen the planar gate – _How many times?  Six?  Seven?_ – yet still it remained…intimidating.  

Across a wide, octagonal room swirled a portal of shifting ebony.  Two obsidian arches, fashioned to appear like feminine arms, embraced the standing circle of twilight-streaked gloom.

Between Moril and the portal stood a number of cowled figures, six in all.  They were the Shadugul, the Guardians of the Portal.  The six of them formed a crescent, facing the portal, heads bowed and hands at their sides.  Moril stared at those hands – long, tapered, gray.  Just as one’s skin tans beneath the sun, the flesh of the guardians had been tinged with drear from long exposure to the Shadowgate.

Moril did not know much about the Shadugul or their charge, and what little he did know repulsed him.  They were followers of Oghma, sworn to silence and vigilance.  Only the most devoted - _demented, more like_ - priests could hope to obtain membership in the Shadugul.  Upon acceptance, a chosen priest would enter this room – once – for never would he leave it again.  

His former fellows, the Oghmites reading and writing in the library-temple above this dark room, provided sustenance to the chosen guardians.  Other than acolytes, who entered this room only to remove excrement and scrub urine stains from the tiles, the life of a Shadugul guardian marched onward without change or interruption.  

Unless, of course, some shadowy abomination attempts to pay the Material Plane a visit.  Moril chuckled in spite of himself.  _I wager the acolytes would have a few more piles to clean, should _that_ occur._

Speaking of the acolytes - it looked as if the Oghmites had been remiss in their custodial duties.  Moril held the hem of his robe against his nose, eyes watering from the stench.  _Lunatics.  All of them._

Moril stared over his robe to fix Janul with his most imperious stare.  “You must watch the Shadowgate, for we may have need of it in the near future.  I know these…guardians…stand as sentries against shades that seek to exit their native plane.  I am here to tell you, all of you, that you must also be wary of persons wishing to pass from our plane to the Shadu Planoth.  That portal is both exit _and_ entrance.”

Moril gestured toward the adamantine doors with his free hand.  “Both directions must be guarded.  Do you understand?”

Janul nodded.  Did Moril see a hint of disdain on the priest’s morose features?  “The Shadugul watch the Shadowgate, Master Karrisbane, as they have watched it for over one thousand years.  Never have we broken faith.  As is written.”

“Well,” Moril grimaced, “that may be – but shouldn’t some of them turn to face the stairs?”

“They knew of our coming. They were not surprised.  They cannot be surprised. As is writ-”

“Yes, yes – as is written.”  Moril was suddenly tired of the whole charade.  He ostensibly was a courtier representing the Three Popas here in the city of Deepcove, but his real superior – his father in name if not in blood – was Destan.  And Destan had commanded him to check, yet again, upon the status of the Shadowgate.

“See that your guard remains as strong, then, as your confidence.  A millennium of vigilance can collapse in a single day of carelessness.”

Janul nodded.  The priest’s disdain, now, was grossly evident.  “As you wish, Master Karrisbane.”

“No,” Moril corrected, “as _Destan_ wishes.  Do not forget such.”  

Moril was accustomed to displaying disdain, not receiving it - _certainly not from some glorified scrivener._  Moril turned to go, but could not help tossing one last barb toward Janul while within earshot of the Shadugul.  “If you fail here, Reader Janul, your entire Church will suffer and be no more.

“Put _that_ in your damned books.”

***

The door burst open.

Kellus leapt to his feet reaching for a mace that was no longer there; the Lathanderites, under the supervision of Brother Daladon, had removed his and Raylin’s weapons upon entering the Cathedral.

Daladon, too, was on his feet.

A man wearing the resplendent raiment of an Archbishop of Lathander – _the_ Archbishop of Lathander upon the isle – stood framed in the doorway.  Behind him were a number of priests and sunguards.  And also, Kellus noted with no small sense of relief, Raylin.

“Brother Daladon, my child,” Mariadon intoned in a voice more suited to giving mass than engaging in conversation, “why is it you are here, with these men, in our catacombs?”

Daladon bowed low.  When he stood, his face was serene but smirking.  “Both men, the fallen priest and the Tundreth wanderer, were brought into the city by a number of Calahen clansmen-”

“Clansmen,” Mariadon interrupted, “who had been hired by the Fifth Archmage of the Tower.  Clansmen who took their coins from Destan of Val Hor.  Clansmen who had a task placed before them, and not one of our giving.  You know as much.  So, I ask again - why do I find these two men here - with you?”

“I wished to ascertain their motives for the betterment of our holy church, Your Grace.  I was questioning them for but a moment, and then – if all should prove benign – would see them escorted to the Archmage’s estates.”  Daladon was the very picture of a victim.  “Have I offended Your Grace in some way?”

“No,” Mariadon answered.  “Daladon has always been a loyal child of the Morninglord.”

Kellus had had enough.  “Your Grace, this is not Dal-”

Mariadon stopped him with a cut of his hand.  “Speak not, Kellus Varn the Younger.”  His tone brokered no defiance.  The Archbishop fixed his gaze upon the _feratu_ masquerading as Daladon.  “I would not see bloodshed, in these halls, on this day.”

“I know.”  The voice was no longer Daladon’s.  It was a long, high-pitched coo.

Mariadon’s face grew dark.  “Get thee hence, ‘lest my restraint prove less than my religion.”

Daladon smiled as the priests and sunguards behind Mariadon looked onward in mute confusion.  “May I have your leave to go, Your Grace?”

“You have it.”  Mariadon stepped aside and, at a word, so too did the assembled priests and sunguards.

Leaving but one man.

***

Raylin stood, bearded and bedraggled, his wide frame blocking the doorway.  In his hand was an unlit torch.

Daladon stopped short of the exit, faint surprise on his features.  He looked up at the ranger.  “Step aside, clansman, as His Grace commanded.”

Raylin, without taking his eyes from Daladon, spoke in a low voice. “Kellus, who is this man?”

Kellus looked to Mariadon.  The Archbishop’s face was uncompromising.  “He is a priest of this temple,” Kellus answered, after a moment’s hesitation.  “He shares the faith of Sir Anar, whom you have met.”

Daladon seemed to grow agitated at the name of the paladin.  “I say again – step aside.”

Raylin did not move.  “You took my swords.  I would have them ‘ere you go.”

“But, ranger, they are not mine to give!  The Calahen clansfolk – you remember them, no? – those kind men who saved you from certain death in the Boarswood?  They kept your gear as payment for services rendered.”  

Daladon spread his hands, chuckling.  “Surely you do not begrudge them their reward, no?  What value do you place on your life?”

Daladon made to step past Raylin, but the ranger moved forward as well.  Both of their chests were nearly touching, now.  “A better question - what value do _you_ place on _yours_?”

Mariadon strode forward to flank Raylin in the doorway.  “Master mac Larren, you are among friends here.  I beseech you, allow Brother Daladon to pass.”

A few of the sunguards frowned at the sight – doubtless they were unaccustomed to their Archbishop pleading with anyone – let alone a Larrenman from the wilderness.

Raylin looked as if he had swallowed something distasteful - a questioning look was upon his face.  The ranger concentrated upon Daladon, stared hard at the priest, but apparently no answers were forthcoming.  He spoke to Mariadon without looking away.  “You are not my priest, but this temple your home.  I would be a poor guest were I to spill blood-”

Daladon gave a curt nod.  “Indeed you would.”

“But I am _not_ a guest,” Raylin’s eyes were flat, unforgiving, “for never was I invited into this place.”

Daladon scowled.  He reached out to push Raylin aside.  The ranger’s empty hand whipped outward, his fingers pressing deeply into the flesh of the priest’s arm.  Daladon grunted in surprise and pain.

“Daladon,” Kellus murmured, eyeing the priest’s back from across the table, “you had best be very, very careful.”

Mariadon reached out – slowly – and placed a hand atop Raylin’s arm.  “Release him, friend.  Here is not the place.”

But Raylin had made his decision – Kellus could see it in his friend’s countenance.  

“No,” Raylin agreed with the archbishop, “but outside, on the street - _there_ is the place.  Come, Daladon – if such is your name – I will walk you out.”

For the first time since Mariadon’s sudden arrival, Daladon appeared uncertain.

Kellus, then, made his own decision.  “Raylin,” he called, voice soft.  “Let him go.”

“I am not your hound-”

“No,” Kellus interjected, “you are my _friend_.  And, as your friend, I am telling – asking – you…let him pass.”

Kellus could see that his words were ineffective.  His friend did not release his hold upon Daladon.  The fingers of Raylin’s other hand were white-knuckled as they squeezed the heavy, unlit brand.  The ranger meant to spill blood – here, outside, wherever - it did not matter.  

Kellus tried one final tack.  _And if this doesn’t work, then the hell with it – I’ll help Raylin kill the bastard, come what may._  “You are angry because John is dead.  I am too, Raylin – believe me.  But this man – this priest – he is innocent of John’s death.”  _I think._ “Enough bloodshed, I say.”

John’s name seemed to strike a chord within the stoic ranger.  Raylin’s shoulders slumped.  Kellus watched, holding his breath, as the Larrenman finally – after long, long moments – released his hold.

Daladon did not tarry.  He stepped around Raylin and disappeared into the outer corridor.

Kellus listened as Daladon’s – no, the _feratu’s_ - footfalls receded up the stairs.  He swiveled his gaze away from Raylin toward Mariadon.  “You know what he is.”

“I do.”

“And yet you allow him to leave this place.”

“I do.”

“I believe you have erred, Your Grace.”

Mariadon did not reply.


----------



## wolff96

Wow.

The tension in that last scene is awesome, Destan. I love the barely contained conflict, not to mention that the anger of Raylin practically radiates from the story hour. That's an awesome update.

(Oh, and Lela? Nice poke. You dislodged an update!)


----------



## The Forsaken One

I could have sworn he was going to kill him.


----------



## Tellerve

woohoo great update, I agree with the palpable anger Raylin had going on there.  Although I as well thought there might be a fight I'm glad there wasn't, as I dunno if Raylin could have taken a demon with just an unlit torch and some pent up anger.

Tellerve


----------



## handforged

indeed an awesomely tangible wrath.  I have shivers, especialy with Kellus's last line.

~hf


----------



## Lela

Destan said:
			
		

> “And yet you allow him to leave this place.”
> 
> “I do.”
> 
> “I believe you have erred, Your Grace.”



I'm with Kellus on this one.  Don't let demons start killing your priests and do nothing in response.  It's bad for business.


----------



## WizarDru

Lela said:
			
		

> I'm with Kellus on this one. Don't let demons start killing your priests and do nothing in response. It's bad for business.



In the Valus, a good man doesn't suffer demons, but a wise man cuts his losses.


----------



## Lela

Yes, I agree.  No weapons, few (if any) spells, powerful demon.  It's not exactly the right time.

Makes for a great recuring villin.


----------



## Fate Lawson

*Bump*


----------



## thebitdnd

Lela said:
			
		

> I'm with Kellus on this one.  Don't let demons start killing your priests and do nothing in response.  It's bad for business.





This was and still is one of the most memorable epsiodes of the campaign thus far for me.  We had wrapped up our little session around the table with John dead and both Raylin and I (Kellus) incapacitated.  Destan figured the best thing to do at that point was to sort it all out by e-mail.  Since John's player needed to roll up a back-up, it sounded like a good idea.

All of this happened via PBEM.  Destan wrote me a little blurb on the Priest coming in and giving me his news that Anar was a traitor.  It didn't wash with me for several reasons.  I had detected no evil, the guy seemed helpful enough, and in the 15 or so years I've played with Destan, it would just like Destan to send me to kill a shining example of goodness under false pretenses.  Perhaps the last was a bit of metagaming, but it did factor into my desire to attempt to disbelieve the man before me.  

I wrote Destan back and requested an attempt to disbelieve.  In the same e-mail, I then proceeded to issue my reply to his email thinking 'I'm probably just being paranoid, so I'll answer his post as if things are on the up-and-up.'

Destan then e-mailed me back with the picture he posted of the Feratu and said: "This is what Kellus sees.  I assume you want to change your response?"

All I remember thinking is "Oh s   t!"

After that, all I wanted to do was be able to talk myself out of that room alive.  I harbored no heroic thoughts of bringing him down given no armor, weapons, or spells.  As it turns out, we later encounter this guy again (as you may have suspected), and he wasn't all that tough toe-to-toe.  But given that ghastly picture with no real knowledge of the beastie, suffice it to say *I* was scared even if Kellus, wayward priest of Helm, wasn't.

As far as Archbishop Mariadon letting him waltz out of the temple?  I'm still a bit flummoxed about that one...

And let me just say that while this little exchange was good, there are a few more in Kellus' future that blow this one away.  Destan is good at evoking stunned looks at the gaming table.  His writing is superb, but his DMing is inspired.  I wish everyone could just once have a DM as creative as he is. (Destan, XP?)  But there are two things I learned long ago with Destan:  

1.  Never provide him with a character background he can use to his advantage later.

2.  Never provide him with words from your PC's mouth he can turn back around on you later.

Unfortunately in Kellus' case, I ignored both those lessons.  But those updates are still quite far away.   :\


----------



## Dakkareth

True to my lurking ways I've refrained from posting ... but I'm still reading this story hour and it never ceases to amaze me. It's just grandiose.

One tidbit to convey my opinion ... for over a month I had *refused* to read Sins of our Fathers 1 since the topic said, that it was 'the final update' . With your publishing about the world it looked as if it was over for good ... but I *didn't want it to end!*  So I averted my eyes whenever they came across the old thread until I saw the continuing thread and knew, that it was not over. What a relief 

Please do not do this to me again. Write 'chapter concluded' or something like that, but nothing about *ending*. 

-Dakkareth


----------



## Nasma

Destan said:
			
		

> Where once there had been a wall, now there was an open archway. Janul - quite unnecessarily - announced as much. “Behold," he murmured, "where once there was wall, now there is an archway. As is written.”



LOL  




			
				Destan said:
			
		

> the Shadu Planoth



Excuse my ignorance, but where is that?


----------



## Destan

Nasma said:
			
		

> Excuse my ignorance, but where is [the Shadu Planoth]?




Sorry about that.  It's really just a simple word convention. _ Planoth_ means "plane of" so _Shadu Planoth_ is the "Plane of Shadows."  Brilliant, no?

The Plane of Shadows, in Ostia Prim, is coterminous with the other planes.  All colors and hues are muted, of course, and the sky is streaked with eternal twilight.  There's no vegetation - but the shadows of trees and such from the Material Plane do exist (so one can do passably well gauging their relative position on the Material Plane as they travel across the Shadu Planoth).  Same thing with structures - no buildings exist on the Shadu Planoth, but the shadows cast by their real world counterparts are evident.  The oceans of Shadu are deserts of gray sand-waves "frozen" in an instant in time.  For this reason, those who can access the Shadu Planoth often do so in order to march across large bodies of water (which the PC's in this campaign eventually do).

Ostia Prim has the _Havanu Planoth_ as well, which - predictably - is the Plane of Heavens.  In this campaign, the spirits of "good" people go to Havanu, the abode of (all) the gods.  Havanu is inviolate - folks cannot _plane shift_ or otherwise travel to Havanu (without dying, of course).  I wanted to have a plane of existence that remained sacrosanct - I'm not much of a fan of PC's plane-hoppin' wily-nily.  I don't know why. 

In the end, the PC's can (and do) engage in planar travel.  But the cosmos itself is revealed much in the way old computer RPG's revealed the map as one explored across the screen.  The planes are confusing, ambiguous, and largely misunderstood.  Makes it easier for me to "plop down" new ones as the campaign progresses. 

Long answer to a short question.  Hope that helps.

As always, thanks for the questions, the bumps, and the feedback.

D


----------



## Nasma

Destan,
i was reading through the original sins thread, and found the update about the lone warrior fighting demons, and the monks drinking poison.  Would you be able to tell me if we are about to find out what Martinicus was doing, and the purpose of the mass suicide, or is it still a while off? (or have we already found out, but i've missed it)

Also, how many words is this story up to now?

Oh yeah, BUMP


----------



## Maladrac

*a long way off*



			
				Nasma said:
			
		

> Destan,
> i was reading through the original sins thread, and found the update about the lone warrior fighting demons, and the monks drinking poison.  Would you be able to tell me if we are about to find out what Martinicus was doing, and the purpose of the mass suicide, or is it still a while off? (or have we already found out, but i've missed it)





It's still a LONG while off.  That's one thing I said about Destan way back at the beginning; his patience is maddening.  Finding out about the 'lone warrior' was probably the most dramatic event for me in this entire campaign, but I'll give no spoilers (don't want to face the wrath of Destan).  Let's just say it's a very long way off.  And as for Martinicus, heh, we players still don't know who he is.  (Unless some of you Olgatha Brothers are keeping secrets.)

FYI, Destan is out of town for a bit.  He won't be back for another week or so, but rest assured, I'll be hounding him for another update as soon as he returns.

Maladrac,
The artist formerly known as;
John of Pell


----------



## Tumakhunter

Second Page?  Bah!

Out of town for a week?  Bah!

What this post needs is a big ol' BUMP!

Bumppitty-bump-bump

Bump.


----------



## Nasma

Maladrac, would you be able to tell us when your next character appears?  Or perhaps what class he is?  Any info would be great, provided that revealing it doesn't invoke the wrath of Destan 
Thanks in advance.


----------



## Maladrac

*If only I could...*



			
				Nasma said:
			
		

> Maladrac, would you be able to tell us when your next character appears?  Or perhaps what class he is?  Any info would be great, provided that revealing it doesn't invoke the wrath of Destan
> Thanks in advance.




*sigh* I wish I could tell you all about my next character.  He is far and away, my favorite character ever, in my whole 25 year roleplaying career.  Waiting for his introduction to the party in this SH has been a lot like waiting for Christmas but not knowing on what day it's coming.  Ugh.

BUT, I'm fairly certain giving out much info would evoke one of those trademarked "Destan glares" that means the next demon the party faces will be singling me out of the crowd.

Let's have some fun with it.  See if any of you can guess who are John and Asmellysan's 'replacements'.  I'll give you a hint- you've already met them both.

As for Vath, sadly, his most excellent player, Brandon, couldn't make the next few sessions, but his seat was happily filled by my younger brother, Mark.  So his character will also be thrown in to the mix in an update or two.

Vaclava!
The Ghost of John


----------



## Nasma

Maladrac said:
			
		

> Let's have some fun with it.  See if any of you can guess who are John and Asmellysan's 'replacements'.  I'll give you a hint- you've already met them both.




I'll take a completely random guess:  Moril and Anar?


----------



## neg

*Sis of Our Fathers is back?!*

Destan is posting to his story hour again?

Sweeeet!

That must mean the book is coming soon huh?  What is the official name Destan?  I have to have it near me when I read future story hours.

Wonderful writing and plotting continues, thanks for again displaying your talent.  I am telling you, you write a novel, I can suggest some publishers...

Like most I anxiously await the return of Vath and the intoroduction of new characters.  Reading your updates makes me miss John of Pell something terrible.

Keep it coming.

Best-
neg
John Edwards


----------



## Nasma

neg said:
			
		

> I anxiously await the return of Vath




Sorry to be the one who tells you mate, but Vath's dead.


----------



## Destan

Nasma said:
			
		

> I'll take a completely random guess:  Moril and Anar?




You're 1 for 2. 



> Sorry to be the one who tells you mate, but Vath's dead.




I think he meant Vath's player, who rejoins us after a couple sessions.  Actually, quite a long time passes before Vath/Brandon comes back into the fray, unfortunately.

I'm still with very intermittent net access, but things should get back to normal within a couple weeks.

Wheeeeee,
D


----------



## Darklone

Destan said:
			
		

> Wheeeeee,
> D



Whoooohooooo!


----------



## Nasma

Destan said:
			
		

> I think he meant Vath's player



Oops.  Sorry about that Neg.


----------



## iwatt

Damn It!

I'd stopped reading your SH for a couple of months (don't aske me why). Now I'm hooked again. 

I've avoided the SH forum for months, but got dragged back by my younger brother.

Damn it. Now I've got to keep my self up to on your story hour. Well, I'll try to handle it


----------



## iwatt

Hey, my first double post.


----------



## grodog

Destan said:
			
		

> I'm still with very intermittent net access, but things should get back to normal within a couple weeks.




So we can expect more regular updates, then, Destan?   How'd your recent sessions go---anything interesting to report (that won't spoil things to come, of course)?


----------



## Nasma

Whoever is responsible for Destan's 







			
				Destan said:
			
		

> very intermittent net access



 please fix it.



<talks to self>
It's brilliant I tell you, I'm just so subtle, he'll never pick that I'm nagging for an update.  What's that? Damn!, is this thing still on?
.................................................
.....................
.........
Aaaw, screw it.
Destan, please, please, update.  Your absence has caused me to resort to reading David Eddings <breaks down in tears>

(and what's this doing on page 3 anyway?)


----------



## WizarDru

Nasma said:
			
		

> Whoever is responsible for Destan's please fix it.



Destan's return to the world of the wired is nigh approaching.  

Soon, young Paduan, soon.


----------



## iwatt

This SH should never fall out of the first page....BUMP


----------



## The Forsaken One

Gogo +5 stick of BUMPERIA~~


----------



## Destan

Greetings fellow bullywogs!

I'm in the processing of settling into our new house in Northern Virginia and things are hectic.  I've got kids crawling all over me and spend 63% of my day on hold with various utility companies.  That said, I _do_ have 'net access once again, and have blown the dust and mephits off my computer to start pounding the keys.

Unfortunately - depending upon how you look at it - a good portion of my writing time will have to be devoted to a module* to be set in this little campaign world.  The publisher wanted a product to support to the campaign sourcebook, both of which will be offered at GenCon (and perhaps in your FLGS/bookstore earlier than that).  Speaking of GenCon, I hope to attend my first ever, so - if you're heading that way, please throw something at me!  I'll be in the _Different Worlds_ booth.  (Side note:  Some of you long-in-the-tooth folks may remember a little ol' magazine called Different Worlds back in the hey-day of nerdiness (e.g., the early 80's).  Or maybe not.)

Um...ok...to wrap this puppy up:  I'm back, I'm eager to write, and I'll try to get an update out just as soon as possible.

Here's wishing all of you great, great weekends!

D

* The module will feature that charming demon known as Ippizicus Child-Eater who, it might be added, is currently scheduled to be the star of the next _The Bachelor._


----------



## Old One

*Welcome Back!*

D -

Good to see you back...

Wow.  _Different Worlds_, that's going back aways.  I have the premiere issue !

Guess that means I have really long teeth!

~ Old One


----------



## Lela

> * The module will feature that charming demon known as Ippizicus Child-Eater who, it might be added, is currently scheduled to be the star of the next _The Bachelor._



Well, personally, I was getting sick of those kind, in shape, humaniods they keep putting on.  I only worry about all those who have to vie for his affection.  Really, what does a child eating demon look for in a woman?  Youth?

Welcome back Destan!  And congratulations on your gaming success.  When you're a millionare, remember that I not only have problems with spelling but also love Alienware.com computers.


----------



## grodog

Speaking of spelling, Destan, that's bullywugs, not bullywogs


----------



## WizarDru

Would it be a big spoiler to reveal who eventually becomes a covenguard?  

 For that matter, does anyone else take a prestige class later on, or is there only the one prestige class available to them?


----------



## thebitdnd

WizarDru said:
			
		

> Would it be a big spoiler to reveal who eventually becomes a covenguard?




I don't think it's a much of a spoiler to say that Kellus will eventually become a Covenguard.  I wrote his background with the intention of eventually taking the class.  There are others who eventually take it, but it's much further down the road.  If anything, it gave Destan a few more plot threads to weave into an already intricate cloth.  The prerequisites for the PrC are most easily met by Clerics and Paladins, so it kind of made sense for Kellus to be the first one to go down that road.  Kellus' induction into the ranks of the Covenguard is coming soon in the story hour.  



			
				WizarDru said:
			
		

> For that matter, does anyone else take a prestige class later on, or is there only the one prestige class available to them?




When we were playing 3.0, all the splat books and FRCS were in play with Destan's approval.  Eventually, you will see other prestige classes come into play.  After the switch to 3.5, we decided to limit the class selection to the Core Rulebooks, though previously selected PrCs were grandfathered in for those characters.  With enough persuasion, Destan stills considers classes and rules from non-core books as long as they're balanced and don't eat up too much time around the table.


----------



## omrob

*Snikkkt*

Caught up with another fine story hour. Read through all of your great material, and finished it last week. Keep on writin, not everyone can be pleased at the same time with the same story. I  run a very grim OldWorld WFRP game, and am inspired by your excellent talents at putting your PC's in the moral VISE. 

Just been waitin for a good time to say...Gracias...and 

*BUMP*


----------



## Greyhawk_DM

WOW!
I can't believe this story hour has been here so long and I only came upon it yesterday.
I have been archiving the story as I have read it. Something as good as this would be such a waste to lose.
Page Count so far: 250 pages. WOW!!!

Destan: 3 Questions
1.) Would love to see more of your "in game" info. For example game stats on the dwarven crossbows. 
3.) How have you modified some of the 3.0|3.5 edition rules to fit your campaign.
2.) How long have you been running or creating this campaign? The depth that you bring to the gameworld and the NPC's is breathtaking.


----------



## Destan

Old One said:
			
		

> Wow.  _Different Worlds_, that's going back aways.  I have the premiere issue...Guess that means I have really long teeth!




I would expect nothing less from the boards' resident Geezer. 




			
				omrob said:
			
		

> I run a very grim OldWorld WFRP game...




WFRP = Warhammer, right?  I always was interested in Warhammer, but never got a chance to play it regularly.  Maladrac (John of Pell's player) loved and played WFRP quite a bit back in the day, if I recall correctly.  Glad to have you on board.



			
				Greyhawk DM said:
			
		

> Page Count so far: 250 pages. WOW!!!




Greyhawk - did you happen to save them as Word files?  If so, I'd love to have a copy of them.  I have tried to save many of the updates, but some of my Word versions are not fully edited (as are the post online).  I think a couple other folks have archived them as well so, if it's a pain, no sweat.  I just need to get off my rocker and get them from someone.



> Destan: 3 Questions
> 
> 1.) Would love to see more of your "in game" info. For example game stats on the dwarven crossbows.
> 3.) How have you modified some of the 3.0|3.5 edition rules to fit your campaign.
> 2.) How long have you been running or creating this campaign? The depth that you bring to the gameworld and the NPC's is breathtaking.




1.) I have the xbow stats in the supplement, so I'm uncertain if I'm able to post them here.  I'm pretty much clueless when it comes to publishing agreements.  If I'm able to post 'em, I will.  I will say that they aren't too dang different than a heavy crossbow, so I don't want to lead you in the wrong direction.  

3.) Hmm...well, I think we play a pretty straight-forward by-the-rules 3.5 campaign.  As Kellus' player mentioned (thebitdnd), we opted to drop many of the supplemental/extra rules after 3.5 came out.  I was finding that there were just too many feats, spells, PrC's, etc. to monitor (read: ensure balance).  We do have a couple house rules, but nothing flashy.  I could post them, in their entirety, if you (or anyone else) were interested.  I would like to add that there's quite a bit in Unearthed Arcana that appeals to me - in the Next Campaign, I intend to branch out from the core rules a bit more.

2.) How long has it been?  I guess the kernels of the world first popped up back in, oh, 1987.  We used to play in Kellus' basement on an old pool table.  When his parents were breaking down the pool table to throw it out, I had Kellus keep a scrap of the surface for me.  We had hand-drawn a hex grid on to it, and even added some (poor) artwork around the edges. 

It's easier to use character names, so:  Kellus, John of Pell, and Raylin were part of the original group back in '87.  They didn't really know me, so I had to convince (read: beg) them to let me give DMing a try.  They had their own campaigns/groups/DM's, and I was a newcomer (on the D&D front, anyway).  

John's brother later joined us (and some other guys that no longer play); he is now a player in the Sins campaign, but his character has yet to be introduced.  

I met Amelyssan at college and got to know him really well in flight school.  He started gaming with me on Session I of the current campaign, though we had done some computer stuff together prior to that (Diablo, mainly).  Vath is my brother-in-law; he joined at the same time Amelyssan did.  

That leaves only Baden.  It's a bit of a interesting/ironic story, and shows that a lasting, solid roleplaying relationship can exist where you least expect it.  We (my family) were new to the area and my wife met Baden's wife.  One day my wife was complaining how her husband "never kicked his D&D habit" and planned on having a "bunch of guys over to our house for the weekend to drink beer and roll dice".  Baden's wife's eyes widened (I would imagine), as Baden had just moved to the area as well and greatly missed his original D&D group.  So, my wife told me about it and I - being the incredibly nice guy I am - told my wife to tell Baden's that he should hop over and join us.

Looking back on it, it was quite a risk to bring in an unknown cat into a well-established group for what would be a marathon session.  I figured Baden would feel uncomfortable getting an invite second- or third-hand, so I called him.  He showed up on my doorstep about 1/2 hour before we were set to start.  We gave him a crash course on our system (it was entirely homebrewed that time, as Baden hadn't introduced us to 3E) and, well...needless to say, it's worked out amazingly well.

I'll post something else when the time is right regarding the whole campaign world and the upcoming supplement, but suffice to say - it's not "my" world.  It's "ours".  And by "ours" I mean the players listed above, those who have played and no longer do, and readers of these very boards.  Wizardru and Dravot have been incredibly helpful molding this homebrewed world into something fit for publication.  Old One helped out like a champ.  Pogre and Piratecat gave me encouragement when this tale was in its infancy, and Sepulchrave's kind words acted as an immense "pimp" for other readers to give this story a whirl.  Hypersmurf was my rules lawyer.  And there are others - many of them - and I tried to credit each and every one of them in the supplement.

That said, I think what enables this story hour to keep going and what garnered the interest of my publisher/editor was folks like you.  Readers who post, comment, critique, and question.

I'm in your debt.  

D


----------



## Lela

Can't wait for that to come out. I'll streach my wallet for it.

I'd just like to reiterate something I said back in June last year:



			
				Lela said:
			
		

> It's always surprised me that so many stunning writers are in the Story Hour section while I'm forced to wade through the masses of FR, DL, and misc authors--who somehow support themselves on drivil--in search of something worthwile to read while not on the internet.



I'm glad you went for it, got the dream, and are now putting out an actual print book.  I knew you could do it from day one Destan.  I'm so glad you did.


----------



## Darklone

Lela said:
			
		

> I'm glad you went for it, got the dream, and are now putting out an actual print book.  I knew you could do it from day one Destan.  I'm so glad you did.



Now all we need is a Faded Glory campaign setting. Black and red. Box perhaps. Kewl maps with handwritten look. Not too exact. Inane scribblings everywhere.

And Old Ones phonenumber for emergencies 

We need a RBDM hotline!


----------



## Despaxas

Btw, and forgive me if I missed it somewhere, what will your publication be called? So I can keep an eye out for it  And when will it be released?

And eh ...   will you be continuing your PbP game? 

Other then that I have only 1 thing to say ... post dammit 

Keep up the fine work.


----------



## Greyhawk_DM

> Greyhawk - did you happen to save them as Word files? If so, I'd love to have a copy of them. I have tried to save many of the updates, but some of my Word versions are not fully edited (as are the post online). I think a couple other folks have archived them as well so, if it's a pain, no sweat. I just need to get off my rocker and get them from someone.




Yes I did save them as Word files. Just let me know your e-mail address and I will send you a copy.



> We do have a couple house rules, but nothing flashy. I could post them, in their entirety, if you (or anyone else) were interested. I would like to add that there's quite a bit in Unearthed Arcana that appeals to me - in the Next Campaign, I intend to branch out from the core rules a bit more.




I for one would love to see how you have moulded the rules to fit your campaign. If you don't feel like posting them here would you mind e-mailing me a copy? I am not a novice player, but I am a novice DM and I am trying to get a view of how others have moulded the rules to fit their style of play. Reading your story hour and the style of play that you guys have reminds me of a campaign that a friend of mine ran many a moons ago set in the Harn world. Ironically he also was a military man and went to pilot school to fly apache helicopters. 

Anyways thanks for the great story hour [ SO FAR!] and whatever you decide is appropiate to post here.


----------



## WizarDru

Despaxas said:
			
		

> Btw, and forgive me if I missed it somewhere, what will your publication be called? So I can keep an eye out for it  And when will it be released?



 I'm thinking of a word.  It starts with the letter 'G' and ends with the letter "encon".  



			
				Destan said:
			
		

> Wizardru and Dravot have been incredibly helpful molding this homebrewed world into something fit for publication.



 Speaking for the Meepites, Gracias.  Every good story hour enriches us all, and quality supplements are a thing of joy.  Especially when it's for a story we love, whether that story is Glen Cook's "Black Company" series or from Destan's Sins of the Father.

 The thing I love most about the Story Hours here is that they become a topic of conversation at our game sessions.  "Man, did you read what happened to Pogre's group?  Wow, the Defenders took on the White King, finally!  Man, that demon in Destan's Story hour is creeeepy."  We get ideas from them, and hope we, in turn, inspire them.  That several DMs have told me that they considered my story hour as one of the examples of how high-level play could work stands as a high-point to me, and to Zad, who labors over every word.

 I love the Valus.  It's a richly realized world, as Destan's continual references to history and foreign countries should show.  The individual races are not homogenous groups and a Larrenman and a Pellman are very different in both outlook and behaviors.  It a dangerous place, where only the foolish venture too far away from the centers of civilzation.  In short, it's the kind of place where you could have adventures...and isn't that what D&D's all about?


----------



## Celtavian

*re*

Destan,

Good to see you post. Hope you get this story started up soon.

A module along with a supplement? Very nice. Can't wait to see your product. Nice to see someone with your writing skill getting something in print.


----------



## Destan

*Chapter IV*

Baden worried Ironfist would be crowded with dark faces and bitter eyes upon his departure.  The walk from his den to the Cloudgate was a long one – it would feel infinitely longer should he march forward under such acrimony.  Baden could face orc and troll – he had done so, many times – but he feared his ability to face accusation in the eyes of his fellow dwarves.  

And so he had spent these last few hours before dawn alone, in silent prayer to the Forge Father.  Baden sought to prepare himself for the journey toward the sole exit - he vowed to ignore any and all catcalls, to meet no dwarf’s gaze, to push onward in silence until gaining the mountain passes outside the Halls.  In many ways, he feared, these first few steps of his trek to Val Hor might prove the most difficult.

He need not have worried.

Five dwarves stood near the Cloudgate. Only five.  Otherwise, the Halls of Ironfist were deserted and silent.

Baden stopped before the small group, beneath the portcullis.  “Shen tu fundin, Tamil.”

“Shen tu fundin.”

Baden paused, and then - “Thank you, Tamil.”

Tamil was prepared to depart Ironfist with a nil-thain, but he was evidently not prepared to accept gratitude.  The young dwarf turned without replying and busied himself with his pony’s kit and bridle.

Baden turned to another member of the five – Ironfist’s cratered-faced stablehand.  The dwarf was old, his skin as mottled as a cistern pipe.  The left side of his face was missing – he had only one eye, one cheek, and one ear.  His beard, the color of slate, did not grow upon the scar tissue.  

Baden had met the stablehand the previous night; he knew his name to mean ‘half-dwarf’ in the tongue of their people.  _Half a dwarf he is,_ Baden thought, _and still half a dwarf more than meself.

- Self-pity does not become you.

I’m still learnin’._

“Thank you, Master Havdurv,” Baden said, accepting his pony’s reins.  The stablehand ignored him, of course – there were precious few who would speak to a nil-thain.  Once Baden had the reins, the old dwarf departed without a backward glance.

Leaving four of them, not including Baden himself.  Tamil, he knew.  The other dwarves were unknown to him, and one wore a full-faced helm that hid his countenance.  _Why are they here?_

One of the dwarves answered his unasked question.  “I am Hoth, a Captain of Ironfist, and my liege had commanded I accompany you as far as Val Hor, that we may learn the wisdom – or lack thereof – of the human known as Destan the Grim.”

Baden nodded.  “Your King does me a great kindness, and your axe is welcomed.”

“My King seeks to accomplish what he believes to be right for our clan.  See that you do not dishonor the trust he places in you.”  Hoth’s voice was as stern as his face. 

Baden nodded, unsure how to respond.

A second dwarf stepped forward.  “I am Pemm, called the Tall.”

And indeed he was.  Baden looked up at Pemm’s young face.  “You wear the robes of a priest of Moradin.”

“Moradin’s Word has spoken.  I am commanded to accompany you to the White City, so that – should the Forge Father grant you his forgiveness – one of the cloth might bear witness.”  Pemm’s tone indicated, without doubt, that he had few hopes of recording such an event.

Baden had never before been exposed to the scrutiny of the Church, and he found he did not like the newfound attention.  Although the presence of a cleric could assist their chances during the upcoming journey, Baden would have preferred to be escorted only by warriors.  Baden never had problems being judged by warriors – but priests of his god were a different matter altogether.  _Yet how do I tell him that he may remain here?

- You don’t._

For once, Baden agreed with the elf-spirit Ilvar.  “Brother Pemm, you - and His Grace Hammergarden – also have my thanks.”

Now, then, the final dwarf; Baden turned to the helmed warrior.  “And you, sir, you also wish to accompany me?”

“No,” came a muffled voice.  

The dwarf reached up and removed the great helm.  “But I do wish to offer you good fortune,” said Dereth Droggison, Dwarfprince of Axemarch.  “And know that, should I ascend to my father’s throne, you will be nil-thain no longer.”

Baden was quiet for a long moment.  There were a great many things he wanted to say, but, in the end, Baden merely bowed.

And then the four of them – Baden, Tamil, Hoth and Pemm the Tall - departed Ironfist for the lands of men.

***

Hoth laughed.  “I sounded mighty official back there, did I not?”  

Baden squinted toward the red-bearded dwarf as the ponies picked their way down the side of the Balantir Cor.  He was uncertain what to say.

Hoth, apparently, was not one to wait for a response.  “There’s a trick to it, friend Baden, and an easy one.”

“A trick to what?”

“To soundin’ official, of course.”  Hoth’s face tightened as he assumed the countenance he had worn when first meeting Baden.  “Ye gotta close her eyes just a bit, and clench your teeth as if ye was sittin’ on the privy.  Like so.  Then you just use words bigger than what is needed, and you frown the whole time as if ye was passing peach pits.”

Baden smiled in spite of himself.  Hoth’s demeanor was a welcomed counterpoint to the dismal weather surrounding their descent.  Tamil lacked much in the way of humor, and Pemm’s self-imposed silence bordered on belligerence, but Hoth…Hoth just might make the journey to Val Hor somewhat tolerable.

“An example,” Baden said.

“Eh?”

“Give me an example.”

“Oh.”  Hoth chewed on his beard.  “Alright, let’s say you want a young dwarf to gather firewood.  You could just say – ‘Hey, you, get some firewood.’”  Hoth looked askance at Baden as if to ensure he was listening.  “But, ‘tis better if you say,” and then Hoth once again twisted his face into a mask of haughty resolve, “’Young one, see to it that we have enough wood for the fire, ‘lest I be forced to feed your toes to the flames for fuel.’”

“That was a rather poor example.”

“Well,” Hoth answered amiably, “I lacked much in the way of time to think on it.”

“Still,” Baden agreed with a wry smile, “I believe you are on to something.”

Hoth waved a hand.  “Of course I am.  How else do ye think I became Captain?  It wasn’t my good looks.”

“No,” Baden agreed, smiling, “it wasn’t that.”

The four dwarves finished their descent later that day.  The Weedsea spread outward from their position, suffocating under a blanket of mist.  The snowfall outside the Cloudgate was a cold drizzle here in the lowlands.  Baden was soaked to the bone, his beard a mat of fur lying heavy and wet upon Borbidan’s regalia.

“What day is it?”  Baden realized he had not known the date since…since leaving Ciddry for Aramin’s tent.

“The tenth of Uktar,” Tamil replied.

Hoth nodded.  “We should be drinking the swill Valudians call beer in, oh, twelve days.”

Baden urged his pony forward onto the grasses.  “I want to stay off the roads.”

“Did I say ‘twelve days’?”  Hoth raised a forearm to wipe rainwater from his brow.  “Better make it twenty.  No roads, eh?  Care to tell us why?”

Baden remembered Wilan’s warning – the half-elf had said many of the roadways were watched.  “It will be safer for us.”

“Safer?”  Tamil frowned.  “Safer to leave the roads than to stay on them?  Do not these humans patrol their own tradeways?”

“They do,” Baden answered, “which is why we will remain off them.”

Hoth shrugged.  “Then let us hope this wonderful, miserable weather holds.”

***

The blizzard – the first of the year - arrived two days later.

Baden pushed through the snow like a man fighting against a river’s current.  His pony trailed behind him, tugging at the reins, eyes wide with terror from the storm.  Baden could empathize with his mount; there were few things more naturally terrifying than being caught beneath a lightning snowstorm, at night, on the midst of the central Valusian plains.  

A black shadow rose upward before him.  At first Baden thought it to be a lone tree – as odd as such flora might be upon the prairies – but he soon recognized it for a ruined tower.  The fierceness of the tempest made his decision easy.  “A tower!” he called, his voice being ripped away by the wind, “Make for the tower!”

He was uncertain whether his companions heard him – they, too, were struggling with their mounts – but only a blind man would have had trouble following the path he carved through the gathering snow.  _Which,_ Baden inwardly worried, _was both good and-_

“Behind us!”  The urgency in Tamil’s shouted warning rose above the screaming winds.  “Wolves!”

_-bad._

Baden dropped the reins of his pony, the beast forgotten.  He unstrapped his axe, pushed past Pemm, and made his way backward along their trail until he stood between Hoth and Tamil.  Baden, his back now to the wind, surveyed the blackness.  For long moments the three dwarves stood, shoulder-to-shoulder, as snow pelted their faces and gathered upon their shoulders.

“They aren’t wolves.”

Tamil shook the snow from his beard.  “They are, Baden – I saw them.”

“How many?”

“Two.”

“Three,” Hoth corrected.  “One swung ‘round our flank.”

Baden looked in the direction Hoth indicated.  It was no use; darkvision was much more useful in the confined corridors of the underground than here upon wide plains.  Fear began to grow into a knot in Baden’s stomach.  “Hoth, bring Pemm forward – we must not lose one another!”

Moments after Hoth disappeared, Baden discerned a figure moving toward them through the blizzard - neither dwarf nor wolf nor infernal ice hound.  Horned, it was.  And tall.  Slender as pain.  In the snowstorm all was black, or white, or some mixture thereof – which made the creature’s sickly amber eyes all the more remarkable.  In Baden’s mind, Ilvar whimpered.

“By Moradin’s burnt brows,” Tamil swore, “what is it?”

Baden recalled Anar’s tales of the Dreth – those fell creatures who lead wolven on the hunt.  “A Horned Hunter,” he shouted over the growing wind.

Hoth returned with Pemm in time to hear Baden’s words.  “What does he hunt?”

Baden did not answer – there was no need.  “Get back-to-back, boys, and do it quick-like.  Pemm, into the middle – there ye go.  They seek to surround us – most like they already have.  Be ready, be strong, and – for the love of our bearded god – do _not_ move from this spot.”

_If we’re to die, let it be here, together._






* Author's Note: This last update was, as it were, intended for the cutting room floor.  I was thinking of posting it as an attachment after the _real_ Chapter IV, wherein the group is reunited.  The problem is that Baden did quite a bit of solo adventuring before meeting up with the rest of the players, and I've been torn how to address that fact - do I gloss over it, or do I provide detailed updates?  In the end, I think, I'll do a little of both.  Since it's been a long, long while since I last updated, I think it was time for me to put something up here - hence this, Baden-dominated Chapter IV.  Hope you like it, and thanks for sticking with me.


----------



## Destan

Despaxas said:
			
		

> Btw, and forgive me if I missed it somewhere, what will your publication be called? So I can keep an eye out for it  And when will it be released?




It will be called, quite simply, "Valus".  We drifted away from the original name - _Valusia_ - because such a region can be found in Robert E. Howard's works.  I think it'll be on shelves in June, before GenCon, if all goes well.  It's already at the printers, I know, but I'm unfamiliar with the publishing process.



> And eh ...   will you be continuing your PbP game?




Unfortunately, I probably won't be able to do so - at least in the near future.  If no one buys the sourcebook and/or the module, then maybe I'll be back to being a "normal" DM and can start putting more time into my old loves - like the Sins campaign itself, and the PbP game here on EN World. 



> Other then that I have only 1 thing to say ... post dammit




I know, I know - I'll try to get onto more of a reader-friendly schedule.  When I can't remember some of the previous story, there's no way I can expect readers to be able to do so.  

And Greyhawk - thanks for the archive!  It's perfect.  With your permission, I was thinking I could add the Word file as an attachment at the front of this thread?

Enjoy your holiday weekend, folks, if you get one!

D


----------



## WizarDru

Destan said:
			
		

> * Author's Note: This last update was, as it were, intended for the cutting room floor. I was thinking of posting it as an attachment after the _real_ Chapter IV, wherein the group is reunited. The problem is that Baden did quite a bit of solo adventuring before meeting up with the rest of the players, and I've been torn how to address that fact - do I gloss over it, or do I provide detailed updates?



 Hey, if the rest of Baden's journey is as good as this, hit me with mind-numbing detail, baby.   My love for that fiesty little dwarf is no secret, of course, but this is just plain exciting stuff to read.  It's a great way to start the weekend, that's for sure.


----------



## Lela

So, what exactly is Pemm supposed to be watching for?  How does the Forge Father usually show his forgivness?


----------



## Darklone

Baden goodness.


----------



## pogre

Friendly echoes here:

Welcome back!

More Baden goodness!

Looking forward to Valus very much!


----------



## Tellerve

wow, that was kinda creepy and scarey.  But then you're already good at that so I'm not surprised.  But I am very happy that you updated.

On another note, I was sad I didn't get to see you a couple weekends ago when I was in DC at my friend's, Cinerarium, campaign for a little guest PC playing.  I would have found it an honor to meet and play with you.

Tellerve


----------



## grodog

Woohoo!  A fun update!  More please


----------



## Greyhawk_DM

> And Greyhawk - thanks for the archive! It's perfect. With your permission, I was thinking I could add the Word file as an attachment at the front of this thread?




Not a problem for me...heck it's your story...your rules...


----------



## neg

*Baden Goodness indeed!*

May an axe never be sharp enough to leave further Baden goodness on the cutting room floor!

Baden is a man's dwarf...I wish my characters could be so in depth and complicated as he seems.

Keep it coming Destan, this was a pleasant surprise on the holiday weekend.

-neg


----------



## Destan

Lela said:
			
		

> So, what exactly is Pemm supposed to be watching for?  How does the Forge Father usually show his forgivness?




I don't think Pemm knows, nor does Baden.  Ahh, the joys of DMing.

Tellerve:  Would have loved to roll a few bones with you, as well.  Always interested in meeting other folks that share this eccentric passion for gaming.


_Edit: Removed playtester request - got enough of 'em. _


----------



## LightPhoenix

Sorry Destan, don't have a group, otherwise I'd leap at the chance.   

I just wanted to say that Baden, as usual, rocks.  The hint of dwarven politics at work has been great.


----------



## rigur

Nice to see you back Destan, I most certainly wish to read about Baden's adventures, so just keep writing.

R.


----------



## Tumakhunter

Lela said:
			
		

> Well, personally, I was getting sick of those kind, in shape, humaniods they keep putting on.  I only worry about all those who have to vie for his affection.  Really, what does a child eating demon look for in a woman?  Youth?




Nah.  Breeding hips...


----------



## GM Iago

Destan said:
			
		

> I don't think Pemm knows, nor does Baden.  Ahh, the joys of DMing.
> 
> Tellerve:  Would have loved to roll a few bones with you, as well.  Always interested in meeting other folks that share this eccentric passion for gaming.




Heya Destan,

Been a longtime reader but this is my first post to your board.  Keep up the great work, please.

My other reason (besides the bump and the compliment) was to let you know that Old One is beginning to arrange an EN World Game Day in the D.C. area.  If you'd like to get together and roll some bones, I think almost every reader of ENWorld would love to have you.

Here is a link to the thread where this is being discussed and organized.  Hope it interests ya!

http://www.enworld.org/forums/showthread.php?t=89869

This certainly applies to anyone else interested.  The more the merrier!


----------



## Old One

*Dang...beat me to it...*



			
				GM Iago said:
			
		

> Heya Destan,
> 
> Been a longtime reader but this is my first post to your board.  Keep up the great work, please.
> 
> My other reason (besides the bump and the compliment) was to let you know that Old One is beginning to arrange an EN World Game Day in the D.C. area.  If you'd like to get together and roll some bones, I think almost every reader of ENWorld would love to have you.
> 
> Here is a link to the thread where this is being discussed and organized.  Hope it interests ya!
> 
> http://www.enworld.org/forums/showthread.php?t=89869
> 
> This certainly applies to anyone else interested.  The more the merrier!




Destan,

I was going to "mosy" on over here to drop you an invite...but Iago beat me to it !  Tentative date is Saturday, 8/28...venue still being explored.  We will probably run an AM game slot and a PM game slot...you up for playing and/or DMing?

~ Old One


----------



## GM Iago

Old One said:
			
		

> Destan,
> 
> I was going to "mosy" on over here to drop you an invite...but Iago beat me to it !  Tentative date is Saturday, 8/28...venue still being explored.  We will probably run an AM game slot and a PM game slot...you up for playing and/or DMing?
> 
> ~ Old One




Ha!  I actually managed to out think Old One!  Whooho!

*Makes a mental note* In case of revenge, either do not let Old One know who you are at the EN World Day or do not play in a game he DMs.  

Just kidding...


----------



## Old One

*Old One mumbles...*



			
				GM Iago said:
			
		

> Ha!  I actually managed to out think Old One!  Whooho!
> 
> *Makes a mental note* In case of revenge, either do not let Old One know who you are at the EN World Day or do not play in a game he DMs.
> 
> Just kidding...




 _I know where to find you, my precious... _  

~ Old One

We now return you to your regular scheduled thread of Valus goodness !


----------



## sword-dancer

Greyhawk_DM said:
			
		

> Yes I did save them as Word files. Just let me know your e-mail address and I will send you a copy.
> .



Could you please send me another copy, if Destan does agree to this?

THX



			
				Destan said:
			
		

> *Chapter IV*
> 
> 
> * Author's Note: This last update was, as it were, intended for the cutting room floor.  .



You could bury me under your cutting, and I would read it raw.


----------



## Destan

sword-dancer said:
			
		

> Could you please send me another copy, if Destan does agree to this?




I'll save him the trouble - Greyhawk said it was fine to upload the files to the boards, so you'll find them under the very first post of this thread.  I had to break the archive into three parts due to EN World's size constraints.  

I must say, Grey did an excellent job - makes it easier for me, certainly, as I can easily search old posts to find out what I've written and what I haven't.  

I've been meaning to attach the files for some time now, sorry for the procrastination.

Thanks,
D


----------



## WizarDru

Your thought for the day:

A roven with a thornfork is a terrifying thing.

Piratecat playing a roven with a thornfork is bad thing to see when you're a goblin ranger.


Oy.


----------



## pogre

WizarDru said:
			
		

> Your thought for the day:
> 
> A roven with a thornfork is a terrifying thing.
> 
> Piratecat playing a roven with a thornfork is bad thing to see when you're a goblin ranger.
> 
> 
> Oy.




O.K., I admit it. I'm jealous. Playtesting a module from our main man here with PC is just a lil' too damn cool...


----------



## Argent Silvermage

pogre said:
			
		

> O.K., I admit it. I'm jealous. Playtesting a module from our main man here with PC is just a lil' too damn cool...



Tell me about it! PC is a great guy. I was very impressed by him. I just think I could have done without the image of him with the goblin in a clinch. (You had to be there)


----------



## WizarDru

pogre said:
			
		

> O.K., I admit it. I'm jealous. Playtesting a module from our main man here with PC is just a lil' too damn cool...



Well, the very least I can do then is post some pics in the Endhome Six story hour.  Dig on Scorch's awesome cave pieces.


----------



## sword-dancer

Destan said:
			
		

> I'll save him the trouble - Thanks,
> D




Thank You - both!


----------



## Piratecat

Argent Silvermage said:
			
		

> I just think I could have done without the image of him with the goblin in a clinch. (You had to be there)




Some goblins just don't know when to be intimidated. I *gave* him the opportunity to surrender. I *counted* to three -- mostly. And really, what's the point of spiked armor if you're not going to grapple?  

I had a great time, both with Wizardru's group and with the adventure. To put things in perspective, I had to leave about 11pm -- and reluctantly walked out the door at 12:45 am.


----------



## dravot

Piratecat said:
			
		

> Some goblins just don't know when to be intimidated. I *gave* him the opportunity to surrender. I *counted* to three -- mostly. And really, what's the point of spiked armor if you're not going to grapple?
> 
> I had a great time, both with Wizardru's group and with the adventure. To put things in perspective, I had to leave about 11pm -- and reluctantly walked out the door at 12:45 am.



 Although I had a great time visiting family in Colorado, I wish I coulda been there for the game.  When I created the roven that you played, I had no idea he'd be so...ruthless.


----------



## Zad

dravot said:
			
		

> Although I had a great time visiting family in Colorado, I wish I coulda been there for the game. When I created the roven that you played, I had no idea he'd be so...ruthless.



Piratecat definitely "found" the roven (by which I mean found his personality and hence how to play him.) 

There were other amusing antics but I'll avoid spoilers. But it was definitely a great time.


----------



## Rhothaerill

Sigh, I knew this was going to happen.    I discovered the first portion of the story hour a few days ago and have been reading it and now the second when I could find the time.  And now I've come to the point where I have to wait for an update.

Excellent work Destan.  I may be brand new to this story but I too look forward to further updates and the published form of Valus.


----------



## The Forsaken One

I'm afraid I mentally killed Destan with too much criticism on his adventures  Sorry guys, no more updates and according to the playtest liability insurance I am not to be held responsible and my adress is to be kept confidential.


----------



## Lela

The Forsaken One said:
			
		

> I'm afraid I mentally killed Destan with too much criticism on his adventures  Sorry guys, no more updates and according to the playtest liability insurance I am not to be held responsible and my adress is to be kept confidential.




Hmmmm, if someone were going to kill you (and I'm not overtly suggesting it would be me), I don't think I (and by that I mean they) would worry too much about address confidentiality.  You're trackable to those of us (and by that I mean them) who know how. . .


----------



## The Forsaken One

ERblalbablelfeafasdsadfas yeah ok


----------



## grodog

Ahem:  hey destan, isn't it time for an update---next thing you know, we're all going to think that you're taking a line from Sep's SH on update frequency


----------



## Lela

Sep, P-Kitty, and Old One.  Hmmmm, four of the best writers don't update often.  Coincidence?  I think not!


----------



## DrZombie

It's a big conspiracy really, to make us all go bananas. They keep us in anticipation, meanwhile pimping each others story threads, so in the end, you're hooked to them all, and the craving just gets worse and worse. That, coupled with the subtle drawings of KidCthulhu's avatar, and off course the nickname of "the Old One", will lead us to worshipping the elder gods. Human sacrifice isn't far off really.

Could someone please update before the police starts digging in my back-yard, I don't think they allow internet in jail.


----------



## Lela

DrZombie said:
			
		

> Human sacrifice isn't far off really.



Hey, anyone seen Darklone lately?  Hmmmmmm.


----------



## DrZombie

I've never ever seen him, I just hope he likes cherry trees.  
~_whistles innocently whilst looking at the nearby cherry orchard.~_


----------



## Baron Opal

*Well, that was fun...*

Re-discovered the Story Hour last week, just finished reading this thread. Delightful, Destan. Things like this may one day inspire me to write and regale our fellow members with tales of Kericindal.

A marvelous read, and I look forward to seeing your work in print.

Baron Opal

PS: I first noticed this story hour nearly a year ago, but I didn't quite realize it until I noticed Part II. I'm one of those fickle lurkers who forgets story hours when postings are too far apart.


----------



## Ramien Meltides

Destan,
Let me add my voice to the many others here to say how impressed I am by your writing skills and your story hour. I'm a rather discriminating reader (some call me PICKY), as your story hour makes only the second I have ever followed (after Piratecat's). I plan to be at GenCon and will definitely stop by your booth to pick up your product - congratulations on getting your work published, I think you definitely deserve the showcasing of your talent.

Keep up the great work and I look forward to meeting you!


----------



## WizarDru

Ramien Meltides said:
			
		

> Destan,
> Let me add my voice to the many others here to say how impressed I am by your writing skills and your story hour. I'm a rather discriminating reader (some call me PICKY), as your story hour makes only the second I have ever followed (after Piratecat's).



 Might I suggest a trifecta?  Go read Sepulchrave's Story Hour, and then you'll have the current big three, in my mind.   You can go to the Compiled Tales of Wyre thread, if you're so inclined.  You'll be quite a while before you reach the current chapters of the Mesalliance, part 2.


----------



## Lela

WizarDru said:
			
		

> Might I suggest a trifecta? Go read Sepulchrave's Story Hour, and then you'll have the current big three, in my mind.  You can go to the Compiled Tales of Wyre thread, if you're so inclined. You'll be quite a while before you reach the current chapters of the Mesalliance, part 2.



As long as we're doing something useful with bumping, let me add Old One's Fadded Glory to the list.  Both are amazing and both are read by the great Destan (so this isn't entirely off topic  ).


----------



## Destan

I meant to give you cats a much longer update; it's been over a month since the last one (a new, unfortunate record). I've been busy finishing the _Return of Ippizicus Child-Eater_ module, and have slackened on the responsibilities I owe the Brothers of Olgotha and their loyal readers.

If you're here, reading this, then it means you stuck with me through a desert bereft of updates.  You have my apology, and my thanks. 

If you're heading to GenCon, look me up at the _Different Worlds_ booth. In the name of PR, I'll be in a large, dunking machine. You could hurl some giant d20's at me. It'll be fun for the whole gaming family.

---------------

*Chapter V*

Baden pivoted, keeping his axe low and at the ready, and sought to pierce the blizzard with his darkvision.  Hoth was to his left, close, and Tamil to his right, further off. He felt the reassuring pressure of Pemm’s back against his own. But, beyond their small circle, the Weedsea remained hidden. Darkvision was useless in the blowing snow, and the lightning flashing overhead only changed Baden’s blindness from black to white.

Baden rested his free hand on Hoth’s arm and turned his head toward Tamil. Once the dwarf looked in his direction, Baden jerked his chin forward. The four Axemarch warriors moved ahead as one unit, knee-deep in snow, to a small hillock.  Baden tripped, tried to catch himself, and failed.  

Baden regained his feet, grumbling. “I should have been a smith.”

“Or a dancer.”

Baden hadn’t realized he had spoken aloud. He risked a wry glance toward Hoth –

- and saw _them_.

Baden suddenly recalled one of John’s stories about swimming in the Castamere Bay. Sharks, the Pellman had said, could appear seemingly from nothing, though the seas were clear as glass in all directions.  It was much the same here.  Three wolven had come upon them, silent, deadly.  

And somewhere out there, still hidden, was that great horned bastard.  _Dammit._

Baden had no time to be graceful.  He stepped toward the nearest wolf, crouching, and brought Borbidan’s axe upward in a cruel stroke.  It was a horrid wound, a good wound. An icy mist billowed over Baden as the beast bit his arm, teeth puncturing the iron of his bracer.  Baden wrenched his arm upward and found himself staring at a single, azure eye. A fine target. The dwarf thrust the end-spike of his axe into the orb.

The wolven was heavy in death.  _One down._ Baden twisted his forearm and let both bracer and beast fall onto the snow underfoot.

_Now, you horned toad, where be you hidin’?_

Hoth was engaged with another of the wolven, and Pemm and Tamil battled the third.  Baden hesitated.  Should he assist his companions, or remain facing the darkness where he had last seen the Dreth?  Lightning flashed and gave him his answer; the horned leader of the hunt had shifted to Baden’s left.  It held something slender in one hand – a rapier?

_No – a wand._ When lighting again flashed, it did not come from the heavens.  A white splinter shot through the night and exploded against Baden’s hauberk.  The dwarf went numb, his heart momentarily frozen from the shock.  His chest and arms tingled, and his ears hummed. 

Baden was unsure how many such attacks he could endure. He had issued only one command prior to the battle – to remain together. But he had always been better at issuing orders than following them. Baden took a deep breath, squared his shoulders, and marched blindly into the tempest.

It was a sickeningly slow journey; the snow was deep and the blizzard stinging.  Baden hoped the Dreth could not see any better than he could. The creature had used the wand immediately after lightning had lit the tableau, so perhaps such a hope was not in vain.

Lightning came.

Baden swore, startled. The Horned Hunter was next to him, close enough to cuddle. Baden fell more than dove to the ground as another bolt streaked from the wand, stinging the back of his neck in its passage. Baden reached into the darkness, felt a boot, and swung his axe.  The swing was weak, one-handed, but it met resistance and went through it.  Something hot and wet splattered onto Baden’s cheeks.

Baden swung again, fighting blind, and missed.  He rolled to one knee, gained his feet.  _Come lightning, come_.

A seeming eternity passed until, finally, lightning once more ripped across the vault.

“Tamil, behind you!”

Baden was running even as he shouted.  The Dreth had somehow outflanked him in the darkness and was now next to Tamil. Baden saw the bodies of all three wolven in the snow during the brief illumination.  But the wolven were not what worried him.

Scenes of horror came in intervals as lightning crackled sporadically overhead. Light – the Dreth and Tamil faced one another – darkness. Light – the Dreth held Tamil by the neck, arm outstretched, the dwarf’s feet kicking feebly above the snow – darkness. Light – the same scene, but no longer did Tamil kick – darkness.

“Hoth! Pemm! To Tamil!” Baden sprinted in the direction he had last seen his friend, falling, crawling, standing, running. “Save him!”

The blizzard lessened, if only momentarily, but the change allowed Baden’s darkvision to suddenly regain its effectiveness.  There was Hoth, swinging his axe at the Horned Hunter like a man cutting wood.  And there was Pemm, arms wrapped about Tamil’s waist as he desperately tried to pull him from the Dreth’s grip.

Baden and his rage arrived simultaneously.  Borbidan’s axe bit once, twice, three times.  The Horned Hunter stood, tall and still as an oak, its blood spurting like tree sap onto the snow. Yet – _still_ – its bony fingers remained wrapped about Tamil’s neck.

Baden dropped his axe into the snow and leapt toward the Dreth. He wrapped one arm about the fiend’s neck, allowing the momentum of his jump and the weight of his body to pull the creature downward.  They landed hard, sank beneath the pristine mantle, and impacted the frozen turf of the Weedsea.  Baden rolled atop the creature’s chest, saw amber eyes, and dug both gauntleted thumbs into them. The Dreth writhed like a serpent, its shrieks carrying above the sounds of the blizzard.

***

“Baden. It is finished.”

Baden’s vision cleared as reality swam upward to meet him.  He was lying atop a velvet, black cloak.  Gone were the yellow eyes. And gone, too, was the Dreth. His thumbs were now pressed against the back of an empty, horned helm.

“Dead?”

“Mayhaps.” Hoth shrugged. He stood looking down onto Baden, grizzled face gone soft.  “But we have other problems, friend.”

_Tamil._  Baden sat upright, wiped snow from his eyes, and swiveled his gaze.  Tamil lay crumpled in the snow not far from him.  Baden clawed his way across the tundra, creating a furrow in his wake.  “Pemm, you ass!  Heal him!”

“He is beyond my powers, _nil-thain_.”  Pemm’s voice was pitched low.

Baden reached out, threw Tamil’s helm aside, and cradled the dwarf’s head in his lap.  _I lost your brother. I will not now lose you._  “He lives.” 

“Aye, he does.”  Hoth knelt as the blizzard loosed it hold upon the land.  He placed tender fingers against Tamil’s chin and turned the dwarf’s head to reveal ugly, swollen gashes. Pus, green and thick, oozed from the wounds.

Baden did not need to ask, but he did anyway. “Poison?”

“Poison – the like of which I’ve never seen.”  Hoth stood and surveyed the darkness.  “The blizzard lessens.  We dare not tarry.”

Baden was quiet. Falling snow, light and dancing, gathered upon his shoulders.

“Baden,” Pemm began in the voice of a priest, “I have tried.  Truly, I have.  Tamil is beyond Moradin’s aid-” 

“I will not leave him.”  Baden’s voice was flat, cold as the weather.  “Go, if you must.”

But neither Hoth nor Pemm did go. The three dwarves huddled over the body of their fallen comrade, even as the storm increased in intensity once more. After a time, Hoth threw his cloak over Tamil’s body. The Ironfist Captain took a seat next to Baden. “You will wait with him, and so we shall wait with you. But,” Hoth raised a finger, voice soft, “in the end, we must leave him.”

“He yet fights.” Baden looked at Hoth through eyesight grown blurry from tears. “Tamil has always been a fighter.  In the mines, against the cave troll, he fought.  And he fights now.”

The storm would soon be too much for words. Winds raged and raced across the Weedsea, blowing walls of snow that threatened to entomb the dwarves. Baden tore his gaze from Tamil’s pale face. He looked to Hoth.  “Make for the ruined tower – the one we saw earlier. The ponies…the ponies we will find in the morning, dead or no.”

Hoth nodded, paused for a moment, then stood. “We will start a fire. I’d rather die to Dreth or wolven than the cold. When…when you are ready, make toward our flame.”

***

Baden stepped through the archway at the base of the old Epalan tower. He knelt, placed Tamil’s body onto the ground. He felt Pemm’s eyes upon him. “He lives, and I would not have him die alone, out there, in the cold.”

Pemm moved aside so Baden could position Tamil nearest the flames. “Hoth is above, on the parapets, though I know not why – nothing can be seen in this blizzard.”

“He will freeze.” Baden exchanged Hoth’s cloak for his own, gently tucking the material around Tamil’s inert form.  Baden strode deeper into the ruins, staring upward. Much of the tower’s interior had collapsed, but a few floor planks yet remained. “Come down, Captain of Ironfist. You have not your cloak.”

Baden waited while the dwarf descended. Hoth stopped before him, shivering from the cold, though he made no mention of it. His face was pale, and ice had formed upon his beard.  Baden held out the cloak, saying nothing, but Hoth did not immediately take it. The Ironfist dwarf stared at it as if it were a snake. He looked up, found Baden’s eyes.

The two shared a long look only dwarven warriors could, and a great many things passed unspoken between them.

Finally, Hoth nodded. He took the furred cloak, wrapped it about his shoulders. “It…it will be hard, with the ground frozen, but we can dig a hole in the morn-”

“Tamil yet lives.”

Hoth’s head snapped up. Frozen fingers began to undo the cloak. “Then Tamil should-”

“No, keep it. I gave him mine. And there…there is a fire, regardless. Come,” Baden laid a hand on Hoth’s icy arm, “let us hold our vigil there, by the flames, and think of Moradin and his forges.”

And so they did.


----------



## Lela

Baden. Rocks.


----------



## Look_a_Unicorn

I would bide for years awaiting the next update, they never fail to astound.


----------



## Maladrac

Lela said:
			
		

> Baden. Rocks.




Yeah, but his player is such a weenie.    I can't figure it out.


The artist formerly known as;
John of Pell


----------



## Tellerve

Maladrac said:
			
		

> Yeah, but his player is such a weenie.    I can't figure it out.
> 
> 
> The artist formerly known as;
> John of Pell





Hmm, some people play themselves only a bit more...heroic.  Others go the complete opposite.  A few do well with playing all sorts of different types.

Either way, I have to agree, Baden does indeed rock.  I have to ask though, in terms of gaming, how did that combat actually go?  As a story it is great, but knowing this was played by PCs makes me wonder about some stuff.  What level was baden at this point?  Why, assuming "normal" grappling rules, would he drop his ax to do such crappy fighting.  In the real world, a little double eye gouge is nice, but Dnd doesn't really afford such interesting mechanics.  Unless you really really spice it up with some flavor text.

Looking forward to more updates, the campaign book, and the adventure module 

Tellerve


----------



## JDragon

Glad to see the good fight continues.   

Any updates on your book?  

I got that the title is Valus, is Diffrent Worlds the publisher?

Juast trying to get the info so I can get my FLGS to order it for me.


----------



## grodog

Very nice Destan---short, sweet, and icy....


----------



## rigur

Any update from you is worth waiting for. Nice work.


R.


----------



## WizarDru

Maladrac said:
			
		

> The artist formerly known as;
> John of Pell



 Look at this way: even dead, John still gets a part in the story.  Of course, he's more of a cautionary tale now about not messing with large stinging insects...but you get the idea. 

 Another great update, as usual.  Can't wait until all the players have gathered together again, and the new party dynamics.

 Poor Tamil.  I really liked the poor bugger.


----------



## Darklone

Hmm. Johns Ghost as the storyteller. I like that idea.


----------



## Joshua Randall

Tellerve said:
			
		

> I have to ask though, in terms of gaming, how did that combat actually go? As a story it is great, but knowing this was played by PCs makes me wonder about some stuff. What level was baden at this point? Why, assuming "normal" grappling rules, would he drop his ax to do such crappy fighting.



Suppose the Dreth was grappling Tamil. If Baden attacked, he would have to roll randomly to see which combatant he struck. (_PH_ 151, Table 8-6, footnote 3). I'd assume that was the main reason for Baden to join the grapple rather than merely hack away.


----------



## Tellerve

Joshua, yeah good point about the random hitting thing.  I hadn't thought of that but you're probably right in that's the reason he dropped his ax.  Ahh flavor text, how I love thee, LOL.

Tellerve


----------



## Lela

Don't you only have to roll percentile if it's a ranged attack?


----------



## Joshua Randall

D'oh... right you are, Lela. That footnote only applies to ranged attacks. Well, in that case, I don't know what Baden was doing.


----------



## Darklone

Wasn't there an option to break other guys grapple if you're inside of the grapple as well? I think that was what Baden was trying to do...


----------



## The Forsaken One

Wiiiiiiiii update


----------



## Tellerve

Ah, right, just on ranged attacks.  Hmm, well, breaking the grapple.  Yeah, might have been it.  Again, flavor text wins the day.  It certain would be and effective tactic in real life and certainly made for a great story.  I'm not complaining 

Tellerve


----------



## Rhothaerill

Reading about Baden's adventures makes me want to play a dwarven fighter.  

Nice, Destan.


----------



## Maladrac

Tellerve said:
			
		

> Again, flavor text wins the day.





Yeah, 'flavor text' is pretty much the better part of it.  While I wasn't present during this particular scrap, I can tell you that Destan regularly takes minor liberties with the story for the sake of drama.  I know I wouldn't want it any other way.  I doubt if most of us would still be reading if he tediously explained the blow-by-blow progression of each fight in mind-numbing accuracy and detail.

Also, what we all have to remember is that this particular part of the story happened over two years ago, and Destan's memory ain't so good.  We have a system wherein Destan writes it like he remembers it, then either Baden or I land on him like a sumo if he drifts too far from 'actual events'.  I think it's worked well so far.  There's only been one occasion where we had to give him flack, and after he explained his changes we realized he was right.

John of Pell


----------



## Celtavian

*re*



			
				Maladrac said:
			
		

> Yeah, 'flavor text' is pretty much the better part of it.  While I wasn't present during this particular scrap, I can tell you that Destan regularly takes minor liberties with the story for the sake of drama.  I know I wouldn't want it any other way.  I doubt if most of us would still be reading if he tediously explained the blow-by-blow progression of each fight in mind-numbing accuracy and detail.
> 
> Also, what we all have to remember is that this particular part of the story happened over two years ago, and Destan's memory ain't so good.  We have a system wherein Destan writes it like he remembers it, then either Baden or I land on him like a sumo if he drifts too far from 'actual events'.  I think it's worked well so far.  There's only been one occasion where we had to give him flack, and after he explained his changes we realized he was right.
> 
> John of Pell




Writing a D&D battle in detail churns out rather boring prose. Destan has given me a few tips. The next time I write a story hour, I am definitely going to use creative license rather than trying stick to the exact details of what occurred in the campaign. I tried that, and you often end up writing too much about battle.


----------



## Lela

Celtavian said:
			
		

> Writing a D&D battle in detail churns out rather boring prose.



And you usually enjoy writing it just a touch less than everyone else enjoys reading it. . .


----------



## Destan

JDragon said:
			
		

> Any updates on your book?
> 
> I got that the title is Valus, is Different Worlds the publisher?
> 
> Juast trying to get the info so I can get my FLGS to order it for me.




Hiya JD - the complete title is _Valus: A Fantasy Role-Playing World Sourcebook._ I think we wanted to make the title a sentence in an effort to distinguish it from Ebberon.  And Different Worlds is indeed the publisher, but they're not "open for business" yet. I think the book is actually due back from the printers today or tomorrow.



			
				The Forsaken One said:
			
		

> Wiiiiiiiii update




I got a larger update in the works; not sure if it's "good", but - dammit - it'll be longer than this last one. I feel like I cheated a bit by calling the last post an update.



			
				Celtavian said:
			
		

> Writing a D&D battle in detail churns out rather boring prose.




Amen, brother Celtavian! I think I'd be certifiable if I tried to detail all the fights in the campaign - especially those from this far back in time.  I hate to pull the proverbial curtain aside and show the guts behind the story, but I'll do it anyway since there seems to be some interest in it.

As I mentioned, Josh (Baden's player) began keeping a PC journal after his fight with the cave troll.  That is immensely helpful to fill in the many gaps of my memory.  Here's what I had to work with on the Baden/Dreth fight.



			
				Baden said:
			
		

> *15th of Uktar, 1366 DR*
> 
> _Three days back I made the decision not to go through Lonely Hearth, instead travelling through the wilds and staying far from the known trails as Wilan had instructed.  This could have been a big mistake.
> 
> A major snowfall covered the plains in a heavy blanket of snow.  Not only has this slowed us considerably but we also leave a trail a blind man could follow.  Unfortunately it wasn’t a blind man who found it.  The wolven still roam these plains (as we had feared) and it was they that found the trail but a few short hours back.
> 
> It has been an eventful night.  We made a brief and bloody stand against a pair of wolven and their Dreth master.  Or at least I think it was a Dreth.  The creature looks like a man but their skin is black as night and their eyes glow with a feral red gleam.  He wore a great horned helm and wielded a large sword.  But that’s not all.  The bastard could only be injured with magic weapons.  He could also cast spells and his touch was deadly poison!  Even after the creature was dead Tamil fought to shake off the effects of the poison before it reached his heart._




So, you see, I changed some things. Not all of them intentional, mind you - I didn't have an intenet connection (and hence - Baden's journal) when I was typing some of it on my laptop.  

I can only recall certain things from that fight - the dreth used magic, he had DR (one of the first baddies with DR that the Olgotha Brothers have faced), and he nearly killed Tamil with his poison touch. I used a weird type of poison - it did hit point damage, and required three consecutive Fort saves to shake off its effects. I know, I know - not very good 3E or 3.5E mechanics. Looks like I exchanged a wand for the sword and made his eyes amber instead of red.  I also, it seems, added a wolven. Heh.

I remember Baden did most of the damage (thanks in part to his axe), and I remember it was a near thing as to whether Tamil would survive the poison ordeal or not.

The rest, as they say, is history.

In summary, I try to stick to the story as much as my memory and - in those scenes which include Baden - the journal allow. I do change some things, here and there, but I only do it for the story. And to keep me sane.

Take care!
D


----------



## The Forsaken One

Destan I'll get back to you later this week. I promised the stuff monday last week and it still isn't in, my appologies. I had a great gaming week planned but all drive for that disappeared when my girlfriend with whom I've been together for around 2 years decided to call it a day. 

That kinda killed my happy happy joy week for me and my friends and I just took a week of nice and silent contemplation (and too much time behind my computer).


----------



## Destan

*Chapter VI*

Baden had enjoyed a relatively remarkable string of good fortune. 

First and foremost, despite all odds, the young Axemarch dwarf Tamil had been able to shake off the worst of the Dreth’s poison. Though his face remained a bit wan, and his movements somewhat sluggish, Tamil improved with each passing day.

Second, the weather – generally quite horrendous on the Weedsea during the month of Uktar – turned favorable. The four dwarves made good progress as they continued toward distant Val Hor. They were able to shave a number of days from their journey by crossing the fortuitously frozen Mead River.

Third, Hoth – and even Pemm – were turning out to be capable companions. Baden trusted them both implicitly. Baden slept comfortably, for the first time in weeks, secure in the knowledge that a vigilant dwarven sentinel stood the watch.

Something, Baden thought, had to turn sour. And so it did.

***

Baden shielded his eyes from the unseasonably hot sun. “They wear cloaks of white. That is no Tundreth color. Larrenmen wear black, Calahens green, and Cormicks…what damned color do Cormicks wear?”

“Red.” Hoth climbed atop the gentle bluff to stand near Baden. The bushy-bearded Ironfist dwarf studied the distant riders. “Those are not Tundreth horsefolk, Baden; they are elves.”

“Gammhedrel?”

Hoth shrugged. “Aye, mayhaps they are wood elves, though I doubt it. Them fairy folk don’t seem to like these open spaces any more than we do.”

Around the small company of dwarves, the Weedsea undulated in mind-jarring monotony. There were few trees and fewer scrubs. Hiding, Baden understood, was an impossibility.

In the time it took Baden to frame the thought, the white riders changed their course to close the dwarven position.

“Tamil, you’ve the best eyes of us all. Come take a gander, if you would.”

Tamil accepted Baden’s outstretched hand and allowed himself be half-pulled to the bluff’s crest. The young Axemarch dwarf, pale but alive, quietly studied the tableau. “Not all wear white. Them on foot wear green – Calahen clansmen, most like.”

“Whitecloaks on horseback, and greencloaks on foot. I like it not.” Baden resisted the urge to don his helmet and loosen his axe. “Tamil, down with ye. Tell Pemm to mind the ponies. Keep the beasts picketed behind us, in the gully. You stay back a few paces, crossbow ready.”

Baden pulled on a pair of gauntlets.  “Captain Hoth, if you would, stay with me. If there’s to be trouble, kill the bowmen first, horses second. If they spread out and start firing arrows, ‘twill be an inglorious end for us.”

“Brilliant.”

Baden grunted. “I thought so, too.”

***

The riders stopped thirty paces’ distant. Hoth had been correct – the mounted warriors were elves. Tall, slender, wearing chain shirts, swords strapped to their saddles. Great bows peered over their shoulders. Surcoats emblazoned with a silver crescent. Eight of them, all told.

Tamil, also, had been correct: five Calahen clansmen, looking none too happy, walked in the wake of the mounted elves.

At least, they _looked_ like elves – but the world seemed an odd place of late. Baden had fought a wraith-shadow in Borbidan’s Rest, had combated a horned devil and his wolven pack, and had faced entities that by all rights should have been languishing in the Abyss. _Ilvar, no demons?_ Baden depended on the elf-spirit’s ability to detect outsiders, and it was best to be careful.

_- None, Baden._

Baden took a last, long look at the unarmed and surly Calahens before staring upward at the lead elf. “I am Baden son of Banidon.”

“Why are you here?”

Baden swallowed a curt reply. By right and tradition, on the Weedsea, when one stranger gives another his name he should receive the same in reply. If Baden knew as much, the damned elves certainly should. “I make for the Coastal Road.”

“You are a stone dwarf. From what clan do you hail?”

Baden opened his mouth to reply, paused, and swallowed his words. He had thought the hurt of being a _nil-thain_ was gone. It was not. “I know – you probably didna’ hear me. I said I was Baden son of Banidon.” The silence stretched. “This is when you tell me your name.”

“You are on the Weedsea, stone dwarf. These lands can be unkind to those who do not belong.”

“I’ll take that under consideration.”

The elf lifted the helm from his head – no, _her_ head. Platinum hair spilled onto the lady-warrior’s hauberk. Her smile was as distant and cruel as the mountains to which she now pointed. “Why have the four of you climbed forth from your rat-holes?”

“I said we make for the Coastal Road. And the last I checked,” Baden looked sideways at Hoth, “the Coastal Road don’t run through the ‘Cor.”

“No, sure as shale it don’t.” Hoth hooked both thumbs in his belt and rocked back and forth on his boots.

The elf’s humorless smile, if possible, grew even colder. “These lands were not given unto durven, for your folk have always hid your brows from the glimmer.”

_What in the name of hell…_ Baden tried and failed to hide his confusion. _Enough banter._ “We, ah, have been harassed by creatures. They are akin to wolves – but larger, worse. The beasts are lead by fell hunters wearing horned helms…” 

Baden’s voice drifted off once he realized he sounded like a father telling a bedtime tale. Yet recognition had sparked in the elf-maiden’s eyes - Baden was sure of it. Those same eyes were hidden once the elf replaced her helm. The other riders fanned out behind her without being told to do so. “You three – and those who may be waiting in the gully below - shall accompany us.”

“If it’s all the same to you, we’d rather not.” Hoth spat on the ground. “I never did like elves. Calahens neither.”

One of the green-robed clansmen bristled. “If I stood before you with a sword, you would ware your words.”

“If you stood before me with your sword,” Hoth laughed, “you would not stand long.”

Baden stepped forward, consciously keeping his hands away from his axe. “Elf-woman, we have our own plans and shall go our own way. We wish you and…your glimmer…well.” Baden looked behind him and fastened an eye on Tamil. “Tell Pemm to ready the ponies. We ride.”

The elves watched silently, without moving, as Tamil and Pemm joined Baden and Hoth upon the ridgeline. Baden silently counted the beads of sweat he felt rolling down his side. At number seven, the female elf drew a sickle from her belt. She gestured toward the horizon in all directions. “These lands bask under the moonlight of Selûne, and we are in Her favor. You trespass, and must answer for it.”

Baden sighed. _Moonies._ He had never encountered elves of Selûne, but he had heard stories. Haughty as harlots, they were. But deadly, if the same tales were true. “Where would ye be takin’ us?”

The elf leaned forward and crossed both arms upon her pommel. She tipped her helm back to better look upon Baden and his fellows. “Mount up. For the nonce, you shall keep your ponies.”

Baden laid a hand on Hoth as the Ironfist Captain stepped forward. His words, when they came, were more for Hoth than they were for the elves. “The Coastal Road is to the south, and we are not against traveling in that direction.”

“Then we are agreed.” The elf’s grin was more sneer than smile. “Do try to keep up.”

***

Baden had never liked marble. It was too smooth, too difficult to work. He preferred rougher stone, as did most dwarves. Still, he had to admit good craftsmanship when he saw it – and he saw it here, in the Moon Temple of Selûne.  The church lording over the foam-flecked waters of Mead Lake was as white and elegant as the proudest elf. Baden had watched the spires grow upon the horizon when they were still a day’s journey distant.

He could not help but feel coarse and brutish as he walked beneath the parapets and strode across immaculate courtyards toward the great hall. Baden now stood, flanked by his dwarven companions and the taciturn Calahens, in a grand foyer. The pristine, marble floor was flawless – save for the mud they had tracked upon it.

Dozens of white-cloaked devotees, mostly elves, whispered quietly with one another, their words and faces hidden within the shadows behind ivory-colored pillars. Baden felt his ears growing red, and vainly wondered just how he had allowed himself to be escorted into the heart of the Moon Goddess’ temple.

Before them was an alabaster dais, upon which sat an exquisitely beautiful elven woman. Silver filigree tied back her hair, making a face that might be graceful appear overly proud. Her skin was tight, her eyes unflinching. Behind her stood a whipcord thin elf, his own eyes nothing more than slits.

The Calahens were the first to be beckoned forward – _thank Moradin_ – and Baden strived to hear the conversation which ensued at the foot of the dais. 

“My lady,” began one of the Calahens, his accent harsh, “we are but-”

“You will address the Moon Priestess as _San’a’lul_.” The slender elf behind the throne spoke without emotion.

“Forgive me,” stammered the clansman. He nervously cleared his throat – once, twice – as he worried a woolen hat held in both hands. “Sans…sanahloll.  Me lads and I got snared by the blizzard that came through her a few nights’ past.”

The woman spoke for the first time, her voice soft, soothing, clear. “What were you doing?”

“Hunting, my lady…sanahloll.”

“What were you hunting?”

The clansman was obviously unprepared for such a question. “Anything, sansahol - sanahloll. Elk, bison.” He shrugged. “We searched for food for our kin.”

“You were found on our lands, not your own. Why?”

“We lost our way in the blizzard, and lost our horses shortly thereafter. We had…we opened ‘em up and passed the night sleepin’ in their stomachs.”

A distasteful murmur arose within the nave. The priestess smiled. “Then you may go, and with our blessing. Come not again into Selûne’s embrace. I have spoken.”

The clansmen looked at one another, surprised. Finally, their spokesman bowed low. “Thank you, my lady sansaloll. We…we will go now?” It was question.

“Of course.”

The green-cloaked Tundreth men quickly filed past Baden, a few of them not troubling to hide their smirks.

The thin elf behind the throne raised a bejeweled hand. “Durven. You may approach.”

Baden and his companions walked forward and bowed as one with military precision. “I am Baden Dost, son of Banidon. These are my companions.”

“May the glimmer caress you, Baden Dost.”

Baden bowed again, buying time, uncertain. “We, ah, we make for the Coastal Road. Your patrol bid us come here, _San’a’lul_.”

“Why were you on our lands?”

Baden chewed his whiskers. “Forgive us, _San’a’lul_. We were making for the coast and knew not these lands were claimed by Moo-…” Baden shut his mouth with an audible snap of his teeth.

The priestess smiled, not unkindly. With her eyes never leaving Baden’s own, she said, “Your friend is hurt.”

Baden glanced at Tamil. “Aye, he had – has – a bit o’ poison still in him. _San’a’lul_.”

“We can heal him.”

Baden nodded guardedly. “We are poor.”

“You,” the priestess inclined her head toward Tamil, “come forward.”

Tamil stepped forward after waiting for Baden’s nod. The young dwarf bowed. “I feel…I feel fine. Just need a bit o’ sleep.”

The thin elf behind the throne opened his mouth but was silenced with a wave of the priestess’ hand. She stood and descended from the dais, the murmuring with the nave increasing as she strode toward Tamil. “You do not know the glimmer, but the glimmer knows you. Would you have the moon cradle your brow?”

“Uh…what?”

Considering the circumstances Baden thought Tamil’s question, though simple, damned appropriate.

“I am the High Priestess of Selûne, stone dwarf. You are within Her house now. She does not abide hurts caused by those who would spurn Her glimmer for eternal darkness.”

Baden watched Tamil blink like a confused owl for a few moments, then stepped forward. “_San’a’lul_, we have naught to pay you. We ask only that you allow us to leave your lands and continue on our way. I will…I will ask Axemarch to send any reasonable sum you demand for this courtesy.”

The priestess’ laugh was a cascade of tinkling jewels. She reached out, touched Tamil lightly on the hand, and murmured a word. Color entered the young dwarf’s face. “We require no payment from your clan, Baden son of Banidon. Your companion has been healed.”

Baden studied his muddy boots. She had healed Tamil, certainly, but…now what? “Thank you, _San’a’lul_. May we have your leave to depart?”

The elf smiled. “My captains tell me you were beset upon my strange wolves and horned warriors. Is this true?”

Baden nodded.

“Why?”

Baden blinked. “Why?”

“Why?”

“We did…we have met them before. Near the Duskingford. A guide told us they are known as wolven.”  Baden looked helplessly toward Hoth before continuing. “The beasts are sometimes lead by creatures known as Dreth-”

The priestess’ smile faded. “I know this name.”

Baden licked his whispers, uncertain whether to continue. When the silence grew, he did. “We killed a Dreth and a few of his icy hounds south of the Duskingway. They had been following us, _San’a’lul_.”

“These creatures followed you onto our lands?”

Baden shrugged. “Aye, _San’a’lul_.”

The priestess nodded slowly, eyes intent on Baden. After a moment that seemed a lifetime, her smile returned. “Then you must answer for their presence, for you have brought a foulness into the glimmer. I have healed a hurt of your companion, and you shall heal a hurt of our church.”

Baden did not like the sound of that. Not at all.

***

“Thrice-damned pointers!” Baden threw his helm onto his bed. “They mean to use as mercenaries. No – worse than mercenaries! For they do not pay us a single coin.”

Hoth rubbed his chin. “No, they pay us with our freedom. We have no choice.”

Baden stared mutely at Hoth before looking to Pemm and Tamil. “I – we – _must_ press onward to Val Hor. My companions have certainly already arrived at the White City. I like not this delay, and I like not being here.”

“Nor do we,” Tamil answered. “What is your plan?”

Baden unstrapped his axe, tossed it next to the helm, and walked to the far corner of the temple’s small bedroom. “Dammit.”

Hoth chuckled. “That does not sound much like a plan to me.”

“Dammit!” Baden bellowed. Hoth’s attempt at humor only further incensed him. He was sick of priests and gods and elves and…

“Let us review what we know.” Baden kicked a chair toward Hoth and bid his companions to take their seats. “The Moonies want us to take care of some warriors that have holed up within one their shrines. They will not do it themselves because they are forbidden to spill blood on ‘sacred’ ground.”

“Or so they say,” Hoth added cheerfully.

“These mercenaries,” Baden continued, “are not rabble. They are Apians from across the water. Have any of you fought Imperials?” Baden looked about the room. “Nor have I. But I have heard they know which end of a sword is used for stickin’. This is not our fight, and I would not die for a purpose…for a purpose I do not share.”

Pemm spoke for the first time since entering the temple. The glum-faced dwarven priest had been extremely quiet. “I respect the Selûnites and their reluctance to stain holy ground.”

“Moonies,” Baden replied. “They are Moonies, Pemm.”

The dwarf shrugged. “You choose to call them that.”

Baden shared an exasperated look with Hoth. Pemm, Baden had firmly come to realize, was one strange bird. “Yer damned right I do. They hold us here against our will, Pemm. If I can combat them with nothing but insults, then I will.”

Hoth sighed. “The Apians need not be killed. We have only been tasked with getting them to depart the shrine.”

“So they can be filled with arrows the moment they step from sacred ground?” Baden scowled. “Tell me, Hoth, would _you_ leave the shrine?”

“When the growlin’ from my stomach grew loud enough – yes, I would leave.”

Baden nodded. “Right. But we have to face them on the morrow. Before the moon is next full. I doubt we can place much trust in the fact that they’ll starve between now and then.”

Tamil frowned. “Why are Apians here, anyway?”

“My head is poundin’ already without having to worry on that matter. Damned Imperials should have stayed on their own side o’ the Conomorra.”

“But they did not,” Pemm unhelpfully added. “They are here. And they must be dealt with.”

“Whose side are you on?”

“I did not know we had chosen sides.”

“We chose sides the moment that elf priestess forbade our departure.” Baden glowered at Pemm. “You would do well to remember as much.”

Hoth stood and stretched. “So…on the morrow we will face these Apians, spill their blood if such is needed, and then be on our way. Yes? Good. I bid you all a good night.”

Baden watched as his companions quietly filed from his bedchamber. 

Moonlight came upon him quickly, sleep did not.

***

Baden found himself telling a stranger who he was for the third time in as many days. 

“I am Baden Dost, son of Banidon.” Baden half-expected the man not to understand the Valusian tongue, but was surprised.

“I am Pandios of Margive.”

“I do not want to kill you.”

“Nor I you.”

“Then it seems we have a problem.”

Pandios smiled. His face, despite a number of scars, was kind. “Indeed.”

Baden sighed. He could not help but study the man before him with open eyes. Baden had never met an Imperial. Pandios wore a bronze-hued breastplate and skirt that was once white but now appeared brown from grime and dried blood. A short, stabbing sword hung from his belt. His helm was tucked under one arm, as was Baden’s.

Behind Pandios stood his men, and Baden had rarely seen a more bedraggled bunch. They had obviously suffered before reaching the ‘safety’ of the Selûne shrine. There were seven of them, two of which – Baden thought – would not last the night. Their armor was similar to Pandios’ and equally covered in old blood.

“Your men are hurt.” Baden jerked his chin behind Pandios toward the assembled Imperials.

“We have endured worse.”

“Why are you here?”

“That is a question I cannot answer. I ask your forgiveness.”

Baden nodded. These were military men, and this was their officer. In light of the trials they must have faced, Baden was impressed to see the resolve in their eyes – even those who appeared to be near death. _If Apia is filled with men such as these, we had all best hope they keep their feet on the mainland._

Baden stroked the butter in his beard. He had not unstrapped his axe, and wanted to delay the inevitable as long as possible. Baden realized, with no small amount of surprise, that he had no desire to kill this man. “Well, I’m open to any suggestions you might have.”

“Let us fight, then, Baden son of Banidon. And know that I hold no rancor toward you. Should you slay me, my spirit will not avenge my death.”

Baden did not know how to reply to that, so he said nothing.

The dwarf helplessly looked about the nearby grounds. The Selûnite shrine was nothing more than a pillared gazebo on a small, flat island of marble. A causeway, no more than ten feet wide, stretched from Lake Mead’s southern shore to the shrine. On the far side of bridge, behind Baden, the inspiring church of Selûne rose toward the morning clouds. Baden had hoped the journey to the shrine would allow him time to think things through. He was sorely disappointed.

“Maybe,” Baden began, an idea forming, “we can prevent some bloodshed.”

Pandios nodded, waiting. “So long as no dishonor falls onto myself or my men.”

The Moonies grew restless on the lake’s shore. Damned near four hundred of them had shown for the morning’s ‘festivities’. Baden looked over his shoulder and swallowed a number of choice words he felt like hurling their way. His eyes searched for and found the high priestess. “_San’a’lul!_ I would have a word with you, if I may.”

The crowd grew louder, angry. But the priestess walked from the throng, stepping onto the causeway some hundred feet distant but coming no further. “Speak, Baden. I will listen.”

“If these men agree to leave,” Baden called, furiously framing his words even as he spoke them, “will you let them pass in peace?”

“We shall not. They have spilled the blood of glimmerfolk, and their blood must answer for it.” The priestess smiled. “The moon travels in cycles, Baden, always in cycles. Acts must be answered in kind. Always.”

Baden glanced at Pandios, judged the man, then turned his back on the Apian. He pushed his way through his fellow dwarves before stopping. “If I fight this man, would our blood be enough to satisfy…to satisfy your goddess?”

The priestess raised a hand to silence the onlookers. “It would, Baden Dost. But blood is not enough. We must have death. Yours, or his. It makes no difference to the glimmer.”

_Bugger your damned glimmer._ “Then you will let the victor – and his companions – depart this place? Safely?”

The priestess nodded. “I have spoken.” She drifted backward from the causeway without further comment.

Baden fastened an eye on Pandios. “There is no dishonor in this. Do you agree?”

“I do.”

“You may choose your champion.”

“I would not choose another to meet a fate I am not prepared to face myself.”

Baden had thought the Apian might say that. But it made it no less difficult to accept. “Whatever happens…whatever happens – know that I did not wish it to be so.”

“Nor I.” Pandios drew his sword. “One request, Baden son of Banidon, I would like to ask of you.”

“Ask.”

“I have a wife, two sons, a daughter. They have missed the face of their father for quite some time.” Pandios smiled as if at a pleasant memory. “If I fall, I ask that you send word to them of my death.”

Baden was silent for a long, long time. He contemplated turning and charging, axe raised, into the crowd of Moonies. But…he could not. Not with his companions from Olgotha awaiting his return. “I swear it will be done.”

Pandios’ smile grew. “My men will tell you where my family may be found, should you be the victor here. I have fought many men, Baden son of Banidon, and killed them all. I have not been troubled by any spirits thus far, and would keep it that way.”

Baden pulled on his helm and drew his axe, fingers wet with sweat despite the autumn chill. “You’ve nothing to fear from my spirit, Pandios. If it is my fate to be sent from this world, I’ll not be eager to be returnin’ to it.”

“Good.” Pandios no longer smiled. “I salute you.”

“And I you.” Baden swallowed, his stomach uneasy. “Come now - let’s do this thing.”


----------



## Dougal DeKree

“I know – you probably didna’ hear me. I said I was Baden son of Banidon.” The silence stretched. “This is when you tell me your name.”

A dwarf lecturing an elf on being polite...simply great!
Thank you for the update, Destan!


----------



## DrZombie

This is what I love about this story, the gray morality, the difficult choices, choosing the lesser evil, but feeling damned anyway.

How difficult was the choice for Baden? In my next campaign, I have a player who should know better who's playing a palladin, and he knows that he'll get into trouble like this. He plays it anyway, I guess we're all a bit masochistic.

Anyway, great update, worth the wait.


----------



## The Forsaken One

Destan, I'm planning on gaming the stuff you sent afterall today or tomorrow but since I'm 100 miles from home and appaerently without the stats in my inbox (w t ... ?) it's kinda an obstacle to me. So if you read this, if you would be so kind to re-email me the stats for carrac addren encounter creatures.

Thanks  Now to read that update..


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## Baron Opal

Sheesh, if all the elves want is a couple of stiffs, wait for the wounded to expire in the night. Never is that simple, though.

Baron Opal


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## WizarDru

Awesome.

 Did Baden spend points on Diplomacy?  I'm figuring he's gone from a -3 to a -1, there.


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## frostrune

> Did Baden spend points on Diplomacy? I'm figuring he's gone from a -3 to a -1, there.




Hilarious!

And *YES* Baden did start diverting some of his 'oh so precious' skill points into diplomacy at around this level.  

But... don't give Destan the satisfaction of thinking he wrote it that way _on purpose_.  He's good, but he's not *THAT* good.  

Thanks for reading.

Frostrune (aka Baden Dost)


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## Tellerve

Great stuff Destan, not sure what you meant about it not being a "good" update.  Seemed great to me, and I think everyone else reading.

I'm contemplating using Grim Tales and setting it in your world.  How do you think that would pan out?  I'm thinking although you are low magic, you might not be quite that low of magic.

anyways, looking forward to more.

Tellerve


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## sword-dancer

Destan said:
			
		

> Hiya JD - the complete title is _Valus: A Fantasy Role-Playing World Sourcebook._ I think we wanted to make the title a sentence in an effort to distinguish it from Ebberon.  And Different Worlds is indeed the publisher, but they're not "open for business" yet. I think the book is actually due back from the printers today or tomorrow.
> Take care!
> D



When could i expect to see this book in my FNLGS?





> I got a larger update in the works; not sure if it's "good",



 I think your standard of good differ from the ususal standard.

Why didn`t Baden asked, for what reason the fighting between the apian and Moonies had started?


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## WizarDru

Tellerve said:
			
		

> I'm contemplating using Grim Tales and setting it in your world. How do you think that would pan out? I'm thinking although you are low magic, you might not be quite that low of magic.



 Just make sure you pick up the Valus setting and the Ippizicus module, first.  If you like the setting now, you'll love it when you see more of it, I'll bet.


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## Lela

sword-dancer said:
			
		

> I think your standard of good differ from the ususal standard.



Isn't that so often the way with the greats?  They've gotten to a point where they see even the most excellent piece of work as riddled with errors.

One thing about that though.  If someone that skilled recomends a work of fiction, it's probably amazing.

Speaking of which.  Destan, what do you read for fun?


----------



## frostrune

> Why didn`t Baden asked, for what reason the fighting between the apian and Moonies had started?




Baden was actually told the reason it just didn't make it into the story hour.  The Apians were part of a recon unit that 'trespassed' on the Moonies land.  The elves tried to round them up like the did the Callahan clansmen and my dwarves, only they didn't comply.  A fight ensued and thus here we are.

I don't know if Destan has really gotten into some of the deep background of the story but rumor has it that the Apian Empire is planning a naval assault on the Luc Valusian fortress of Mon Mith.  Geographically we're a long way from there but the Apian's are invaders and I'm sure their mission was supposed to be secret.  Getting caught or detained was not an option for them.  They had to fight.

Thanks for asking.

Frostrune


----------



## Tellerve

WizarDru said:
			
		

> Just make sure you pick up the Valus setting and the Ippizicus module, first.  If you like the setting now, you'll love it when you see more of it, I'll bet.




Well I was lucky that Destan let me test run one part of the Ippi module, and have to say my characters were totally destroyed.  And so, while I love his feel of the world, somewhat IMO tolkien like, but maybe that is his writing in as much as his actual world.  In any case, I think it should marry fairly well, I've just gotta see more how Grim Tales low magic works and if you can have eventually "powerful" mages through it.  Or at least I take it that Destan, in the game, is a powerful mage.

Anyways, don't wanna monopolize the thread...post more soon destan 

Tellerve


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## WizarDru

Tellerve said:
			
		

> Well I was lucky that Destan let me test run one part of the Ippi module, and have to say my characters were totally destroyed. And so, while I love his feel of the world, somewhat IMO tolkien like, but maybe that is his writing in as much as his actual world. In any case, I think it should marry fairly well, I've just gotta see more how Grim Tales low magic works and if you can have eventually "powerful" mages through it. Or at least I take it that Destan, in the game, is a powerful mage.



  Well, remember...your PCs died so that others might live....or at least, die less easily.  

 A big part of testing is finding that balance for a variety of groups, and Ippi was meant to be a challenge. Different groups had different results, and I'll tell you right now, even if you never ran the module, it'll be a good read. Grim Tales ought to be a great fit for Destan's world, although I think the changes you'll see in the Valus sourcebook will certainly encourage a much grimmer campaign than the core rules. And by grimmer, I don't necessarily mean more lethal, but more of the overall tone...not unlike the story hour. Who'da thunk it?


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## Tellerve

WizarDru said:
			
		

> Well, remember...your PCs died so that others might live....or at least, die less easily.
> 
> A big part of testing is finding that balance for a variety of groups, and Ippi was meant to be a challenge. Different groups had different results, and I'll tell you right now, even if you never ran the module, it'll be a good read. Grim Tales ought to be a great fit for Destan's world, although I think the changes you'll see in the Valus sourcebook will certainly encourage a much grimmer campaign than the core rules. And by grimmer, I don't necessarily mean more lethal, but more of the overall tone...not unlike the story hour. Who'da thunk it?





This is true   I just happen to have Grim Tales on its way to my awaiting hands and although I haven't read it I am really excited about a lot of things that I've heard that have started to annoy me with straight dnd 3.5.  And while the sourcebook might change things somewhat, I doubt they are going to change the ones that I like so much in Grim Tales.  Hence my wonderings about it fitting well.  It is also still up in the air if I'll use Valus.  I'll probably get it anyways though, assuming I can scrounge up the money.

Tellerve


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## grodog

Great writing Destan!  Thanks for the update.  How much longer (in terms of real time and/or updates) until we see Baden rejoin the surviving Golgotha Brothers?


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## Old One

*Grim Tales is Yummy...*



			
				Tellerve said:
			
		

> This is true   I just happen to have Grim Tales on its way to my awaiting hands and although I haven't read it I am really excited about a lot of things that I've heard that have started to annoy me with straight dnd 3.5.  And while the sourcebook might change things somewhat, I doubt they are going to change the ones that I like so much in Grim Tales.  Hence my wonderings about it fitting well.  It is also still up in the air if I'll use Valus.  I'll probably get it anyways though, assuming I can scrounge up the money.
> 
> Tellerve




From what I have seen of the Valus, I think GT would be a good fit.  I still haven't forgiven Wulf for not coming out with GT 3 years ago when I started the current incarnation of my Faded Glory campaign...the rare/low magic system, skills/feats/talent trees and comprehensible CR/EL design palette are all excellent.  The flexibility and customization potential for PCs is also very well done.

Color me a GT fanboy...but my next campaign (whenever that rolls around) is going to use GT as its base.

~ Old One


----------



## Destan

_As anyone not living under a rock knows, Sep, the Daddy o' Story Hours (Piratecat being the Grandaddy), just updated his Wyre epic. I felt inspired to toss my hat into the ring as well._


*Chapter Seven*

Upon the narrow, marble causeway connecting lake-shrine to cathedral, Baden of Axemarch and Pandios of Margive did their level best to kill one another.

Baden’s dwarven companions and Pandios’ Imperials formed a silent ring around both combatants. Beyond them, along the shoreline, hundreds of Selûnites jostled to better see the fight. Their soprano cheers greeted each stroke, lilting and bloodthirsty. Baden could not help but hear the elves, and the sounds enraged him.

Pandios drew first blood. The Apian’s wide-bladed sword found a crease in Borbidan’s armor, sending fire throughout Baden’s hip. The dwarf pivoted, felt the hot blood flowing down his left leg, and swung.

Swing, stab, swing, stab. It was a hard combat, an even fight, and neither warrior gave ground. Baden quickly marked the experience and skill of his opponent; this was no rûcken screamer or wool-headed gnoll he now fought. As dangerous as the cave troll had been, Baden was more accustomed to fighting such giant beasts. Whereas the troll had been brutal and immensely strong, Pandios was skilled and quick on his feet. The Apian’s sword seemed to be everywhere at all times, striking outward with the speed of a viper.

Baden grunted as the sword found his flesh yet again. His right arm went numb, and the dwarf considered loosing his shield to better grip Borbidan’s axe. The marble floor of the causeway was soon slick with blood, most of it Baden’s.

Pandios slipped, his guard momentarily down, and Baden stepped forward to deliver a vicious cut. Borbidan’s axe met only air, however, and Pandios’ riposte was nearly deadly.  Baden grimaced in pain.

The Apian stepped back, breathing heavily, marked by only a few superficial wounds. Baden was uncertain whether the foreign soldier was allowing him a respite, or delaying the action so that more of Baden’s blood – and hopes – would drip onto the marble underfoot. 

Pandios lowered his sword. His voice, when he called, was carried over the gentle waves of the Mead Lake. It was filled with the authority of one accustomed to command. “Are you pleased, elves?! Have you not seen enough?”

Baden stepped forward, quickly, just as the Apian was finishing his shout. Borbidan’s axe – _finally!_ – struck home, though with the flat of the axehead. 

It was now Pandios’ turn to stumble backward in pain, and Baden’s to lambaste the onlookers. “Ye damned Moonies! To the fires with you and your trollop goddess!”

_- That was rather less refined than Pandios’ call.

If you haven’t noticed, Ilvar, I’m losing this fight. Now shut it._

The crowd reacted violently to Baden’s insult. Derisive words spilled onto the causeway in a wave. Most of the insults were in elvish, but Baden could understand them thanks to Ilvar’s possession. For the second time, the dwarf seriously considered charging into the wehy-faced onlookers. If he could sunder the heads of a few Moonies, he would count his death well-served.

Pandios lashed outward with his gladius, missing, and Baden saw another opportunity. Careful now, for he knew the Apian was adept at showing an opening where there was none, Baden swung. The axe clove through the Imperial’s shield, nearly severing the man’s forearm, and Pandios fell backward onto one knee.

Pandios was as good as dead. Baden could now kill him, he knew, if only he pressed his advantage. But something checked him. The dwarf stepped back while Pandios regained his feet.

The Apian shook the shield from his shattered arm. He touched the blade of his sword to his helm in salute. 

Hoth stepped from the ring of dwarves and Apians before the battle could be rejoined. His already-ruddy face was crimson with rage. “Enough of this, I say.” The Ironfist dwarf gestured toward the elves with his axe. “Let us march down this causeway and make them damned pointers answer for what they done.”

A few of the Apian soldiers hefted their swords, apparently in favor of Hoth’s tone even if they did not understand his words. At a look from Pandios, however, the Imperials stepped back. 

“We have all agreed,” Pandios spoke so that only his men and the dwarves could hear, “to this fight. Let us remember our word.”

Baden nodded. A great sadness was upon him, and his rage was nearly spent. He felt weak, light-headed, and his wounds burned like fire. “Pandios, guard yourself. I come.”

The dwarf charged, screaming, and the Apian leapt to meet him. Axe and sword flashed once, twice, again. The elves erupted into cheers amidst the clangor of steel on hauberk and iron on breastplate. Blood misted around the fighters, sprinkling upon the white marble and the grim faces of the closest dwarven and Imperial spectators.

Suddenly, it was over. 

***

Baden was hard-pressed to recall the stroke that felled Pandios. The Apian simply dropped, all strength gone from him, to lie supine upon the marble. The circle of blood beneath him spread outward in a slow tide.

Baden tore his helmet from his head and tossed his axe onto the ground. He knelt, cradled Pandios’ head, and removed the man’s helm. Baden grew tired of cradling dying friends. “Easy now, Pandios, go easy.”

Pandios smiled. It was an exceptionally brave act. The Imperial spoke, softly, his words disjointed and in a tongue Baden did not understand.

Baden felt someone push past him. It was Pemm. The tall dwarven priest wordlessly knelt beside Pandios. Baden heard rather than saw the Selûnites begin to surge onto the causeway; folk have always enjoyed witnessing the last moments of a dying man. 

Pemm, however, meant to disappoint.

The priest of Moradin touched Pandios’ brow, murmured a word, and suddenly the Apian’s blood ceased to spill from his many wounds. A crescendo of outrage boiled outward from the white-cloaked elves.

Baden realized he had wrongly judged Pemm. “Thank you.”

“Thank Moradin.”

“Stand, Pemm.” Baden turned to face his death at the hands of the oncoming mob, surprised at how calm – and how _good_ – he felt. “It is time to die.”

***

One of Pandios’ men – one of the two that had been grievously wounded - did not wait for the Selûnites to reach him. The Imperial drew his sword and, lumbering jerkily, charged into the white horde. Amazingly, against all odds, the soldier stood his own for a few, hectic moments. 

That is, he stood his own until the priestess stepped forward. Her aquiline features were hard with wrath. The _San’a’lul_ pointed at the Imperial, almost disdainfully. A ray the color of moonlight shot forth. The man fell, dead, without a sound.

Baden hefted his axe. The oncoming fight would be a quick one for him. Already he was near death, vision blurred from the loss of blood. _So be it._

A voice cut through the pandemonium. It came from the thin elf Baden had last seen standing behind the _San’a’lul’s_ throne. His face showed no emotion, but his elvish words were sharp. “You – who were once the _San’a’lul_ – did that which is forbidden.”

The charging elves stopped as surely as if they had ran into a wall. Silence fell like thunder. Baden stood, flanked by Tamil and Hoth. Dwarves and Imperials watched, weapons ready.

The priestess’ face, already pale, drained of all color. The sudden horror in her voice was unmistakable. “N-no…no! I will repent-”

“You will not.” The thin elf gestured to the crowd. “Seize her.”

The priestess struggled feebly against the many arms that now reached for her. Her pristine, ivory vestment was ripped from her and she was lifted and carted toward the shores of the lake. The thin elf ignored her; he walked calmly forward to stand above the slain Apian.

The elf produced a thin, clay tower. He crushed it in his hand as he uttered divine words. When next he spoke, it was in the Imperial tongue. Baden was uncertain what was said, but Pandios’ men seemed to relax. A few of them walked over to kneel by their fallen captain’s side.

The thin elf removed a silver tube from within his cloak. He unstoppered it and poured a fine, sparkling dust onto one palm. His chanting, when it commenced, possessed an other-worldly quality. It was gossamer and moonlight, whisperings and music.

Baden swiveled his head toward Pemm. “What does he do?”

“That which many cannot.” Pemm’s face was unreadable, but his eyes were dark with awe. “He brings back one who has been killed.”

Baden blew air through his whiskers. He retrieved his axe, took a knee, and watched. Beyond the chanting the elf and the dead Apian, the crowd had carried the priestess into the lapping, cold waters of the lake. Two burly elves, faces cruel, tied her feet and hands. They bent her backward – like a crescent moon – and held her beneath the water.

As the former _San’a’lul_ went to her death, Pandios returned from his. The elven priest stood. “The cycle is rejoined.”

Baden, feeling as dumbstruck as an ox at the slaughterhouse, painfully regained his feet. He took a few paces toward the elf. “Sir,” Baden began, licking his lips nervously, “may we leave this place?”

The elf nodded, eyes flat. “Your priest must remain. He attempted to intercede in the justice of the glimmer. You and your other durven companions are free to depart. As are the Imperials. Come not again into my demesne.”

Baden did not know whether to weep or roar. He took a long, steadying breath. “I will not leave my companion because he sought to spare a life-”

“Then you may remain, as well, with our blessing.”

Baden was beyond words. A feral growl rolled upward from the pit of his chest.

Pemm walked forward, hands at his side. He spoke to Baden, though his eyes were upon the elf. “I accept this judgment, and shall remain.” Pemm turned to fasten an eye on Baden. “Do not argue on my behalf, for you are not my superior and little understand the ways of the divine.”

Baden, who had recently upped his estimation of Pemm, found his former thoughts returning. “You were ordered to travel with me.” _…and if you depart, shall I then remain forevermore a nil-thain?_

“I will see that Moradin’s Word is informed.” Pemm’s tone brokered no defiance. “Go, Baden Dost, _nil-thain_, whilst you yet can.”

Baden scowled, his confusion only matched by his anger at the senselessness of it all. He glared at the elf. “And the Imperials – may they depart as well?”

“All save for the one you fought. He lives because your priest did what should not have been done. The glimmer will take him this evening, and his death will complete the cycle.”

Baden had heard enough. 

“Bugger that, bugger you, and bugger your glimmer.” The dwarf stepped close to the elf, his whisper like that of a lover. “’Tis a good distance between you and your Moonies. How many, do you think? Three, four? Maybe five strokes of me axe. I’ll whittle your white ass down as sure as any sapling – long before any help arrives.”

The elf, if he was afraid, did not show it. “You may go, or you may stay. You may live, or you may die. These questions have not been answered.” The thin elf raised a steady finger. “What _has_ been answered is the fate of your priest and the fate of the Imperial you fought. I have spoken.”

Baden tightened the grip on his axe…

…then loosened it. “Hoth,” he called loudly, not realizing the Ironfist dwarf stood less than a pace behind him. “Take Tamil. Make it known to the Apians that they can leave this place. I will find you in Val Hor.”

“Like hell.” Hoth rested his own axe over one shoulder, eyes on the elf before him. “Baden, _you_ take Tamil. _You_ go. I will find _you_ in Val Hor. I’m a wee bit tired o’ watching others swing axe and sword; I figure it’s time I joined some o’ the fun.”

Baden ground his teeth. He would need to sit down, and soon, or he would collapse. “Hoth, you are a Captain of your clan. I am not. I do not even have a clan.” Baden searched his friend’s face. “I am asking you to do this. Not ordering you. And I ask you as a friend.”

Hoth studied Baden intently. Finally, he reached out and gripped the dwarf’s shoulder. “I do this for you. Next time one of us gets to play the hero, ‘tis my turn.”

Baden nodded, his relief so sudden and strong that he nearly whimpered. “Go, then. Now.”

***

Within the hour, the causeway was empty save for Baden and the unconscious Pandios. A storm rolled toward them, tossing the waves of the Mead, causing water to splash and run over the blood upon the marble. The wind ripped and moaned as the sky grew dark.

Baden leaned back, sighing, enjoying the stinging rain upon his face. He rolled to one side, fumbled within his rucksack, and withdrew two bottles. “Well, Ilvar, I’ve got one o’ each.”

_- What are they?_

“One’s a healing draught, the other some o’ Bellows’ whiskey.”

Baden hefted both bottles in his hands, staring at one then the other. In the end, it was an easy decision.

***

Baden stood, helped Pandios to his feet, and belched loudly. The smell of whiskey mixed with that of the rain. “No more whining from you, ye damned Ape.* You look a fair bit better than me, now, I would think.”

Pandios smiled weakly, though his face was now flushed and healthy. The two warriors gathered their weapons and marched, both leaning upon one another, into the scant shelter provided by the shrine at the end of the causeway.

“If we leave this ground, they will kill us.” Pandios spoke matter-of-factly as he tossed his helm and sword at the base of a pillar. The shrine’s roof kept them from the worst of the rain, but water still managed to shoot inward between the columns. 

Pandios sat next to the dwarf. “To where did my men go?”

“I do not know.”

“And what of your men?”

“Two have left, a third decided to remain.”

“Remain?” Pandios’ eyes widened. “Why?”

“I do not know.”

The Apian sat quietly for a moment. “You have a strange island, friend, filled with strange people. Why do you choose to stay?”

“I do not know.”

“What _do_ you know?”

“I know that I have half a bottle o’ brandy that’ll melt yer insides after one swallow.” Baden stared hard at the Apian from beneath bushy brows. “And if ye don’na stop askin’ me fool questions, then I ain’t gonna give you none.”

Pandios laughed, and the sound banished the cold and wet. The Imperial leaned forward, accepted the flask, and took a long pull. He coughed, returned the bottle. “Now, friend…” Pandios blew air through his mouth, eyes watering. “Now I know why you choose to stay.”

Baden took another drink, wiped his beard with the back of his hand, and eyed the bottle as druid might the entrails of a sacrificial goat. “We may not have your aqueducts and your arenas and all them other things I hear be on the mainland. And most folks hereabouts seem to like to kill one another. Elves are asses, you humans always want to fight one another, and even my own folk are too stubborn to poke their heads from out ‘neath our caves….”

Baden grinned in spite of himself. “But, damn all the gods and their world, we got good whiskey. That’s enough for me.”

***



* ‘Ape’ is, like most racial slurs, a rather unimaginative epithet for Imperial Apians.


----------



## Destan

DrZombie said:
			
		

> How difficult was the choice [to fight Pandios] for Baden?




Very difficult, I think, but I'll defer to Baden's player on that point. I think he (Baden) developed a respect and appreciation for Imperials from that brief, initial encounter. Though it does not show up too often in the story hour (yet), Apians are loathed throughout the Valusian island. They are seen as imperialists, and the impending war between the Empire of Apia and the Queendom of Luc Valu (a southern monarchy on the Valus) fuels this collective rancor.



			
				WizarDru said:
			
		

> Did Baden spend points on Diplomacy?




Not only that, but I think Baden considered spending one of his all-too-few ability point increases in Charisma. Nearly heretical for fighter types, huh? Can't remember if he actually did so.




			
				Tellereve said:
			
		

> I'm contemplating using _Grim Tales_ and setting it in your world. How do you think that would pan out? I'm thinking although you are low magic, you might not be quite that low of magic.




I wish I had an answer for you. I do not currently own _Grim Tales_, but if it's half as good as many folks on these boards say it is, it may be a worthy future purchase. And I'm not sure the Valus is a "low magic" setting; it's just not as replete with arcane stuff as some other, more publicized settings. The lack of high-level NPCs severely restricts some of the more powerful and flashy spells. Oh hell, who am I kidding? I guess it is low magic. 




			
				Lela said:
			
		

> Destan, what do you read for fun?




Well, in the fantasy genre, some of my favorites include George R.R. Martin's _A Song of Ice and Fire_. A hard-to-find historical book called _The Assyrian_ by Nicholas Guild (though it's not really fantasy, per se). I enjoyed Guy Gavriel Kay's _A Song for Arbonne, Tigana,_ and _The Lions of Al-Rassan._ Of course, there's Tolkien's works. I have to admit I no longer read fantasy/sci-fi; I sorta fell out of love with the genre when it - to me! - seemed to become a little too, ah, sugar-coated. When I read now, it's re-reading books I loved or the 'classics', for lack of a better term.
DMs wanting to inject some historical pain into their campaigns would be well-served to read Manchester's _A World Lit Only by Fire_ and - especially - the late, great Barabra Tuchman's _A Distant Mirror._ Also liked Sharon Kay Penman's _Falls the Shadow._ Those last three are historical, not fantasy, but all are excellent.
And, of course, I read a handle of story hours here at work. Mainly the 'biggies' - Sep's, PC's (though I'm not close to being current on it), Zad/Dru's, Old One's, and EternalNewbie's. Those aren't all of them, just the one's off the top of my head. I need to delve into Wulf Ratbane's old tale, and Diaglo's OD&D stuff is compelling - I still have a deep sense of fondness and nostalgia for the previous versions of this game we all love.



			
				grodog said:
			
		

> How much longer (in terms of real time and/or updates) until we see Baden rejoin the surviving Golgotha Brothers?




Next update. Thank Moradin. I'm tired of writing about Baden, to be perfectly honest. The damned dwarf has made his way into my dreams.

G'day!
D


----------



## pogre

Barbara Tuchman is one of my favorites as well. Despite historians grumblings about her methods, and they are well founded, her work is immensely enjoyable to read. I do not read any fiction myself, aside from the numerous story hours I keep up with, only history.


----------



## WizarDru

Destan said:
			
		

> _As anyone not living under a rock knows, Sep, the Daddy o' Story Hours (Piratecat being the Grandaddy), just updated his Wyre epic. I felt inspired to toss my hat into the ring as well._



_  What does that make (contact), the godfather o' Story Hours? 
_ 
  Chapter VII, Postscript:

  "_Good Battle today, Pandios.  Good Night, Pandios.  Most likely kill you in the morning._"


----------



## frostrune

The choice to fight Pandios was very difficult for Baden.  Another one of those glorious 'damned if you do, damned if don't' situations Destan loves forcing us into.

In the end Baden is a pragmatist.  It seemed the only way he and his dwarves were going to be able to continue their mission.  So he had to play along and hope for a way out as things developed.  

Thats also sort of a meta game relationship between player and DM.  He was putting me in a tight spot to challenge me.  I had faith he would show me an opportunity... and he does   .

Baden has made at least one Apian friend.  Hopefully that will pay off soon (hint, hint).

Thanks for reading.

Frostrune/ Baden


----------



## Old One

*Rockin'...*

Big D,

Good stuff.  I was kinda hoping that Baden would figure out a way to keep Pandios alive !

Looking forward to more goodness...now I just need to update mine before another month goes by.

~ Old One


----------



## grodog

Thanks for the updates Destan (and FrostRune)   They're quite appreciated!


----------



## Destan

*Cover art.*

Hi all!

Not really an update - sorry.  I'm gonna try to attach an image of the cover of the Valus book. Just received four boxes of the little buggers in the mail, and now I gotta sit down and start signin' them. 

The _Different Worlds_ web site is still just a placeholder, but a few of you have already managed to sniff it out and order copies. Some of you have amazing internet sleuthing abilities, or at least mad Google-fu. They have a lot of old Judges Guild and Chaosium stuff on there - maybe there's some of you who still play those games? Regardless, I'm hoping we can get some sample .pdf sections up on the site, but that's sorta outta my hands.

I thank all of you, the readers, in the credits of the book. I wish I could have gone through the threads and put in each and every poster's name. I'm indebted to you. Most importantly, if you're heading to GenCon, look me up in the Different Worlds booth!

To add sugar to the spice, next weekend I sit down for a Thurs-Sun gaming marathon with those ugly Olgatha brutes.

Right now I'm buried to my eyeballs in notes - currently working on a final draft for module submission to _Necromancer Games_. (Wish me luck, please - I'll need it.) I'll endeavor to get an update on here just as soon as my little fingers can tap-tap-tap one out.

Alright, I've got "kid duty" tomorrow and am gonna be tired as hell. 

Wishing all of you a happy and safe weekend -

D

Edit: Please send any questions/concerns with the product via email: rjsmalls@yahoo.com.  I'll be able to answer them more quickly that way, and we'll all be spared the clutter. Danke!

Edit the Second: The cover art was done by EN World's very own crabclaw. My apologies for not mentioning that earlier!


----------



## The Forsaken One

looks great  Looking forward to this


----------



## sword-dancer

Pre ordered Already.
When could I expect it to arrive in my FNLGS?


----------



## Destan

sword-dancer said:
			
		

> Pre ordered Already.
> When could I expect it to arrive in my FNLGS?




I believe they begin shipping on 26 July. Not sure how it'll work with international orders (looking into Australia stuff now, too). 

Anyway, please shoot me an email (rjsmalls@yahoo.com) to discuss. Working on answering as many questions/concerns as I can via email rather than clobbering this thread.  (If the same question pops up repeatedly, I'll either start a new thread in the relevant forum or see if DWP can include a FAQ).

Thanks!

D


----------



## grodog

Destan said:
			
		

> (If the same question pops up repeatedly, I'll either start a new thread in the relevant forum or see if DWP can include a FAQ).




You just read my mind, Destan =)


----------



## WizarDru

The Forsaken One said:
			
		

> looks great  Looking forward to this



 Well, if you want my opinion, you won't be disappointed. From what I've seen, there's some really good stuff in there. And it's chock-full of Destan goodness. If you're a fan of the story hour, I'm betting you'll be a fan of the Valus (and I don't take sucker bets).

 Hey, Destan, here's a question for you: have the Olgotha Brothers made it to the mainland, yet?  I'm assuming that sooner or later, they'll be bound for the continent.  I'd love to see that.  Raylin is from the Rorn Vastness, right?


----------



## MACLARREN

Wizarddru,  Unfortunately Raylin is not from the Rorn and with some of the characters that are soon to be released, it's a good thing he is not.  Raylin is from the Larren Clan on the island which is a loosely bound clan of Rangers, druids and such and there leader is know as a man named Rhyss Cam Larren.  Don't want to give anything away because this is Destans story to write but believe me, this thread has not even begun to tell the stories to come nor has it yet delved into what this whole campaign is about.  There is so much  more to tell and even more to come with our upcoming weekend of fun starting this Thursday at my house in State College.  The Brothers Olgatha once again sit down to start yet another marathon session beginning at 8 pm sharp and ending in the wee hours of Sunday morning and everyone is pumped and our discussion boards have been plagued and keeeping Destan busy.  Stay tuned to this thread though because in the sequence of events to come, some things will become more clear in the very near future and some of the new characters to be introduced are awesome as well!  Can't wait till Thursday!


----------



## WizarDru

MACLARREN said:
			
		

> Wizarddru, Unfortunately Raylin is not from the Rorn and with some of the characters that are soon to be released, it's a good thing he is not. Raylin is from the Larren Clan on the island which is a loosely bound clan of Rangers, druids and such and there leader is know as a man named Rhyss Cam Larren.



 D'oh!  [slaps forehead]

 Sorry, I meant Aramin, there.  How I turned him into everyone's favorite Tundreth clansmen is beyond me.   After having the good fortune to preview _the Valus_, I have a sneaking suspicion I have a general idea of what's coming up.  And No, I ain't saying nothing.  Except maybe to recommend the book, that is.  Which I do...errr, did.  

 Or something.


----------



## Lela

Hmmmm, did I miss how the moonies, errr, Sunites, let Baden and Aramin go?  Seems like they just walked out on them.  Unless they're being attacked on their way out, which would work well.

But, wow, I can't believe how many hard choices you give your players.  I think I need to steal this one. . .


----------



## Capellan

Lela said:
			
		

> Hmmmm, did I miss how the moonies, errr, Sunites, let Baden and Aramin go?




I think you mean Pandios, rather than Aramin.   And the answer is ... they didn't:



			
				Destan said:
			
		

> The two warriors gathered their weapons and marched, both leaning upon one another, into the scant shelter provided by the shrine at the end of the causeway.




We're yet to see how Baden works his way out of this one.

One of the things I like about this story hour is envisaging my own characters and how they would have reacted to the same situation.  In many cases, the only answer that comes to mind is "badly" 

I'm actually only going to be a couple of hours from Indianapolis while Gencon is on, but I don't think I'm going to make it there.  My credit card is definitely grateful, though I shall regret missing out on a signed copy of Valus!


----------



## grodog

Capellan said:
			
		

> I'm actually only going to be a couple of hours from Indianapolis while Gencon is on, but I don't think I'm going to make it there.  My credit card is definitely grateful, though I shall regret missing out on a signed copy of Valus!




Capellan, you can order a signed and numbered copy from the DW site (per the front page, the first 125 copies will be signed and numbered):  
http://www.diffworlds.com/index.htm


----------



## Single Malt

*Answers to old questions*

First of all I'd like to congratulate Destan on a fantastic story hour, that has me totally hooked. I just finished the first three word documents and started scanning the first thread (for DM and player insights) and I thought I'd take this time to respond to a couple of requests that were made by him a long(?) time ago: one was about new readers to well established story hours and the other was simply a good, old "if you're reading, let me know what you think".

Well, if I say that I started reading this from the beginning during lunch two days ago, I guess that pretty much covers both, but I'll spell it out anyway. After reading good things about your work in several other threads I finally checked it out and boy, was I not disappointed! The writing is, in my eyes, simply superb; the descriptions bring the characters and environments to life and the story keeps you turning to the next page as fast as possible. So regarding the first question, I would say yes, new readers can be brought in to "old" story hours if the material is good enough (and they have the ability to extend their lunch breaks   )

The second request also involved a desire for input regarding writing style. To that I'm gonna be decidedly unhelpful and say: don't change a thing! Meaning that one of the things I enjoy most about reading story hours, and I follow quite a few, are the differences in style. I guess many others have said this before, but to me the little peculiarities, quirks and imperfections (in lack of a better word) in the writing only serves to enhance each story hours individual flavor and adds to the reading experience almost as much the content. (It's in these situations I really wish I were a native english speaker. I'm not sure that came out the way I wanted it to....)

Anyway, I'll get back to reading now. Good luck on your gaming!

Single Malt


----------



## thebitdnd

*Another weekend in the Valus...*

Whew,

Four days and many beers later, we've completed another weekend of marathon gaming.  Suffice it to say Destan has a couple more PC deaths to add to the tally.  It looks like one more session might just wrap this campaign up.  Don't worry though, Destan has a ton of material to cover for story hour updates.  The story will just get better and better, believe me.

Mariliths, Nalfeshnee, and Cornugons OH MY!!! 

Now to recuperate,
thebitdnd
(aka Kellus)


----------



## grodog

thebitdnd said:
			
		

> Four days and many beers later, we've completed another weekend of marathon gaming.  Suffice it to say Destan has a couple more PC deaths to add to the tally.  It looks like one more session might just wrap this campaign up.  Don't worry though, Destan has a ton of material to cover for story hour updates.  The story will just get better and better, believe me.
> 
> Mariliths, Nalfeshnee, and Cornugons OH MY!!!




Thanks for the update thebitdnd:  any tidbits you can reveal that aren't spoilers?  If not, how about some info about the current players, how you guys manage to play 20/24 hours for three days straight, etc.?


----------



## Maladrac

grodog said:
			
		

> Thanks for the update thebitdnd:  any tidbits you can reveal that aren't spoilers?





Tidbits that aren't spoilers?  Hmm, let's just say we kicked the weekend off with a LARGE scale conflict, followed by some overseas travel, followed by some extra-planar travel, followed by a PC death, followed quickly by the death of the newly introduced PC, followed by... well, you get the picture.  A lot of fit hit the shan in rapid succession.




			
				grodog said:
			
		

> If not, how about some info about the current players, how you guys manage to play 20/24 hours for three days straight, etc.?





The problem isn't playing so many hours striaght.  The problem is making ourselves stop to get some sleep.  We have the tendency to play well past the point on making rational decisions.  And then comes the 'you've-stayed-up-way-too-late' kind of laughter.  Once we get to about 3:30 AM and someone says something stupid like, "Dictum?!?  Hell, he nearly killed 'em!"  that's usually enough to get us giggling so hard we can't roleplay anymore.


maladrac


----------



## DrZombie

Destan said:
			
		

> Well, in the fantasy genre, some of my favorites include George R.R. Martin's _A Song of Ice and Fire_.



No surprise here. Very, very good book, one of the very best. Fantasy that isn't straight good vs evil is so very hard to find. 


Being a manic buyer of fantasy I happened across this one in the bookstore. Read it, enjoyed it tremendously, reading it again. Give it a try, I think you'll like it. (btw, there's four books so far, got the fourth on my to read pile)

*1.*

 
*Gardens of the Moon : Book One of the Malazan Book of the Fallen (Malazan Book of the Fallen)*


----------



## grodog

*grodog outed by pogre*

Hola folks---

Now that I've been outed by pogre over at http://www.enworld.org/forums/showpost.php?p=1681972&postcount=4 I thought that I should "come clean" to folks reading Destan's work herein:  I've been involved with Tadashi Ehara of Different Worlds for about a year, and we're publishing Destan's *Valus* sourcebook and *Return of Ippizicus Child-Eater*, both of which will be available at GenCon this year.

I don't want to needlessly side-track the story hour, but thought that I should set the record straight:  I've been a fan of Destan's work since first reading it, and have been happy to work with him to bring the Valus into print.  We sincerely hope you'll enjoy the books, find them useful and inspiring, and we're more than happy to discuss them if you have questions.  

That said, if you collectively don't feel that this SH is the proper place to discuss publishing Destan's books, I'd be happy to shift discussion over to the Rogue's Gallery thread, or to start another one elsewhere (General Discussion??).


----------



## Destan

Hi all,

Lord knows this thread has been quiet of late, but I'd prefer to not discuss the books here. I could maybe collect questions I've received via email into a FAQ and post it elsewhere. Got too many pokers in the fire right now, and trying to get things back into some semblance of normalcy.

Some of you were promised complimentary copies of the book.  If this pertains to you, maybe shoot me an email letting me know if you've received it yet - or shoot me an email when you do. I think they were set to ship yesterday, if not before.

On the Sins story hour front, we had a session about two weekends ago. It looks like our next session will be the last for this campaign. It's somewhat surprising to me but, as I think back on it, I'm not sure if I ever actually fully ended a campaign in the past. I've played in some long-running campaigns, but I can't recall a "climatic" session where we put it to rest. Maybe that's more common than I think.

I've found that, personally, I'm much more comfortable DMing characters from levels 1 to about 12. The PCs in this campaign are around 17th level. I'm seeing, for the first time, the power of some higher level spells and melee characters with 5 attacks per round. Whoa. I sometimes get the feeling I'm not running my bad guys as well as I should - when we start talking about CR17+ baddies, they have _a lot_ of options at their disposal. The amount of required preparation for adventures has skyrocketed, of late.

Anyway, I realize this is somewhat off-topic. Just thought I'd drop a status report on the campaign's characters (many of them which, alas, are not the same folks that we've read about in this story hour) and mention the impending conclusion of the campaign, for good or ill.

Hopefully I'll be able to meet up with some of you cats at GenCon.

Take care,
D


----------



## WizarDru

Destan said:
			
		

> I sometimes get the feeling I'm not running my bad guys as well as I should - when we start talking about CR17+ baddies, they have _a lot_ of options at their disposal. The amount of required preparation for adventures has skyrocketed, of late.



 I feel your pain...but at least you actually manage to kill your PCs. 

 Mind you, it seems a long way from the Great Ulfe in "Forge of Fury" to the baddies I throw at a high-level party today.


----------



## Maladrac

WizarDru said:
			
		

> I feel your pain...but at least you actually manage to kill your PCs.




Yeah, some of us twice in short order.  In this last session we had a newly introduced PC live for all of a half an hour.

Destan talks about how hard it is to run the monsters at these levels, but I have to admit- I have trouble just running a single character at this level, especially when I try something stupid like 'multi-classing'.  There are so many different powers, feats, bonuses, modifiers, and special abilities I'm always forgetting something in the heat of battle (usually to my demise).  My helm's off to anyone who can DM a campaign where the characters are 17th level.  I know I couldn't.


the late john of pell


----------



## Lela

My last campaign ended at 17th level.  I had one (_one!_) bad guy who was a major challenge, along with plenty of fodder and high AC/high HP shock troopers.

I couldn't keep track of just one of the BBEG's feats and it cost him the battle.  (Which, according to my players, is a good thing.  Yeah, I know, they're weird.  )


----------



## pogre

grodog said:
			
		

> That said, if you collectively don't feel that this SH is the proper place to discuss publishing Destan's books, I'd be happy to shift discussion over to the Rogue's Gallery thread, or to start another one elsewhere (General Discussion??).




This may not be the place to discuss the book, but it certainly is the place to get people excited for it. How? Updates every day until GenCon! Update after update - show us the grim and wooly world of Valus through the PCs' adventures. You owe to the company Destan - get busy!

I can talk, becauseI updated my SH after a month long hiatus


----------



## Joshua Randall

FYI: I have started a thread on the Valus sourcebook, giving my first impressions of Destan's opus.

A first look at Destan's Valus sourcebook


----------



## Whitey

All of us have gotten in a situation like this, one time or another.

Maybe there's a new player in the group.  Maybe it's someone at the FGS or a con.  Maybe it's some poser internet poster.

You know how it goes.  They go on and on and on, about just how great their campaign is, or what a hotshot hero they're running, or how this and that house rule makes the sun shine.  Our boy Ryan 'Biggie' Smalley can just lean over on that table and go, 'yeah, got something just like that in my published setting.  You've got a published setting too, right?  Right?'    

Congrats to Destan, and to all the heroes of the Valus, past, present, and future.  Bravery's mantle is now on your shoulders.


----------



## Darklone

Second the preference for level 1-12. 

Hope to have that book soon. 

Kudos to Destan.


----------



## grodog

Whitey said:
			
		

> Our boy Ryan 'Biggie' Smalley can just lean over on that table and go, 'yeah, got something just like that in my published setting.  You've got a published setting too, right?  Right?'




I imagine that Ryan's too nice to be quite so in-your-face, even to a poser.  GenCon will surely put him to the test, though  

edit:  Ryan, how about an update?


----------



## pogre

grodog said:
			
		

> edit:  Ryan, how about an update?




Quit ignoring your boss Ryan!


----------



## Old One

*Thankee!*

Mucho thanks to Destan and the folks from Different Worlds!  I just got back from an extended business trip to find a lovely item in my mail pile.  It is taking all of my limited willpower not to stay up all night reading it...

My initial skim tells me it is quality through and through...looking forward to a deeper read...

~ Old One

PS - I am sure Destan wouldn't be mean to anyone...he did graduate from the 2nd most important military school in the US, after all !  That's right, goat-boy...mule-man is here !


----------



## Destan

*Chapter Eight*

Baden sat within Selûne’s shrine and thought of where he had been, what he had done. He thought of his father and mother, Banidon and Runwan, both dead now. He thought of Axemarch, his clan no longer. He remembered the young dwarf Bardo, Tamil’s brother, who had been killed within the mines beneath his now-abandoned dwarven halls. He thought of Poridel Poriden; in his mind, Baden could still see the elderly man impaled and dripping upon a Cyricist death-stake.

Baden turned his thoughts from those he had seen die to those he had killed. Such memories were easier for him; anger had always come more quickly than grief. Ippizicus, the ape-demon, destroyed by the banks of the Bluehorn. Ral, a blue-skinned fiend, stretched dead upon the flagstones within a Sorrow Elfking’s tomb. Baphtemet, his once-flawless, ebony face caved inward from the mace of Kellus Varn. And, more recently, Buk’lokik, the cave troll that had sought to make Axemarch his home, sundered from navel to neck by his own axe.

_What business has a dwarf fighting such creatures?_

Ilvar, his spirit-companion, was uncharacteristically silent.

Baden sighed. He was unaccustomed to reflection. Perhaps because he rarely had the time. For months he had been traveling within the lands of men. His skin had been tanned by the sun, something no self-respecting dwarf would endure for long. He had undergone many changes since departing his homeland beneath the Foggun Maw. He was unsure whether they were for the better.

A voice broke his reverie. “What do you do?”

Baden looked toward Pandios. The Basilican was well-built and strong, but he did not possess a dwarf’s constitution. The Imperial’s skin was loose and pale. He was dying. A slow death, to hunger. It was unfitting.

“Praying.”

Baden pulled his helm toward him and laid Borbidan’s axe atop it. The stone priests of his people taught that Moradin required no shrine, no altar. It was said the Forge Father could always hear the words of the faithful. Baden wondered whether the Moon Goddess could intercept his prayers, prevent them from ascending to the High Forge. Baden was, after all, within a Selûnite chapel. 

In the end, Baden supposed, it mattered little. He too was hungry, and weak, and praying caused him to forget such things if only for a short while.

“Moradin, my God,” Baden intoned, head bowed, “I have strayed from your teachings. I have strayed from your sons and daughters, my brothers and sisters. I left your home in the mountains when I should have remained. I ask your forgiveness. I ask…”

Baden frowned. These things never came easy to him. “I ask that you hear these words and…well, dammit, _do_ something.”

Pandios chuckled. The sound was dry and weak. “You…you had me going until the end. A fine priest, you would make.”

Baden scowled, found himself smiling as well. He leaned back on his haunches. “Stone benches. That is what I remember most about worship under the mountain. I love stone, mind you, as much or more than the next dwarf. But them granite pews were hard on me backside.”

“And cold, I would imagine.”

“Ah, well,” Baden grinned, “as to that – let’s say I wouldn’t know. I got as many whiskers on me ass as I do on me chin.”

Pandios doubled over, laughing the laugh of a condemned man. He leaned back, after a while, his cheeks wet with mirth. “You are a good dwarf.”

Baden shared a look with the Imperial before turning his gaze toward the far side of the causeway. They were there, at the shoreline, beneath the shadow of the massive cathedral rising behind them. They had been there, morning and night, since Baden and Pandios fought one another before the crowd. Six elves, armored and ready to give battle. _Moonies._ Most likely one or more were priests. Baden thought he and Pandios could wait another day – _for what?_ – before hunger forced them to march down that causeway to their deaths. Almost any end would be better than starving.

Baden grabbed his helm and stood. He walked to the edge of the open-air shrine, bent, and filled the helmet with water. The day was dark, and would soon grow darker. The choppy waters of Mead Lake mirrored the roiling sky in both color and hue. Baden made his way across the stones and collapsed next to Pandios. “Drink.”

“I’m not thirsty.”

“Interesting. Drink.”

Pandios accepted the inverted helm and lifted it to his face. He sipped, coughed, and tried to drink again. The helmet fell from his hands, clattered on the ground, and water spread outward like blood. “Sorry, Baden. I…I said I wasn’t thirsty. You should-”

Baden hissed for silence. The dwarf stared at the widening pool of water, lips pursed and hidden beneath his beard. _It drips._ Baden scurried forward on hands and knees like a child. _It drips!_

“What?” Pandios rolled forward, knelt beside the dwarf. “What is it?”

“The floor. There is a hollow space beneath.”

Neither dwarf nor Basilican wasted a moment of time. Both were suddenly infused with energy. They paid no mind to the elves at the causeway, their world consisted only of the flat marble flagstones before them. Baden caressed the stones with a thick thumb, head tilted, eyes unfocused. He moved forward, repeated the touch.

“This stone. Right…_here._” Baden dug his fingers into the narrow crease, breaking a nail off in the process and paying it little mind. He grunted. “Pandios, you whoreson, help me.”

The Basilican captain positioned himself opposite Baden, the loose stone between the two of them. One, two, three tugs. And it was free. Baden slid the slab to the side and looked into the darkness. Air, cool and fresh, wafted upward. He allowed his darkvision to adjust to the dimness below. A room, cramped, round, the floor ten feet below.

“My axe.”

Pandios leaned backward and handed Baden his axe with a grunt. “What do you see?”

“Nothing. Yet.”

Without another word, nor a second thought, Baden dropped into the darkness.

***

Near the end, when his stomach was so tight it burned, Baden did what he had never once done in all his years – he quit. It was too much. Too long without food, and him being forced to carry Pandios over his shoulder these past…what? Hours? Days? Baden leaned against the corridor’s wall and slid downward, Pandios crumpling silently onto the ground beside him.

The hole beneath the shrine had lead to a warren of catacombs, though none of the niches were filled with sarcophagi. It was empty of man and beast and spirit. The hallways were maddeningly haphazard. Baden, again for the first time in his life, had lost his sense of direction. Hunger – vibrant and painful – blurred his vision and drowned his mind.

There was always water. Too much of it. It dripped and oozed from the ceilings above. At times, Baden could hear the faint lapping of the Mead Lake above them. At other times, when they had descended steps upon steps upon steps, he felt he heard the very earth rumble and breathe. Turns and corners, dead-ends and switchbacks. One stairwell would lead upward for hundreds of steps and then, after cresting upon a landing for a mere ten feet, would descend once more into the bowels of the world. It was an affront to Baden’s engineering mind; there was no _method_ to this madness.

Pandios had endured as long or longer than any man had a right to. But, after climbing yet another set of spiraling stone steps, the Basilican had simply collapsed. He could go no further. Baden hefted him onto his shoulder. It was not a decision made from heroism, nor loyalty. Such thoughts were for folk with their bellies full. Baden simply carried him because he did not want to die alone. And die, Baden knew, was what he would soon do.

_- Awake, Baden. She comes._

Baden started awake, his darkvision swimming in blacks and whites before he forced himself to focus. He had evidently collapsed somewhere within a long stretch of corridor. He had no idea how long he had been walking its length, nor could he see the end. There were no doors – there never had been – and no turns. Nothing.

Save for a light in the distance. A glow. No. _A glimmer._ It grew in intensity. Or did it approach?

Baden glanced toward Pandios’ inert form. For all he knew, the Basilican was already dead. The blacks and whites of the hallway slowly turned gray, like dawn stealing upon the world. Baden dragged himself to his feet, slowly, painfully. He rested one shoulder against the wall, his axe on the stones beneath him, too heavy to hold let alone wield.

“You are embraced, Baden Dost, _nil-thain._”

Baden squinted. After days of utter darkness, the faint glimmer seemed blinding to him. The voice was aloof, soft, feminine. It was cold and yet comforting, cruel and yet tender. He had never heard its like. He wept.

Baden felt out of his depth. "Why?"

"Because you asked."

_Because I prayed._ “Who…who are you?”

“You know.”

_I know._

“We must go. Would you bring your friend?”

Baden tore his gaze from the shimmer to stare at Pandios. He looked up. “I would rather die than leave him.”

A chuckle, light and airy. “Your folk have always loved to speak of death. It is your way.”

Baden said nothing.

“Come, then. Bring him.”

Baden wiped his eyes and bent. It took minutes before he could lift Pandios onto his back. He held his axe, loosely, in one hand. As he walked forward the head of the weapon dragged upon the stones behind him. He marched, as his father had marched during the Battle of Caerhame. One step, then another. Forward, ever forward, toward the light, suffused by the light.

Water. 

Baden stopped. He had no idea how long he had been following the glow. It was still before him, spinning above a placid pool. The corridor ended here. Stone steps lead downward into the black waters. Baden looked up. “I cannot swim.”

“I know.”

_You know._

“Your friend can.”

Baden lowered one shoulder and let Pandios slide onto the ground beside him. “I think…I think he is dead.”

“He is not. Not yet. You are embraced, and your desires compel me. I have struck a bargain, and will answer my part.”

Baden stood, silent, drinking this in. He found it hard to concentrate, even to think. Below him, at his feet, Pandios stirred. The Basilican moaned, softly. Baden watched him open his eyes, saw the tears appear, the mask of awe. Baden imagined the same countenance had been on his own face when he first saw the glimmer. Perhaps it still was.

The shimmering veil began to fade, the voice with it, but still she spoke. “The exit is before you. Go, now. I will come again, when the time is right, and you shall grant me a boon as I have granted one to you.”

***

Baden lay upon his back on the shores of Mead Lake. Snow – glorious snow – drifted downward to land upon his face and chest. Pandios had returned with a handful of tubers and roots. These he placed within Baden’s open mouth, like a mother might her child. Both warriors ate, supine, quiet. It was an odd feeling – eating. Baden’s mouth had forgotten how to chew.

“I must return to my men.”

Baden stared at the sliver of a moon high overhead. He could not take his eyes from it. “You can come with me.”

“I cannot, as much as I might wish it. A deserter makes a poor husband and worse father. I would not curse my family with such.”

“I understand.” And he did. 

Baden rolled onto one elbow. His strength, and that of Pandios’, had returned shortly after they had climbed, soaked and cold, from the lapping waters of the lake’s distant shore. Across the blackness, silhouetted in the moonlight, rose the cathedral. If Baden never saw it again, he would consider himself a blessed man.

Pandios eyed him. “Where do you go?”

“Val Hor. It is a great city in the northlands-”

“I know of it. Though I have never been there.” Pandios sat upright, clutching his knees, shivering.  “Why?”

“I have friends…” And suddenly Baden recalled the faces of those he had left behind a day's ride north of the Sorrow Elf's tomb. John. Raylin. Kellus. The others. He found he missed them, could not explain it. They had begun something, he knew, something that must be seen through till the end. Whatever that may be.

“How long since you last saw them?”

“A lifetime.”

It was the last word either of them spoke to one another. Both men – _nil-thain_ of Axemarch and captain of Apia – stared at the moon long into the night. It was a wondrous evening, a clear evening, an evening filled with mysteries. A Valusian night. There was nothing better.

But it ended, as all things do. And, with the dawn, Baden departed from that place, never to return. Words failed them both, and so no words were said.


----------



## Nasma

Turn on the computer, go to Enworld, and see that the most recent post is another great update by Destan, what more can you ask for?

Out of curiosity, how did this occur in the game?  Did Baden succeed at a search check near the end?

Thanks for the update, more Baden goodness is always appreciated.


----------



## grodog

Great update Destan! (though pogre, I'm not his boss, FYI ;-)  So, if I read this correctly, that tunnel runs under the entire length of Meadlake???  Very interesting....

PS:  In case anyone hasn't checked out Destan's Rogues Gallery thread in awhile, Dreth have been added to it:
http://www.enworld.org/forums/showpost.php?p=1688752&postcount=54


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## WizarDru

Nice.

 Now the question that burns...._who is she_?  An avatar of a divine being?  An emissary from Moradin?  A trickster of some sort?

 I guess we'll know by the boon she requests.  

 Again, nice.


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## grodog

WizarDru said:
			
		

> Now the question that burns...._who is she_?  An avatar of a divine being?  An emissary from Moradin?  A trickster of some sort?




My 2 cents:  I think it's Selûne---by wondering if his prayers were being intercepted by her, I think Baden basically said a prayer to her, and she answered.


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## Funeris

Beautiful update.  I really wonder how you make time to do everything you do.  I think I have
less on my plate and yet if feels like I'm drowning sometimes   Can't wait for the next update.


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## pogre

grodog said:
			
		

> (though pogre, I'm not his boss, FYI ;-)




Oh, I know I was giving him a rough time. 

I too am curious how the dwarf found the secret passageway in game terms.


----------



## fafhrd

grodog said:
			
		

> My 2 cents:  I think it's Selûne---by wondering if his prayers were being intercepted by her, I think Baden basically said a prayer to her, and she answered.




Hrmm, I figured Moradin had a chat with Selune.  She spoke of a deal she would honor, I'm guessing Moradin asked for her to intercede.  It would hardly be respectful for Moradin to perform miracles in another God's temple.


----------



## GoodKingJayIII

I can't put it off any longer.  I started reading the first Sins installment about a week ago.  I put it down for a while and just finished it up today (at work, no less!)  Though I've hardly begun installment 2, I have to comment now.

I know it's been said many times, but you are one hell of a writer.  Your characters are brilliantly defined, your pacing is smooth and seamless, and your descriptions colorful and evocative.  Like George RR Martin, you have a talent for a dark tale full of wonderful subplots and meta-machinations.  And holy cow, what a cliffhangar at the end of the first installment!  I think my favorite part about your writing is your ability to say in eight words what many could not say in twenty.  Through your characters you've spun some incredible dialogue and one-liners.

You've asked for criticism in the past, but honestly I could give none right now.  I have personal nitpicks and problems sure, but frankly those just don't count.  Your ability to tell a beautiful and compelling story is more than evident, and that is what people will see.

You posted a few weeks back about the Eberron setting and that's what first drew me to your story hours.  It was a witty and well-written post.  I see the Valus was carefully and lovingly crafted with lots of time and sweat.  I wish I were going to GenCon to pick up a copy and meet the author in person.  Alas, it'll have to go on my mail order list.  Next year perhaps.

I can't wait to catch up the second installment.  Keep on writing, and don't give up on the novel(s)!  It's a lofty goal, but people need to read good fantasy (or whatever else it is you might write)

PS:  And come back to Baltimore!  Why do all the good DMs move away?

Edit:  And I just caught up with Sins II and it's only enthralled me more.  The initial scenes between the dwarves and the "moonies" were appropriately awkward and hilarious.  The battle between Baden and the centuri... I mean Apian () were intense.  Pandios is perhaps my favorite NPC yet because I'm so reminded of someone like Achilles or Hector.  And yet he's his own man too.  Great stuff, Destan.


----------



## Destan

Nasma said:
			
		

> Out of curiosity, how did this occur in the game?  Did Baden succeed at a search check near the end?




The truth may be a bit stranger than fiction in this case.

In this particular adventure, I made what experienced DMs refer to as a "boo boo." I put one of my players in a helpless position. Let's rewind.

Baden departed the abandoned Halls of Axemarch after killing Buk'lokik the cave troll. He had three dwarven buddies with him - the stone priest Pemm, the Ironfist Captain Hoth, and his fellow Axemarch warrior Tamil. I have always, always been a fan of the "getting there" portion of adventures. I guess I like to dip in Tolkienesque type stuff when it comes to traveling across the Valus. I like my players to really feel that getting from Point A to Point B can be an adventure - or a number of adventures - in its own right. More recently, in this campaign, my players have been shunting about the world via _teleport_ and the cosmos via _plane shift_. That's all well and good; it's an aspect of high level player, and to paraphrase Monte - "A DM shalt not nerf powers earned by his or her PCs."

I recently had a little email dialogue going about this very issue with Sepulchrave. He and I seemed to settle on 8th level as being a pretty good boundary between "traditional adventures" and "magic-powered adventures". At 9th level, of course, an arcane caster can grab _teleport_. And a divine caster can grab _raise dead_. Both of these spells could be technically classified as "biggies".

Anyway, I digress.

Baden set off from Axemarch to Val Hor. That's a helluva trip. He'd have to head down through the foothills of the Balantir Cor, cross the Weedsea, cut through or skirt the Boarswood, pick up the Coastal Road, pass through a number of towns that may or may not be friendly to a dwarf, before finally wandering through the landward gates of the White City.

I had a random encounter chart ready for that trek. The dreth and wolven came first; he dispatched them, as we've seen, near Epalan ruins just south of the Cor's foothills. The next roll came up as Selunite priests.

Like any random encounter, I like to take the "randomness" out of it. At least in my mind. I had to inwardly answer some questions. Why were the priests there? Who was with them? Where were they going? What would they think of a small band of dwarves crossing "Selunite" lands?

I determined that the elves, being arrogant, would initially treat Baden and his fellows with disdain. Since they were Moonies, I could wratchet the arrogance up a couple notches. I threw in some captive clansmen as a way to answer why the elves were where they were - they had been patrolling the northern borders in light of some disturbing news (the presence of ancient dreth and feral wolven), and collecting folks for questioning. 

So Baden and his buds set off toward the Moon Cathedral at Mead Lake. This was a random encounter, but it was quickly evolving into a whole adventure. I was along for the ride as much as Baden's player was. I was interested how it'd turn out.

Then Baden dropped the proverbial bomb. He told the high priestess, in not as many words, that _he_ might be responsible for the dreth/wolven within her demesne. Hmmm...how would she take that? Not well, I figured. So then it became a tit-for-a-tat. I gave the elves a problem they wanted solved (the presence of infidel Apians on their sacred grounds). And I gave Baden his out: he could rid the elves of their problem, and thereby be allowed to continue on his merry way.

This allowed me to introduce some mainlanders to my party - specifically Pandios of Margive. The Valus is just one island in a much larger world; until this time, that was largely ignored by my players. And, because this is, after all, a Valusian Campaign - I had to make sure there was no "easy" answer. Baden could fight Pandios, certainly, and could probably kill him. But would he want to? I decided to make Pandios a damned honorable, likeable guy. Heheh. Deal with that, Baden.

Again, I ramble. Baden fights Pandios and then all hell breaks loose. I was very much holding onto the coattails of this adventure now. Suddenly, when the dust cleared, I find Baden and Pandios on an isolated shrine at the end of a causeway. A bunch of Moonies are guarding the only entrance/exit. Baden had told his companions Hoth and Tamil to continue to Val Hor. He was very much alone, and I was very much out of ideas as to how to save him.

So...what do I do? I've placed a player in a situation that might not have an answer. Was that fair? Certainly not. How could I get out of this damned web I was responsible for creating?

I took the easy (lame) way out: divine intervention. Moradin - or, more direcly, Selune - would help him.

In the _real_ version of the story, a moon elf approached and offered Baden/Pandios the chance to undergo a "test". If they could pass safely through the sacred catacombs beneath the shrine, it must mean that Selune favored their journey. They would be allowed to go free. Baden and Pandios opted to take the bait (what choice did they have?), and they made it through. Baden had been given a boon, and would need to pay one - down the road - in return.

In the story hour version, I didn't feel like throwing in another dialogue. I've been desperately trying to advance this tale to the point wherein the Brothers of Olgotha are all together again. As a writer, I _needed_ Baden to meet up with the other players. So I ditched the "test" conversation and just had him find a secret trapdoor. The end result was the same.

So, there ya go. Long answer to a short question. For those who want nothing but accuracy in a story hour, this probably ain't the one to read. I do realize, however, that folks may like to hear what really did happen, and so I'll try to pull aside the Oz-like curtain whenever the SH differs from the campaign itself. Mind you, these differences, as a rule, are minor.

Take care,
D


----------



## The Forsaken One

Then you did well, I liked the SH version alot better. Part due to the removel of another dialogue and the mystery the "avatars" appearance brought in the story. Always nice things for a story so you did well making that choise


----------



## WizarDru

The Story Hour version is better for the story, but it's always good to hear the 'behind the scenes' material, too....kind of like a commentary track on a DVD, or collection of deleted scenes.   

 Oh, and Destan, stop giving away our secrets.  DMs don't make mistakes, you know that.


----------



## frostrune

> In this particular adventure, I made what experienced DMs refer to as a "boo boo." I put one of my players in a helpless position. Let's rewind.




Wow Destan.  I didn't know you cared   

Frostrune (aka Baden)


----------



## Lela

Nice.


----------



## Lucius

frostrune said:
			
		

> Wow Destan.  I didn't know you cared




He doesn't...it's just an attempt to lull you into false complacency. From what little we've heard about your last session, that should be clear...LOL. A half hour?  Were you guys playing D&D or Paranoia?   

-Lucius


----------



## frostrune

Sadly, the deaths I think you are referring to occured in back to back encounters.

I'll elaborate... a little (no spoilers here).

The first death was a fine example of putting roleplaying over player knowledge and I give Matt (Maladrac) a lot credit for staying true to his character even though he knew he was up against a major bad *ss.  A glorious death that was honored with a roleplayed funeral complete with eulogies.

His next character died through mostly bad luck.  The next encounter wasn't that difficult he just failed multiple consecutive saving throws.  At our current levels (15-17th) that could spell doom for anyone.

Can't really blame either on the DM as much as we'd like to try.  

Thanks for reading.  

Now... Get to GenCon and buy his book  

Frostrune


----------



## Lucius

frostrune said:
			
		

> Now... Get to GenCon and buy his book




Actually, I already have a signed copy.   I ordered it from the website. And I wish I were going to GenCon.  I haven't been in years and years.

-Lucius


----------



## Dakkareth

Great update, Destan! The divine intervention makes more sense to me than some trial - the Moonies didn't strike me as that ... well, sportsmannish, if that's a word. 




			
				DrZombie said:
			
		

> Being a manic buyer of fantasy I happened across this one in the bookstore. Read it, enjoyed it tremendously, reading it again. Give it a try, I think you'll like it. (btw, there's four books so far, got the fourth on my to read pile)
> 
> *Gardens of the Moon : Book One of the Malazan Book of the Fallen *




I absolutely second this - the Malazan Book of the Fallen (the five books, that exist so far) is the greatest piece of fantastic fiction I've ever read. Don't let the cover-art of the american version trick you: Erikson is not your 08/15 fantasy author, but at least on par with George R.R. Martin et al and a master of 'shades of grey' settings.


----------



## GoodKingJayIII

Biz-zump


----------



## Wisdom Penalty

Biz-zump #2.


----------



## Cinerarium

Finally got all caught up again after falling behind.  I think the writing has actually gotten better with a focus on fewer characters.  There's much more opportunity for development.

Now that I'm caught up with the SH, looks like I have time to read the Valus book.  I was lucky enough to have a signed copy handed to me by Frostrune, and I feel like a bit of a jerk for not reading it in depth sooner.


----------



## Tumakhunter

Page 3 is bad.  There will be no Sins on page 3.

BUMP!!!


----------



## fafhrd

<despairing bump>


----------



## aros

*i hope this isnt it*

so i just finished reading all the updates and i am ridiculously impressed.  i just hope that this thread still gets updates at some point in time.  that and i somehow picked up that this setting has been published.  in what form and how can i get it?  thanks


----------



## WizarDru

aros, 
 you can get the setting from your local store, if you have them order it, I'm guessing.

Online, you can choose from:
Amazon.com
NobleKnight.com
Order it directly from Different Worlds Publishing 

I'm sure there are a host of other retailers who are probably carrying it, as well.

You can also order "The Return of Ippizicus Child-Eater" from DWP.  (_And while I'm not terribly enamored of the cover, it's a great module_).  The Module features not only a top-notch adventure in the Valus, but also has specific details of the region in which the adventure takes place, with travel charts and....You guessed it!  Random Encounter Tables for the wilderness area.


----------



## TDRandall

What?  I get hooked on this abso-freakin-lutely beautiful thing and find that your next f2f is probably the last of the campaign?  There had better be a LOT of catch-up material, like months of stuff even if you updated every three days or I won't be held responsible for the results of my mental instability....

I just really dipped into story hours four or five days ago, got hooked on this one right off and just NOW reached the last post.  All I can say is that I hope the others are at least half-good as this one Destan.  And if I see it in the store I'm definitely picking up Valus.  Hope you get filthy rich off doing this thing you do well and so obviously love.

May it always be so!

(and I guess that's a bump too!)


----------



## Lela

TDRandall said:
			
		

> What? I get hooked on this abso-freakin-lutely beautiful thing and find that your next f2f is probably the last of the campaign? There had better be a LOT of catch-up material, like months of stuff even if you updated every three days or I won't be held responsible for the results of my mental instability....



 Oh, I'm pritty sure there is.  You may have noticed Destan's ability to turn one session, even 1 round, into a long, awe-inspiring, update filled with tears, laughter, and the occational dirty joke.

 He's got a few more years in 'im.  We just gotta knock 'em loose!


----------



## pogre

I'm guessing Destan needs some "down time" after cranking out a campaign source book and adventure for publication.


----------



## Maladrac

TDRandall said:
			
		

> What?  I get hooked on this abso-freakin-lutely beautiful thing and find that your next f2f is probably the last of the campaign?  There had better be a LOT of catch-up material, like months of stuff even if you updated every three days or I won't be held responsible for the results of my mental instability....
> 
> 
> 
> 
> 
> 
> 
> 
> Yeah, there's PLENTY of catch-up material.  All that you've read so far has gotten the characters to around 5th level, with the new guys being introduced at 4th.  The next time we sit down "f2f" the average will be 17th level (I think).
> 
> It's the "update every three days" part that may be just a dream.
> 
> (A really, really good dream, but still... just a dream.)
> 
> Maladrac
Click to expand...


----------



## GoodKingJayIII

Big D will be back.


----------



## TDRandall

I thought back on it over the weekend and decided yes, even every three days I want it to go for YEARS rather than "just" months.  Thank goodness I can breathe again and probably have that wish (well, the "years" part, probably not the "three days" part.  Guess I can give Destan a LITTLE bit of downtime - like I really have the choice  ).

I had caught where the players were now 17th level, but are you kidding?  "All" we have read brings the characters only to 5th level so far?  With what they've faced already (description-wise - I've not tracked down the stats of the demons, the wolfen or the horned hunter) I'm surprised there haven't been numerous TPKs if they were that low level!  

Now the giant wasp "victory" makes a bit more sense - I just figured it was one infernal-templated colossal 747-type critter and that the players had rolled incredibly poorly.

BTW, the Baden stuff has been good - but my favorite surviving character (so far) has to be Kellus.


----------



## grodog

[whine]
It's been so long since an update, I don't remember what was happening in the story.  
[/whine]

Guess it's time to re-read


----------



## trexmaster

How could this SH end up on the second page ?

BUMP !


----------



## GoodKingJayIII

It has been a long time.  But just think, when some ENworld newbie wanders over to the story hour section a few months from now, finding this little gem among all the others, he'll quickly gloss over our fan-boy-and-girl posts and rush on to the next part of the story.

Yeah, that probably does make you feel any better... that's just what I did with all the first story hour, so now I'm paying dues


----------



## A'vandira Silvermane

*And here's my 2 cents*

Or more if you like. I have read the entire SH (part 1 and 2) (to the exclusion of all others I read) over a period of several days (short on time at work  ) without posting before, but now I finally caught up I think it's time for me to give some (i.e. a whole lot) of well-earned praise to Destan and his players for keeping me on the edge of my seat for almost each and every update. I can admit I have read parts with tears in my eyes (especially the part where Baden claims Poriden died in battle / that was really truly awesome) and other parts with my heart jumping around in my chest. I do not really think I can give any tips about writing, seeing as you already have gotten it down to an art, but I will ask / beg / plead / threaten or whatever it takes to see a new update very very shortly.


----------



## trexmaster

A'vandira Silvermane said:
			
		

> Or more if you like. I have read the entire SH (part 1 and 2) (to the exclusion of all others I read) over a period of several days (short on time at work  ) without posting before, but now I finally caught up I think it's time for me to give some (i.e. a whole lot) of well-earned praise to Destan and his players for keeping me on the edge of my seat for almost each and every update. I can admit I have read parts with tears in my eyes (especially the part where Baden claims Poriden died in battle / that was really truly awesome) and other parts with my heart jumping around in my chest. I do not really think I can give any tips about writing, seeing as you already have gotten it down to an art, but I will ask / beg / plead / threaten or whatever it takes to see a new update very very shortly.




You forgot bribing too


----------



## Destan

Hiya everyone.

I actually have the next update written, but I don't like the way it "feels", so I'm gonna toy with it for a bit. This time of year isn't very conducive to writing, for me. We've got American football, hunting season, the holidays, etc. I'm sorry for the long silence and the delay.  I can lay part of the blame on Sepulchrave for getting me interested (or re-interested, as it were) in medieval Brittany. Other EN Worlders have recommended some great books that I've been reading - _Heroes Die_ by Matthew Woodring Stover comes to mind.  Anyway, I suppose this is nothing more than a long-winded excuse.

Here's a pseudo-update. The cover art for the _Return of Ippizicus Child-Eater_ has been re-done from that used on the limited edition sold at GenCon. It's by Peter Bradley from ravenchilde.com - I think it's quite good. 

Take care,
D


----------



## trexmaster

Destan said:
			
		

> Hiya everyone.
> 
> I actually have the next update written




YIPIE !



			
				Destan said:
			
		

> Anyway, I suppose this is nothing more than a long-winded excuse.




You don't need any excuse. Just write at your own rythm and with the usual quality and we're happy. But as a word about that, maybe you should stop hunting. Firearms = BAD !



			
				Destan said:
			
		

> Here's a pseudo-update. The cover art for the _Return of Ippizicus Child-Eater_ has been re-done from that used on the limited edition sold at GenCon. It's by Peter Bradley from ravenchilde.com - I think it's quite good.




Yup ! I like it ! But maybe if we could get a bigger version... (who said never satisfied fan ?  )



			
				Destan said:
			
		

> Take care,
> D




You too man.


----------



## The Forsaken One

Btw Destan, u watched too much Record of Lodoss War?

And the cover looks great


----------



## Funeris

*as per the firearm comment... *

As per the firearm comment, he's actually using a compound bow...I believe.  
And the man needs time to relax....So he should rest up...
that way his other group can play on Monday...mwa ha ha ha ha...

i know, its a sad excuse for a BUMP.  oh well.


----------



## Lela

Gorgious cover Destan.  Much more represenitive of the content than _Valus_.


----------



## pogre

I like the art, but isn't the ole' boy described as having black fur? Don't have my copy in front of me right now.


----------



## trexmaster

Funeris said:
			
		

> i know, its a sad excuse for a BUMP




I don't need any excuse to BUMP an excellent SH


----------



## trexmaster

What ?
This thread's on second page ?

That's Heresy !

*BUMP*


----------



## Destan

*Chapter Nine*

_The story thus far: 

The Brothers of Olgotha departed in different directions shortly after defeating the demon Ral within the Sorrow Elf’s barrow. 

*Baden Dost* rode toward Axemarch, to ascertain the status of his clan. 

*Amelyssan* and *Vath* fled from the wolven westward across the Weedsea, and were killed by ankhegs beneath the plains. 

*John, Raylin*, and *Kellus* accompanied Anar von Girval, a paladin of Lathander, northward to the town of Lonely Heath. There, Anar left them in pursuit of a man known as Guntir Sharpnose. The three companions struck southward toward Val Hor in the hopes of locating the Archmage Destan the Grim. While en route, John was killed by a spider wasp amidst the shadowy boles of the Boarswood. 

Raylin and Kellus were found, near death, by Calahen clansmen. The clansmen carried the two adventurers to Val Hor and deposited them with Brother Daladon, a feratu demon posing as a priest of Lathander. Mariadon, Archbishop of Lathander and friend to Destan, rescued Kellus from his interrogation at the hands of the feratu. The demon was allowed to exit the Cathedral.

Seven days have since passed, and no word has yet arrived in Val Hor as to the fate of the missing Brothers…_

***

His Grace Mariadon, Archbishop of Lathander, was a man well past his prime. _But, by Helm,_ Kellus silently swore, _the man can set a torrid pace._ Kellus struggled to keep apace with the Archbishop as they wound their way through the sunlit corridors of the Morninglord’s Cathedral.

Mariadon was talking, and Kellus did his best to listen. “…first concerned with Daladon when I noticed he had missed two consecutive morning services. Very odd, that.” Mariadon turned his head toward Kellus without slackening his stride. “Brother Daladon _never_ missed a service.”

If Raylin also had trouble matching the elder cleric’s gait, he did not show it. The clansman’s face was troubled by thoughts, but untouched by perspiration. “Your Grace,” Raylin began, the honorific sounding odd in his own ears, “if you knew Daladon to be an imposter, why did you allow him to leave?”

Kellus grimaced. Raylin had pressed the Archbishop on the issue of Daladon’s “escape” numerous times – not all of them tactfully. The Larrenman, Kellus thought, still felt the loss of his favorite longsword; the weapon was one of many items Daladon had given the Calahen mercenaries when Kellus and Raylin had been deposited at the temple’s steps.

“I have told you, Master mac Larren,” Mariadon answered with infinite patience, “I had my reasons. And soon – very soon – I will show them to you.”  The Archbishop stopped before a set of bronze doors set within the rear wall of the Cathedral. “First, however, you must attend to other matters.”

Kellus knew Raylin well enough to recognize his growing anger. Kellus turned quickly to Mariadon. “Your Grace, our strings have been pulled by people we have not met for causes we do not understand. It is an ill thing to be treated in such a manner.”

Mariadon smiled softly. “Brother Kellus, have not you asked your superiors about the treatment you have received?”

“I have.”

“And?”

“Bishop Thularr ordered that I obey your wishes in this, as in all things.”

“Ordered?”

“Requested.” Kellus frowned. Helm’s clerical hierarchy was not known for their leniency; subordinate priests were ordered, not asked. At least, such was the way of Helm years ago before Kellus forsook his vows. He found that he disliked the apparent freedom now extant within the Church; Kellus’ recent wanderings had given him a lifetime’s worth of ambiguity.

“Bishop Thularr is a good priest,” Mariadon chided, “and a better man. If you do not trust me, then trust him.”

“I trust you, Your Grace.” Kellus meant it. “As does Raylin. But we have many unanswered questions.”

“Such as?”

Kellus looked to Raylin before answering. “The question remains - why did you allow the feratu demon posing as Brother Daladon to leave your Cathedral?”

“Faugh!” Mariadon waved a hand, causing motes of dust to swirl within the sunlight streaming downward from paned windows overhead. “That question has just been asked, and I have given my answer. Ask another.”

Raylin stepped forward. “Our possessions - those that were given to the Calahens. We would like to have them returned to us.”

“Those items were paid to the clansmen that brought you here and, I might add, saved your lives in the process.” Mariadon searched Raylin’s gaze with his own. “I will see they are replaced. Yes?”

“When I was born, Your Grace, my mother’s birthing blood was caused to spill onto the blades that were stolen from me. Her body now nurtures the growing things within the prairies of my homeland.” Raylin’s voice was low but steely. “The swords _cannot_ be replaced, and it pains the spirits of my fathers to know a Calahen dog now wields them.”

The Archbishop stared at Raylin for a long moment. “Then I ask your forgiveness, Raylin mac Larren, as does my Church. The Archmage Destan has many friends within the traders and trappers that visit this city. I will ask him to relay your concerns to such men, in the hopes they might locate the Calahens and purchase-” 

“They sang songs over his body.”

Mariadon blinked. “Eh?”

Raylin’s teeth were clenched, his jaw iron. “The Calahens. They sang songs over the body of our friend John. I would have them sing another tune, and soon.”

“Those thoughts, my friend,” the Archbishop rejoined softly, “are best left to lay fallow. There is much evil in the world without men creating more.”

Raylin nodded as if accepting the point, and Kellus – for a brief moment – was relieved. But when the ranger next spoke, there was no forgiveness in his heart; children of the Weedsea cast aside such an emotion when still beardless. “‘Alone on the field, when the sun does fade, stands a son of Larren, all debts paid.’”

The Archbishop suddenly showed his years. Kellus was amazed – Mariadon seemed to plummet into old age in the span of a few heartbeats. When next the Archbishop looked at Raylin, his eyes were…pleading? No - anguished. “I know those words, my son - ‘tis a marching song of your people, is it not?”

“A victory song.”

Mariadon sighed. “A eulogy.” 

The sounds of Val Hor’s markets drifted through the thick stones of the Cathedral, making the sudden silence more keenly felt.  Mariadon shook himself, as a man awaking from an unpleasant dream. “Forgive me. This morning is for glad tidings, and I would not be the one to ruin it.”

The Archbishop did not wait for Kellus or Raylin to reply. Rather he turned, grabbed the handles of both doors, and pulled them inward. 

Sunlight flooded the hall, blinding and brilliant.

“A friend,” Mariadon breathed as he squinted into the dawn. “A friend awaits the both of you.”

***

Baden believed he could squeeze juice from a diamond and water from a rock. On his naming day he had bear-hugged his father into submission, and all Axemarch dwarves knew the strength of his father Banidon’s arms. Baden was strong, even for a dwarf, and he had yet to meet a man who could force the back of his hand downward to a tavern table. 

So he was surprised - and more than a little upset - when he found himself struggling for breath, helpless as a snake-entwined rat, within the embrace of Raylin mac Larren.

“Put. Me. Down.”

Raylin ignored him for some time, and Baden felt his head begin to spin. The dwarf considered boxing Raylin’s ears between both palms, but thought such an action would make for a poor reunion.

Kellus, laughing, stepped forward. He pried Raylin’s fingers apart and both men – Helmite priest and Larren clansman – stepped back to study their short friend.

Baden took a moment to catch his wind, face as red as Axemarch’s most notorious drunkard. “Ye damned brute. Tryin’ to crack me ribs, were ye?”

“Cracked, are they?” Raylin’s eyes sparkled in the dawn’s light.

“No.”

“Then I was not trying.”

Baden stepped forward with half-a-mind to press Raylin’s face into the turf underfoot. He squinted upward at the unshaven clansman. “Ye smell nice, Larrenman - so I let ye cuddle me for a bit.”

Kellus’ embrace was firm but quick, almost perfunctory. “We have missed you, old dwarf.” The Rhelmsman stepped back, and his face shone with delight – an odd emotion on the priest’s normally impassive countenance. His next words, when they came, were barely audible. “By Helm’s Shield, we have missed you.”

Baden, suddenly self-conscious, toed the dirt like an errant schoolboy. “Well, lads, I ran into a bit o’ trouble between there and here.” His beard split in a wide grin. “Nothing that couldn’t be dealt with, mind you.”

“I had hoped,” Kellus replied, “your journey would have been blessedly uneventful.”

“I don’na know about no blessings, but events it had a’plenty.”

***

Baden glanced upward as clarion notes sang outward from hidden belfries overhead.

Most churches upon the Valus rang bells at the slightest provocation. The musical sounds sent peasants to their fields and called them home again; bells ushered in the dawn and warned of dusk’s imminence. They marked the commencement of celebrations and the end of mourning. Days, nights, weeks, months – all were neatly divided by such sounds.

Yet, here, nestled within a rear courtyard of the Valudian Cathedral, Baden realized Lathander’s temple used chimes, not bells; the calls that came from the towers above were more song than clangor. The dwarf liked their music, surprised as he was at the thought. Lathander’s chiming was airy and light as birdsong. “That’s a big building, and a good sound.”

Raylin spared at glance at the Cathedral’s massive vault before looking back at Baden. “Nothing gets by you, huh?”

Kellus’ wave encompassed the temple and its outer grounds. “This is the seat of Archbishop Mariadon. A good man.”

“So yer fellow Helmites have accepted ye back into the fold?” It was more statement than question, as if Baden had never given any thought to an alternative. The dwarf jerked a thumb at the Cathedral. “Serves as a better shelter than a lean-to by the Duskingford, does it not? Tell me - does it leak?”

“No, it doesn’t leak.” Kellus guided both his friends toward a marble bench set between two birch trees. “But this is not Helm’s house; it is Lathander’s. My god is not as widely worshipped here as He is in Rhelm. His own abode is rather smaller.”

“Not Helm?” Baden chewed on his whiskers, face unreadable. “You switched gods?”

“No,” Kellus laughed, “I am with Helm - again. His Grace Mariadon has given Raylin and I rooms within Lathander’s Cathedral, for the Temple of Helm lacked the space.”

“Lathander? That’d be the god o’ that apple-bearded paladin Anar.” Baden collapsed onto the marble pew. “What do his folk have to do with us?”

“We do not know.” Raylin folded his arms and watched while Kellus joined Baden on the bench. “Mariadon won’t answer our questions.”

Baden digested this latest information, then wearily rubbed his forehead. “By the gods, I have headache.”

“Yes, gods can do that to a man.” Kellus’ smile faded. “We are to meet with His Grace and the Archmage Destan this evening.”

Raylin smirked toward Baden. “Be ready - your headache is bound to grow.”

As if in agreement, Lathander’s chimes grew louder.

“Is Anar here as well?”

“No.” Raylin squatted, plucked a blade of grass, and placed it between his teeth. “We have not seen the paladin since we departed from him at Lonely Heath.”

“Aye, I heard from a half-elf named Wilan Whitefletch that he had seen you there. Such words were glad tidings on a day that had few of them.”

“Then you have met Wilan?” At Baden’s nod, Kellus continued. “He seems a good sort, as do Anar and Mariadon. Yet I cannot help but feel we are on the outside looking in, and ‘tis through their festival we now wander.”

Baden grunted. “Damned straight, and I like it not. Have you met with this Archmage?”

“Not yet. Perhaps he will have some answers for us.”

Baden’s look indicated he put little faith in such a hope.  “Archmages and Archbishops – to the forge with the lot o’ them. Them uppity folks can wait. First I would see the damned elf and his half-troll mount; last I saw Amelyssan he was being carted away on Vath’s back like a sack o’ grain.” 

The dwarf, shrouded in his own merry memories, did not notice the suddenly downcast expression on Kellus’ face. “And then,” Baden continued, voice light, “and only then – take me to whatever tavern John’s now infecting. If I know that damned Pellman, he’ll have me drunker than a two-copper harlot before we sit down with Dust…Duston?”

“Destan.” Kellus’ voice was hushed.

Baden caught the change in Kellus’ tone. His head snapped upward with a start. He stood. “I would know the tale.”

Kellus slowly shook his head. “Baden, tonight would be a better time to-”

Baden drew Borbidan’s axe and laid it on bench next to Kellus. When next he spoke, his tone was as hard and cold as the dwem-forged weapon. “Kellus. You will tell me, and you will tell me now. And you will tell it true.”

Raylin knelt in front of Baden, eyes on a level. “Vath and Amelyssan have not arrived. Yet.” The last word was added almost as an afterthought.

“They should have been here by now.”

“I know, friend.” Raylin’s face showed his pain.  He placed a hand on Baden’s shoulder. “I know.”

The dwarf shook off the clansman’s hand and returned his gaze to Kellus. “And John? What of the bard?”

Kellus returned Baden’s stare, unflinching. “John is dead. He was killed east of Axefall. In the Boarswood.”

Baden half-sat and half-collapsed onto the bench, his axe sliding off the marble to fall within the cropped grass underfoot. The twinkling chimes of Lathander, once so soothing, sounded different, now. Moments passed – pained, quiet moments – and then the chimes faded to silence.  Their song was finished.

***

“We are here to see the Archmage.”

A tall, thin man returned Mariadon’s look, evidently unimpressed by the priest’s station or his words. “I ain’t heard nothing ‘bout no meeting.”

Mariadon remained silent, his face stern. “Open the gates.”

“If I do, Cleaver’ll have me by the balls.”

“If you don’t, I will.” Baden stepped forward to look upward at the sullen guardsman. “And I’m closer.”

The man measured Baden with a glance before eyeing the Archbishop once more. “Destan said nothing ‘bout a meeting.”

“Likely he forgot.” Mariadon pursed his lips with growing frustration. “The man forgets to wear sandals, for the love of the Morninglord.”

“This is true.” With a last, lingering look at Baden, the guardsman turned. “Open ‘em, Rett! Do it quick-like!”

Sounds echoed from beyond the portcullis. The gate lurched into life, lifting upward in a slow but steady climb. The groan of metal on metal was loud and, for a time, prevented any hope of conversation. A clank announced the gate had been locked in the raised position. “Head across the courtyard and through the-”

But Mariadon was already pushing past the guard. Kellus, Raylin, and Baden followed in his wake.

Destan’s compound, located in the heart of Val Hor, was both the smallest and the ugliest of the Seven Towers of the Valudian Archmages. Whereas its sisters had been gracefully built with an eye toward architecture or mystery, Destan’s estate seemed to have been fashioned with an eye toward one’s purse. Its outer wall was short and thick, fashioned of red rock only found within the Kax, and surrounded a courtyard which was everything the Cathedral of Lathander’s inner grounds were not – overgrown, uneven, littered with windblown leaves and half-eaten apple cores.

Within the courtyard stood groups of rough-looking men, crowded about open firepits like beggars near soup kitchens. Their looks were dark and suspicious, their clothes tattered and threadbare. Baden spat as he crossed the yard. “An ugly bunch, to be sure.” The dwarf made no attempt to lower his voice.

Mariadon surveyed the onlookers as if seeing the men for the first time. “They are capable. And loyal.”

Baden shrugged as the party entered the shadow of the central donjon. “I thought a fancy archmage would have all manner o’ wizards and odd creatures to guard him.”

Mariadon smiled. “Most wizards do not like Destan, friend dwarf.”

“Why?”

“He’s an ass.”

Mariadon pulled up before a gate set in the south wall of the main keep. “Open the gates!”  A moment passed. The Archbishop sighed, evidently annoyed. “Open the-”

A dwarf suddenly appeared at the gate, his face cloaked in shadow and caked with dried grease.  No, not a dwarf – a human midget. He smelled of swill and sorrow. The man stood on his tip-toes and lifted a bar. “Not so loud, not so loud – yer hurtin’ my head.” The midget pointed to his ears as if Mariadon might not otherwise understand.

Mariadon turned toward the Olgotha Brothers. “The three of you must walk with me, where I walk. You may hear things, see things – pay them no mind. There is a path open to us, the only path. We will walk it. Yes?”

“Yes,” came the reply from three voices in unison.

It turned out to be a long walk. 

Baden, who prided himself on his sense of direction, felt lost after what-must-have-been the twentieth turn. The keep itself was not large – Baden had seen its dimensions from the courtyard – but the corridors within seemed like the twisting tunnels of some burrowing creature. The dwarf was fairly confident the four of them repeatedly strode through the same hallways, crossed the same thresholds – but always from different directions. 

Baden began to regain his confidence; Mariadon was leading them in a deliberately haphazard fashion to make the keep appear larger than it was. _Or,_ Baden thought, suddenly wary, _to prevent them from easily escaping._ “Stop.”

Mariadon did.

“Why do you take us down hallways we have already walked? Get us to this Archmage, if that be yer intent, and put an end to this foolishness.”

The Archbishop frowned. “Master Dost, I assure you – we have not retraced our steps once since entering.”

“No? Then beyond that next turn – I suppose there won’t be another hallway that slopes down only slightly? There won’t be another hallway that goes past three doors on the left, two doors and an archway on the right? There won’t be another hallway that has fourteen buttresses along its length before the left wall leans slightly outward due to poor construction?” Baden crossed his arms, somewhat pleased with himself.

“No, there won’t.”

Baden walked forward, rounded the corner, and stared face-to-face at a massive iron door.

_- Brilliant.

Stuff it, Ilvar._

Mariadon walked past him and placed a hand flat against the door. It swung open, revealing a large, oblong room. A giant bightwood table sat atop a thick carpet, styled purple in the manner of Genn weavers. Lanthorns hung from silver chains, the air perfumed and slightly clouded from their smoke.

The room was empty.

“Where is the Archmage?” Raylin, voice suddenly steely, let one hand fall to the hilt of his borrowed sword.

“Through there.” Mariadon nodded toward a stone wall opposite them, just on their side of the now-opened iron door.

Kellus, without a word, stepped through the illusion. Mariadon followed.

Baden, alone in the corridor with Raylin, shared a long look with his Larren companion. “Wizards.”

“Wizards,” Raylin agreed. 

They stepped through the wall as one.

***

Destan’s meeting room – the true meeting room, as it were – was nothing like the illusionary one had been. It was cramped, small, and stunk of guano. A number of bats hung from rafters overhead, and a handful of cracks rent the masonry in the shadowy corners nearest the low ceiling.

Kellus stared at the old man before him. He was sitting in a chair, on the far side of a rickety table, a half-drained decanter of some golden fluid in front of him.  His robes were as grimy and thin as his beard. All things considered, he looked more a beggar than an archmage. “Greetings, Archmage Destan of Val Hor. I am Kellus Varn the Younger, a Rhelmsman, and a Priest of the Protector-God Helm.”

“Why, hello!” Destan smiled and scrambled to his feet. “I knew your father. He was a good man.”

Kellus was silent.

The archmage turned to his companions. “You must be Raylin mac Larren. Your blades are welcome in this house and within our ranks.”

“My blades are currently held by some arse-sniffing Calahen thieves.”

Destan blinked. “Well, then, I shall have them returned to you. At once.”

Baden stepped forward. “I’m Baden-”

“-Dost, once warrior of Axemarch, now _nil-thain_. I held your Dwarfking Droggi in high regard. I trust his son is well.”

“He was when I left.”

Destan nodded, studied Baden for an uncomfortably long moment, then turned toward the far corner. “Come forward, friends.”

Two figures stepped from the shadows, as dissimilar as honey and stone. One was a lithe elf – thin lips, pointed nose, long flaxen hair. The other seemed a walking suit of spiked armor. “The elf is Mellish of the _Galo Gamadel_. The half-troll is the Cleaver.”

Baden snorted. “The Cleaver?”

Destan nodded. “Indeed.”

“Tell him he can remove his helm.”

Cleaver stepped fully into the light. His voice, when it came, made Vath’s rumbling sound nearly falsetto. “The helm stays where it is, dwarf. I wear it whenever battle is promised.”

“You expect a battle tonight?”

“Tempus willing.”

Kellus sighed. “We have many questions, Archmage. May we sit?”

“Of course. And, please, call me Destan.”

Kellus sat, adjusted his mace on his belt, and leaned forward. “First, we have friends that have not yet arrived. We would ask that you locate them, if you may, so that we may offer what aid we can.”

“They are dead.”

Raylin shook his head. “John is dead. Vath and Amelyssan might yet live.”

“I am sorry, but no. The elf and the half-troll died upon the Weedsea. Or, more truthfully, beneath it. I am sorry.”

“How do you know this?”

“I know it. As do you.”

Kellus rubbed his chin. “I believe you.”

“Good,” Destan replied, “because there is much that you must accept from me on faith alone.”

***

_Faith,_ Kellus thought, _had always been the most difficult gift to give._

Or, rather, not always. Once, Kellus had been a stalwart, promising acolyte in the Church of his father. Once, Kellus had believed every word in the iron-plated books of Helm. Once, Kellus had believed his God would Protect those who protected others in His name.

But that had been before the death of his father. Before an errant bolt had ricocheted off a stone wall and lodged itself within his father’s throat.

_What kind of a Protector God would fail to protect his own chosen priest?_

That was a hard question. It was made harder when Kellus, himself barely more than a child, cradled his dying father’s head in his lap. It was a question that, truly, had no answer. And it was a question that, simply by asking it, destroyed the child-man Kellus had been.

In short, he had lost his faith.

Gone was his faith in Helm, gone too was the respect for his own father. His father, Kellus thought, had been a fool. He was duped, like so many were, into believing the Gods cared. The Gods did not care. The Gods had never cared. The Gods would never care. 

A man should place his faith in those things that have meaning to him, in his mortal life, until his days finally – thankfully – come to an end. A mace – this has meaning. A horse, armor, a man’s wits – these have meaning. These are the accoutrements of the faithful, of those who would not be fools.

Kellus departed Rhelm the morning after his father’s death. He gathered his things, including the breastplate of his father, and left. He did not attend the funeral, never set foot within the Church, did not say farewell to his mother who, even then, was losing herself.

But a surprising thing happened. His clerical power to heal, to bless, to purify – these remained with him. He no longer believed in Helm, and yet he could perform miracles attributed by so many to divine power. How could this be? Kellus had only one answer – he believed in himself. He had faith in his own powers. As a man. And each time he cast a spell, each time he shielded himself from harm, each time he cast light onto the spiked head of his mace – his understanding was strengthened, his faith was solidified, his doubt was erased. Helm drifted further from him until, soon, the God became a memory of a misspent youth.

Kellus sought to teach others of this understanding. He assisted laborers with their work, he healed sick children, he knitted broken bone and he fed starving peasantfolk. He would do all of things, and never would he demand more than one thing in return: Those who would benefit from his power must recognize that it came from him, not from Helm, not from any God, but from a man.

Kellus was a man, and man was a God.

Certainly there were those who would not forsake their misplaced faith. They would watch, and Kellus would watch, as a sick child died. They would weep and tear at their breasts as Kellus stood by and allowed birthing mothers to bleed their life away. So be it. Life was filled with harsh lessons, and he would not assist those who refused to understand this. The world was filled with fools; he would not be one to increase their number. Let them perish and lessen, until only the strong – the true faithful – remained.

And thus did Kellus, formerly a priest of Helm, live his young adulthood. Always traveling, always moving, always offering aid to those who would simply recognize the powerlessness of the gods. Many times he was nearly killed by grieving folk, many times he was run out of town. But just as many times he left thorps and hamlets with the seed of man’s own might, with the kernel of faith in man’s own power. He was a missionary of man.

Only now, after seeing the horrors of the Abyss, did Kellus again realize that the Gods were real. He had looked into the face of Baphtemet and known – known in the very core of his soul – that the mere existence of such a creature was proof of the immortal. Where there was an Abyss, there must be a Heaven.

Faith, by definition, never requires proof. But Kellus, by definition, was never a normal priest.

He had erred by forsaking his faith. He had erred when he allowed peasant children and bleeding mothers to die. He would now spend his life paying for those sins. So when Destan asked for their faith, Kellus was ready to give it. And did so. This cause, this prophecy they were only know beginning to understand, would kill him. Kellus was never one to avoid a truth. By killing Ippizicus, Ral, and Baphtemet – he had firmly planted his feet on a path toward his own destruction. 

It was nothing less than he deserved. Indeed, he welcomed it.

***

“…so you claim we are the persons spoken of in this Prophecy?”

Destan nodded slowly. “You are. All the signs and portents are there, for one who would read them. You have slain the Black Three – Ippizicus Child-Eater, Ral the Torturer, Baphtemet the Liar. Those fiends were but a precursor to Loroth’s impending invasion.”

“An invasion of the Valus?”

Destan shook his head. “An invasion of the world. He would make a wasteland and call it his abode. There are many that will follow him, unwilling or no. Demons and devils, both – Loroth transcends their feuds, for all fiends see a Black Paradise in his machinations.”

“The feratu that posed as Brother Daladon – he is within Loroth’s employ?”

Destan shrugged, “Perhaps not directly, but I do not doubt the demon’s aims coincide with those of the Witchking. As do the aims of the Dreth, the Wolven, and others. These are black creatures, corrupt in the core, and they wish to dance their dance upon the bones of the world. They have waited a millennium, they have waited since the collapse of the Dezimond within the red stones of the Rorn. Now is their time.”

“Or so they would believe,” Mariadon added, somewhat dryly.

“Yes, yes,” Destan waved a hand, “so they would believe. But there are those of us who would prevent such a thing.”

Raylin swiveled his gaze about the room. “More than us, I would hope. Yes?”

Baden coughed into the sudden silence. “No disrespect, but we don’t seem much of an army.”

“Because we are not.” Mariadon leaned forward to address the dwarf. “We are but a vanguard. Our numbers will grow, even as the threat coalesces upon the mainland. We must do what we can, with the resources we have, in the time we are given.”

“And then?” Baden replied, unbowed. “What shall we do when the Witchking raises his banners? I’ll grant you that the Larrenman is fine in a pinch, and Kellus has shown his ability upon the field. But we are nothing against demons.”

“Need I remind you that you already killed three of them?” Destan smiled.

“Tell me - are the creatures known as Dreth considered demons?”

“They are.”

“Then we have killed more than three." Baden ignored the surprised looks from Raylin and Kellus. "But you speak of armies, and Witchkings, and other things that are like to turn my beard the color of snow.”

Mariadon nodded slowly. “It is no easy task. Destan and I do not know what will happen if we throw ourselves against this evil. But we do know, friend dwarf, what will happen if we do not.”

Baden thumbed his eye. “Let me guess: we will die.”

“The world will die.”

Kellus frowned. “Enough.” He glanced from Baden to Mariadon and, finally, to Destan once more. “The question is not what can we do if the black banners are raised in the Rorn; the question is – what can we do, _now_?”

“For starters,” Destan murmured, chuckling, “we can kill the feratu that Mariadon allowed to escape his Church.”

Raylin’s eyes narrowed as he turned toward Mariadon. “Finally, I hear wisdom in this room. I said allowing the feratu to escape was a mistake. I said it then, and I say it now.”

“No,” Destan held up a finger, “not a mistake. A risk, certainly, but we will be forced to take many of those.”

Kellus placed a hand on Raylin’s forearm. “Explain yourself, Archmage.”

“Feratu are masters of trickery and disguise. Their talents lie both with illusion and a primitive form of shapechanging. They can assume the forms only of those creatures they kill. And, as time progresses, their disguise weakens. Their flesh sloughs off, their coloring changes, the sound of their voice becomes slurred beyond recognition.”

Raylin folded his arms. “That is no answer.”

But Destan was still talking - “Their deception extends into the field or the arcane. They are exceedingly difficult to _scry_, for example. Even with intimate knowledge of an individual feratu, it remains difficult. Even for one such as myself.”

Raylin angrily shook off Kellus’ restraining hand. “More reason why we should have gutted the demon when he was in our grasp!”

“It was the holiest day of Lathander, friend,” Mariadon interjected, softly, “and I would not have stained the flagstones of my Church on such a glorious morning.”

“But,” Destan quickly spoke, “even Mariadon would have done as much – if it were the right move to make. It was not.”

Baden rubbed his eyes and yawned. “I am thinkin’ the Larrenman makes more sense than the both of you. Mayhaps you should have let him skewer this demon-”

Cleaver leaned forward for the first time since they had sat. His eyes bored a hole into Baden. “Feratu can hide from magic. They can hide from your eyes, dwarf. But,” the half-troll tapped the faceguard of his helm, “they cannot hide from me.”

“Huh?” Baden was too perplexed to offer anything more in the way of a retort.

“Cleaver,” Destan offered, “has extraordinary powers of scent. A feratu can mask its appearance, its voice, its movements. But its smell is unique.”

Kellus stared at Cleaver. “You followed him.”

The armored behemoth nodded. “I followed him. To his lair.”

Raylin looked from Cleaver to Destan. “There are others?”

“Many, many others. A whole nest of them. Here, within Val Hor.”

Mariadon drummed his fingers. “I loved Brother Daladon, friends. I accepted him into the Church from the hands of his own mother, and I held his head as dawn’s light touched his eyes on the morning he first swore the vows of a Sunpriest. I wanted nothing more than to destroy the fiend that had destroyed my child. But we needed to know where the others of his abyssal ilk were hiding.”

“And now,” Destan added, quite needlessly, “we do.”

“Where?” Raylin bristled like a hound ready for the hunt, waiting only for its master’s hand to lift the bar and throw open the kennel gates.

“An old lumber warehouse. Not far from here. In the shadow of the Arena of Storms.”

“When?”

“Now, if you prefer.”

Raylin stood. “I prefer.”

***

Raylin stood within a company of men hand-picked by Destan for the evening’s work. Those assembled were not warriors accustomed to the glories of pitched battle, or the stratagems of siege warfare. No – they were thugs, and brigands, and killers. But they were on their side, in this, loyal to the Archmage for whatever reasons men such as them give their loyalty to another.

Raylin studied their faces in the silence before the storm. They were hard faces, unshaven, dirty. He knew their type because, in many ways, he was one of them; certainly his own face must have looked much the same. What little love these men had in their lives was purchased with a few silvers thrown into the lap of a harlot.  They would not offer mercy, and never would they ask for it. A man was only as good as the arm that held his blade, and cowardice amongst his fellows was a fate feared more than death. These hard-bitten souls that Destan had managed to cull from the wineshops and forests of the Valus reminded Raylin of many of his clansmen near the Blackswamp of his homeland; men such as these were never soft, because softness spelled death.

_By the gods,_ Raylin silently swore, _it felt good to be among them._

Night had embraced the city. The Valudians who had been drinking away the evening had, by now, returned to their homes. Or, perhaps, fallen asleep beneath their trenchers. The city’s avenues would be only sporadically patrolled by white-liveried watchmen; most of the lantern posts would have been snuffed. It was a time for thieves, for harlots, for the foolish and for the brave. It was a different city at night, darker in more than simply illumination.

At a nod from Destan, the company filed through the compound’s gate.

They moved quietly – these ruffians of Destan’s and the Brothers of Olgotha. Their footfalls were quiet, the clink of their armor a whisper-thin melody in the blackness. Down alleys and through secondary streets, around the dry fountains of better times, past the husks of half-burned buildings and abandoned houses.

Cleaver led them, moving surprisingly quietly for one encased in so much steel. The half-troll stopped occasionally, lifting his nose into the cold night air. His route was purposefully haphazard, deliberately disjointed. Their small troupe would disappear down alleys, wait for one hundred heartbeats, then reappear to commence their walk once more.

No one spoke. No one needed to.

All knew what they would soon face. Feratu were not children. And though the fiends’ powers lay with disguise and trickery, they remained demons nonetheless. All this Destan had told them. The feratu would be trapped – gods willing – within the warehouse. They would know the promise of escape had been denied to them. It would be a hard fight, and deadly.

Raylin would have it no other way. He had sliced the air within Destan’s courtyard with his borrowed blades, becoming as accustomed as he could to their balance. He had rolled his shoulders and his neck, cracked his knuckles and stamped his feet into the deepness of his boots. The Larrenman felt his thirst for blood growing, deep in the back of his throat; John’s death, and the deaths of Amelyssan and Vath, had hardened into a veritable gastrolith within the pit of his stomach. 

Raylin wished to hurt, to maim, to kill. The feratu would offer him that. He demanded nothing less. _How could he fear to battle demons, when he himself had become one?_

Cleaver stepped into a stone gazebo that rested within the shadow of the Arena. Raylin and the others quickly crowded around him into the confined space. Their breath made the air smoky. They were one entity, one creature, a predatory cat prowling the near-deserted streets of Val Hor. Men were coiled, ready, muscles tense and blades well-oiled.

Cleaver lifted both hands and removed his helm.

His face, Raylin saw, was a wreck.

The half-troll made Vath look as pretty as a peasant lass in comparison. The color of his flesh was hard to discern in the darkness, but appeared as black as it did red. His hair was matted and tangled, his teeth broken. Cleaver’s upper lip appeared like some gray-skinned grub, and his lower lip had been sliced, and stitched, some time ago; it was a scar, now, a line of ruined flesh that gave the half-troll the regrettable countenance of a frowning beast. Raylin could have fit the pommel of his dagger into either of the half-troll’s nostrils.

“We are here,” Cleaver rumbled, from deep within his chest, as his eyes found Destan in the darkness.

“Aye,” Destan breathed. The Archmage looked differently, now, as if he had drawn on the arcane powers at his command to wrap him in their ephemeral embrace. Gone was the doddering old man, the flippant elder statesman. “You know your place.”

“Aye.”

“Take these three,” Destan nodded toward Raylin and his companions, “to the rear of the warehouse.”

“I would have Mellish as well.”

Destan looked from Cleaver to the elf crossbowman. "Mellish, I would ask that you accompany Cleaver.”

Raylin assumed Mellish’s answering sneer indicated his acquiescence.

Destan looked from Cleaver to Raylin, let his gaze drift to Baden and Kellus. “You have a hard task. You must watch the rear of the place. There is one backdoor, but the adjoining building is connected, so you must watch that doorway as well. You must kill everything and anything that comes through those doors. Do not spare a single creature, regardless of its guise. Do you understand?”

Raylin answered for all of them with a curt nod.

“There are many men in there with the feratu. Hired men, black of heart and deed. Treat them as you would the demons themselves. There is to be no mercy, not from you. I will capture one, perhaps more. Such is not your task.”

Kellus drew his mace from his belt. “It shall be as you say.”

“The rest of you,” the Archmage whispered to his remaining cadre, “will come with me. Stand clear of me. I will begin things with fire, as is fitting. Once, twice, four times will I send a glowing bead through the cracks in the front of the warehouse. Then – and _only_ then – may you move forward. Kill everything, everyone. You have your partners; stay with them if you can. The fires will banish the darkness, so mark your foes and do what it is you do best.”

A gaunt, pockmarked man with the pale skin of Gordian heritage nodded. “We shall.”

Destan nodded, shared a last look with Cleaver, then led his hand-picked followers away from the gazebo and into the night.

Raylin felt Cleaver measuring him with his black eyes. “Larrenman, you will stand with the priest. There are two doors; you two shall guard the closest one. The dwarf and I will be at the other.”

“And the elf?” Baden spat as he drew his axe, content – for the time – to allow the half-troll to give the orders.

Mellish’s lips curled into a condescending smile. “Worry about your own task, bearded one, not mine.”

Baden shrugged. “Don’t let yer ghost get uppity if I piss on yer grave.”

Cleaver pulled on his helm. “It is time.” 

***

Baden padded forward slightly behind Cleaver toward the rickety door at the rear of the warehouse. He paused, watched the half-troll take his position, then stood opposite him. Baden considered unslinging his shield, then thought better of it. He would need to kill, and kill quickly, if the retreat from Destan’s fire became a rout; he could do more damage with two arms than just the one.

Behind him, perhaps thirty paces down the deserted alleyway, Kellus and Raylin took their own position. The two of them, Baden saw, faced one another just outside their own guarded door.

The fight promised to be similar, at least tactically, to battles Baden had fought as a young dwarf in Axemarch. The dwarves would use the knowledge of the lower tunnels to their advantage against the rûcken hordes. Often one corridor would be marked as the killing path, and the clan’s enemies would be beaten and herded toward it. At the exit, near one end, a handful of chosen dwarves would wait to kill those creatures that fled along its length. The ambushing dwarves were not always the best warriors; they were, however, those who harbored the most hatred in their hearts against whatever foes they faced.

_- Demons._

Baden blinked. Even now, at times, he forgot the presence of the elf-spirit Ilvar. _How many?

- Many.

How close?

- Close._

Baden growled audibly and ignored Cleaver’s glare. _Be specific, damn you!

- I am trying. The walls make it difficult, Baden. Four. No – five. Clustered on the far side of the building._

Baden nodded. He held up a hand in the darkness between him and Cleaver and showed the half-troll five fingers. “Demons,” he mouthed silently.

If Cleaver understood, or even cared, he did nothing to show it.

Baden sighed and risked a glance behind them, toward the far side of the alley. Mellish had – somehow – managed to climb to the lower roof of what appeared to be a condemned tavern. The elf was barely visible with Baden’s darkvision, crouched low with his crossbow held in front of him. _Moradin, hear me – when this gets messy, please guide that damned pointer’s shots so as not to hit me in the rump._

*BOOM!*

Baden nearly dropped his axe at the sound of the explosion. He had seen Axemarch runemagi send _fireballs_ at their enemies, but those had been relatively quiet acts of magic. Not so this. In quick succession another, then a third and fourth explosion erupted from the far side of the warehouse. The night sky became an angry red welt, flicking and cracking with the fire that must, even now, be spreading.

Baden glanced upward, studied the bloody false sunrise, then adjusted the grip on his axe. It was images such as those, he knew, that would stay with a man until the end of his days. He hoped such a memory would recall the success of this night. 

Hell, he hoped he’d still be alive to remember it in the first place.

Cleaver had his falchion in both hands, held before him, point low. The half-troll placed his back against the wall of the warehouse, and Baden did likewise. 

The sounds of fighting reached them within moments, at the far side of the warehouse. By all indications it was fierce and deadly – there were very, very few cries of pain. Moans and screams only came, Baden knew, when men had an opportunity to recognize their death.

Baden felt the tension within his stomach tighten. It was always this way, for him, before battle. He had last felt it when marching forward to duel Pandios of Margive on the Causeway of the Moon Goddess. He realized he had forgotten how sickening it could be.

Thus, the dwarf was somewhat amazed when he saw the wide and leering grin that shone even through the rims of Cleaver’s cheek guards. “Do you smell it, dwarf?” The half-troll tilted his head and sucked in the night air through his nose.

Baden licked his lips, spat out the whiskers of his beard. “Smell what?”

“Fear.”

The door burst open.


----------



## Baron Opal

Sweet. A pleasant birthday present. Thank you Destan.

Baron Opal


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## DrZombie

Worth the wait


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## dpdx

Outstanding update, as always.

Now I have to ask: are any of the new PCs in this group?


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## trexmaster

Woot ! An update ! And a massive one too !

Thanks Mister D. !

Going to read now...


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## rigur

Nice, well worth the wait as always.

R.


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## shilsen

Woohoo! A Destan update to start the day!


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## WizarDru

Destan said:
			
		

> Mariadon smiled. “Most wizards do not like Destan, friend dwarf.”
> 
> “Why?”
> 
> “He’s an ass.”




Aww, and he says such nice things about _you_. 


Great, great stuff.  Bad for me getting work done, you understand, but great stuff, nonetheless.  So have the PC replacements shown up, yet?  Is Cleaver one of them?  I assumed that the sorceror who was related to Destan was going to be one of them.

Funny, I had forgotten that Kellus was from Rhelm.  Does he get much trouble from the locals while he's in Val Hor?


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## Darklone

Cleaver and Mellish look pretty PC like


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## Maladrac

*You're a smart bunch.*

You guys are right on all accounts.  The Cleaver, Mellish and Moril Karisbane are all PCs.  I (the late John of Pell) play The Cleaver.  My brother plays Mellish and fills the spot formerly occupied by Vath's player.  Moril doesn't meet up with the group for a bit, but he is played by Amellysan's player.

Heh, it just occured to me as I read the latest update; everything up to this point has been a sort of 'prelude' to the real story.  Meeting Destan and having the underlying story explained to us is when the fight against Loroth and his forces really begins.

Boy, are you guys in for an epic.


"You hate me because I am different.  I hate you because you're all the same"
The Cleaver, Fist of Tempus


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## The Forsaken One

Ownage! This was one heck of an update and really made my day!

Thanks dude =]


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## Wisdom Penalty

asasiiiiieeeeeggggrrrrrgghhhhhh!

 i had given up on a few folks updating their story hours, and destan was one of them. then when he DOES update the boards go down before i can finish it. argh!!!!!

anyways....thanks. please do another soooon....

W.P.


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## MACLARREN

How true Maladrac's words are!!  This is coming to the point that everything done up till now comes into perspective.  There is SOOOOOOO  much more to write and this thread could continue on for a long time to bring you up to where we currently are.  Hopefully, we can keep Destan moving along but he deserves a much needed break from all his work and this stuff is in his blood and I know he will continue on at a pace he feels comfortable with so stay tuned.  Lots of good stories coming up for the new PC's as well as your favorite old ones.  - Raylin


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## grodog

Great stuff, Destan, and ending on a cliffhanger to boot!  You're as vicious a SH reader tease as you are a DM


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## Whitey

Huzzah!

ENWorld is worth posting on again.   

A hearty welcome, to all the new PCs - you have some big adventurin'  boots to fill.  This story (and the players!) have that *it*, that special something, that marks a campaign as a cut above.  It's the kind of thing to point at, and go 'look, that's how it's done'.


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## Cinerarium

I have to wonder how long Destan's been holding that "He's an ass" comment in the wings.  Priceless Smalley humor there.  Great stuff.

When's the final epic session scheduled for?  Is the Sins campaign going to wrap up before the end of the year?

Any chance we'll get some stats on the new guys in the Rogues Gallery thread?


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## trexmaster

A (very) good story that should remain on first page.

*BUMP*


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## frostrune

Whitey - Thanks for the kind words.

Cinerarium - We are discussing dates for the final epic showdown right now.  It will be soon but not soon enough.  Probably January.

As far as updates in the Rogues gallery thread... we certainly could but it would be such a radical power shift from where the story hour currently is fans would hardly recognize their favorites.  It also would be full of spoilers because, as you might expect, our current cast of heroes differs even from the new batch just being introduced.  I'll let Destan make the call on that one.

As always, thanks for reading.

Frostrune (Baden Dost)


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## grodog

Bumpity bumpity bumpity bump.


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## Wisdom Penalty

u
 p
  d
   a
    t
     e

p
 l
  e
   a
    s
     e


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## A'vandira Silvermane

*My sentiments exactly*



			
				Wisdom Penalty said:
			
		

> u
> p
> d
> a
> t
> e
> 
> p
> l
> e
> a
> s
> e



I fully second this call. Have worked so hard to catch up with this SH, but now I almost regret having caught up, waiting for a new update.
But it's "almost" due to the quality of the updates that makes it worth the wait. So, Destan, if the quality is the reason for the waiting, take as long as you need. Otherwise, move it    ;-)


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## Funeris

Stupid double post...grrrrrrr


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## Funeris

Quality is definitely part of the reason he takes his time...that and well...
the fact that the man has a lot to do.  Especially recently with his work
schedule...you could order either of his books and get your Destan fix that way   I know....shameless plug for my DM.  Oh well.

Or..you could try The Heroes of Marchford...(shameless plug for Destan and I)


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## thebitdnd

Bump...


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## trexmaster

Bump


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## fafhrd

Bump


----------



## Destan

*Chapter Ten*

The first creature through the door was more torch than man. 

Destan’s arcane fire had consumed most of the poor soul’s flesh. His clothes were burned away, as was most of his face. His hair was gone, as were his eyebrows, and he held no weapon in the burnt, fleshy appendages which had once been hands. All things considered, his lifetime could be measured in perhaps the span of ten seconds.

That was about nine second seconds too long, evidently, for Cleaver. The Rornish half-troll cut upward with his falchion, nearly sundering the torch-man in two.* The body fell backward, still crackling with flames, and caused his smoke-trailing comrade to step quickly to one side.

Which, of course, placed the second victim within the reach of Baden’s axe. The dwarf wasn’t as dramatic as his half-troll companion. He crushed the man’s leg with the flat of Borbidan’s axe, skittering a kneecap across the alley like a halfling skipstone.

And so it went, for a minute or longer. Man after man, some alight with fire, some not, came hurtling through the rear door. And man after man died, some quickly, some not so quickly. The alleyway before the door was soon a grisly quagmire.

The rush of fleeing brigands, once so steady, slowed and then stopped.

Cleaver looked over Baden’s shoulder toward Raylin and Kellus where both men tensely stood in front of their own, as-yet-unopened door. “Your turn, boys.”

***

On cue, the rickety door between Kellus and Raylin burst open and three bolts shot outward from the smoke-filled interior. Two slammed into Kellus’ upraised shield, sending sparks and bolthead slivers into his face.  The priest heard more than saw Raylin dispatch a pair of men that attempted to use the opportunity to escape the inferno behind them.

Two more quickly followed. Kellus traded blows with one, felt he got the better of the exchange, then nearly collapsed as a fourth crossbow bolt impaled his shin.   The Helmite gamely ambled forward, finished off one of the men Raylin had dropped, and took up a position directly in front of the now-gaping exit.

“More come,” he muttered in a voice made hoarse from pain.

Four more, to be exact - one after the other, in quick succession. 

Raylin moved to meet them.  The ranger’s borrowed blades flashed outward, slicing open the cheek of the first and showering all the combatants in a red mist.  Even as the first brigand dropped to his knees, his companion dove forward and tackled Raylin to the ground.  A third man lent his weight to the pile. 

Kellus moved forward – with as much speed as his wounded leg would allow – but his movement was blocked by the fourth man. The Helmite took a moment to judge his adversary. This warrior, unlike his companions, showed no signs of Destan’s fire. A mantle displaying the faded colors of a Basilican legion was draped over a well-tended chain shirt.  His eyes were hard, narrow, and utterly without fear. 

“I have no fight with you. Step aside, priest.” 

Kellus shook his head, cautious now. He knew the dove-white and purple colors on the man’s surcoat marked him as a member – or former member – of the Third Arens Legion.  If such were the case, Kellus was outmatched - and he knew it. “I will not.”

The Arenite spared at glance toward the ground; Raylin was nearly hidden beneath the flailing elbows and knees of the two men atop him. When the deserter looked up, Kellus saw the resolve in his eyes. “Then you die, priest, and may your god forgive me.”

It took only one exchange for Kellus to realize the legionary spoke the truth. Try as he might, Kellus was unable to get beyond the man’s guard; the Arenite’s gladius was everywhere at once.  Kellus was capable with a mace, certainly, and knew the right way to buckle on his breastplate – but, all told, the Helmite appreciated the difficulty of his current situation.

Though it was not, perhaps, as difficult as Raylin’s. 

Kellus could hear his friend’s muffled groans – they were tinged with pain. He needed to act, and act _now_. With a cry to Helm that sounded more like a drunkard’s cough, Kellus lowered his head and charged his opponent.

The legionary deftly stepped to one side, kicked Kellus’ leg out from under him, and sliced his backside as if he were smacking the rump of a passing tavern wench. Kellus nearly crumpled to the ground, blood hot and sticky on the rear of his legs.

The Arenite was behind him, now. Kellus, wounded as he was and located between the open doorway and the legionary, suddenly found himself in an even worse position.  No sounds came from the grapple at his feet; Raylin might already be dead.  

Kellus ignored the doorway to his back and focused solely on the legionary with the short, stabbing sword. _Helm, protect me._  Though the Arenite returned his stare his eyes were focused elsewhere; doubtless the man wondered whether he should flee immediately or finish Kellus first. As it turned out, the legionary never reached a decision.

The slender tip of a Lantern Grove quarrel suddenly protruded from the Arenite’s forehead like the spire of a unicorn. His eyes rolled back into his head, and he dropped to both knees before falling forward.

Kellus had forgotten about Mellish, but Mellish had not forgotten about him. 

Another elf-made bolt shot downward from the shadowy rooftops across the alleyway. A man that had been straddling Raylin’s inert form toppled to the ground, a quarrel in the nape of his neck.

The brief respite allowed Kellus to wonder why, in the name of Almighty Helm, Baden and Cleaver hadn’t moved to help him. Then he saw his answer – the other door was vomiting a horde of men onto the dwarf and the half-troll. Kellus caved in the face of the last of Raylin’s attackers, almost as an afterthought, and knelt at the ranger’s side.

_He is dead._ Kellus felt grief explode into his chest with as much force as Destan’s earlier fireballs. _Of all…of all of them…why Raylin?_

“Hea…heal me.”

Kellus opened his eyes – he had not realized he had closed them – and stared at his friend in wonderment. _No one could have survived those wounds._ His companion was torn and rent like a child’s discarded doll, his head nearly twice its normal size from the pummeling that had pounded him into submission.

“Kel…please…”

Kellus needed no more prompting. With a deep sigh, suddenly oblivious to the chaos surrounding him, Kellus did what he did best. He _healed_. 

And Helm answered. Bones knitted together, torn flesh melded – first into ragged strips, then rough seams, then nearly invisible lines. Kellus willed Raylin’s heartbeat to match his own, strong and rapid. Blood pumped, arteries leapt into life, color returned to the Larrenman’s once-ashen face.

Raylin gently pushed away Kellus’ hands as the ranger took a knee. He allowed himself one deep breath before gathering his swords and moving once more toward the open doorway.  In the time it took Raylin to advance two paces, a gaggle of frightened, half-burnt men exploded outward from the warehouse inferno.

Kellus stumbled forward to stand beside his reinvigorated companion. He had no idea how he had been given the opportunity to heal his friend; surely he should have been killed from behind. _Helm._  Helm had spared him.  The brief moment of relative peace had allowed him to do his God’s work.

_No – not Helm,_ Kellus corrected himself as he glanced at a pair of bodies behind him. Neither corpse had been there when he had first knelt to heal Raylin; both were pierced by crossbow bolts. _Mellish.  That wonderful, arrogant elf._

***

Mellish, for a time, had forgotten to breathe. He sucked air into his lungs as he scanned the tableau below. The elf had placed twenty bolts in front of him on the lip of the roof, before the fires had burned the sky. None now remained.

He had more, of course, in the quiver tied to his leg – but these were not as finely fashioned as those that had been shot. Mellish rolled to one side, grabbed a handful of bolts by their fletching, and cast them in front of him like a pagan might do with rune-bones. With practiced ease the elf thumbed one into his crossbow’s center-notch. 

The priest and the ranger were alone on the field, for the moment. Cleaver and the dwarf, however, were hard-pressed. Mellish adjusted his position, raised the crossbow, and stared down the length of his nocked bolt. He saw movement within the darkness of the furthest doorway – his elven vision seemed to be helped by the fire burning within the warehouse.

The elf slowly exhaled, judged where the concealed man _might_ be, and pulled the trigger. A body fell into the alleyway, a bolt embedded in the man’s collarbone. It was, Mellish knew, an incredibly lucky shot. 

Not that he’d tell anyone, of course.

_We are losing._

That thought began to surface again and again in Mellish’s head. The elf shot the bolts that were before him, gathered another handful, and proceeded to begin shooting those as well. For the first time in his life Mellish thought he might actually run out of ammunition. _And what then? Swordplay? Bugger that. I will run._

The wave of men fleeing from the warehouse had slackened somewhat, but Mellish thought this was due more to caution than any significant dwindling in their numbers. _By Avanu,_ he swore, _how many are there?_

Mellish watched as the priest lumbered toward the dwarf, placed his hands on him, and began to pray. He looked toward Cleaver; there the brute stood, alone, armor bedecked with gore. Mellish had seen the half-troll hug one poor bastard against the spikes protruding from his breastplate – it looked as if some of the man’s torso still hung there, impaled.

A cry broke Mellish’s reverie. He looked away from Cleaver and saw that the Larrenman had been left alone at his door.  A cordon of men had rushed him, and two of them made no pretense to fight.  They were fleeing, and fleeing fast.  They dodged the clansman’s swords and sprinted from him in terror.  Before Mellish could react, both men disappeared from view.

Mellish grabbed a bolt as he stood.  He ran to the adjacent side of the roof. No one could be allowed to escape – any one of them, Destan had said, might be a feratu. The elf scoured the alleyway below with iridescent eyes. “Where?” he breathed, softly, to himself.

_There._

Both men were still running.  They were sprinting down the center of an alleyway, heedless of the debris at their feet. Mellish lifted the crossbow to his shoulder, aimed, and fired. The lead man fell, rolling forward across the cobbles until his head impacted the corner of a nearby building. 

Mellish reloaded.

The second man pulled up, slower now, eyes scanning the rooftops.  Mellish saw the fear therein, even from this distance. 

_I’m…_ 

Mellish aimed… 

_…up…_

…shot…

_here._

The man dropped.

Mellish paused only long enough to ensure neither man moved.  He raced backward toward his original perch, half-certain it would be too late.  The elf expected to see the bodies of his companions being trampled by the feratus’ minions. 

What he saw was worse.

***

Baden sucked in mouthfuls of the night air. Kellus had brought him back – twice – from the edge of Moradin’s long embrace. But the dwarf still bled, still hurt. His movements were slow, his breathing ragged. If Destan and his boys didn’t soon reach the rear of the warehouse, it would be over. And in a bad way.

_ – A demon, Baden! I sense him!_

The dwarf wiped gore and sweat from his brow and surveyed the battlefield. 

Raylin and Kellus were together once again, in front of their own door. Cleaver had not left his post; indeed, the half-troll had remained stationary save for the one time he had loped forward to gather one poor bastard to his spiked chest in a deadly hug.

Other than his friends, however, Baden saw no one. _Time for a bit o’ cheer._ “Seems them bastards would rather burn to death than…than step out here and face us.”  Cleaver and Kellus ignored him, but Raylin flashed a fierce, blood-specked grin.

Baden sighed and made his way back toward his post opposite Cleaver.  He wiped his palms on his breeches; it was becoming difficult to maintain a good grip on Borbidan’s axe. The dwarf took a care to watch where he stepped. _By the High Forge, what a mess._

Cleaver eyed him impassively. “Go, if you must.”

“Go?”

The half-troll nodded toward Baden’s legs.  The dwarf looked down.  His thighs and knees were awash in his own blood, and grew darker by the moment. Baden raised his head and traded a look with the half-troll. “Like hell.”

Cleaver turned away without comment and once again faced the blackness of the doorway.

Baden placed his back to the wall of the warehouse, partly to steady himself. His vision was blurry, now, his head swimming. He wanted to call to Kellus but knew without asking that the priest’s divine power was spent. 

There would be no more healing this night, only death.

_- Baden, please! A demon!_

As Baden squared his shoulders against the wall, he saw the ground in the center of the alleyway _move._ “What in the hell-”

Cleaver followed his glance. “Sewers!”

Evidently some of the retreating men had found a new exit from the warehouse. By the time Baden registered the moving sewer plate, it had been pushed to the side.  Already a number of thick, black rats were streaming upward into the alleyway from the hole.

Baden lumbered forward as he called to Cleaver over his shoulder, “You stay…I’ll…I’ll get the sewers.”

His chest was burning from exertion, his stomach a bellyful of coals. He kicked away one rat, stepped over another, and took up a position near the manhole. A head, thick with sweat-plastered hair, was beneath him. It was almost unfair.  Baden swung; the head was beneath him no more.

A second man scampered upward into the dimness of the alleyway, a dagger held feebly above him in one hand. Baden had the good grace to allow him to expose his midsection before the dwarf returned him, too, to the blackness below.

A third man died to Mellish’s bolt, and yet another to Baden’s axe.

Silence fell.

***

“It is I – Destan!” A voice filled with wrathful authority called outward from the fire-rimmed blackness of the warehouse. “The warehouse is clear! We are coming out!”

Baden glanced over his shoulder, back toward Cleaver. The half-troll did not lower his guard as he barked, “What flowers?”

“Poppalun.”

Evidently, Baden realized, it was some sort of code. Cleaver seemed satisfied. The half-troll lowered his falchion - somewhat reluctantly. _Mad.  The half-troll is mad as a dwem blood-druid._

Destan appeared in the doorway. His robes, always stained with grime, were now soot-covered. He appeared unhurt. A number of his men filtered past him and spread outward into the alleyway, weapons ready.

The Archmage let his gaze dance over the dozens of corpses piled before both doors. He looked toward Kellus. “Four of the fertau are accounted for. There was a fifth. Did you take him?”

The priest shook his head as his back slid down the wall of the warehouse.  Kellus sat quietly for a moment, legs straight as church pews before him. The Helmite was as white as Borsk snow.

Raylin, too, dropped to one knee. “If the feratu came through either of these doors, the feratu died.” The Larrenman’s voice was clipped with fatigue.

“No.” Destan’s eyes smoldered. “He is not here.”

“The sewers,” Mellish called from the roof.  The elf pointed his crossbow toward the open manhole.  “More came from there.”

Without hesitation, Destan murmured a word and walked forward. He stepped into the air above the open sewer well and immediately began a gentle, cascading descent into the darkness. He disappeared from view.

Baden removed his helm and sat on it.  He heard distant shouts of alarm from Val Hor’s citizenry; the smoke from the burning warehouse was visible even in the night sky.  Baden didn’t pay either – citizens or smoke - any mind.  No one did.

Finally, after what could have been only moments, Destan re-emerged from the depths.  He seemed to have lost some of the power he had held only moments before.  “There is no one below. No one alive. And no demon.”

Cleaver thumbed some indiscriminate glob of flesh from the edge of his blade. “Could this last feratu have fled through the sewers?”

Destan shook his head. “All the adjoining waterways are securely grated. There is no egress save this well.” His head snapped up, suddenly. “Cleaver - do you smell it?  The demon?”

Cleaver removed his helm.  The half-troll pushed hair away from his face and smelled the night air. “The smoke makes it hard…but…yes, I smell the demon. Close.” Even Cleaver seemed surprised.

Destan nodded slowly before turning to survey his men, including the Brothers of Olgotha.  His eyes glittered with hardness.  “It masquerades as one of us, then?” The Archmage walked toward Cleaver. “Speak, half-troll! Has the demon taken one of our forms for its own?”

“No,” Cleaver breathed, almost to himself. The half-troll crouched, smelled the ground nearest the sewers, and then raised his head to look down a retreating alleyway. “He went that way. And recently.”

“Oh, blessed Helm,” Kellus swore from where he was still slumped against the side of the warehouse. “Blessed, blessed Helm…”

“If you know something, priest,” Cleaver growled, “you’d best tell it.”

“The _rats_.” Kellus stared at his friends in disappointed shock. “The feratu – it was one of the rats that fled upward from the sewers.”

Destan clenched his teeth, his cheeks hard beneath his threadbare beard. “We have failed, then. The feratu is gone.” 

The Archmage looked anew at the gore of the battlefield, then turned to scan the men crowding around him. Behind and above them the sky continued to burn and, even now, running footsteps could be heard moving in their direction.

Baden looked to where Raylin leaned on his swords next to him.  “We had best be leaving this place, and soon.”  The dwarf didn’t know nor care how much political clout the Archmage had with the rulers of Val Hor; few noble uppity-up’s would forgive a man who incinerated a city block.  “This wizard…he stands there when we should be fleeing.”

“He is counting,” Raylin replied, softly. “He counts the faces of those that now stand around him.”

Baden had not known Cleaver was behind him until the half-troll spat. “Wrong, Larrenman - he counts those faces that do not. There is a difference.”

Destan’s shoulders sagged, after a bit, and he drew a shaking hand across his face. “Come, my sons, let us collect the bodies of our own. The night’s work is finished.”





* Cleaver’s first in-game attack was a deadly, confirmed critical. It proved an auspicious beginning for Matt’s (aka John of Pell) new character. I’m not very good about remembering play-by-play actions within combat, but this battle was different. There were a couple things that stood out enough for me to recall even now, perhaps two years after this particular session. Other than Cleaver’s deadly strike, he also bear-hugged (grappled) a guy to death against his spiked armor. Mellish did, indeed, send two long-range shots after two guys that would have otherwise escaped the scene; both hit, both died. If Kellus weren’t bald, his hair would have been on fire – I recall him running around healing his companions like a madman. Anyway, it was a pretty good fight, and a great way to introduce two new Brothers – Cleaver and Mellish.


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## dravot

Yay!  Destan-y goodness to read on the subway!

 Hope you had a good turkey-day, Destan.


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## WizarDru

Glee!  One more reason to give Thanks!  

 That sounds like it was a bloodbath.  I'm curious about the apian deserter, was he a straight up fighter?  How long did it take to play this battle out, in real time, a few hours?  A good chunk of one of your marathon sessions?


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## Wisdom Penalty

i agree - a thanksgiving thank you sent your way.

but an elf...with a _crossbow_? what gives?


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## LostSoul

Ha ha, the rats.  That is real rat-bastard DM goodness.


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## pogre

A fierce, bloody fight - now THAT'S roleplaying!  

Tomorrow I embark on a marathon session much like you and your crew do from time-to-time. Lots of old players in from out of town. Sundays are made for resting anyway - right?


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## The Forsaken One

Owned is the word.

Great update y0


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## Apian Elite

Greetings everyone, I play Mellish in Destan's story hour and, I'm the brother of Matt (a.k.a: Maladrac, a.k.a: Cleaver).  I was coming off a six year lay-off from D&D when they asked me join in.  I've been gaming since I was 8 and dearly missed it in the six years I was away from it.  Needless to say, I was more than grateful for the invite.  To answer Wisdom Penalty's question, an elf with a cross bow is rather...strange.  When I got the call to play, I had about a day or so to put a character together with no understanding what so ever of 3rd edition rules.  So my elder, wiser but weaker brother and I sat down and put Mellish on paper.  It took about two or three sessions to fully grasp 3E rules, and if I had to do it all over again, I'd do some things differently.  There is alot more I could say about Mellish, but I don't want to give anything away.  When I get an OK from Destan, I'll put him in the Rogues Gallery.  

Kram


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## Destan

WizarDru said:
			
		

> That sounds like it was a bloodbath.  I'm curious about the apian deserter, was he a straight up fighter?  How long did it take to play this battle out, in real time, a few hours?  A good chunk of one of your marathon sessions?




You know, Druby, I'm not sure how long it took. I can't remember, to be honest.  Some of our "simpler" combats have a way of dragging at times, and sometimes the "climactic" encounters just whip on by.  I've also seen how "minor" combats can become deadly, and "major" ones just end up being nothing more than a slight road bump for the party.  Suffice to say, we've had a couple sessions/adventures end in rather boring, quick, painless (for the PCs) fights.  Sorta leaves me sitting behind the screen with all my stats and plans cluttered about in torn up paper in front of me.  Damn this game. 

The Apian deserter was just a fighter.  To the PCs, at the time, he may have been no different than the other riff-raff, except his attack actually _hit_, which seemed to be rare for me.  My dice were off.

On a completely unrelated note, does anyone have any suggestions as to how to remove old marker lines on a battlemat?  Some of our lines were made with the wrong type of marker (thank you, Kellus), but some are still there simply because I took too long to wipe them off after a session.  Wondering if there's any home remedies out there that may have worked for one of you guys.

Pogre - let us know how your reunion/marathon session went, when you get a chance.  There's nothing better than getting togther with some old gaming friends and rolling bones.

Pudgy D


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## pogre

Destan said:
			
		

> On a completely unrelated note, does anyone have any suggestions as to how to remove old marker lines on a battlemat?
> 
> Pogre - let us know how your reunion/marathon session went, when you get a chance.  There's nothing better than getting togther with some old gaming friends and rolling bones.
> 
> Pudgy D




One thing i have done is traced over them with the right kind of marker and then wiped them up again. The inks sometimes adhere together and allow you to pick them up. I know the trick works on permanent marker on a dry erase board, but I don't know about the mats. If you get desperate there is a permanent ink remover, but it might damage your mat.

The marathon session was outstanding. Old players from around the country came in and played with the group. We started at 1:00 PM on Saturday and concluded around 3:30 AM on Sunday. Some guys had very long drives on Sunday or we might have played longer - definitely a great time.


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## Maladrac

Destan said:
			
		

> You know, Druby, I'm not sure how long it took. I can't remember, to be honest.
> Pudgy D





Heh.  That's funny, I remember it like it just happened.  If you look back to the end of "Sins I", we had experimented with splitting the party, which resulted in most of us getting our butts handed to us on one of Destan's plates.  Our reasoning was that, since us players are scattered around the country, we could play more often if we split into smaller groups based on real-world geography.  The first night we central-PA guys played (Raylin, Kellus and John), the outside world pretty much pooped on our party.  So we rescheduled another evening and took measures to ensure no interuptions.

Much to our delight, Frostrune (aka. Baden) walked in the door behind Destan, having made the 3.5 hour drive from the D.C. area.  That evening resulted in chapters 9 and 10 of "Sins II".  We started around 9PM and wrapped up around 4AM.  About half the evening was spent on the battle mentioned.  The other half was all role-playing; meeting Destan and friends, 'getting to know' The Cleaver and Mellish, and a great deal of planning before the battle.


And, Pudgy D, 'Goof Off' will take that marker right off your battleboard.  You can get it cheap at Wallyworld, or just remind me and I'll bring some to next session.


I'm The Cleaver, and I approved this message.


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## Mortepierre

Can't let this treasure trove of rp ideas wander too far of page 1!

BUMP


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## grodog

Destan said:
			
		

> On a completely unrelated note, does anyone have any suggestions as to how to remove old marker lines on a battlemat?  Some of our lines were made with the wrong type of marker (thank you, Kellus), but some are still there simply because I took too long to wipe them off after a session.  Wondering if there's any home remedies out there that may have worked for one of you guys.




These links may help, Destan: 

http://www.chessex.com/mats/Mat Maintenance.htm
http://216.239.57.104/search?q=cach...t+erase"+"dry+erase"+cleaning+battlemat&hl=en
http://216.239.57.104/search?q=cach...t+erase"+"dry+erase"+cleaning+battlemat&hl=en

I've also used Windex on my mat (which is a Crystal Castle IIRC).

A belated thanks for the fabulous update---I only read it this afternoon.  It was well-worth the wait!


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## trexmaster

How come this thread's on second page ?

BUMP !


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## iwatt

BUMP....Bump.....Bump


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## hobbit_killer

*Bump*

Second page is one thing, but third page?  C'mon.


Your friendly neighborhood cannibal.


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## MACLARREN

Destan has been busy preparing for our Sins Finale which is scheduled for the 14th of January and a new campaign beginning on the 15th of January with Destan taking a little break to play as a PC.  Maladrac will be the new DM and it should be a great campaign as well.  There is SO MUCH MORE TO TELL HERE!  Destan has enough material to write for years if he so chooses so keep on him because we are at the point that the story really comes together and the name Loroth begins to have a meaning.


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## thebitdnd

Bump!


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## fafhrd

First page we go.


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## Mortepierre

Destan,

Just wanted to congratulate you on your published campaign. I finally managed to get a US copy delivered to Europe (here, it's all but impossible to find a distributor) and I am now happily browsing through it. Well done!


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## neg

*Hey Destan*

What are you working on?  Anything in regards to your campaign setting?   Another project all together?  Or is it your first novel...?  

I would be curious to hear what your working on and how it is going.  Hope you are finding some time to game as well.

-neg


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## Destan

Happy (late) New Year, everyone!

Mortepierre - Glad to hear you got a copy in Europe. I know some Aussies had some difficulties finding it, as well.  Hope you enjoy the read.



			
				neg said:
			
		

> What are you working on? Anything in regards to your campaign setting? Another project all together? Or is it your first novel...?
> 
> I would be curious to hear what your working on and how it is going. Hope you are finding some time to game as well.




Still finding time to game.  In fact, this past weekend was our last Sins campaign session.  What began back in September of 2001 has finally ended.  I must admit - I feel a huge sense of relief now that it's over.  I'm ready (have been ready, actually) to set aside the DM's hat for a little while.  Maladrac (aka John of Pell) has taken over the DMing duties in a campaign world more accurately based on the _Valus_ sourcebook.  His campaign is already off to a rip-roarin', fun start.  And, in a twist of irony, I'm playing a bard.

As far as _Valus_: I was told by DWP's editor that the _Return of Ippizicus Child-Eater_ "mega-module" is coming out this month.  (They released a limited edition version at GenCon; this one has new cover art.)  However, nothing on DWP's web site mentions this, so I'm not sure of the status.  Hopefully it shows up on your FLGS' shelves; I'm pretty proud of it.

Personally, I'm not writing any Valus-based stuff right now.  I do know DWP is talking with a couple other authors on Valus-based proposals.  One is a Valusian sourcebook on evil and good fey; another is a module that pulls in some of the old Epalan history.  I've only seen the initial proposals (and was quite impressed with both).

I am, however, working with Benjamin Durbin (Wulf Ratbane) from *Bad Axe Games* on a couple projects.  One's little, one's big, one's due shortly, one's not slated to be released for a while.  Can't really say more than that, other than the fact that both projects have been a joy to write.  

I picked up my tattered copy of _The Black Company_ recently.  Green Ronin's new campaign setting reminded me I hadn't read it in a while.  Man, that's a solid read.  If you haven't flipped through Glen Cook's novel, you deserve that treat.

Anyway...as usual, I mean to post something short and then I start babbling.  The Sins campaign is over, but the updates (however infrequent) will continue.  Some time.  

For those of you who sent me templates, monsters, demons, ideas, stat blocks, etc. - thanks.  But we can turn off the faucet for a bit - I'm happy being a little ol' player for once!

Take care, everyone -

D


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## The Forsaken One

To which mail adres we can send them for now? (like to maldarac )


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## Destan

Hiya all,

No update, per se, but just got a great piece of art from EN World's very own Aussie Al MacFarlane.  It's his interpretation of a roven, a gnoll-like nomadic race from the Valus.  We haven't had a roven show up in this story hour thus far, but I thought it couldn't hurt to post the pic here.

Once I get over the Steelers' loss (in a year or so), I'll throw up an update.  In the interim, my humble advice is to check out the X-PATH story hour by Capellan.  First non-D&D SH that bit into me and won't let go.  Solid stuff.

Whee,
D


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## Wisdom Penalty

the guy's (Al) got talent, for certain.  my favourite piece of his is the gordian chieftain in valus.

and i already knew about capellan's x-path...it is a fun, wild read.

now update.

hotlanta manta,
W.P.


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## Capellan

Destan said:
			
		

> Once I get over the Steelers' loss (in a year or so), I'll throw up an update.  In the interim, my humble advice is to check out the X-PATH story hour by Capellan.  First non-D&D SH that bit into me and won't let go.  Solid stuff.




Hey, X-PATH is D&D!  D&D on *really bad drugs*, perhaps, but still D&D.

OK, D&D on really bad drugs and with gratuitous use of shotguns and grenades.

Glad you like it


----------



## Seule

Thanks, Destan, for keeping up the quality. It's not necessary (it'd have to fall a lot before I'd stop reading) but it's a nice feature. 

--Seule


----------



## Piratecat

Destan said:
			
		

> It's his interpretation of a roven, a gnoll-like nomadic race from the Valus.




Hey, I killed one of those while playing in your campaign world! 



> Once I get over the Steelers' loss (in a year or so), I'll throw up an update.




No worries, my friend; at least the Patriots won.


----------



## WizarDru

Piratecat said:
			
		

> Hey, I killed one of those while playing in your campaign world!
> 
> No worries, my friend; at least the Patriots won.




See you got both of those wrong.  What you meant was "Hey, I _played_ one of those" (you mercilessly slaughtered goblins) and "_Curses_, my friend; _if only the Eagles had won._"  I'm sure that's what you *meant*, anyways.


----------



## grodog

WizarDru said:
			
		

> See you got both of those wrong.  What you meant was ... and "_Curses_, my friend; _if only the Eagles had won._"  I'm sure that's what you *meant*, anyways.




Well said Dru 

Heya Destan, how about an update?!?  

*bump*


----------



## grodog

*grodog casts _restoration to page 1_*


----------



## grodog

We're conducting a Valus-related poll, in case any of you would like to chime in:
http://www.enworld.org/showthread.php?t=122434


----------



## Lela

One of the benifits of hanging out in the SH forum is that you can disapear for months, come back, and find that you haven't missed much.


----------



## Tumakhunter

Lela said:
			
		

> One of the benifits of hanging out in the SH forum is that you can disapear for months, come back, and find that you haven't missed much.




Um..yeah.  This is a good thing?  I've been gone a couple months, too, and am a little disappointed to not find anything new.  Ah, well, I guess life happens to us all.


----------



## Wisdom Penalty

mr. destan

you know i like you.  ive been addicted to your story hour since it was first recommended to me.  so please dont take this the wrong way, but: you're an idiot.

or at least you did an idiotic thing.  im referring to your post about cross gender pc's.  what on earth did you _think_ would happen after you posted that?  some of the people on these boards _live_ for those types of posts.  it makes their year.  you may have been just curious, and gaming may be just a game to you, but those guys eat and breathe this stuff.  i think you brought a kukri to a falchion fight.

you seem like a "normal" guy who just had a preference for same-sex pc's in your setting.  fine.  but for some people, their characters ARE their lives.  those guys tearing their hair out on that other thread may be married (or at least say they are), may have other interests, may have this and that...but when it comes down to it, they've got their characters and their gaming.  and woe to anyone who even suggests their way isn't the proper way.  throw in some superiority complexes and gender confusion, and youve got T R O U B L E.

im supposed to be the one with the wisdom penalty - not you.  you brought that on yourself.

im sorry for resurrecting the (blown out of proportion) topic here, but i was hoping some good might come of it...perhaps that firestorm of whining over there shocked you back out of your shell?  enough to post an update?  

wishful thinking?

W.P.


----------



## WizarDru

I don't think anything good can come from that topic of discussion, honestly.  I think Destan was pretty clear in stating what he expected to happen, versus what actually did.  And I think that's really all that needs be said on that, at least in this thread.

Destan, I have a head full of holes: who is writing a Valusian Story Hour, based on your game?  Fumeris, is it?


----------



## hobbit_killer

*other Valus story hour*

Yes its Funeris and it can be found here:

http://www.enworld.org/showthread.php?t=97346


----------



## Funeris

heya WizarDru, you rang?

I should torture...err...persuade Destan into linking to the other SH in his sig.  But, eh, the man's always busy.  And he seems to be permanently emotionally scarred from that other thread no one should ever talk about again.  I'm not sure he'll ever sign back on to Enworld (at least without some encouragement from his fans).

But, yeah.

[Shameless.Plug]So, I'm writing the other SH.  For any of his loyal readers out there who haven't delved into the other game...the link is also in my sig.  [/Shameless.Plug]


----------



## WizarDru

Thanks much.  Reading it now.  

Gracias.


----------



## TDRandall

I have ordered Valus from Amazon and should have it in my sweaty palms in a matter of days (ok, maybe weeks since I went for the free shipping).

As a loyal Destan supporter, I hereby humbly request a story update.  Even if just a little one!  You really don't want to see me cry and beg!  (er.... I just crossed that line, didn't I?)


----------



## TheYeti1775

You know I can't believe I hadn't subscribed to this thread yet.

Don't worry I will wear my pleated skirt and chainmail bikini with my muscle shirt for the next game.

haha


----------



## grodog

TDRandall said:
			
		

> I have ordered Valus from Amazon and should have it in my sweaty palms in a matter of days (ok, maybe weeks since I went for the free shipping).




On behalf of Ryan and DWP, thanks for your purchase TDRandall (and everyone else who has bought Valus and Ippy, of course)   Hopefully the big D will feel up to scribing some fiction again soon!


----------



## Destan

TDRandall said:
			
		

> I have ordered Valus from Amazon and should have it in my sweaty palms in a matter of days (ok, maybe weeks since I went for the free shipping).




TD - please drop me a line to let me know what you think.  Especially if you plan on using it for a campaign, and especially-especially if you plan on basing said campaign in Luc Valu (I know of _no_ Valus-based campaigns set within the southern part of the island - including my own).  Hrmph! 



			
				Wisdom Penalty said:
			
		

> i think you brought a kukri to a falchion fight.




No kidding.  I would have preferred a scroll of _teleport_ to get the heck out of Dodge when the flames began to climb higher and higher.  I'm never venturing in the General Forum again! 

And Wisdom Penalty, you may be happy to know you made front page news on both of my campaigns' web sites.  They particularly liked your line that I quoted above.  The guys from the Sins' campaign didn't realize a firestorm had erupted until seeing your post on here.  It took them three days to find the relevant thread.  So thanks for that, too... 


Anyways, hope all of you had a great weekend.  

Here's one chubby little DM who's looking forward to spring!

Cheers,
D


----------



## GoodKingJayIII

Haven't been here in a long while, but oh how I've missed Valus and the SoOF.  I'll be spending some time catching up with this baby over the next few days.  Hope you're doing well, Destan.  Keep writing!

PS:  Where's this new art?  (I know it's not actually that new, but it's new to me)


----------



## Destan

GoodKingJayIII said:
			
		

> Haven't been here in a long while, but oh how I've missed Valus and the SoOF.  I'll be spending some time catching up with this baby over the next few days.  Hope you're doing well, Destan.  Keep writing!
> 
> PS:  Where's this new art?  (I know it's not actually that new, but it's new to me)




Hi didly doo, Yer Majesty Mr. Jay - the art is attached to post #304.  Al MacFarlane (one of our own EN Worlders) did his impression of a roven (think half-gnoll).  Roven don't appear in this story hour, but they're in the sourcebook.  I just liked the pic so much I wanted to post it here.  I think Al's got talent, and would like to see more of his stuff published in the industry.

And for anyone else that wanders by or lurks around here, have any of you checked out the online gaming program *Fantasy Grounds*?  I must admit - I'm having a blast with that little prog.  Seems to be what the doctor ordered as far as gaming with geographically dispersed friends.  I've started up a new campaign based on the _Black Company_ novels by Glen Cook, in a homebrew world, with a heavy dose of house rules.  Lots of fun.  If you have old friends you gamed with and have since moved or what-not, you may want to check it out.  Ok, I'll stop my sales pitch here.

Take care,
D


----------



## Ryltar

Finally .

After several months now, I'm holding the Valus Sourcebook in my hands - it's not been easy to get a hold of it over here in Europe. But all the waiting has paid off.

Destan, this is great work. After reading through it, I'm beginning to imagine how much thought went into the CS. I'm not yet sure if I will be running a campaign in the Valus itself, but even if not, it is a great font of ideas. Let me give you a big "thank you" both for this book and the wonderful reading you gave me with your SHs.

Oh, and of course, if the book pays off, the next thing on my wishlist would be a deluxe hardcover edition, illustrated by Todd Lockwood . Everyone, go buy "Valus", if you haven't already.


----------



## Destan

Ryltar said:
			
		

> Finally .
> 
> After several months now, I'm holding the Valus Sourcebook in my hands - it's not been easy to get a hold of it over here in Europe. But all the waiting has paid off.
> 
> Destan, this is great work. After reading through it, I'm beginning to imagine how much thought went into the CS. I'm not yet sure if I will be running a campaign in the Valus itself, but even if not, it is a great font of ideas. Let me give you a big "thank you" both for this book and the wonderful reading you gave me with your SHs.
> 
> Oh, and of course, if the book pays off, the next thing on my wishlist would be a deluxe hardcover edition, illustrated by Todd Lockwood . Everyone, go buy "Valus", if you haven't already.




Thanks Ryltar!  Glad you enjoyed the book.  Of the 1.2 million that have been sold, 350,000 have gone to overseas customers.  

Well, maybe those numbers are a _bit_ off, but the proportion (I think) is close to the same.  I think that's indicative of the diversity within the EN World community.  Pretty cool, if I do say so myself.  

And I'd like to get some Jim Holloway sketches in the reprint, as well - I'm a huge fan of the old school B&W illustrations from 1st Edition.  

Take care,
D


----------



## Lela

You might want to redo the cover too.  That whole blue thing doesn't quite fit the setting.  But I've already made that comment.

1.2 million have been sold?  Holy anti-paladin activity batman!


----------



## WizarDru

Heh.  I think those numbers might be a tad....larger...than the actual sales.


----------



## grodog

Lela said:
			
		

> 1.2 million have been sold?  Holy anti-paladin activity batman!




LOL.  Lela, you need a _Detect Sarcasm_ cantrip


----------



## Lela

grodog said:
			
		

> LOL.  Lela, you need a _Detect Sarcasm_ cantrip



 Or someone to hit me with a _Dispel Optimism._


----------



## Lazybones

I DLed this thread and a number of others as text files to take to work (and look busy) during slow spurts, since my office blocks ENWorld and any other fun sites. Now that I'm up to date on book 2, I wanted to offer my comments and thanks for your story. 

I only vaguely remembered book 1 (the child-eater demon did stick out in my memory), but I quickly sank into the depth of the milieu. I thought that the characters were portrayed very vividly, with the prose equally effective at building suspense and evoking emotions as one reads. Given the difficulty of doing this in a serial format (especially given the long breaks between chapters), I was quite impressed. It looks like the story is on hiatus now (like many of the great ones here, unfortunately), but when I do another round of DLs in a few months, I'll check back in and see what happens. Based on the high mark you've set, Destan, I have no doubt I'll be quickly swept back into the high drama of your story. 

LB


----------



## Destan

Lazybones said:
			
		

> I DLed this thread and a number of others as text files to take to work (and look busy) during slow spurts...




Aha!  I empathize, and have been known to do the same thing.  I think the longer SHs are infinitely more readable in some nice, tidy doc format.  Anything to shirk work.

Thanks for reading, Mr. Bones, and for stopping by.  It's always nice to hear someone's reading those older yarns, and it's especially nice coming from a fellow starving SH author.

I haven't been spending as much time within these forums as I used to, and I'm regretful I haven't read more SHs (such as your own), but I can surmise from your post that you've got a way with words.  You made me feel good.  I owe you.

Thanks,
D


----------



## rantipole

Lazybones said:
			
		

> I DLed this thread and a number of others as text files to take to work (and look busy) during slow spurts, since my office blocks ENWorld and any other fun sites. Now that I'm up to date on book 2, I wanted to offer my comments and thanks for your story.
> LB




Hey all,

Is there an easy way to DL these as text files? I've cut and pasted stuff into Word but it's a pain. As you can probably tell, I'm not the most computer savvy person.

What are the chances of getting an update anytime soon? I love this SH and miss it terribly. 

Cheers,
Tom


----------



## Destan

rantipole said:
			
		

> Is there an easy way to DL these as text files? I've cut and pasted stuff into Word but it's a pain. As you can probably tell, I'm not the most computer savvy person.




Welcome to the boards, Rant!

Greyhawk DM kindly did all the legwork and plunked the first thread of this story hour into a Word doc.  You can download it (in three installments) at the bottom of the first post on this new thread.  



> What are the chances of getting an update anytime soon? I love this SH and miss it terribly.




I'm not sure what the odds are, but Sep just updated - so anything's possible!

Thanks for reading and stopping by,
D


----------



## trexmaster

Destan said:
			
		

> I'm not sure what the odds are, but Sep just updated - so anything's possible!




He also said that he's now aiming for shorter, more regular updates. Because he knows that us readers can't hold back the GSHW symptoms for long (GSHW stands for Great Story Hour Withdrawal, and the symptoms are : unrestricted violence & torture of innocent writers until they produce more SH  ).


----------



## Funeris

Anyone want Destan's address or phone number??
Its a more direct way to bug him 

just kidding of course....


----------



## Lela

rantipole said:
			
		

> Hey all,
> 
> Is there an easy way to DL these as text files? I've cut and pasted stuff into Word but it's a pain. As you can probably tell, I'm not the most computer savvy person.




If you're already subscribed to the thread, you can go to the top of the page, look for Thread Tools-> Download this Thread.  That gives you a text file of the entire thread.

Note that I, as yet, haven't had it work correctly in anything other than Internet Explorer.  But, if you're not computer savy, that's probably what you're using anyway.


----------



## rantipole

Hi Destan and Lela,

Thanks for turning me on to the download tool. I got it to work on Sep's SH, and I'm using Firefox. I'll try it on this SH when I'm home and not at work. I think downloading a Story Hour at work might be a no-no. 

Cheers, 
rantipole


----------



## Lela

Happy it worked out.


----------



## grodog

Hey Ryan--

Any chance for an update?


----------



## grodog

*Valus nominated for TWO 2005 ENNies!!!*

Wowza!!!!  

I'd like to congratulate Ryan on the ENNies nomination that Valus received for Best Writing *and also* for Best Campaign Setting!  That's a fabulous recognition of his efforts in crafting Valus!


----------



## frostrune

I can't offer you another update but I do have a little something that may wet your Valus appetite.

I play the character of Baden Dost in this story.  Baden started a journal chronicalling his version of the story starting sometime ago when he returned to his clanhalls alone and defeated the cave troll.

The following are his journal entries from then until where Destan currently left the story.  I hesitate to post more as I don't want to post spoilers without his permission.

Anyway, the journal is choppy and much cruder when compared to that of Destan, but hopefully you won't mind.

Congrats on the ENnies nominations Big D.

Frostrune

_____________________________________________________________

4th day of Uktar, 1366 DR

The deed is done.  The cavok’othga is dead and beyond all hope we rescued 18 of our kinfolk.  Moradin walked with us that day and kept us undetected within our mines until we were ready to strike.

The beast was strong and fast and his blows hit with the force of a battering ram!  He cracked the damned stone ‘neath my feet and scattered the bodies of our brethren as if they were gnats!  I hate to admit it but the Dwem make damn good armor.  If it weren’t for Borbidon’s plate and a fair bit of luck I would have fared no better than the rest of my kin.  Bardo and Tamil fought well, keeping the stinking orcs off my back so I could deal with the monster.  Bardo cleared the back ranks and even joined in the fight against the cavok’othga for a short time.  The beast made him pay however.  With a sickening crunch the troll stove in his skull and so fell Bardo the Bold in glorious and righteous battle.  You are avenged brother Bardo.  May you enjoy all the mead you can handle and sing battle songs with the rest of our kin in the High Forge, forevermore.  

Cave trolls are damned hard to kill and their wounds close almost as fast as you can make them.  Even fire didn’t affect it.  The som’bitch finally died when I cut its head off.  Tamil pulled himself together after the loss of his brother and I grabbed up the head and we took off as fast as we could back the way we came, but not before something called to me from behind that grate.  It recognized me as Borbidon and talked as if I should know him.  The only thing I know is anything that knew Borbidon was damned old and had no business in Axemarch mines!  I ignored the voice and fled.  I was in no shape to initiate another fight with something that evil and ancient.

Tamil and I returned the way we had come in and eventually got back to the iron gate that had been guarded by the first cave orcs we slew.  The door was still securely locked and I could still hear muffled noises from around the bend.  Again Moradin must have been with us.  Tamil and I hammered the door open against our better judgment and thank the Gods we did!  Eighteen of our kinfolk were bound and gagged in the room but otherwise unharmed.  We quickly cut them free and made the decision to return to the cave troll lair to gather armor and weapons from the dead.

Again, whatever was behind the smaller gate called to me to free it, and again I resisted.  It must have recognized that it couldn’t compel me so it called to some of the others.  One of them actually opened it.  I slammed it shut and damn near throttled the fool but it was more out of fear.  Others came to try the same thing but now I was on my guard and let none get close.  We needed to move before one of them got past me.  Tamil and I quickly ushered them all away but not before it tried one last time to control me (or was it my axe?).  I found myself walk right up the gate and reach for it before I finally gained control and fled.  What is this thing?  I’m afraid it might be another demon, long imprisoned.

Not all 18 survived the trip out.  One just wandered off while we were still in the lower mines.  I think this creature got inside his head and he couldn’t resist.  The poor bastard probably let it loose and it killed him.  I suspect the creature is no longer contained and is now up to who knows what kind of havoc.  A few others were injured in some crude deadfall traps the orcs must have set-up.  All told 14 walked out and 3 were carried.

I’m as happy as any of them to be out of the mines.  The plan is to head for the Ironfist holdings and hopefully meet up with the women and young who were sent on before Droggi and most of the Clan died.  We are an ill prepared bunch.  No food, no winter clothing, and no armor.  It will be a tough march but we are dwarves.  We will make it.

5th day of Uktar, 1366 DR

Damn me for a raw recruit!  I was so happy to be back outside the mountain that I became addle brained.  Instead of placing some men in flanking and point positions, we all marched in a big happy group and it cost us.  A group of Hobgobs got the jump on us and cut three men down before we knew they were on us.  We quickly turned the battle around and finished them but not before taking some serious injuries and the three loses.  The only good news is, we now have armor and cold weather gear, still no food.  The march is going to be even harder now with almost every man taking shifts carrying the wounded.  

I should have known better.

8th day of Uktar, 1366 DR   

Praise be to Moradin!  We arrived at Ironfist without further incident or injury.  We even had a good meal the night before.  Heh, I’ll have to remember to tell Anar that his horse tasted good…

It wasn’t the warm welcome I expected, at least not for me anyway.  Matron Ularta berated me more than thanked me and the others were coolly appreciative.  It seems they have heaped a heavy portion of the blame on me for leaving in the first place.  The trouble started shortly after I left.  I can’t see how that is anything but a coincidence but they seem to think otherwise. 

It was good to see Bellows again and drink hearty dwarven mead.  It would be nice to enjoy it for a few days but I know I must hurry to Val Hor to meet up with my friends.

There will be a Dwarf Counsel later to discuss what we encountered in the Axemarch mines and what the next course of action should be.  I have been asked to speak and frankly don’t relish the attention.  I fear that Ularta will order our few warriors to return to reclaim the halls.  We might win out against the orcs, but against the dwem or even a demon… the odds don’t seem too good.  I will try to relay my reservations without looking like a coward.  I think we should consult Destan the Grim and find out what he knows before sending any more lambs to the slaughter.  According to that ranger, Droggi had been in contact with the Archmage.  He was looking for something in mining that deep.  We need to know what he was looking for. 

9th day of Uktar, 1366 DR

The Dwarf Counsel is over.  Clan Axemarch will not return to reclaim their halls...  yet.  My words may have swayed Ularta and saved a few dwarven lives this day but I have paid a heavy price for speaking against her.  The enormity of the curse has not really hit home yet.  I just hope the same sentence is not passed on to Tamil.  He is a good and steadfast dwarf.  He risked much in supporting me, and risks more by accompanying me.  Right or wrong his bold words and actions will make him the same enemies I have made.  He reminds me much of myself but a few short months back.  Gods how things change!  Since I can’t discourage him from accompanying me I hope I can prevent him from making the same mistakes I have made.  He deserves a home to return to when this is all over.

Facing exile anyway, I have asked King Thodor if I could accompany his emissaries to Val Hor on the morrow.  There we will relay what we know to Destan the Grim and I hope to rejoin my companions.  

10th day of Uktar, 1366 DR

Once again I find myself traveling away from Dwarven lands, this time maybe for good.  I am “nil-thain”, clanless.  A punishment imposed upon only the worst of dwarves, a title most don’t have to bear for long as they are usually executed shortly thereafter.  When Ularta cast me out it hit me like a thunderbolt.  An outsider would not understand.  My friends would argue that I chose to venture out amongst the humans and I have thrived there.  It’s only a name they would say.  It means nothing to anyone who isn’t a dwarf.  But they do not understand.  To be “nil-thain” is not only to be shunned by dwarves who live but also shunned by dwarves who have died.  The spirits of my forefathers will not seek out my soul upon my death.  Without this guidance my soul is doomed to walk Ostia Prim forever.  Eternally, searching for a way to enter Moradin’s High Forge.  This is the true significance to the punishment and it weighs heavy on my heart.  

So be it.  

I know what I do is right and my faith in the Soul Forger is stronger than ever due to my recent trials.  All hope is not lost.  I yet travel with a Priest of Moradin on a mission of great importance to my… my former kinfolk.  My Lord, Dereth Droggison, seems unsure of Ularta’s decision.  And, unlike most “nil-thain”, I have not been sentenced to death.  While I yet live I have a chance to redeem myself.  This I must do.

15th of Uktar, 1366 DR

Three days back I made the decision not to go through Lonely Hearth instead travelling through the wilds and staying far from the known trails as Wilan had instructed.  This could have been a big mistake.

A major snowfall covered the plains in a heavy blanket of snow.  Not only has this slowed us considerably but we also leave a trail a blind man could follow.  Unfortunately it wasn’t a blind man who found it.  The wolven still roam these plains (as we had feared) and it was they that found the trail but a few short hours back.

It has been an eventful night.  We made a brief and bloody stand against a pair of wolven and their Dreth master.  Or at least I think it was a Dreth.  The creature looks like a man but their skin is black as night and their eyes glow with a feral red gleam.  He wore a great horned helm and wielded a large sword.  But that’s not all.  The bastard could only be injured with magic weapons.  He could also cast spells and his touch was deadly poison!  Even after the creature was dead Tamil fought to shake off the effects of the poison before it reached his heart.  Happily we all made it.

That wasn’t the end of it however.  While I was disposing of the wolven bodies back down our trail, Gimit the Finn made another appearance.  He told me that Ciddry was in ashes and that the snow was all that held the Apians from pressing the campaign.  He also revealed that we were being hunted (big revelation there).  Once again he offered me the opportunity to tempt fate and once again I did.  Two riddles did he offer but the answers eluded me.  And so Beshaba won this time and I lost a little bit of myself to him.  When Moradin said woe would come upon us we thought he meant the fight with the wolven.  Apparently he saw further into the future.

I trudged back into camp suddenly tired and reluctantly told the others of my visit with Gimit.  Instead of being mocked and doubted they believed every word.  If anything their respect for me only increased.  I like not these comparisons to ancient heroes and lofty expectations.  I’m no legendary hero and I’m certainly no leader.  Their blind faith in me is frightening and I pray to Moradin I don’t lead them astray, especially Tamil. 

Gods but I am weary!  Hoth has offered to sit watch all night and I think I shall let him.  Tomorrow we make for the Mead River and hope that it is fordable.

16th of Uktar, 1366 DR

The gods must have laughed at us today.  We made it to the Mead and found that it was frozen.  Dwarves have no business near water but crossing it would save a lot of miles so we had to try.  It must have appeared quite comical.  Four dwarves sitting on their shields being pulled across the ice by their ponies.  Well it worked though Pem was the last to go and he got quite a scare as the ice gave way behind him as he crossed.  My friends will get a good laugh at this when I tell them.

Wolven tracks were all over the place on this side of the river.  We decided to continue striking west toward Boarskull and made good progress.  Tonight we will stay alert to make sure the Wolven haven’t picked up our trail again.

17th of Uktar, 1366 DR

We made good progress again today but near nightfall we encountered a group of White cloaked riders.  Hoping they were friends of Wilan’s we approached them on friendly terms.  What a mistake!  They were Selunites, and elves, and a damn arrogant bunch to boot.  Though not overtly hostile they gave us little choice but to follow or be declared an enemy.  So we followed.

They took us south and far off our original course.  They appear to be making for their Temple and this will cost us precious time.  Maybe we can at least re-provision there and have some good come out of it.

18th of Uktar, 1366 DR

Another full day of travelling south and east.  Eventually we met up with another Selunite patrol and they had a few Callahan Clansmen as “guests”.  Assuming they were in the same situation we were, I tried to talk with them.  No good, they had taken some heavy losses to the wolven and were in a foul mood.  So much for trading news.



19th of Uktar, 1366 DR

We arrived at the Temple at about midday.  We were escorted inside and asked to report our business on the plains and any news we may have.  Easy enough, the high priestess seemed fair and let the Callahan Clansmen go without a hitch.  So I opened my big mouth and started blathering about the wolven and the Dreth and about the twin prophesies and how my companions and I fought and killed Ipizicus, Baphtemet, and Ral.  Blah, blah, blah… I laid the whole story out before her as she listened patiently.  I guess I had hoped she would understand the gravity of our mission and offer her assistance.  That seemed like the least she could do for dragging our sorry butts two days out of our way.  Well she saw otherwise apparently.

She blamed the presence of the wolven on ME, and said that I owed her church a service to pay for the danger I brought upon them!  Boy, I sure do have a way with women.  She said they would not let me leave without clearing out some “infidels” who were holed up in some shrine at the end of the lake.  She said they couldn’t spill blood on such sacred ground.  Whatever.  Seeing little choice I agreed to do her dirty work.  

I hope this will prove to the Selunites we are not their enemy, and possibly garner their aid for the road ahead.  

20th of Uktar, 1366 DR

What kind of a mess have I gotten myself into.  The damn priestess neglected to tell us the shrine was occupied by an Apian recon unit!  They fought with the elves on the plains when they tried to bring them to the temple (I wish to hell we did too!).  Now they are cut off with no means to escape just for following their orders.  I can respect that.  And here’s another twist, their leader, understanding that the Selunites require someone’s head to roll for the deaths of some of their followers, has offered his life if the priests will let his men go free.  Damn noble.  And I’m supposed to kill this guy?  If there weren’t so many of the damned Moonies I’d be tempted to side with the Apians and cut our way out of here. The Selunites are fools and they asked for the trouble they got.  If they just left people to their business none of us would be here right now.

Well there’s wish and hope.  But we are here and the priestess in her ‘infinite wisdom and mercy” has agreed to the Apians terms, only here’s the catch.  She wants me to duel him to the death.  Freakin’ great!

What a damn waste!  The Apians may have invaded Valusia but they’re not our enemies here.  Curse the Selunites and their short-sightedness!  Their arrogance and intolerance will be their deaths when the darkness comes.  I, for one, won’t shed any tears.

Now I must go to kill a man whom I have no wish to fight.  I made a grave mistake in coming here.  Some leader I have turned out to be.  What a waste.

25th of Uktar, 1366 DR 

A lot has happened since my last entry.  I fought the Apian commander, Pandios of Margive, on the bridge leading to the Moon Shrine.  The man fought well and with honor, and definitely held no malice to me.  It made me sick every time my axe bit into him.  Like two reluctant gladiators we fought before the assembled Moon priests and the Apian squad.  At every successful blow we called to the Selunites in hopes this could end well.  No mercy was granted.  In the end Pandios fell to my axe.  I just stood there in disgust as Pandios bled his life away.  Pem reacted better.  He must have raced unto the bridge and before I knew it, knelt next to the dying Apian.  He quickly bound the man’s wounds and saved his life.  This outraged the Moon priests.  Many rushed unto the bridge.  The situation got quickly out of control.  One bashed Pem on the back of the head only to be sent sprawling in turn by Tamil.  It happened so fast I don’t remember all that transpired.  The high Priestess cast a spell that killed one of the Apian soldiers.  She was in turn sacrificed by her own people for spilling blood on the Holy ground.  Her second in command then cast a spell that raised the Apian from the dead!  The Moonies demanded Pem remain with them for his violation of the duel.  And they expected us to leave Pandios on the bridge to die.  I don’t remember what I said or did but eventually I bargained to have Tamil and Hoth continue on to Val Hor to find Destan the Grim.  Pem would remain with the Selunites for the time being and a revived Pandios and I were to face another Selunite test.  They would seal us in a dungeon below the temple.  If we could find our way out we were all free to go.

I don’t know why I sacrificed so much for a man I did not even know.  He was an Apian, and an invader, yet he was good and honorable.  In our short time together I hope what he learned of the dwarves and Valudians temper his attitudes should the snows melt and the war continue.

It was all foolishness just the same.  Pandios and I wandered for days below the Moonpool; starving, thirsty, and completely lost.  We encountered no enemies but were dying all the same.  Hunger and thirst nearly overcame us.  We became delusional and slipped in and out of consciousness.  Then I saw something, something that forever changed me though I did not know it at the time.  An apparition of a beautiful human woman came to me.  She was angelic almost.  Her skin and clothing a flowing translucent silver-white.  She beckoned for me to rise up and follow her, and I did.  She led me through the labyrinth to a portion where the tunnel was flooded.  She told me this was the way out.  Nothing was given freely she said, someday she would call on me and I must return the favor.

Thank the Gods Pandios was a good swimmer.  He got us out of there and back onto land.  He and I parted ways as friends and I returned to the Selunite Temple to claim my possessions and gather up Pem for the trip to Val Hor.  The Selunites were shocked, as expected, but Pem was another matter.  While he was glad to see me he explained he wished to stay with the Selunites at the temple.  I could do nothing to convince him.  I am convinced they had him under some kind of enchantment but there was little I could do.  Reluctantly I left Pem, vowing to return, and began the long trip to Val Hor. 


9th of Nightal, 1366 DR

It’s been a long time since my last entry but there really hasn’t been much of anything to report.  The trip from the Selunite Temple to Val Hor was remarkably without incident.  The weather was fair and I stuck mostly to the coastal roads.  Perhaps the evil taint hasn’t spread this far west or perhaps I was just lucky.  The humans of this region may give me some odd looks every once in a while but generally seem very tolerant.  The majority of the tavern talk surrounds the impending war with Rhelm.  They seem little concerned with the troubles of Ciddry and Mon Mith to the South.  Tomorrow I should reach the Gates of the White City.  I pray to Moradin that Tamil and Hoth made it safely.  I look forward to seeing them and rejoining my companions.

10th of Nightal, 1366 DR

The peace of the lonely road was soon shattered upon reaching gates of the White City.  Amidst the hustle and bustle at the gates I was approached by Melish, an agent of Destan the Grim and immediately escorted to his compound.  I didn’t even have time to knock the dirt from my boots before being thrown right into the middle of it once again.

I was ushered into an audience with the great archmage.  My friends were already there, or what was left of them.  Kellus, Raylin, and myself are all that remain from the original six.  They reluctantly relayed the story of Jon’s fall and Destan confirmed that Amelyssan and Vath were dead, but he knew not how or where.  Three are dead and I am cursed, so much for prophecies and destiny.

I remember very little of what was said after that, too consumed in my own dark thoughts.  It appears I had arrived at a critical time.  Destan was planning a major strike against a nest of demons within the city.  He wanted us to prevent any from escaping through the back doors while he and his men stormed the front.

And stop them we did.  Men swarmed from the doors like rats and we cut them down like sheaves of wheat.  Destan had lent Raylin, Kellus, and I the assistance of two of his men, Melish, the elf who greeted me at the gate and a giant, armored, behemoth named simply, the Cleaver.  They both fought well and no man got past our defenses.  Unfortunately the demon did.

We later learned he took on the guise of simple rat and scurried right past us.  Once we discovered his deception we took up chase but it was too late.  We last glimpsed him flying off to the north to wreak Gods only know what kind of havoc.

Later, when we all returned to Destan’s compound I finally had a chance to relax and swap tales with Kellus and Raylin.  I can’t believe Amelyssan, Jon, and Vath are all dead.  Those last moments of our parting at the Sorrow Elf’s tomb are now etched even more deeply in my memory as it was the last time I saw any of them.  Moradin damn all Wolven and Dreth!  If their pursuit hadn’t driven us apart they may still be alive. 

I learned Tamil and Hoth had indeed made it ahead of me.  Hoth had already started back with information for Clan Ironfist.  Tamil had remained behind waiting for me.  It was good to see the lad.  (Bahhh! I sound like his grandsire and I’m barely his senior by 15 winters!).  I wanted him to meet my human friends but I sensed a reluctance.  I think he knew even then I would be remaining in Val Hor.  He said I had changed.  Certainly my appearance is different from when we parted (my beard is graying early) but I think he meant something more.  I think somehow I have disappointed him.  Telling him I wouldn’t be returning with him was one of the hardest things I have had to do.  Logically he understands, but in his heart I think he feels betrayed.  Maybe he is right.  If Ularta orders the Clan to retake the mines and more dwarves die it will be on my head.  Returning I face possible execution, by not returning do I doom the rest of my… former Clan?  I have to hold unto faith that the Forge Father’s plans for me involve helping the humans and in turn doing a greater good.  I just hope I can return to Axemarch in time to help.

Tomorrow we leave for the small Valudian village of Kax.  Destan believes the Feratu has retreated there.  We need to ferret out his hiding place and eliminate him before he can move on or cause more misfortune.  It will be good to hit the trail with Kellus and Raylin again but somehow I think my heart will be heading toward a certain distant peak in the Balantir Cor.


----------



## iwatt

Frostrune:

Great stuff!

I knew Destan was a RBDM.   

It's nice to see the story from your perspective as well. As a DM I can only wish I could get my players motivated enough to write a journal.


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## Old One

*Congrats!*

Pudgy D,

Congrats on the ENNIES Nominations!  Wishing you best of luck on that.

Also, Frostrune, nice entries.  I love seeing SH from a player's perspective.

~ OO


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## Destan

Hi all -

Thanks for the kind words.  I'm as excited as I am surprised to see Valus grab a couple nominations.  I'm out of town for a bit dealing with the loss of a friend to cancer, so please forgive me if I'm slow getting back to anyone on posts or email.  Thanks all.

Take care,
Ryan


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## grodog

If you haven't already, please vote for *Valus* in the ENNies @ http://www.enworld.org/ennies/index.php?do=vote


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## Funeris

been there, 
and 
done that

Already


----------



## grodog

Thanks for the support Funeris, as well as everyone else who has voted for Valus!


----------



## Lela

I'm a little surprised it wasn't in more places.  Then again, I'm a little surprised that I didn't see more of other products I dream about.

*Shrug.*


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## thebitdnd

*Bump...*

BUMP!


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## Richard Rawen

*itty*

bump


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## thebitdnd

Bump


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## Tumakhunter

Four months hiatus.  One newborn daughter.  One brilliant character journal recapping events we've already read about.

BUMP sez I!  I want more Sins!

(But my condolences on the loss of your friend, D.  Harsh stuff.)


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## Funeris

Hey Frostrune,

would it be possible for you to drop me an email at ronjr AT psaltd DOT com?  I tried emailing through your username (but it seems you have emails blocked).  I need to ask you a question or two 

Thanks,

~Fune


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## BlueAnt

Well, finally finished the archives. 

Wow.


----------



## grodog

Ryan, congrats on your upcoming Dungeon publication:  I saw that you have an Eberron adventure in next month's issue


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## Shieldhaven

Wow.  I started reading a few days ago, and now I've caught up.  How about an update to celebrate my arrival? 

This is an incredible story hour.  I wish I had both the drive and the talent to turn my games into something like this.

Haven


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## Tamlyn

Shieldhaven said:
			
		

> Wow.  I started reading a few days ago, and now I've caught up.  How about an update to celebrate my arrival?
> 
> This is an incredible story hour.  I wish I had both the drive and the talent to turn my games into something like this.
> 
> Haven




You might be waiting a while. We have been. But if we see another update it will have been well-worth it.


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## Shieldhaven

Hey, I've been a fan of Sepulchrave, Piratecat, and others for a long time now... I know a thing or two about the agonizing wait for updates. 

Haven


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## MACLARREN

*BUMP*


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## MACLARREN

*Bump!!!!!!!!!*

Come on Destan, please feed us once again!  Where have you been?


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## grodog

Per our infrequent emails, he's been working like a Roven


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## grodog

*le bump*


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## Azgulor

Fantastic story hour!!!

Any chance of an update????  I'm now addicted to demon-slaying feats of grim heroism!

Azgulor


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## MACLARREN

I played Raylin in this campaign and I don't think you'll be seeing any update soon.  Destan has been extremely busy preparing for our upcoming February session in the new campaign which also rocks.  Don't look for anyhting soon here as he has been crazy with work and things.  Maybe someday though.


----------



## The Forsaken One

Sadface!

Have fun though, hope you guys have a blast ^^.


----------



## Wisdom Penalty

I would love to see this start up again. Azgulor's post caused me to reread the second part of this SH. I had forgotten how good it was.

W.P.


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## The Axe

Wisdom Penalty said:
			
		

> I would love to see this start up again.




Seconded!  Maybe as a stress reliever...?


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## grodog

Per my last email, Destan's been busy relocating, but was hopeful that the writing bug might nip him again after settling into the new digs.


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## The Axe

*Quite happy*



			
				grodog said:
			
		

> Per my last email, Destan's been busy relocating, but was hopeful that the writing bug might nip him again after settling into the new digs.




This would make me quite happy.


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## Drowbane

I got turned on to the Sins SH just the other day and here I am at the end (all too soon!).  Heres hoping for a revival of this glorious SH!

Awesome stuff D!


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## Ed Gentry

I'll second this. The writing is incredible, the setting rich and the characters fun. I'd love to see more from this.


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## spunky_mutters

FYI, I think I remember hearing that he's got an adventure coming out this month in Dungeon.


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## Destan

It's been a long, long time since I wandered around this area of the forums.  Thanks to you folks who have stopped by, and please know I appreciate your kind words.

@ Ed: I think it's absolutely awesome you're a published author and you had nice things to say about Sins.  Writing a novel is a such a Huge Deal - I know, I've tried it.  And to get it published...well, words fall short of how impressive that achievement is and how much I respect your ability and perseverance to make it happen.

@ Spunk: You're a good detective.  I do, indeed, have an adventure coming up in Dungeon. It was supposed to be published in Paizo's version of the magazine, but due to the adventure path and the high level nature of my adventure, it kept being delayed until...they ran out of issues. I'm thrilled it's still gonna see the light of day. I hope you enjoy it.

@ Grodog: I got your Christmas card. Other than you, you have a great looking family! 

Happy Holidays all -

D


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## grodog

Destan said:
			
		

> @ Grodog: I got your Christmas card. Other than you, you have a great looking family!




  

Happy holidays, Sins fans and Destan too!


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## grodog

Ryan's second Dungeon adventure is now available (and it's free!):  http://www.wizards.com/default.asp?x=dnd/duad/20071219&authentic=true


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## Celtavian

*re*

Good old Destan. Still working away and gaining notoriety as a published writer of campaign settings and DnD adventures. Congratulations, nice to see your work in print and bytes.


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## grodog

Hey Destan, you checked out 4e yet?


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## Destan

grodog said:


> Hey Destan, you checked out 4e yet?




I have indeed. We're doing our first 4e, marathon (Thurs-Sun) session in two weeks. We've run a couple 4e "playtests" online, but this is our first opportunity to see the rules in play around the table. I'm uncertain on some things and very much like others, so I guess we'll see how it goes!

What about you?

D


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## WizarDru

We just finished our third 4e session, and have been quite happy with the results (though Bruce Cordell's name has been raised once more in anger).  A few tweaks may be in order, but so far, so good.


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## Joshua Randall

WizarDru said:


> We just finished our third 4e session, and have been quite happy with the results (though Bruce Cordell's name has been raised once more in anger).



I've been known to take Bruce's name in vain now and then. Why, just the other day I ran into a frustrating situation at work and yelled out, "Bruce H. Cordell! Why can't anything work around here?!"

My co-workers looked at me funny.

I don't think they appreciate swearing.


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## The Axe

*Nudge, nudge; wink, wink...*



Joshua Randall said:


> I've been known to take Bruce's name in vain now and then. Why, just the other day I ran into a frustrating situation at work and yelled out, "Bruce H. Cordell! Why can't anything work around here?!"
> 
> My co-workers looked at me funny.
> 
> I don't think they appreciate swearing.




(Actually, that would be "using his name in vain"---saying, "By Bruce H. Cordell, ....!" would be swearing.)

.....

(No, I'm not a nitpicky rules lawyer; why do you ask?)


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## Celtavian

*re*



Destan said:


> I have indeed. We're doing our first 4e, marathon (Thurs-Sun) session in two weeks. We've run a couple 4e "playtests" online, but this is our first opportunity to see the rules in play around the table. I'm uncertain on some things and very much like others, so I guess we'll see how it goes!
> 
> What about you?
> 
> D




You're giving it a try too eh? A bunch of my friends want to try it. So I'm giving it a shot even though I'm very mixed on the edition. It disempowers wizards, but empowers just about every other class. The cleric is less versatile, but comparatively more powerful as it is more a hybrid healer/warrior/mage type of class. You can focus on whatever aspect of the cleric you like.

I'm playing a dwarf paladin. So far this class/race combo seems powerful. You really feel like a tough, hard to kill holy warrior in 4th edition. The Paladin itself may well be the most durable class in the game if what I think about the mechanics turns out to be true. Since I like paladins, that will make me very happy. 

I hope you recall who I am, but if you don't, I understand as we only chatted in email a few times and haven't communicated in ages. 

I'm still clicking away on a few novels (including the one that inspired the story I showed you a long time ago) and a few screenplays. Hopefully something will  come of it. But all I know for certain is writing a novel or screenplay is no easy feat, much less a good one. I'm about 30,000 plus words into one novel and 22,000 words into another. I need to write at least 80,000 words, probably more for a solid fantasy novel. It's been quite the journey. 

I have alot more respect for successful writers. They have put their dues in. I hope to see more of your work make it into print. You are definitely one of the best I've seen on this forum. I hope you are still putting your butt in front of the keyboard and getting some of those ideas batting around in your head onto that blank white word document. I hope you start up a story for a fourth edition campaign. 

I'm thinking about it myself, but I'll have to see how my time goes. I never seem to find enough time to keep up a story hour. I write so much as it is that refining a story hour on a weekly or even montly basis is difficult. I may just do a fast and cheap sort of story hour write up of the campaign I'm playing in as a way to see how effective this new edition will be at rendering into story form. That's always been my main concern with any edition of DnD.


----------



## Wisdom Penalty

On 4e: I pretty much agree with all you said. Most of my group seems to very much enjoy it, but a couple guys are less certain. One of those "less certain" guys is one who really enjoyed wizards in 3e. Right now I think we're riding a wave of "ready for something new after dealing with mid- to high-level 3e", which helps us be more accepting of 4e. I wonder if we'll still be on board once the novelty of 4e wears off. As a DM, I'll definitively state that 4e provides me much, much more fun with regard to adventure prep. By freeing up some of my time to focus on the story, as opposed to stats, I'm hopeful I'll be able to run a better campaign. Time will tell.

On Story Hours: No doubt they are a tough business! They certainly scared me away. I don't know how some of these folks do it - but I'm very impressed with their dedication. 

W.P.

(How does one do that "Fork to new thread" thing? Anyone?)


----------



## Destan

Hiya Celt - again, I remember you.

Here's the lineup in my group with respect to 4e, just FYI, since many are folks on these boards.

Hobbit Killer - Likes more than dislikes
WP - Likes more than dislikes
Frostrune - Likes more than dislikes
Moril Karrisbane - Likes more than dislikes

maladrac - Undecided
Apian elite - Undecided

MACLARREN - Dislikes more than likes


MACLARREN, who played Raylin and later Sid (a gnome sorc), has some serious reservations with the arcane spellcasting/rituals (or lack thereof) in 4e.

maladrac, who was played John of Pell and Cleaver, is officially on the fence until he sees 4e in action around the table. Same with Apian, who played Kane.

The other guys are more or less positive.

But I think all of us are taking a "wait and see" approach.

D


----------



## Destan

Just as a follow on, I'm not trying to debate the merits and flaws of 4e and I'm well aware of the edition war ban.   I'm just trying to show that it's received a mixed reception in our group, as perhaps as been the case in many groups. Ask me again in a couple months, and I'll (probably) have a better answer as to what we did.


----------



## WizarDru

Just do me a favor: if the guy playing the wizard thinks it's a good idea to drop the flaming sphere in the midst of melee, where the fighter is?  SLAP HIM.  SLAP HIM HARD.  (It.  Still. BURNSSSSSSS.)

Also, if you're using the Keep on the Shadowfell...there's a particular encounter that many feel is overly lethal...hence the curses uttered toward Bruce Cordell, since that's par for the course with his material.  I'll say no more for fear of spoilers, but if you do some quick searching about the module, you'll easily find who and what I mean.

The thing that makes us the most happy about 4e, so far?  The SPEED.  Thing that we're least thrilled with?  The reduction in number of overall player options.


----------



## Ed Gentry

Just another request to know if this SH is going to pick back up at any time. It's quite wonderful and we'd all love to read more.

Any news on that front?


----------



## Joshua Randall

Wisdom Penalty said:


> (How does one do that "Fork to new thread" thing? Anyone?)



[Begin Threadjack]

Click the "Fork to New Thread" button.

It will start a new thread with the default title of "Forked Thead: [name of old thread]" -- though it's recommended that you give it a more useful thread title.

In the first post of the newly started thread will be a link back to the thread from which you forked it (insert obligatory dirty joke). Of course, you can then edit the newly started thread / first post to your heart's content.

Note that to the best of my knowledge, when you fork a thread, that thread will exist in the same forum as the thread from which it was forked. So if you fork off this thread, it'll be in Story Hour.

[/End Threadjack]


----------



## grodog

Destan said:


> I have indeed. We're doing our first 4e, marathon (Thurs-Sun) session in two weeks. We've run a couple 4e "playtests" online, but this is our first opportunity to see the rules in play around the table. I'm uncertain on some things and very much like others, so I guess we'll see how it goes!




Sounds good, fill us in as your evaluation continues (and hey, if you write an update, well, you'd be beating Sep  ).  



Destan said:


> What about you?




Haven't picked the rules up yet; I was planning to check them out at GenCon but I'm not attending this year (too much travel to squeeze it in).


----------



## MACLARREN

Well, we will be headed back in to this world this evening with Destan using 4E rules.  Should be a blast.  We start around 8 pm and go to the whee hours of the morning, wake up tomorrow and go all day only breaking for short breaks and again Saturday.  Looking forward to it.  Nice marathon session.


----------



## grodog

So what are you guys up to now?---perhaps some general info on the campaign, etc. even if its not fiction?


----------



## Ryltar

*casts Raise Thread*

Just came back to this, and wondered - are you still playing? Any chance of continuing this great SH?


----------



## darkbard

Sorry for the necro. (Sort of.) I just reread this SH again, for the first time since [MENTION=12157]Destan[/MENTION] began posting it, and I realize over the interceding decade I had forgotten how precipitously it ends. Does anyone know whatever happened to Destan? Are any of his players still lingering around the 'boards? Can anyone speak to what Destan planned for the overarching narrative he and his players kept referencing in their posts but which Destan never caught up to posting about?


----------

